One more room

My mother, who grew up in a house that was a little bigger than the one she raised me in, regularly dreamed of finding another room in our home. I actually dreamed about finding an extra room, too, sometimes.

Weirdly, though, I don't think I've ever dreamed about finding another room in my current house. In fact, even in middle age, I'm more likely to dream about the house at Home Farm, and very rarely dream about my own home where I've loved for thirty two years. Once I dreamed that I opened my childhood closet and there was a whole extra passageway and room off to one side of that.

I would very much like to have a dedicated studio space, even a very small one, instead of my current system (in which I balance a canvas on my knees and the edge of my computer desk if I'm painting from a photo reference.) Not going to happen any time soon, though.

Paint

I got some long-overdue time to paint yesterday. That brown and dark red underpainted panel will have a painting where grey, white, and pale green predominate. I decided against posting process photos this time, but I will post them when I'm all finished. Just posting this to keep myself accountable - I hope!

In 1925, Kearny Generating Station began generating electrical power. Today, the massive complex sits abandoned . . .

Small painting, two years old but still a personal favorite. Late fall or early winter campfire, western PA.

Trust the Process

Me, to myself, picking up a fresh painting panel: I'm going to carefully, meticulously do an underpainting here. Palette knife, then large brush, then maybe blending with a dry brush.

Me, five minutes later: Smearing paint with my fingers, swaying to loud music, heehee hoohoo

That is not, I admit, an even tone. However. I'm going to trust the process. Including the part of my brain that does stuff without telling me why.

Let's see if I can time travel and paint ghosts.

K gave me tubes of gold and silver oil paint for Christmas. I opened the gold one, only to find that it was slightly under pressure? And about an inch of paint shot out. Fortunately, I had a brown-tinted canvas already in my other hand, so I was able to smoosh the excess paint onto that. It is very pretty in 3d, much less so when spread out into a thin layer. I will have to use it in thick, impasto brushstrokes to get the metallic effect. Very interesting. It is also way, way thicker than ordinary oils. Perhaps that is to help with creating thick, 3d brushstrokes or using a palette knife.

Gamblin artist's oil color 'rich gold' and 'silver'

Christmas

The wrap for our Christmas day was getting takeout food* and going down to Home Farm. A lengthy, quarter-mile commute! Gone are the days of spending three hours in the car on Christmas day. Son's roommate had returned from visiting his family. We all sat around the table down there and had a nice meal; the first time we all ate together down there since Grandpa was alive. Tabby, Grandpa's cranky old queen cat, begged for pets and attention.

The boys' tree is lovely, decked as it is with a selection of my/my mother's ornaments and, of course, shrimp. One of my father's better decorating attempts was putting a large mirror across part of the living room wall, in a nook beside a chimney. The tree is right on front of that, which looks amazing. Twice the sparkles!

It was a lovely end to a lovely day. Who knows what next year will bring. In this moment, though, we are at peace. Nutmeg bossing Hanz and Juniper around in the red barn, pigeons roosting in a shed, Hero and Leo standing quietly their pasture waiting for their dinner. Five dogs and five cats between the two houses, which I will admit is a bit much.

My hopes for next year: College success for the kids. A better way to sell art for me; online, gallery shows, something. Better health for me (not likely, but I can wish). A good year for the garden and the various tree plantings. A return to full mobility and farm-dog hijinks for Rosalie. And a good working relationship for Hero and Leo.

'* In the earlier years of our marriage, we went to see my in-laws at midday on Christmas, and spent the evening with them. When Husband's older sisters started having their own grandchildren, that tradition died a natural death, and we were on our own for Christmas day. I, a person who cooks A Lot, put my foot down on the topic of cooking a dinner on Christmas day.

Shrimply Christmas

There are TWO origami books here; I got them when the kids were young. Unfortunately, neither of them had instructions for a shrimp. I spontaneously needed to fold an origami paper shrimp late yesterday evening. (the whims must be obeyed)

I was able to find a slightly blurry set of instructions online that matched with what I remembered (why - really - do I remember folding an origami shrimp about 40 years ago? Why is that a memory that stuck?).

What my inscrutable soul really wants is to sew a couple of shrimp plushies for Son's Christmas tree. Shh, don't worry about it. However, the plushie designs I've seen don't have that neat, folded/curved outline that I remembered from the origami. Would it be possible to, basically, do the origami from fabric, then stitch the folds in place?

I do have a paper version folded. I think I can see how it would work in fabric. I could really use some googly eyes, but if I have any at all they'd be in the craft cabinet behind the Christmas tree. Hmm.

Do I have glitter? Do I have pipecleaners/chemille sticks? tbc

The key

One time my aunt was visiting and we were trying to figure out a time when we could hit a little museum in town that's only open 1-4 on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. We went Friday, right at 1:00. The docent who was supposed to open up didn't show. We waited patiently on the porch. Then impatiently. Eventually it occurred to me that a) I am a volunteer docent at this museum and b) I have a key. I could just open the door and go in there. It was really embarrassing to come to that realization.

This year, for their 'Art for Giving' Christmas show, someone entered a photo of my daughter (she did a little modeling when she was younger.) Sometimes this week we're going to go in there, just us two, and see it. Because I have the key ; D

This is a prediction of what is to come once Rosalie is off leash restriction. An ink brush that is almost out of ink makes perfect scrungly fur. Thereby answering the question; what if a dog were made out of beat-up old gray pipe cleaners?