in the quiet

 I unearthed this poem I had written in my college library while I was supposed to be writing an art history research paper. I get a snow day tomorrow so that means I will have time to complete the ink painting and work on some other projects, yay! For now it's just...


Quiet here.
I break from my pen to destroy the monotony
With something beautiful.


I study beauty
All around, it springs from me
Cries, moaning from 
Crumbling graves
Echoes in marble facade
Give way to concrete
Dusty
Chipped, broken
Not yet forgotten
Until completely gone.


Who crept within still walls
Filled them with
Whispers
Laughter
Prayers?


Who will remember my place when
I am no longer here?


My chair, my very spot will be marked
Crisp pages
Flashed across screens


I study beauty


When I cease to be
Will anyone know me in the quiet?

ink painting part one

1. tape yupo paper to board (I used a clear acrylic panel I salvaged from a metal picture frame)

2. seal edges with matte medium or masking fluid 

3. start inking! 

4. a little more...

5. the spray bottle helps move the ink

6. time for some more color

7. used the spray bottle a ton 

8. a little more ink (four colors now) 

9. more water

10. let the colors run, tilted the board to manipulate the ink

11. I let a lot of the ink run off the edge of the paper

12. added some more color

13. I used less water and barely moved the board to work the ink

14. this is the first layer so it needs to dry before I can start on the second. It is definitely a lengthy process to work on these paintings but the effects can be so intricate and interesting. Stay tuned for part two to see the finished piece...

yupolicious

I have so enjoyed working with paint in a more liquefied state...it does so many incredible things...but while I was working part time at an art store I had the opportunity to fall in love with another medium, ink.

Those who I worked with at ( hmmm, let's call the place "Terry's" for anonymity )will agree that often times we had no products to sell, no customers to sell non-products to and thus ended up with a lot of time on our hands. Luckily we are all artists and had lots of broken and otherwise used items to play with and learn new techniques.

I had worked with ink a little bit in school but had never really mastered how to handle it... It turns out I just needed to have a lot more freedom and some new surfaces to really make something work. I tried out Yupo paper which is this pretty awesome impermeable synthetic paper that is super durable. It's perfect for me because I really like to water stuff down and the paper stays flat while everything drys. Because the ink sits on top of the paper it also has some interesting effects, particularly when I worked at different layering processes. After a few misses I came up with some beautiful stuff:

Right now I'm working with some cooler colors and trying out new and different effects. Tomorrow I'll post a step by step process of creating one of these ink and Yupo paintings. No happy little trees here!

so sexy so sassy

in a moment of inspiration I put my shirt on cooper when I got home from work today...he is totally rockin' the stripes don't you think?

i want to be famous

If you know me well this may seem like an unlikely statement or a fabrication. This is the truth however...I do want to be famous. Not in the fifteen minute kind of fame, fall in "love" on tv kind of fame and definitely not the people hide in your tree behind your eight foot fence and stalk you kind of fame. Trust me, I want to be able to eat a bowl of shredded coconut, chocolate chips and whipped cream (what?) in my pajamas, watching dramatic lifetime movies and crying/cringing WITHOUT an audience, thank you very much.

No, I want the fame that comes with the general population knowing of me..and me knowing that I helped them in some way. With my words preferably and if dreams do come true...with my art as well.

I once worked for a lifecoach who gave some stellar advice and that was "find your purpose" I realized at that time I had not actualized what my purpose was for being here. Even as a silly little girl I always wondered why I was here and what exactly I was supposed to be doing, who I was supposed to be. I usually did not come to any type of conclusion and just wandered on my way, playing pretend and escaping into my own overly active imagination. When this idea of "purpose" started flitting around inside my head I was definitely intrigued. What was my purpose and what is it now? Did it change? Did I lose it? Is it hiding under my couch with the cupcake dog toy that always inevitably ends up there? Do we really just get ripped around on this thing called life and then simply end up in the ground?

After a lot of heart to me and me to heart conversations I definitely knew my purpose was to create. Okay, that's a great start but create what? And why?

I have a lot to say. The words don't always find their way out of my head and then sometimes they tumble all over themselves trying to make their way out first. I can't even count the number of times I walk away from a conversation, an intense "monologue" or in some cases my own personal soliloquy shaking my head and wanting to kick myself if I could. Sometimes the words just spill out, uncontrollably and start to create this mammoth tower of self righteousness over the people I care about. I'm not afraid to speak my truth but I am learning to understand not everyone wants to hear it, not to mention it often clashes with other personal truths.

But.

Yes, there is a but. Because there is this...care, this care that I have for the people in my life. I know we all care about the people that we love and the wonderful people in the world even care about the people that they don't love. I care enough to say something when it is so obvious the people I love are hurting themselves. I care enough to shout something if I think it will help them. And I care enough about myself to walk away when my throat hurts, my heart is swollen and my eyes can't stand the pain anymore.

See, I have a lot to say and maybe I don't always say it the right way...but I don't want to stop speaking. So this is where I channel it...in the written word where I can pause, delete, remember and re-do. I was talking to Mike one day and we were re-hashing a problem that keeps persisting. My brother and I can both be very reactionary and he is realizing that is not always the greatest thing. He was a great big brother to me and gave me the advice to stop and think before just blindly reacting with this negative spew of angry venom that further destroys rather than heals or helps...

...I just love the musical Rent. Thank you so much Jeff for introducing it to me years ago. "The opposite of war isn't peace...it's creation." Creation is my key, my entrance to this scary world and the words in my head that I feel are choking me at times. Creation is my isolation and it's my truth that I share with the world. It's my scary thoughts that keep me awake at night and my relief when those thoughts dissipate with pen, paper, paint and ink.

Creation is my purpose. I will create and the truth will always reveal itself.

my head is so heavy

I have seriously had the headache that just won't quit. It has knocked me down for the past two days but I think I am ready to stand upright. Maybe it's full of art?

This is Cooper otherwise known as Bean, the second love of my life. Cooper was a "discount" dog, half lab and border collie, a spontaneous decision for us... and he has been the sweetest addition to our little family. He is moody, grumpy and full of love all at the same time so he's a lot like me, of course.  

"i'll be the sun when your heart's filled with rain"

but still the days seem the same...

Several years ago I painted a landscape as a gift for my parents who were still married at the time. It included green rolling hills and a wooden fence with their initials engraved into the wood. Later, after they divorced I guess my dad decided he didn't want it so it ended up with my mom. It really bothered me to see this painting now after it had been hanging up in their bedroom years before so I took it and decided to touch it up a little, remove the initials and make it something fresh.

Originally I was just going to take their initials off the fence and touch up the sky a little bit (my painting skills have improved since I painted it and I thought I could do a much better sky) Once I started working on it I realized how appropriate it would be to change it a lot..to make it a different season to reflect the changing times. I thought, can you just go and change a painting? And then I thought, uh, yes it's my painting and I will do whatever I please.

Here is how the painting originally looked:

This is the detail of the initials on the fence:

This is how the seasons changed:

A new season is born:

I decided to go with the initials of a couple that will make it through the changing times, the rough and the cold, the bitter and sweet, the times where you feel like you can't communicate but you do it anyway even though it's hard and it hurts your heart a little or a lot...a couple that will make it through the everything and the in-between...

free dryer for sale

So funny story...Jeff was out looking for my blog and mistakenly typed in alliday instead of allisonday.whatever.whoknows.com Apparently on August 13, 2007 my weird ass wrote in my (other random and forgotten about) blog one entry and never touched it again. Here is that gem of an entry:


First things first... highlight of the weekend. We found a free dryer driving around on Saturday. Jeff's mom, Judi needs a dryer because hers is broken... So we were driving past this church that all of these children were dancing around in front of waving signs that said "Free" in sharpie. From a distance we see what could be a washer or a dryer and as we get closer I yell out "It's a dryer! It's a dryer!" like someone just told me I won the damn lottery. Sure enough it was a dryer, albeit dirty and covered with grass; Jeff pulled the car abruptly into the church parking lot. Now, I don't know what denomination this church is but everyone was rather kind and wearing long skirts. It felt like a weird movie honestly. Like the kind where the sexy young teenagers pull into some off the beaten path restaurant/gas station/rickety home/church and within twenty minutes limbs are being ripped off and a guy without a face is eating someones liver.
Needless to say this dryer looked a little shady but who can beat a neon orange sticker labeled $20 and marked down to the fantastic price of free! We inquired of the dryer, asking typical questions one might ask of a beaten down free dryer being given away by long skirted church going people. We learned it was used to dry some sort of churchy rag kind of garment thing. (can't think of the official title) Judi asked if it dried hot (??) and after we were confident a little 409 and a lot of love would do the trick we agreed to take it. When we wondered how we would get the dryer home many long skirted and weary looking churchies started murmuring of a Brother Mike (Later we pondered if it was Brother Steve and I came up with the trusty name of Brother Bob before remembering it was Brother Mike)
Eventually Brother Mike emerged in an obtrusive vehicle that was simply rust and faith. Jeff later revealed there was no true interior to the truck but it worked efficiently to haul away a free dryer and at the last minute an ancient exercise machine dating back to the early 1500's.
In all seriousness the Brothers and Sisters were kind and loving people that were probably glad to get that damn dryer to someone in need. Why were they giving it away you ask?

They had a brand new set ready to go in the church basement to dry all those long skirts.

i love him

it's all part of the process

love this painting I did for my brother a couple of years ago. It's one of the few pieces I did where I took pictures during some of the process to give an idea of the different stages of these abstract works. I didn't quite capture all of the different places this painting went while I was working on it but it gives you a good idea of my process. 

1. a lot blue

2. let the blue dry and started to add some texture and color

3. really wet stage otherwise known as don't mess with it

4. almost done

This turned out just the way I hoped it would...exuberant yet moments of calm within this stormy ocean like burst. Tranquil colors that explode and mix in a vibrant contrast...this piece was absolutely perfect for Mike and I'm really happy he enjoys it as much as I loved the process of its creation.

Jalaine will remember us, seventeen, not innocent but aware, not tough but strong, getting lost on California highways while we listened to Morcheeba...

Flocking to the sea
Crowds of people wait for me
Sea gulls scavenge
Steal ice cream
Worries vanish
Within my dream

I left my soul there,
Down by the sea
I lost control here
Living free

I left my soul there,
Down by the sea
I lost control here
Living free

Fishing boats sail past the shore
No singing may-day any more
The sun is shining
The Water's clear
Just you and I walk along the pier

A cool breeze flows but mind the wasp

Some get stung it's worth the cost
I'd love to stay
The city calls me home
More hassles fuss and lies on the phone

I left my soul there,
Down by the sea
I lost control here
Living free

I left my soul there,
Down by the sea
I lost control with you,
And living, living,
And I, living, by the sea

eileen and evan

Eileen is a beautiful friend I met in high school and who am I lucky enough to still connect with today. She has the sweetest soul and she found another sweet soul to marry, Evan. A little while ago Eileen asked me if I would create one of my abstract portraits but with a fun twist...she wanted one for her and one for her hubby.

I had such an incredible time creating these two pieces and wanted to share them here. 


Eileen



Evan

 Thank you Eileen for being such a beautiful inspiration to me. I am really honored to have my work hanging in your loving home!

my wings are strong

I first read The Awakening by Kate Chopin when I was in high school. I then read it again in college and fell in love because it really spoke to me as I think it would to most women. It's a tragedy and a triumph, an exploration of a woman and her struggles to recognize herself inside her roles as mother and wife. 


http://www.amazon.com/Awakening-Kate-Chopin/dp/0380002450


A lot of quotes from the book stay with me as I drift and trudge, run and leap and crawl through my own life, learning to grow as a woman, a wife and someday hopefully a mother and of course always as an artist. 


Chopin writes, "The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies"  Yep, totally agree with that. She also said "The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth." 


Birds serve as a fantastic metaphor...which brings me to the reason for my post today. I think most artists want to express themselves in some way that allows us to bring all of the creative energy that's swirling around inside our brains and hearts outwards (I mean, duh, that's why we CREATE) Those are feelings splattered all over the canvas and my emotions wrapped up in the (fictional?) words of a character that grew out of my own experience. So...that's why I finally got a tattoo. My best friend of fifteen years (wow, we're getting up there!) Sarah Jalaine can attest that I have wanted one for a while and had different ideas of what would be good for me. I finally came to the decision of what I wanted but I'll admit, I was a little scared to actually get it done. Permanent, unchanging, possibly painful...but something that felt really important to me to outwardly express my own private struggles.

Jenn, her hubby Jacob and Jeff (triple J) and I were up in beautiful Fort Collins a few months ago and I decided it was time to get this done...it felt right and felt spontaneous and with Jenn by my side I knew she would give me the confidence to actually do it and know it was a good creative decision.

It's kind of a funny story because the first place we went to is where I suppose I always thought I would end up getting tattooed for the first time. I know Jenn and I and our guys probably just look like yuppy morons to these artists but appearances can be deceiving right? I mean, you don't have to look like some artist portrayed in the movies to actually be one. I doubt these tatted up, pierced to the extreme people suspected they were talking to an abstract artist and a sculptor who do more than shop at the Gap and watch The Hills. Sure, we do those things but we also have deep soul searching philosophical discussions, like to volunteer, don't judge everyone on their appearances, have alternative looks on life and constantly wonder about abstract situations and concepts so there! 

So anyway, we get to the shop and we're trying to explain to the artist who is available what I want. He was being, and sorry to be blunt, a total ass. Not sure if it was because of the aforementioned assumed yuppy moron status or what... He was acting like this request was something extremely complex and that I was unsure of what I wanted because I hadn't made an appointment and didn't have any type of drawing. Well, I always thought good tattoo artists were incredibly talented artists to begin with, as in have excellent drawing skills...this did not seem like an overly complicated request in my own opinion as an artist or a basic human being. I got bad vibes from the dude and decided I didn't want his energy connected with something I was going to have permanently on my body so we decided to go to another place which was the best decision... 

Now I have a simple bird cage on my back... door open...with the bird flying away over my shoulder. Wow, this totally represents my thoughts and feelings on the shape my life has taken. I can safely tell you I hid in a "cage" for a long time. My creative spirit and energy still sits in there, afraid in certain moments. Sometimes my self esteem is there too. This serves as a fabulous reminder that my bird is free and always will be. I just have to allow it the room to really fly and never hide away again.

Big thanks to Jon Sanders for making the process painless (kind of) and fun (tons) Check out his work on his facebook page. facebook.com/TattoosByJon What an incredible artist!

(and it is true...I totally want another one)



my other love

I love to paint. I looooveeee art. I LOVE writing. Really, I love it more than I love painting. It has taken me quite some time to understand this and come to terms with it because "art" has been a definition for me for as long as I've been alive. In kindergarten the teacher gave us a sheet of paper and asked us to draw what we wanted to be when we grew up. I drew the quintessential artist at the easel with a beret and a brush. 

I would love to "be" an artist more so than I already am, to show in galleries and get my work out of the shadows and into the eyes of anyone who would appreciate it. 

I vowed to be honest here so this is the part where I will talk about my frustration and my fear, my utter disgust with myself at times. Clearly there is a lot of art in the world. There is a lot of shit art and a lot of so-so art and even more incredible, wish I had half the talent, make me want to cry art. I take it all in and it can be very dissatisfying. Why bother? My good friend and former college co-pilot, Jenn, shared this pretty incredible blog with me by a beautiful artist which really got me thinking. It inspired and for once made me say hey, I can do this stuff too! I'm an artist, I have talent, what am I doing? Really, what am I NOT doing?

As for writing...wow, I think it's harder to be a writer. I haven't even tried to make it as a writer because it's so scary. I love it so much, the creation of people and situations all under my control, moving and speaking and lying still at my discretion. I have stories inside of me that beg to be told and I'm afraid to whisper them because someone else probably already told them, but better.

Like the novel...my novel I call it. It exists. It is unfinished. 

I mentioned this vaguely but I always wanted to write (and clearly have published) a novel when I was a teenager. Obviously that didn't happen so as I grew up I thought, okay in college I will have a novel published! Um, well okay, how about in my twenties? Yep, in my twenties I will definitely have a novel published and that will make it even better because I will be in my twenties. 

I'm twenty-eight and I turn twenty-nine next month. Time is giggling at my naivety. Um...thirties?

 

accidents happen

So my first thought this morning was what the hell did I write last night at 1am? Second thought was can't wait to see what my paintings look like now that they are dry. Both things turned out okay and I realized I don't want to censor myself anyway so whatever!

the thing about my artwork is this: sometimes the stuff looks so incredible while it's in the liquid, paint still super wet, colors melding together to create perfect harmony stage. I totally get that smug feeling of "hey, I created that and it is the shit" and walk away feeling superior, wondering why I'm not already famous.

then the harsh reality of morning comes around and when I see the finished product the feeling becomes "no one can ever know about this." Ick, it's brown sludge or weird ghostly patterns of paint that look like an accident and not a happy one. This is definitely where the stages of creating an abstract painting rears its smug head and I realize my painting will not be complete in one day. I really am okay with the process, it's part of the joy of creating and the challenge of knowing when to stop painting something that only is supposed to look like the non-objective images that are in my head, coupled with the really happy accidents that come with this type of work.

the following piece is one that started out as a creepy take on a still life. I wasn't happy with it and kept painting over it again and again with still no happy result. I thought the shapes were so interesting so I didn't want to just scrap it.

Finally something happened and that funky painting became what I want it to be:

It definitely puts my in the right mood to create, make - and hope for - magic.

that being said, it's a beautiful moment when the painting turns out so right the first time and I don't have to tweak it or console it or buy it a new dress to make it feel pretty. This last piece (a few years old) is one that did just that on the first try:

It hangs up in my bedroom as a reminder of everything that I love.

this is what I want to be

I dedicated some time today to finishing up some paintings for a series that has been in bits and pieces all over my basement and in the process I felt this moment of serenity (for about five minutes actually) where I felt so in tune with myself, like wow, this is what I want to be doing...and then I stressed out. Purple paint on my hands and all over the bottom of my feet, I try not to step on the carpet, try not to drip paint from my brush when I go upstairs to clean up in the kitchen sink. Jeff gets a little upset when he sees paint spots on the carpet.

art is a habit. painting is a chore. writing is...cathartic? These are the thoughts that run through my head while I'm painting these fantastical butterflies unmoving in an odd landscape of blue.

Will I ever be in a gallery? Will I ever be brave? Will I ever finish what I started in thought?

Randomly I thought about a blog I created to share blurbs of my book that has sat inside the shelf in my brain for so long. I want to write it in my teens...my twenties? It's getting too late and it's still in bits and pieces in the basement of my soul. So...went out onto the internet to check out my...blog? (can you call it a blog if you never blogged anything?) Luckily no one ever looked at it waiting in suspense for these bits and pieces to emerge.

So here it goes...it's a new year and it's already beautiful. Last year was good and great and awful too. I slowly lost 23 pounds and felt like I fit inside myself again. I painted a lot and finished nothing. I wrote and re-wrote and didn't write but I sure did carry my journal with me everywhere.

Now it's 1am and I am writing. I want to be a writer so I will write. I want to be a painter so I will paint. I want to be a good wife so I will give up the typing, go to bed and sleep in for once. But I'll see you again with the bits (and of course the pieces) that I am ready to give.