This year the topic was my father’s life in the 1940s and 1950s.
Some favorite months:
As usual, it was quite the production, but the hardest part was pulling the story together from scattered information and secondly, managing so many photos per page. However, the Supervisor was quite pleased.
What does an artist do when she blows 2 tires on her new car and her sister and family, Sunday soup in hand, come riding to the rescue in their clunkety van? She draws a thank you!
Note: Coup Fourre is a reference to a rescue card in the game of Mille Bornes, which the kids insisted would have helped me a lot. I told them that they were my coup fourre.
Their unabashed joy in the whole situation made it not so bad. A month later, their poor van gave up the ghost itself, but it was useful for several family rescues over the years.
Note: It has only been recently that I learned to illustrate. Much thanks to a class I took during my graphic design degree. Thank you, Jacob!
I love this tiny book that belonged to my mother – probably from the 1940s.
Years ago I met an amazing woman who was to become a close friend and confidant. She was a regional director for an international IT consulting firm. Her career accomplishments were impressive (the drop jaw type of thing), so you might be able to imagine my astonishment when I first saw this laptop toting, international project manager extraordinaire, during a weekend visit, whip out her cross stitch needlework and cozy up by the fire. I guess I thought that was a “country” thing. I came to discover it is actually a family thing. Laptops, smartphones and leather briefcases can’t stop that.
Her mother’s vintage needlework…
Her own cross stitch pieces tend to be large and detailed…
And her daughter has also picked up the love.
I enjoy seeing women pass down their joy of needlework from generation to generation. Some of my own nieces are showing an interest, and I find that exciting.
My new obsession. So far, this is mostly for my own enjoyment.
Working away then this appeared between me and the light.
Now this is one big cat. I couldn’t believe he fit.
But then he couldn’t get out because forward was blocked. Yeah, I quit painting in order to help him.
And why is that? Because, from her view this is what she (not an artist) sees when she is with me…
Another friend of mine (who is an artist) says that she embraces this process but keeps it inside. I embrace it too (because I am attempting to keep if from strangling me), it just happens to spill out. I am an out-processor. If you are around, you are bound to hear it.
How about you? Do you internalize or externalize that artist angst? I am all for sharing it.