I have a friend I have never met in person. I do not even know how she pronounces her first name, which is Clottee. I have been pronouncing it “Cloh TAY” in my head. I will ask her next time we chat on Facebook.
Clottee has been posting extraordinary historical tidbits about slavery. The History textbooks in the schools I went to wouldn’t touch this stuff. So, following her posts, I’ve learned a lot about the routine cruelty of certain white folks and the fathom less imposed misery of certain black folks. The movie 12 YEARS A SLAVE, and the recently-revived TV series ROOTS, gave white-bread me a hint, but Clottee’s series yields a holographic panorama.
Her most recent entry profiles a remarkable woman, and reading about her I was compelled to do the above card. It was also a way to express gratitude to Clottee for her hard and diligent work.
there are baubles in the attic
riots in the fields a split in the council
unthriving sounds of caribou
People talk about signs of the Apocalypse. I’m not going to wax too apocalyptic here, but I am compelled to mention that I’ve witnessed more fights breaking out on our light rail in this calendar year than I’d seen in the previous five. Not a good sign.
Here’s my second try at Martin, who during lulls will join me at the podium and share his mordant observations about fashion disasters. Again I got carried away with the oil pastels, and this is a seriously flawed portrait. But because of this one, the next one will be better.
Explanation, if needed, on request.
dealers and wheelers suck merlot
eaters and bleaters can’t say no
beggars and peggers know full well
there will be HELL to pay–then a knell
So Veronica doubles down on her faith in my artistry by giving me a SECOND set of oil pastels, this one made by Grumbacher, a fine and venerated brand. (Grumbacher and Liquitex were the only brands of acrylics I ever bought as an art student.) She says, “If one of your things ever ends up in the Louvre, maybe you’ll give me some credit . . . ?”
I will give her credit in advance. One fine day at least one of my oil pastels will hang in the Louvre, and I will owe it all to her.
But it won’t be this one, though there is some energy here, and a good choice made of dark paper. This one is overdone–I didn’t know when to stop–and still unbearably clumsy.
Such a pup
Makes us so
Avid to go
The oil pastel adventure continues. Today’s lesson was Using a Limited Palette. I also changed my stroke strategy to include ittybittycircle strokes.
A few decades ago it was the vogue to call an in depth profile on a topic of interest a “white paper.” This is an address on environmental concerns, so it’s Green.
Given: A Metabolism needs its ATP
Rituals involve a substance-smoke or wine or tea
Eagle feathers, balls on tethers, Nana’s chicken soup
E-mail, retail, CRUISIN’ in a two-tone bitchen coupe
Now we need to prove we’ve got the stuff to LOOP the looper
This second exercise did not take long, I having learned from the first that simpler is better. I’m also learning that it’s not necessary to grind the pastel into the paper as if it were spackle into a wall. And going from the inside out seems to be better than outside-in.
THANK YOU!!! for your kindly attention.