Peace of the Seasons

When I thought about what I wanted the style and composition for this year's Christmas card to be, I was still whetted to the idea of creating it in traditional watercolors. I wanted however, to try my hand this time at a more cartoon like, light hearted expression while simultaneously seriously capturing the essence of the season. And of course, I definitely wanted it to be Another Original. So I pondered a lot about what the spirit of the season means to me. Here's the story...

Christmas Kitty has returned for this year’s Holiday Season card and this time she is joined by Christmas Mouse. Unwittingly, they work together to figure out a way to get the star to the top of the Christmas tree. And so I call this little painting "Peace of the Seasons." Each element of this scene has a special personalized meaning for me… from the snoozing cat that always found its way under the tree or that would bat around the ornaments on the tree to the snowflakes falling outside of the window.

If you think about it, I am sure that you will find many of your holiday memories in this tiny painting as well.

"Everything you can imagine is real." -Pablo Picasso

What Dads Do

The other day I went on what started as a nice, simple, relaxing walk. However, I soon began to discover a variety of dainty wildflowers in the woods. I thought that I could control myself and only pick a few. The air was warm and I felt as content as a cat sleeping in its favorite spot in the sun. Nature was helping me de-stress and my mind began to wander to good memories. I remembered the funny things that we did as kids and wondered what it would feel like to do a few of those things again. We climbed trees, picked blackberries, and caught grasshoppers. My Siamese cat Siam also caught them with us. But he always ate his. Yum.

Much of my child summer was spent in the mountains where our boat was docked. This was way back in the day before cable TV. Rarely, was our little TV ever able to pick up a channel. At nite, if we were lucky, we could get a radio station. So, I took walks and picked wildflowers. Sound familiar?

Presently, as my thoughts continue to wander, the miniature bouquet in my hand has somehow started to grow and I know that my Dad would like this little floral arrangement. I start to smile as I remember the things that we did together. Like the 2 of us launching our 22 foot Signa. How do Dads know how to do these things? He changed the flat tires on my bike (that seemed to happen weekly), kept me stocked in art supplies, and got out the crow bar to lift the grate when my baton inevitably rolled down the sewer. Now that's a dad for ya. I never gave it a second thought when I yelled "Daaaaaad!" There didn't seem to be anything that he didn't know how to do or wouldn't do for me. Happy Father's Dav. One Love and Peace from your Quirky Artiste!

I Came to Fly

"I came to fly." That's a line out of song by Rhianna I think. It is a cool sentiment.

I recently read an article that said that those who logged in at least 10,000 hours of piano practice by the age of 20 years were judged to be amongst the most skilled musicians. Whew! That is a lot of serious practicing. Like 2 to 3 hours a day by my calculations. Those who had a mere 8,000 hours of practice were viewed to be of moderate proficiency and those who managed to get in only 5,000 hours were amongst the least skilled.

Now I have to admit that I was probably drawing chalk pictures on the sidewalk or pushing my cat around in my baby doll stroller during my piano lesson era. My goal (well really it was my piano teacher's goal) was to practice at least 1/2 hour a day. Even if I hit that mark (and I am pretty sure that I didn't) I'm looking at a mere 1,872 hours of practice.

The research article did strike a chord in me however (LOL). I continue to hammer (Tee Hee) away some 30 years later on a few of the same compositions... still desperately trying to improve upon my playing. I think that with only a few more thousand hours of practice and finger exercises... who knows...I hope that perhaps practice might just someday make perfect.

I remember reading the following quote somewhere, a long time ago that went something like this..."I could've read every book in the library but the seats in there were too hard." There are a lot of factors beyond our control but everyday we all have decisions to make on how to use each precious second of our days. The challenge is to figure out what we can do with them and to persevere when the chairs are too hard.

Sand Stand

 Name of my ocean front boutique or new I-phone accessory? Periodically, I think about how nice it might be to live all year long along the Outer Banks. Specifically, North Carolina. And more specifically Ocracoke Island.

I can still feel the salty sea air and the balmy breeze during the ferry rides to and fro from this remote island. The coveted spot on the vessel for me was always to perch on the helm to catch the wind and ocean spray as the ship lurched and crashed through the waves. And you know, it always reminds me of that very famous scene from the Titanic when Kate and Leo are perched on the figurehead, gazing into the ocean.

But back to the Ocracoke Ferry where seagulls could always be found waiting dockside because their eagle eye would spot that huge bag of cheese popcorn, tucked securely under someone’s arm. Such fun to toss up handfuls and watch the acrobatic results. I loved the sound of their squawking appreciative delights. Such chatterboxes.


And then there is the ample supply of sand for building endless rows of sandcastles. I wonder what one could do these days with their cell phone at the beach, and then it came to me. I bet your I-phone would set snuggly into one of the (castle towers) for extra strong reception. LOL.

I often think about packing up my paints and opening up a little boutique down there. I could walk for miles during the day along deserted beaches and gathering seashells. And then long into the evening, sit on the beach, fashioning them into ankle bracelets as the moonlight reflected off of the pounding surf. Ahhhhh.

And of course, I would be willing to share the island with the wild ponies, hiding in the swaying sea oats. I hope that they would not mind if maybe I even tried to sketch a few of them. Though, not so good at drawing horses. But practice makes perfect. Then, every summer without fail, it seems around the time that we get to the hurricanes that start with the letter “I”, I re-evaluate my re-location plans and unpack my portfolio.

Another season has passed but the warm pleasant memories of seaside frolicking shall not. One love and peace from the Quirky Artiste.

"Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle."
--Steve Jobs, Stanford commencement speech, June 2005

That Time of the Year



While his eyes saw the sky, his soul saw Heaven. - K. Smith

I have never really been a fan of football. However, there is something about this time of the year for me that conjures up vivid recollections of the start of a new school year and of high school football games. I am sorry to see the end of summer but I do enjoy the traditions that go along with the changes of the seasons and in the weather. Well, at least it means a change in the wardrobe.

I guess my memories all start from when as youngster, I would accompany my father to the Friday night events. I would diligently plan ahead to insure that I had an ample supply of confetti.  Mostly it was just torn up pieces of newspaper that I would shred during the week with my friends. If I was really lucky I could get my hands on the fancy kind from the keypunch machines. I never really watched the game much. But I could be found jumping up, shouting, wildly waving my arms around, throwing up handfuls of confetti, and cheering while I was secretly waiting for the halftime show. I knew some of the music the marching band played because it was the same stuff every week and I loved watching the majorettes. Oh, I never ever was one myself-despite spending hours whirling and twirling about and being the proud owner of several batons during my carefree childhood dancing days.

My own high school days are decades behind me now but the warm days and cool nights remind me of high school football games as if they were yesterday. The beginning of a school year brought the anticipation of new and exciting adventures. I guess that's what it was. Not really sure. I remember decorating the floats for Homecoming, painting signs for the games, and selling boosters to pay for those saddle shoes and bobby socks.  Now, I listen to the high school band practicing in the evening from the rocker on my front porch, blanket on my lap.  Through the evening haze I can see the glare off in the distance of the powerful stadium lights and I feel myself drift away. My head starts to dip. I  can hardly keep my eyes open and I wonder how I was ever able to stay up so late.  Gotta go. It's way past my bedtime now.



Few things leave me as speechless as does the elegant lipstick red canna.

The greeting is now faded by my garden rock under the favorite Japanese Maple still says "Welcome to Tamara's Garden."

The Nicotina Plant. Though a wildflower, I read once that they grow at Giverny. That of course, has made it an heirloom flower as treasured as a jewel for me. And the deer do not like them. Miracle of miracles.



Monet and Paper Doll Inspirations

Admittedly, I enjoy the airy soothing colors that Monet employed in his palette. His  paintings always seem to make me feel better.  But I am not certain that I would call him my favorite artist. Most think that he is my favorite and rather than running through my long list of favorites) along with the explanations for my choices, I politely smile and agree that Claude is my mentor. The essence of each of these distinctive artist becomes their Art. I admire Frieda Kahlo for her fighting spirit and love of animals; Van Gogh for his brooding soul; Degas for his fascination with ballerinas; Pissaro for his use of color and movement; Rubens for his intricate 3 dimensional detail work; Cassat for her study of children and for being from Pittsburgh; Chagall for his philosophizing; Grandma Moses for being a late bloomer; Edvard Munch for the audio portion of his talent (i.e. the scream I can hear); Salvadore Dali for his wild imagination, and the list goes on and on.

It's not surprising however, that Monet's  style seems to have influenced my own, whether consciously or not. Ok, so when I try to paint the beautiful gardens of Giverny or the relaxing ponds of floating water lilies, maybe not so unconsciously.  They say to paint what you love but I also paint what I feel works and flows easily for me. That of course, tends to be flowers and water and landscapes. Truth be told, I'd rather be doing fashion figure designs. Do you remember paper dolls, a.k.a. "cut-outs?" Do you think they even make them anymore for children? I tried to google them to see if they did. LOL  I remember spending hours with my crayons and colored pencils, pretending I was a fashion designer and creating clothes for their wardrobe. Hmmm.  Now I wonder where I last left those crayons and pencils?

Christmas Photo Circa 1966

Actually, the year is exactly 1966. I remember because Siam, my first Siamese cat is still a kitten in the photo. And that’s me, the sleepyhead in the photo, dressed in velour Christmas PJ’s, very early on Christmas Morn. I never was much of a morning person before my first cup of coffee. LOL. I was more concerned about making sure that Siam did not wiggle away for me and had his holiday picture taken. I have a mighty strong grip on him.

A bee-you-tee-ful Snowman…Larger than life in my front yard? Nada. Just a miniature cordless one blinking away on my window sill! Technology. Circa 2010!

Holiday Kisses to You!

Miss Summer? No, Miss Oktoberfest!

I have stopped my weeping by now. Summer is gone and without even a chance anymore for an Indian Summer to surprise us. But have faith and I am sure that summer shall return next year. Pretty sure.

I am so totally a summer person but there are a few delightful things that I also enjoy about this time of the year. Here they are. In random order.

Pumpkins. Miniature ones and those record breaking humongous ones! Not sure what it is about them. Maybe their color. Maybe because they look so great on the front porch bannister or maybe because they are so fun to carve. I love the smell of their burning candles and the glow that they emit through their toothless grins on Halloween night.

Fresh apple cider from the local farm, tapped, and drunk straight from the barrel.

Memories of pillow cases, stuffed full of candy collected from a good night's work.

Losing myself in the fall colors on a windy neighborhood road, making me feel as if I am miles away and lost deep in the countryside.

Candy apples - in which I can't indulge anymore.

Black cats. Well, actually any cat.

Greeting Trick or Treaters and still dressing up when I answer the door.

I hope you are creating your own special Fall memories.

This is the last plein air drawing that I did this year. First time I did anything in oil pastels. I think I like to work with them. It is a view of the gardens and garage doors from, of course, my favorite museum bench.

A Midsummer's Quirky Night Dream

I often wind up painting in less than optimal lighting or spaces. But that's OK because these inconveniences are only temporary while my third floor loft and art studio are under construction. Oh, wait, did I mention that I HAVE NO third floor loft and that my art studio remains a figment of my over active imagination.

Frequently, I paint into the evenings with artificial lighting. It creates a glare and never seems to be bright enough. Or if space is limited, I may be found precariously balancing a small canvas on my lap. Who needs an easel when you have two perfectly good knees? But geesh, I can't wait until the art studio renovations are done. Oh, darn, keep forgetting. But one can still dream....

Nonetheless, in the mornings, one of the first things that I do is to check out the previous evening's work. After it is dried and in natural lighting, it sometimes feels like it was done by someone else. This ritual is usually the highlight of my day and is equally as stimulating for me as my morning cup of Joe.

My other quirky dream is to spend a summer painting sun visors or baseball caps on the Boardwalk. Doesn't matter which boardwalk. I promise to stay under the umbrella, out of the UV rays, and to use the proper sunscreen level. Ahhh, the thoughts of painting under blue sky, in the warm salt air, and on ocean front property. The QuirkyArtiste has all of the details worked out for her Summer Dream.

These are pics from my yonder years. Some of you may hopefully recognize them as Hummel figurines that were painted on a cork bulletin board. Certainly not an original design but this must have been the beginning of the CorkyArtiste!

"Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things I love." - Marc Chagall

"Ladybug, Ladybug Fly Away"

What does a spider do on the Internet? She spins a website! I never really thought of myself much as a bug person. But then I started to notice some frequent fliers (get it?) in my artwork. They are natural accoutrements of course with these flowers. I figured that spinning a post about this recurring theme in my paintings might be fun. So, step into my web... and I shall weave you a tale.

As a young child, I rescued ladybugs. I talked to butterflies as they flitted upon my fingertip and relocated caterpillars from the pavement into the grass so that they would well, you know, not get squashed.

I no longer keep lightening bugs as pets (I blame that one on those silly boys who lived next door) but I am still fascinated as I watch those busy little bees look for whatever it is they can't seem to find. The spectacular colors, intricate designs, and multiple textures of this cast of nature's characters beg to be interpreted in watercolors, acrylics, or oils. No surprise here then! I just couldn't resist painting these ladybugs. I think they must be enjoying some sunshine and R&R on Daisy Island.

“Have a heart that never hardens, a temper that never tires, a touch that never hurts.”
― Charles Dickens

KIDS

I was taught that "kids" are baby goats and that the correct word is children. Sometimes, the expression just fits however. Monet was influenced by Whistler and Manet. Van Gogh was influenced by Cezanne and Degas. Moi, I was influenced by Kimmy, Jeree, Sean, Mary, Pat, Amy, and Susie.

Back before the time of Blackberries, the web and video games, we always had a project going in some one's basement or backyard.

We saved eggshells, dyed them, and then made mosaic pictures out of them. We held neighborhood talent shows and beauty pageants. We listened to ghost stories on the radio and taped Nixon's resignation from the TV onto a tape recorder. We did acrobats and had contests to see who could stand on their head the longest. Yep, may explain a few things. We blew eggs, filled them with cement, then peeled and painted them with colorful designs. We made our own cut outs and designed their clothes. I always thought that they were much better than the store bought ones and I was making barbie doll fashions before I could even sew. Hey, hasn't everyone stapled or taped up a hem or two at work!

And then there was the Scrapbook. During the summer that I was going into the 8th grade my parents and I were moving and I was devastated. Didn't matter that we were moving only a couple of miles away. It seemed like the end of my world to me. Then my friends stopped talking when I would walk into the room and they seemed to be "doing things" now without my involvement. I was reduced to tears. Later I learned that indeed one of their mother's commented that my friends were driving me nuts.

So, you must understand that I was totally surprised at the very unexpected "going away party" and very relieved to find that my friends had not abandoned me. The Scrapbook was the best gift of all and I have treasured it all of these years. And you have to understand that I really don't save that many things. The scrapbook is made of cardboard, fabric, and indeed lots of thoughtfulness and love.

There are some pages of pics and memories that I can't post but I think you can get the idea of how dear it is to me.

Formative Art Years

When I was a lot younger, and I do mean a lot, I used to escape into my own little world by drawing fashion figures. I also drew a lot of houseplans and yachts for fun. I think back now on how very odd of a combination of sorts for a young child.

A favorite drawing place for me was on the livingroom coffee table. Even then, my strokes were way too heavy and bold. Very much to my mother's chagrin, the wooden coffee table was imprinted with my designs. I eventually outgrew that phase and moved on to an interest in tole painting and colorful fantasy characters.

I also remember extorting art supplies from my father. He was my dealer. And he never figured out how to say no. A very good memory for me.

Somewhere along the line, I started just painting on things. For me, everything became a canvas. Some stuff is still around after all these years, most likely for posterity's sake. The raccoon above is probably from when I was about 13. He is painted on a wastebasket, still tucked away in a spare bedroom.

In college, I painted the Clown Mural for fun on cinder block in the hallway entrance of my Dormitory. Yes, and now I was the odd college student who apparently had way too much spare time. However, it landed me my first substantial paid art job. I was asked to do another mural by the university and I was compensated a whopping $20.00 (no taxes deducted) for my efforts. Hey, that was a lot of money way back then!!!

The Ginger Ale Bottle

Are you old enough to remember when carbonated soda came in refundable quart glass bottles? I think I was about in sixth grade when we had to bring one of those bottles to school for an art project. That memory from years ago is still sharply etched in my very left brain mind. After covering the bottle with plaster of Paris (no nickle refund for me) it was ready to be painted with an analogous color scheme. I remember that I was so totally engrossed with my decorating, and still recall that my selected colors were red, orange and yellow. You can imagine my surprise when I finally looked up and then around to the ginger ale bottles that were being painted by the others around me. I think it was at that moment that I realized my art was a little different. My colors and designs were wild and my bottle was totally immersed in them. I wasn't necessarily thinking it was good or anything. I just knew that my bottle was looking very different. Actually, I don't think that I yet had the vocabulary capability to articulate what I was experiencing. You can expose children to art and you can even teach a lot about it in school but you can't force it. I recall that a lot of my classmates did not enjoy Art Class at all and I could never really understand that.

I didn't choose art as a career for a myriad of reasons. Primarily, I didn't think I was "that good" and had heard all about the starving artist. Secondly, I'm pretty sure that "Artist" wasn't considered by my parents to be a real profession. However, I never wanted art to be work for me. I can only go along with the art critic stuff so far and I know what I like and enjoy on a very experiential level. I am grateful that I can continue to plot my art projects for fun and share my quirky cards with friends without stressing too much about whether my work has enough appeal to be considered a real success.

The painting of the flowers above (are they African Daisies or Sunflowers? don't really know) was a fairly quick and fun splash for a greeting card . Funny how I realize that my penchant for those colors endured after all those decades.