Ground Control

A few weeks ago, Dylan and were at Rita's getting custard. The people in line before us had a little dog with them which looked like a mix between a French bulldog and David Bowie. See below for my make-shift representation of the dog. We asked the couple if the dog's name was Bowie. It took them a minute to compute, but when they did, they busted out laughing and said, "No. His name is Dean", or something like that.




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How could you not name it Bowie?

Blue...with encaustic

The art supply store down the road is having a "Moving Sale", so I decided to take a look. I came out of there buying two things, 1 lb. of beeswax and a tube of titanium white, neither of which were part of the sale, but oh well. For a few weeks, I have been wanting to try my hand at encaustic painting, thus the beeswax. From what little understanding I have, there are a few ways to work with the encaustic process, and I chose to melt the wax and combine it with some oil paint. Mostly, I want to use this for texture purposes; it will take me a while to manipulate it for "paint" application purposes.

Anyways, I have never been a huge fan of painting in oils unless portraiture is involved; my heart lies (lays? kitkat, which one?) with acrylics because of their immediacy. Plus, I feel that I was never taught how to use oils properly. A few years ago, my grampa gave me his easel, some canvases, and his paint bin which is packed with various oil paints, solvents, and brushes. He painted for many years (in fact, my first painting lesson was with him), but he decided to stop after Parkinson's limited his dexterity. I felt and still feel privileged to have these things handed down to me as there are several other artistic folk in the family. Whenever we discussed painting, he would always say, "I'm not a creative person. I'm good at copying, but I don't have an artist's creativity." I felt this way about myself during most of my college years. It has only been within the past year that I've started to tap into creativity, or so I hope.

Not really knowing what I was doing, I began melting some of the beeswax to experiment. Out of the hall closet I retrieved grampa's art bin for some of my oil paints, opened it, and had to stop for a minute. It's funny how certain smells open floodgates of memories...smells of this art bin provoked a mixture of memories: from the way my grampa would leave his brushes soaking in turpentine by the kitchen sink in his NC home to the way the painting studio smelled my second semester of freshman year at UNF...Painting Fundamentals with Prof. G (I hated that class). It's also funny how objects gain even more importance once that person is no longer around. It's almost like an artifact that shouldn't be disturbed. I managed to get my oil paints and continue my experiment, which was most definitely an experiment...in the name of art. I have a long way to go with encaustic.

So, I'm feeling rather blue today. Memories are wonderful things, but they can be bittersweet. On top of that, I found out today that Sittee, my mom's mom, has cancer which has spread to her spinal cord and brain.

There is this inevitable truth that people die...their bodies fail. And though we know the end will come, it's still so hard to accept when it comes to fruition. I truly believe that we are spiritual beings in a physical world, which is mind boggling. If we aren't spiritual beings housing souls within these physical forms, then we wouldn't mind hanging out with dead bodies all the time. It is the soul that gives the body life and personality.

Anyhow, what do you think?

blah.

Toppers

My top 3 for the week...

1. Today, one of my fifth graders informed me of the following: "Ms. B, instead of sayin' the 'n' word, we say 'ninja!', and if someone be actin' a snitch, we tells 'em, 'Man, you be actin' so white!'" ::sigh:: Just wanted to keep everyone up to date with the lingo.



2. I found a tiny, baby snapper turtle on the floor in my classroom; I left for about 5 minutes to run an errand, and upon my return, I saw it crawling across the art studio floor. Random. I'm just glad I didn't step on it! One of the ESE teachers decided to keep him as a class pet. They named it Franklin.



3. About 21 students signed up for the after-school art program :)


Side-note to No. 2: When my oldest sister was young, she had a pet turtle. My mom read that turtles need a certain amount of sunlight for their health. So, she plopped Merrill's turtle atop the fence, belly-up. Now, I'm not really sure if mom forgot or read incorrectly about how much sunlight was needed, but basically, Merrill's turtle bit the dust atop that fence post. Too MUCH sun, as it turns out, will cook a turtle. This has been a family joke for as long as I can remember.

Several years later, Merrill's co-workers (knowing this whole story) bought her a pair of baby turtles as a gift. She kept them together in a tank at my parents' house. The tank had some fake palm trees, a few rocks, filter, dirty water, you get the idea. I will never forget Merrill calling me one morning during my freshman year in college, half laughing, half crying. She managed to whimper out that one of her baby turtles had died. Unsure how to react, I suppressed my giggles so as not to seem insensitive until she let out a laugh. Then, I couldn't help myself. "But it's NOT FUNNY!", she squeaked. Merrill went on to explain that it seemed as if this turtle had gotten caught beneath the tower of rocks and stones causing him to be water logged...and as she described, the body was bloated with water from being stuck.

Now, I know it seems cruel to make a joke of this, but honestly, how many people can say they lost two pet turtles in their lifetime: one to overheating and one to drowning? Fire and water? Honestly. Anyhow, a year or so later, she let the remaining turtle go into the wild. I hope it survived, but I'm not sure how turtles make the transition from having tasty shrimp flakes magically appear to finding their own food :)

Cheers.

Perfect Strangers

Don't worry. I'm not talking about that awesome show from the late '80s to early'90s (and by awesome I mean LAME). I remember watching that show quite a bit when I was young. What I cannot remember is if those viewings were voluntary or just out of boredom.

No matter...


I was at the laundry mat today writing lesson plans while waiting for clothes to dry. It was particularly slow, for a Sunday, as there was only one other person around. Without any introduction or greeting, this elderly gentleman approached me and asked the following question: "If a man is starving, and he has a family to feed, and he robs a bank in order to feed his family, do you think it's cruel to put him in jail?" Not exactly your typical conversation-starter, eh? I was a little skeptical about where this conversation was going or WHY this conversation was started, but it ended up intriguing me. I won't go through all the details, but some of the points this man, Ken, hit on were illegal immigration, the North American Union (which I admit, I know little about), the education system, and religion. Sounds pretty heavy for laundry conversation. Normally, I get annoyed with people when they bring up such issues because most of the time, I find their arguments lacking what is most important: critically thought-out logical arguments. Ken didn't seem to be lacking in this regard, so I continued to listen.

He explained that he considers himself a revolutionary/idealist/activist, and that in order for our country to truly change, there has to be a sincere, action-based effort from the American people. Scenes from the film V for Vendetta (one of my favorite movies) flashed through my head (minus all the killing and masks). Ken reminisced about the time of the Vietnam War and the protests that followed...how dedicated people were to their causes. For years, I have felt that when/if it really comes down to it, the American people don't have it in themselves to truly protest, actively. So, I can agree with him on that point. I can't say that I agreed with him whole-heartedly on everything. And I never felt like he was asking me to agree.

As I'm typing, I'm realizing that this could be a very lengthy post, so let me try to wrap this up. Halfway through our conversation, he handed me a "business card" (I'm not sure what to call it...a "propaganda card"?) with a web address and an image of what he calls "Mexican Sam". I'll let you use your imagination. After mentioning I was in the fine arts industry, he went to his car and retrieved some political cartoons he drafted. Our discussion about religion is maybe a save for another post.

Although our initial interaction was abrupt, what I liked about Ken was that he did not ask me a series of personal questions; if I offered information, like my first name or my occupation, great, but there was no prying whatsoever. He would also periodically ask me if I was willing to still converse with him; he kept saying, "It's just good to talk these things through with other people---young people, at that".

One could say that this person had a major agenda in talking with me. But wouldn't that be the case for any and all activists? Is it really too much to ask for people to "do" instead of "think" about what they believe? It seems so foreign nowadays: to literally stand up for what is "right".

I have yet to thoroughly check out his website. I wanted to get all this down before I lost some of the thoughts.

There is some good out there...

There is a series on NPR from StoryCorps called "Recording America". I heard a particularly inspiring segment of this series last Thursday just before going into work. I meant to post this sooner, but kept forgetting to look it up. Anyways, it's called A Victim Treats His Mugger Right

That link will take you to the recording...it's only a little over three minutes guys, so check it out. If you'd rather read it, go here!

We need more stories like this one in the news.




Julio Diaz, NYC social worker

The Bell Jar

Last night, I finished reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. This was her first and last novel and parts of it are considered autobiographical. I have always been fascinated by Plath's poetry and was excited to read her novel...which is probably why I finished it in two days. I don't want to say too much in case you have not read it yet and plan to do so; I will admit that it is depressing. However, I respect that about it.

If I could pick one word to describe The Bell Jar, it would be "raw". Plath holds nothing back, and I found myself completely engaged in everything Esther Greenwood, the protagonist, was feeling/experiencing. At some points, I felt like Plath was describing my own feelings, as I have had bouts with anxiety and depression. Aside from the raw-ness, I just like the way this book is written. She manages to describe people, places, situations, events, etc. accurately and succinctly without a lot of fluff. I didn't get exasperated by some 3 page description of a certain room or a sidewalk. Plath also didn't "waste time" on intermediate events; in other words, if Esther was walking home from someone's apartment, she describes leaving, and then picks up the next morning at the hotel, or maybe even weeks later. It is the reader's responsibility to connect some of the dots based on given information. I think this also accounts for my engagement.

You should give it a read.