Ballerina on a Bad Trip (SOLD)

Ballerina on a Bad Trip

I can relate to this chic a bit, not because I'm on some bad acid trip (ha!), but because I am fighting a cold and going down for the count.  I've been surrounded by it at work the last 2 weeks and by my husband at home.  It seems no matter how many vitamins I've been taking, I'm in a losing battle.  I just laid down for 2 hours, but my head is so packed, I can't breath, and my skin is sore, sore, sore to the touch...my sweater against me is torturous.  Ugh.  I worked on this yesterday and some this a.m. when I didn't have the energy to do anything else, and thought I was at my worst.  Wishful thinking.  At least I have the next episode of "True Detective" to look forward to--how deprived I will feel when that brilliant show ends in a few weeks.  Thank you, dear world, for the capability to DVR...not sure I'll be awake to see it.

Death of a Friendship - Part 1

Death of a Friendship - Part 1

Annie Lenox - "Why"

What's the Point?

Death always felt close whenever she asked herself, "What's the point?" 

Swirling in her brain, the question constantly refrained,

but no answer the world did give her.

Instead, she continued, for now, to do what she could not cease doing,

until the time when the click of the clock

slowed, slower still, slowness, stopped.

Rudy Wanted His Presents

Something possessed him when his birthday approached.  Instead of his 32-year-old self, Rudy suddenly became a six-year-old, demanding his rewards for gracing this world with his presence.  Well, indeed!  Why shouldn't he get presents for his presence?  And why shouldn't he make his demands in every language?  Por ejemplo, he loved Spanish, and they were a giving people.  His battle cry of "Give me my presents!" became more lyrical to his ears--and he hoped to others--when he changed it to ¡Dame mis regalos!  

At the very least, someone could fix him some huevos con chorizo for breakfast.

Claude Felt Confident in His Funky Party Clothes

Claude felt confident in his funky party clothes until...he felt mocked by the overhead Chinese lanterns.

Praying for a Colorful Life

Carol was praying for a colorful life.  She yearned to be set free from her monochromatic world. Her sheets were white, her walls were white, the bars on her windows were white...and black--and she wasn't even in prison.  Well, perhaps the prison within her own mind.  Even her chin seemed to reach around the corner, jutting its way into some room speckled with chartreuse and aquamarine.  Sadly, she had only one glimpse of color in her universe and it was when she went to bed at night, for her dreams swirled in magenta orange. Inks dripping, spinning, dotting every movement--a tango of exotic brightness.

But each morning she awoke and stared at black and white, black and white (alright, it was a dichromatic world).  Sigh.  Her shoulders hunched, her hands dragging on the floor, she was shocked from her doldrums by a splinter, lodging its way into her fleshy fingertip.  With an "Ow!" and a jolt to her system, she blinked hard at the intruder in her body.  And as she blinked, a piece of the rainbow washed into her world.  She blinked again and another color joined her surroundings.  And so it happened, with more blinks more splatterings of jeweled pigments tinted her life.  The prick of splinter activated a synesthesia within her, one sensation triggering another, until she rocketed out, through, upwards into this poetic place she had yearned for.

She was now Carlotta, vivaciously vibrant in both dreams and life.  Prayers are answered!

Stalemate

Stalemate

 Acrylic, Ink, Beads, Wood

The highlight paint I used in this has a shimmer to it, but the camera just didn't pick it up.  I painted this over another painting and gave it new life.

She Sensed That He Was Hiding Something

He told her that he had laid all his cards on the table, 

but she sensed that he was hiding something 

and was about to deal her another hand.

RIP Philip Seymour Hoffman SOLD

I was watching some preliminary Super Bowl shows and was getting a little bored by some chic singing in leather so I did a little channel surfing and ended up on the E Channel which was doing a "Sex in the City" marathon.  My excitement fell off immediately as I saw a banner running at the bottom of the screen.  "...found dead in his NYC apartment."  And I didn't know who it was.  I kept reading, but there was no name yet, and eventually the message ran in a loop, and I saw it..."Philip Seymour Hoffman."  I couldn't believe it...and then I felt immediate devastation.  He was one of my very favorite, favorite actors.  I remember seeing him in "Scent of A Woman" and being impressed.  However, I think the movie where I became thunderstruck by his talent was, "The Talented Mr. Ripley." I thought, wow, this guy is incredible.  Nuanced beyond belief.  And that did it.  I followed him from that moment on, and he never disappointed.  He became my modern day, Al Pacino.  Not in looks, of course, but in his ability to swing from any movie role and off onto a Broadway stage as well, just as Al does.  He could sink deeply into a sinister role, but just as brilliantly be funny, arrogant, and tender in something like, "Along Came Polly."

I said to my husband, I just can't believe it!  This guy was so phenomenal...he had the admiration of his peers, an academy award, so many nominations.  But I know that means nothing if you are haunted by inner demons.  And he was so good that one has to think that there had to be so much pressure on him to be continually phenomenal with every role.  That expectation had to take a toll.

I remember last year when there were news reports that he had went into rehab...that he had snorted heroin 3 or 4 times, and he realized he had better go into rehab before it got worse.  I had been surprised by that news, but was so glad he gotten help.  At that time, I don't remember there having been reports of his former struggle (up until his early 20's) with addiction.

I have been reading articles on him all night, and their reader comments.  Articles quote this one and that one with our modern day form of condolence--the Twitter tweet of sorrow.  No article that I've seen, however, has quoted Jim Carrey's tweet, which I think is probably the most accurate one of them all:

"Dear Philip, a beautiful beautiful soul. 

For the most sensitive among us the noise can be too much. 

Bless your heart."

I'm so sad tonight and still really, in a state of absolute shock.  And I'm so sorry for the loss of you, Philip...unbelievably talented, shooting star of depth and heart-rending emotion.

Article link below from the New York Times:

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/02/03/movies/philip-seymour-hoffman-actor-dies-at-46.html?hpw&rref=arts

and another great one from "The New Yorker":

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/movies/2014/02/philip-seymour-hoffmans-genius.html

Looking Up

I really like this one--think it looks simple and sweet.  

Looking out the car window

Happy February!  Snowing, snowing, and snowing.  Just sitting on the couch, drawing a couple of faces, watching the snow globe world through the window and grateful to be inside.