Monday, November 24, 2008

Ode to Bjork

As many of you know, I am a huge fan of Bjork. I love her not only for her music and lyrics, but also for her choice of directors for her music videos. She is a big fan of Michel Gondry, with good reason. This video is one of my favorites... I have always loved the way the images play out with the song.

Friday, November 21, 2008

December 6th

Lookie, Lookie.. I have 2 posts in one day!!!
Actually, I forgot to put this information on the last one...

Please join me December 6th for Mainx24... a 24 hr event on the Southside. For more info, go to CreateHere . The theme for the art part of the event is BLUE.
Here is the piece I will be displaying, for those of you who cannot make it.
Thanks again!

The Pillow Book

On Tuesdays at the River House on Frazier Avenue, there is an open mic night for poetry reading. This past Tuesday, I went to listen to my friend Erica recite a piece of writing she had written about a year ago. The place was pretty empty, which is sad considering how much poetry is a good starter to, at the very least, unusual and interesting conversations.
This said, one of my conversations following was about the film, "The Pillow Book". If you have not seen this film yet, I strongly recommend it, although it is pretty twisted. It is definitely not a comfortable movie. But absolutely one of the most beautiful and sensual films I have ever seen. Not for the weak-stomached or shy, I will note.
One part of the story is about a little girl who has a book called The Pillow Book read to her at bedtime. It is an old book, her mother tells her, that was written 1,000 years before the little girls' time. The book is lists of things that make the author feel; like things she thinks are splendid, or horrible, or that make one's heart beat faster.
As a dedication to this wonderful movie, I urge all of you to think of a list of "top tens". Perhaps the top ten things that you think are beautiful. Or maybe the ten things you like the least. I found that thinking about the things I treasure most made me realize how simple pleasure can be. (they are not in any particular order..)

Top Ten Things That Are Splendid:

1. Sip of hot coffee and smelling autumn for the first time in the year.
2. Yellow Ginkgo leaves on a gray sidewalk.
3. The laugh lines next to a friends' eyes.
4. Bright green moss on a misty, gray day in a Japanese garden.
5. Watching the members of my family do what they love.
6. Listening to opera and driving through the mountains.
7. Walking into my studio early in the morning.
8. Roses that bloom in the snow.
9. Sipping cold ice water while taking a hot bath.
10. Being in love with someone far away.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Monday, November 10, 2008


A while back, my sister Veronique, a friend, and I were sitting outside of a quaint coffee shop on a beautiful day, admiring the leaves and sipping coffee. Down the street, we heard a sing-song voice approaching. As we listened, we realized the beautiful noise was coming from an African-American homeless woman pushing a cart. She had a wonderful voice, and the notes she was hitting made the day seem even more beautiful.

When we listened closer, she was speaking the most vulgar, racially-fired words I have ever heard. I can't even write them here. She walked closer and closer to the cafe, always keeping her voice in a somewhat singing manner. We became more and more uncomfortable. Finally, she seemed to be walking very close to where we were, and so we decided to move. She turned the corner and walked on with her cart, always singing the same vulgar profanities.
I looked over to Veronique, somewhat a little shaken up. "You know, in some places, that could easily have been some sort of performance piece to see how people react when they are uncomfortable".
hmm. We thought it over. Ok, this woman was obviously not mentally together. But what if she had been? what if the whole ordeal had been a sort of social-study piece of performance art? Would it be so shocking to think this, with a world where museums are standing in line to purchase canvasses covered in feces or aborted baby casts?
It stirred quite a conversation, which made things even more controversial. Here we were, the three of us, discussing with ample ideas, what had taken place. All the gears were working. In that small interaction, we had all been lured by the woman's beautiful voice. Then we were shocked by what she was saying. Then we were uncomfortable. Then we were intrigued. I can say that this series of feelings happen often to me in front of some of my favorite works of art. However, I would say that sometimes the uncomfortable feeling I get from the work I am viewing is less a response to a shock, and more to an awe.
Still. I can't drop it. Many people think in order to have beauty in the world, you must have ugliness. In order to show true light, you must have darkness.

I heard a pastor once say that most artists did not like Thomas Kincade.Why is he a painter of light? I see absolutely NO reason WHATSOEVER that his images have any true light. Why? Perhaps it does come to the fact that he has no darkness.
And honestly, when I look at some of his work, and I am uninspired. There is nothing thought-provoking. Everything is candy-sweet.
On the other hand, would I say that interaction with the homeless woman was art? No, probably not. But I WOULD rather spend my time thinking about what the interaction with her made me feel than sit in front of a Disney print.
Sorry, Mr. Kinkade.

Saturday, November 8, 2008


A while, back, I took the myers-briggs test, on a whim, and to appease my ever-fascinated councelor friend. If you have not taken this test, I highly reccomend it. It is not a test you can fail, but more of a personality assessment.

( if you would like to take the test.

Turns out I am an ENFP (Extraverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiving)
Here is the description:

Idealist Portrait of the Champion (ENFP)

Like the other Idealists, Champions are rather rare, say two or three percent of the population, but even more than the others they consider intense emotional experiences as being vital to a full life. Champions have a wide range and variety of emotions, and a great passion for novelty. They see life as an exciting drama, pregnant with possibilities for both good and evil, and they want to experience all the meaningful events and fascinating people in the world. The most outgoing of the Idealists, Champions often can't wait to tell others of their extraordinary experiences. Champions can be tireless in talking with others, like fountains that bubble and splash, spilling over their own words to get it all out. And usually this is not simple storytelling; Champions often speak (or write) in the hope of revealing some truth about human experience, or of motivating others with their powerful convictions. Their strong drive to speak out on issues and events, along with their boundless enthusiasm and natural talent with language, makes them the most vivacious and inspiring of all the types.

Fiercely individualistic, Champions strive toward a kind of personal authenticity, and this intention always to be themselves is usually quite attractive to others. At the same time, Champions have outstanding intuitive powers and can tell what is going on inside of others, reading hidden emotions and giving special significance to words or actions. In fact, Champions are constantly scanning the social environment, and no intriguing character or silent motive is likely to escape their attention. Far more than the other Idealists, Champions are keen and probing observers of the people around them, and are capable of intense concentration on another individual. Their attention is rarely passive or casual. On the contrary, Champions tend to be extra sensitive and alert, always ready for emergencies, always on the lookout for what's possible.

Champions are good with people and usually have a wide range of personal relationships. They are warm and full of energy with their friends. They are likable and at ease with colleagues, and handle their employees or students with great skill. They are good in public and on the telephone, and are so spontaneous and dramatic that others love to be in their company. Champions are positive, exuberant people, and often their confidence in the goodness of life and of human nature makes good things happen.


Wow. I want to say that I think all of those things about myself, but I think that is cutting out an aweful lot of the crap. Ha. And a champion! Not so all of the time.
Hope you all enjoy. My next post will be more interesting. For now, I am appeasing demands..
I would love to hear what some of you think about this test.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

oh, those big, big apples

Hello, everyone!

Much to all of my dear readers' disappointments, I have not written in quite a while. However, be satisfied to know that it was not all in vain, this lack of communication.
On a whim, I purchased a ticket to new York city just 10 days ago. I landed at LaGuardia last monday, eyes open, and heart desperate for some city time.
You see, as much as Chattanooga may have a blooming arts community, and as lucky as I am to work in a studio doing what I love, every girl has got to get her museum time in. And what better way to cure the small-town blues than diving head-first into the art mecca of North America.
First of all, I have to say that being from New York originally, it is not always a place where one can find the solace and quiet needed to experience great art. But then again, New York is a place of irony.
For example, you can feel most alone around the whirling hoards of tourists and shoppers. You can find a millionaire getting his or her shoes just as s*%t -covered as anyone else. You can get pooped on by a pigeon during a moment of sheer bliss. You can watch couples in matching Hawaiian shirts take an honest interest in the audio tour on classical art at the museum. Irony. It's really everywhere. If you believe in God, He has a good sense of humor as far as I am concerned, and there's nothing like 14 million people to show that off.
One of the best moments happened in the Bronx the other night. After a few drinks in the city, a friend and I decided to stop in to a local Burger King (the only thing still open in that particular neighborhood) and get a large french fry to absorb a little of the wine we had enjoyed. Wouldn't you know, at 2 am, the place is packed. Tons of random people, lots of gold chains, kids (yes, kids at that hour) and enough cologne to give you a headache. All at once, behind the squeal of a group of women matching sentiments about baby daddies, Enya begins to play.

F#*king Enya.

Burger King, transformed for that moment, could have been anything from an 80's interpretive dance recital, to a meditation room for sensitive turtleneck- adorned metrosexuals.
Like I said, if you believe in God, I like to think He has a wicked sense of irony.
Another brilliant moment was in SoHo yesterday with my sister, Veronique. I had just decided that my new ritual would be to buy a ring on every trip I take to commemorate my experiences (I needed a reason to buy a ring, ok). We are walking down a busy street, and I see a vendor. I see a cute plastic yellow ring, and decide this to be my prop for the week. The guy says 2 for $5. Great! Now Veronique can start a tradition too. As I am oggling her to pick one, the guy says "make it 3 for $5". And then "or even 4 for $5". hmm. I pull out a $20 bill, and say we just need 2 rings. He looks at the bill, and says he does not have change. I think to myself two things: "c'mon, dude, this is SoHo on friday at 4pm... surely you have sold SOMETHING and have a few bucks for change" or "wow, this guy needs a pack of cigarettes, bad". Just as I am deciding the the latter is probably more true, a friend points out, without my saying a word, that cigarettes in New York are $9.
That would be, like, 6.5 rings.
Veronique, luckily, aids the situation and hands the guy a $5.

All in all, the week was great. A lot of walking, a lot of dreaming, some drinking, plenty of eating, and as many thoughts raced in my head as there are smells in Times Square.
One thing I did notice, in all the chaos that comes with trying to find my way around the Met, is how infinitely simple, elegant, and quiet true masterpieces can be. Like big, sleek, sleeping giants.

One last but most important bit of irony happen as well. I was sitting on the steps of the Met, sun outside, kids playing and laughing, and me feeling a little sorry for myself about some things that happened in Chattanooga in my personal life before I came to New York. I called a friend in Boston who is going through a second round of chemo. He said something that we hear all the time. His taste, smell, and senses are all different right now while he is going through the chemo. He said you never really appreciate your capacity to sense good things until they are taken away. Those are some of the wisest words I have heard in a long time. To sense good things. To sense beauty. To sense pain. To sense irony and comedy and foreigness. We forget. In that moment, the sun was warmer, and the wind smelled of ginko leaves. The old people in the museum didn't move quite so annoyingly slow. It's ok that I had forgotten, but it was even better to remember. Thanks J.

Friday, October 10, 2008

Portrait Society Of America

I thought I would introduce people who are not familiar with the Portrait Society of America, ( ) a wonderful organization chaired by Gordon Wetmore. Gordon works in a studio in the same building as my own. Over the past two years, I have gotten to know him and the PSA, and have been constantly impressed at the generosity of both.
The reason for my writing on this subject is that today and tomorrow, I will be volunteering and posing for a workshop and demonstration through the PSA. Tonight, Michael Del Priore will be giving a demo in front of a group of painters and students at the University of Tennessee Chattanooga. Tomorrow, Michele Anderson, Michael, and Gordon will be giving a workshop on portrait painting.
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a big advocate of getting involved in organizations that support artistic/career/ educutional growth. If you have a chance, check out the website.

Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Rain and Rainer

It's a rainy day here in Chattanooga. The water seems to make all the colors harmonize. This is the view from outside of my window... the Tivoli theater is a wonderful old theater that houses the Chattanooga Symphony Orchestra.
Today, in honor of my sister, Veronique, the poet, and also to honor the wonderfully thoughtful rain,I am going to post one of my favorite poems. It is by Rainer Maria Rilke. It's rather long, but totally worth the read.

The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.
And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note of my dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at home in our interpreted world.
Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a hillside, which every day we can take into our vision;
there remains for us yesterday's street and the loyalty of a habit so much at ease
when it stayed with us that it moved in and never left.
Oh and night: there is night, when a wind full of infinite space gnaws at our faces.
Whom would it not remain for--that longed-after, mildly disillusioning presence,
which the solitary heart so painfully meets.
Is it any less difficult for lovers?
But they keep on using each other to hide their own fate.
Don't you know yet?
Fling the emptiness out of your arms into the spaces we breathe;
perhaps the birds will feel the expanded air with more passionate flying.
Yes--the springtimes needed you. Often a star was waiting for you to notice it.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked under an open window, a violin yielded itself to your hearing.
All this was mission. But could you accomplish it?
Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as if every event announced a beloved?
(Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you
going and coming and often staying all night.)
But when you feel longing, sing of women in love; for their famous passion is still not immortal.
Sing of women abandoned and desolate (you envy them, almost)
who could love so much more purely than those who were gratified.
Begin again and again the never-attainable praising; remember: the hero lives on;
even his downfall was merely a pretext for achieving his final birth.
But Nature, spent and exhausted, takes lovers back into herself,
as if there were not enough strength to create them a second time.
Have you imagined Gaspara Stampa intensely enough
so that any girl deserted by her beloved might be inspired by that fierce example of soaring,
objectless love and might say to herself, "Perhaps I can be like her?"
Shouldn't this most ancient of sufferings finally grow more fruitful for us?
Isn't it time that we lovingly freed ourselves from the beloved and,
quivering, endured: as the arrow endures the bowstring's tension,
so that gathered in the snap of release it can be more than itself.
For there is no place where we can remain.
Voices. Voices. Listen, my heart, as only saints have listened:
until the gigantic call lifted them off the ground;
yet they kept on, impossibly, kneeling and didn't notice at all: so complete was their listening.
Not that you could endure God's voice--far from it.
But listen to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message that forms itself out of silence.
It is murmuring toward you now from those who died young.
Didn't their fate, whenever you stepped into a church in Naples or Rome,
quietly come to address you?
Or high up, some eulogy entrusted you with a mission,
as, last year, on the plaque in Santa Maria Formosa.
What they want of me is that I gently remove the appearance of injustice about their death--
which at times slightly hinders their souls from proceeding onward.
Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,

to give up customs one barely had time to learn,
not to see roses and other promising Things in terms of a human future;
no longer to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to leave even one's own first name behind,
forgetting it as easily as a child abandons a broken toy.
Strange to no longer desire one's desires.
Strange to see meanings that clung together once, floating away in every direction.
And being dead is hard work and full of retrieval before one can gradually feel a trace of eternity.
Though the living are wrong to believe in the too-sharp distinctions which
they themselves have created.
Angels (they say) don't know whether it is the living they are moving among, or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along in it, through both realms forever,
and their voices are drowned out in its thunderous roar.
In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need us:
they are weaned from earth's sorrows and joys,
as gently as children outgrow the soft breasts of their mothers.
But we, who do need such great mysteries,
we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit's growth--:
could we exist without them?
Is the legend meaningless that tells how, in the lament for Linus,
the daring first notes of song pierced through the barren numbness;
and then in the startled space which a youth as lovely as a god has suddenly left forever,
the Void felt for the first time that harmony which now enraptures and comforts and helps us.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

The Burghers of Calais

This past Friday, I went up for a quick visit to the Frist Museum to see a Rodin show. Truly, it sent me into a whole train of thoughts about my own work. I guess masterpieces will do this. There was an entire room dedicated to the progress of the piece above, "The Burghers of Calais". Though the actual piece was not present, Rodin made dozens of studies of each of the figures. Some of you may not know the story of this historical piece. I found this explanation on Wikipedia, and I think it serves as a good overview:

The story goes that England's Edward III, after a victory in the Battle of Crécy, laid siege to Calais and Philip VI of France ordered the city to hold out at all costs. Philip failed to lift the siege and starvation eventually forced the city to parley for surrender. Edward offered to spare the people of the city if any six of its top leaders would surrender themselves to him, presumably to be executed. Edward demanded that they walk out almost naked and wearing nooses around their necks and be carrying the keys to the city and castle. One of the wealthiest of the town leaders, Eustache de Saint Pierre, volunteered first and five other burghers soon followed suit and they stripped down to their breeches. Saint Pierre led this envoy of emaciated volunteers to the city gates and it is this moment and this poignant mix of defeat, heroic self-sacrifice and the facing of imminent death that Rodin captures in these figures, which are scaled somewhat larger than life.

The monument was proposed by the mayor of Calais for the town's square in 1880. This was an unusual move, because normally only monuments to Victory were constructed, but France had suffered devastating losses in its defeat in the Franco-Prussian War and it longed to recognize the sacrifice that its young men had made. Rodin's design was controversial, as it did not present the burghers in a heroic manner, rather they appeared sullen and worn. The monument was innovative in that it presented the burghers at the same level as the viewers, rather than on a traditional pedestal, although until 1924 the city council of Calais, against Rodin's wishes, displayed the statue on an elevated base.

Some installations have the figures tightly grouped with contiguous bases, while others have the figures separated. Some installations are elevated on pedestals, others are placed at ground level, and at least one is slightly sunken, so that the tops of the bases of the figures are level with the ground.


Amazing. Each of the figures in this group, to me, represents some part of the stages one goes through in accepting difficulty (in this case, death). One of the figures is angry, one is resistant, another seems to have a loss of all hope, and finally there is another that has an air of acceptance and even pride. The fact that Rodin was so adamant about having the figures be level with the viewer really means a lot to how these figures are to be perceived.
There are several people in my life, and in the lives of my friends, who are on the brink of severe hardships. This sculpture rang very loud for me, as I have seen some of those people go through these emotions. Seeing these friends of mine, and seeing this sculpture as a dedication to strength and selflessness gave me some new realizations of why artists are so lucky, and have a huge responsibility. One day I hope to paint something that comes close to preserving what some of the strong people in my life have taught me.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008


In preparation to go to Nashville this Friday afternoon to get a long-awaited museum dose (there is a Rodin show at the Frist Gallery!) , I have been listening to Frederic Grunfeld's "Rodin: A Biography" read on tape. Oh, how wonderful books on tape can be !! I am SUCH a dorky spokesperson for the library. Please, if any of you get a chance... support your local library.

Anyhow, this 20-tape selection talks about the influences on the young sculptor, France at one of its lowest/highest points, and other sculptors who came into contact with Rodin. Sometimes he sounds like a real arrogant #%*hole, but for the most part, a sensitive man in-tune with nature and many of her nuances. The author also goes on to point out what a strong influence the sculptor Carpeaux had on that generation of other artists. I found the image below online, and thought I would share. I love the subtlety of the pose, the slight shift of all the opposing limbs. I think this sort of idea, if I may say, is something that many artists, including myself, forget. What is it that draws us to John Singer Sargent's slight smiles? In Duveneck's dark glances of someone about to turn towards/ away from us?
I think there is a lot to be said for the moment before an action. Have you ever noticed that many pieces of art depicting some grand action soemtimes look quite static?? What is it that trully portrays an action? ? And can it still be designed? I think this is something the great sculptors like Michaelangelo, Rodin, Carpeaux, and Bernini were all well aware of, and chased it as best they could. This is definitely not a critical response to art. As a painter, I am merely throwing out what I find beautiful and interesting for others to think about.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

The importance of the present

Hello, all.
Well, here is a photo of what I have just started in the past few days... I have been trying to paint more nudes for gallery work. This one has some crazy colors in it, which I am thrilled about. I just started it yesterday, but am excited about where it could go.

In other, sadder news, I was reminded today of how important it is to live each day in the present. A very close friend of mine is battling with the ups and downs of cancer. It was such a shock to hear from him. But it also made me think a lot about how many factors in our life we have no control over. Strangely, his news came on a day when the history of our country was taken out of our hands. Dear readers, I want to wish you a thoughtful and full rest of week. We are so lucky. I spend my life painting moments, and I hope to keep that in mind... just how important the moment you are living right now is.
much love to you all today.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Dragons Gone Wild

It's been way too long. Wow, for just a few blogs into this thing, I'm already letting you down. Seems I have commitment issues. Actually, dear reader, it's not that at all. I have simply been having a wonderful time. I have also been out of town every weekend. This past weekend was my birthday, and I was happily escorted down to Atlanta for DragonCon. Yup, that's right... the only weekend of the whole year when Atlanta gets bombarded with geeks, nerds, trekkies, renaissance dorks, costume-aholics and pimple-faced comic book teens. And yes, you have to let them speak. You have to listen and give them props. You have to go to the trekie rave and listen to dark German house music, while Storm Troopers are in the wee dark corners of the room. Yes, you must. And I did. And wow! I had such a great time!!! Perhaps the world of figurative art could use a little sci-fi imagination vitamins every once in a while. The costumes some of these people wore.... well, let's just say it's like Halloween on crack. But well worth the trip, if you ever get to go. And every DragonCon adventure MUST start at Trader Vics'- a tikki-hut style polynesian restaurant lounge that only serves drinks in bowls, and the menu cover is filled with impressively odd cartoon pornography. Go with a group...
ok. Enough about the long boozy weekend doing silly stuff. But seriously, it's good to take yourself lightly every once in a while.
Hopefully my next blog entry will be a little more serious.
But for now, may the force be with you....
and yes, these guys were there. And oh so many more and worse.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

NPR Baby!

Hey everyone!
I hope you all had a lovely weekend!
I'm a bit tired today after a great party last night sponsored by CreateHere... I met lots of interesting people and was very impressed by the music, food, and of course, drinks. Hence my state of mind, today.

On another note, my dad, who is much more technically savvy than I, uploaded my NPR (WUTC) interview that aired yesterday. I am thankful to Elizabeth Miller, the woman interviewing me, and also the editor of the session, for having deleted some of the awkwardness and squeakiness out of my voice. And she did a great job on getting rid of some of my nervous giggles and "um..."s. Thank heavens for editing!!!
Enjoy, and I'm open to puns of all sorts!!!

(when you click on the link, you should see my last name as the file name. Click on that, and it will send you to a screen with three tabs. click on the play tab to listen)

Friday, August 15, 2008

My studio

I am lucky to come in and paint every day for a living. I am also lucky to have such a wonderful space to work in. Today, I thought I would share photos.
But don't be mistaken... when I moved into this space, there were two layers of poop-green carpet, and under those, two layers of tile from the 1930's. Oh, and oil-based glue. But under all of this, was the beautiful, original terrazzo floors that adorn many parts of this building. Scrubbing glue off of "temple" floors never felt so good....

So here it is. I've put away many recent paintings to dry away from my clutziness.. What is on the wall is the work I did in Italy a number of years ago. Oh, and I left out the 32 empty coffee cups on the desk behind me.......
Have a great weekend, all.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Buddhas and Dewing

I found this image online. It is a painting by Thomas Dewing. It is a bit unusual for him, but I thought it was just so lovely, I had to share. One of my favorite things to do in the morning is come in to the studio with a hot cup of coffee, read for about 30 minutes, and look online to find new images by artists I enjoy. Sometimes I get a little carried away, and, three cups of coffee later, I'm jittery at the easel and questioning my skills......
But oh well. I love beautiful images.
And coffee, apparently. I don't think coffee companies realize quite how much money they make off of "starving" artists. We may not eat, but we damn well love caffeine......there are even moments in the winter time when I actually tuck myself into bed with the thought of the next mornings' cup.
Sick, really.
Then I ask myself why the color brown keeps popping up in my paintings.
Sorry for the silly post. A friend once told me the wisest of all the images of the Buddha was the Laughing Buddha. Hopefully you are full of wisdom this morning. Or at least pity on my lack of tact.....

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Day 4

I feel like sometimes my work is all over the place. Women outside on rooftops, dark, sinister portraits, kids with animals......
For some of you who may not know already (I have a tendency to get really excited about this), I received a grant from a wonderful arts organization here in town called CreateHere. My grant is to paint 9 portraits of local residents, and have them be displayed alongside each sitters' story in a year from now. My sister is writing the stories, and I am painting the portraits (THANKFULLY no one will have to endure my writing in a public exhibition....). Each sitter will also have the opportunity to name an organization that they would like to be featured where people can make donations to a cause they care about.
Since part of the point of this project is to have all 9 together at once, I can't really go around showing the portraits painted. However, I do think works in progress are of interest. Here is my second grant sitter, after 4 days of him posing in my studio. All the portraits are 24"x36', so this is just a head crop. I am learning a ton from him.... some of you Chattanoogans probably recognize him.
Ok, that's all I can say!!
Thanks again for reading, and have a great day!

Monday, August 11, 2008

Opening Credits

Hello, everyone!!!!!! I never thought I would even dare to post some of my daily goings-on, but as modern times would have it, here I am, another addition to the ever popular blog world.
"why on earth don't you just leave this stuff to the writers in my family", you ask....
simply put, I can't keep my mouth shut. And don't I know it.
Another more rational, but less important reason, is that my website is being redesigned amidst my losing all information on my last laptop, and so, it will be taking more than a little while to update. So for now, this is my way of reaching you all, dear bloggers, fellow artists, bored coffee-sippers, internet surfers alike. Enjoy.
Oh, and another reason .....I absolutely have to copy everything my little sister does... check out her blog :

So what is my blogge du jour?
I just finished a painting of my good friend Erica on the roof of the building where I work. But don't be mistaken.... it may be signed, but all is work in progress.....