Thinking about the Rolling Stones' song, "Dead Flowers."
I mean, I drew this, and about 7/8's of the way through, as I added the sparse flowers, I thought, "Dead Flowers."
This is one of those times that the drawing came first and at the last moment merged with an idea. I started this out last night by smearing coffee all over the page. I don't know what anyone thinks about it, but it's one of my very favorites. I like the sparseness of line drawings.
Is the woman old? Is she young, but her facade is breaking? Is she dying? Is she a heroine addict? Maybe she's on the flip side--breaking though her shell and coming through. There's some sort of breakage going on--I feel that.
Hmm, I seem to make a lot of images relating to coffee, probably because I love it so. I have given it up on occasion, but that heady aroma! It's so enticing. I try to resist, but then I'm slowly drawn back into caffeine addiction and it's world of oily, dark brown beans once again.
Really, it's just another art form, no? The different types of beans, how soil and rain affect it, the temperature and pressure used to extract the black liquid from the grounds, the beauty of the latte design. There's so much pleasure in it, why would ,I or the other billion people who drink it, want to deprive ourselves? We don't. (-; Nor would this ambidextrous coffee drinker.
Oh, I love this one! I've had that strange cut out sitting around for two years. Yes, that's right, because I remember what I was working on when I peered at it and decided it looked like a percolator coffee pot with steam escaping...just in a slightly wrong spot, but details, details, who cares about that? Finally, I ran across it again, and laid it on my desk. I stared at it for about another week, until I finally knew how I wanted to use it. It's a long story--much longer than it took for Mr. Coffee man to drink that tiny petit café!
Here's my Basset Hound, Molly, having an inspirational read à la Charles Bukowski along with a Ed Brownlee cup of coffee...so apropos for the subject at hand.
Today I accidentally knocked over the cutest ceramic coffee cup I had gotten around Christmas at Starbucks, and it broke--broke!--when it hit my desk. I couldn't believe that slight impact shattered it. Ugh. So sad. On the other hand, the coffee that soaked into my calendar looked like a head to me. I proceeded to draw over it and extend it, and ended up with this little ditty. Then I proceeded to sing "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy, Yankee Doodle Do or Die. A real live nephew of my Uncle Sam, born on the Fourth of July." Yes, that's right. Over and over and over again. Oh well, the drawing was worth it. You just never know where a coffee spill will lead!
(P.S., I continue with my crappy uploads since I still can't download from my camera...please bare with me. Can't get the computer in for repair yet.
James Cagney "Yankee Doodle Dandy"
(Yet another one I remember my Grandma Peacock having me watch as a teeny tyke.
Deaglan was feeling a little low on this St. Patrick's Day, missing his homeland a little more keenly than usual. He felt his face fold into furrows as he scowled against the cold wind. Winter was giving a last little gasp, and this Irishman wasn't too happy about it. He was just about to resign himself to feeling cranky all day when someone on the street turned his frown upside down with the offering of a free Shamrock coffee.
"My luck is changing, Deaglan thought. He felt his wrinkles soften as he accepted this serendipitous gift, and reminded himself of a saying from his homeland, "If you're lucky enough to be Irish, you're lucky enough." He was. Hope you get lucky, too. (-;
This painting is for Monday, January 5th. I have another painting project I'm working on tomorrow so I'm putting this one out a day early. Besides that, I really am obligated to do so, because as the Flavorwire website declared, today marks the anniversary of his death.
In addition, today also brings the U.S. arrival of the new season of Downton Abbey, and I can feel everyone's anticipation, most of all, my über-Anglophile mother's! She had already admonished me, "Don't call after 8 p.m., in fact, don't call at all; I'll be watching the reruns leading up to the new show." Well, in case you are unfamiliar, T.S. was American-born, but moved to England when he was 25 and became a naturalized British citizen at 39, so I figure this continental transfer of talent should be honored as well.
Look at that Flavorwire article if you have the chance. It's called, "20 T.S. Eliot Quotes for Better Living and Creative Inspiration," by Alison Nastasi. Here are a few of my favorites:
“The very existence of libraries affords the best evidence that we may yet have hope for the future of man.”
“Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.”
(I think you can exchange the word "art" or "literature" for "Poetry" as well. That's the true value and beauty of the arts--you know, the stuff that society and undergrads say is pointless and unnecessary in succeeding in life...SOB!)
Below is my younger (circa mid-life) version, of the great poet.
9 1/2" x 12"
Cardboard, acrylic, ink, charcoal, oil pastel
Hmm. This portrait is staring at me now. I feel like he is peering into me, making me realize his import of literary contribution.
Back towards the beginning of this blog on 1/9/13, I did a little painting in honor of T.S. Eliot's famous poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." Here's the painting below, referencing the line, "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." Click here, if you want to read that post--I must have been feeling very philosophical that day. (-; Come to think of it, this post is fairly long, too. T.S. Eliot must cause me to wax poetic (-;.
One final thing, I was also listening to the smooth grooves of India Arie. I love her singing so much. Check out this YouTube link to get lost in her voice: India Arie.
I woke up this morning at 6:10 a.m., an unheard of event...well, not unheard of. Wait, let me begin again. I woke up this morning at 6:10 a.m. feeling refreshed and well-rested. Yes, that's more like it.
Yesterday, Saturday, I slept 13 hours! I woke up briefly at 8 a.m. and still felt exhausted, and I crawled back into bed and slept until 2:15 p.m.! I hadn't felt well at the end of the work week and my hound way lying next to me like an insulator (my husband long ago had went to work), both leading me into a brief coma.
As you can imagine, the day unfolded quite languorously. Around 5 p.m., I found myself watching Cadillac Records, about the great blues label run by Leonard Chess in Chicago that helped launch Muddy Waters, Little Walter, Howlin' Wolf, Chuck Berry, Willie Dixon and Etta James. No one represented Buddy in the film, but he's a Chicago Bluesman through and through and was heavily influenced by all these greats. Anyway, watching it reminded me of Buddy, which led me to rewatch a favorite part of Martin Scorsese's 2005 rockumentary of the Rolling Stones (playing at the Beacon Theatre in New York City), Shine A Light. The next step of course, was that I needed to paint Buddy Guy as he appeared in that film, during the playing of Muddy Water's hit, "Champagne and Reefer."
Feeeeeeeeeeeeeel the power of his voice and guitar playing. Oh, so wonderful to behold visceral virtuosity, no? I've seen Buddy twice in person. The first time was at Alpine Valley, playing with Eric Clapton, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimmy Vaughan, and Robert Cray, the night before SRV's fatal crash. Ugh, I can barely type it even 14 years later. The second time was 2007 in Bridgeview, IL at Eric Clapton's "Crossroads" Guitar Festival. (I was thinking I saw him once more playing at Kingston Mines in Chicago, but perhaps I'm hallucinating.) Anyway, he is always, always phenomenal.
"Champagne and Reefer" from Shine A Light featuring Buddy Guy:
Here's a little blast from the past. One of the drawings I did for my 2010 Brooklyn Art Library Sketchbook project, "Coffee and Cigarettes," was Keith Richards spitting out his cigarette during that same song.
Mortimer stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of his morning commute. Had he unplugged his coffee pot? The automatic shutoff feature had stopped working long ago, and he was constantly reminding himself to dislodge its socket from the wall. Whenever he was sure that he hadn't performed this simple morning ritual, he would run back into the house and find that, why, yes indeed, he in fact had.
But what if this were the day he hadn't? He was already descending the train platform on his way to work. He dreaded the thought of his neoclassic apartment being filled with the smell of burnt, fair-trade roast, but there was nothing he could do. He would have to leave his fate to luck or luck to fate, as it were.
"Perhaps I'll parlay my perturbations by stopping by Pottery Barn for a perfumed taper."
Mortimer smiled briefly at his alliteration skills and then began his worry anew.
About a month ago, I was making pasta for the man. My pots were in the dishwasher so instead I used a deep Calphalon braising pan to boil the water. As I was carrying the water-filled pan from the sink to the stove, I was simultaneously talking to my mom on my cell phone. And just as you see a glass falling or yourself tripping in slow motion, my cell phone slipped from where it was perched underneath my chin pressed to my shoulder. You see, I was using both my hands to carry that heavy pan! I watched as it slid, slid, slid slowly down my arm into its watery death. I could still feel the ghost of it's weight under my chin, yet my eyes saw--there it was, looking like an underwater turtle with a snorkeling tube of an antenna.
I did manage to shake myself out of disbelief, grab it, and resuscitate it. However, it was never the same. It had already been moving into the land of feebleness. I knew I had to make the switch to a smartphone. I had even recently been at an art show in February and another artist said to me aghast, "Are you still using a FLIP phone? I saw you pull out an ANTENNA. I can't believe it!" I mean, I felt like I was holding a Thomas Edison relic in my paws.
Listen, I was the same way with my bag phone. I know about 2% of the population remember those, but until it was stolen out of my car, it was suiting me just fine.
O.K., so after a month of my phone flashing "car kit connected, car kit disconnected" and constantly dying on me, my husband and I FINALLY made the leap to the 21st century. It seems there are quite a few dazzling things I can do with this new phone...if only I knew how to do them. Oh little flip phone, how I miss your ease, your simplicity, your inability to make me frustrated when I just want to dial a stored phone number!
Here's a re-enactment of the ultimately deadly event, followed by an appearance by Mr. Flip on my counter as I was finishing up work on my 2011 Brooklyn Sketchbook Project, "Coffee and Cigarettes." (P.S. Cigs are props only--you'll find me puffing on an inhaler!)
Don't you love having time to sit in a coffee shop on the weekend? After remaining there for a couple of hours, the smoky bean aroma permeates into your hair, your coat, your skin. It's a good smell. Hours later, I'm hanging with the man.
