art


Warning: if you send me a card there’s always a possibility it will end up as a part of a box. If there’s correspondence associated with it I’ll scan it and save it, but there’s often a certain ruthlessness involved with arts and crafts projects.

(I welcome all cards. ;-D)

Day12

 

 

Day13

 

 

Day 14

 

 

Day 10

 

 

Day 11

 

 

 

Day 8

 

 

Day 9

Day 5

 

Day6

 

Day 7

 

 

 

Day 3

Day 4

What I posted to Twitter and Instagram: “Madness. Some years back when I was still caregiving I folded a box a day for a year to give myself something that was just for myself. One of the rules I set myself was that I could only use paper that came readily to hand–nothing that I’d bought: product boxes, Xmas cards, calendars, junk mail. I’ve punked the corner of this box, but product boxes are just slightly too thick for easy folding so I often seem to punk at least one corner. I plan to turn these into a textile mixed media piece. We’ll see how that goes.”

Since posting that, all the way back to yesterday, I’ve discovered that I’m a total liar. Or, at least, that my memory has holes in it. In fact, my mother had already passed away when I last did this project, but I was still working at a job that was busy and half-killing me and still a ways away from retirement. So it just felt like I was still a caregiver. I guess, in a way, I was. I was taking care of myself, putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stay alive and viable until I could make an exit. 

It’s funny how memory plays tricks on you, which is why I generally try to verify my own recall before posting anything publicly. But, you know, the computer which had the information on it was a whole fifteen feet away from where I was sitting last night and I didn’t want to cover such an arduous distance. Hoist on my own faulty petard. Boom boom.

I suspect no one cares, but at least my conscience is clear.

Day 1

Day 2

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Random quote of the day:

“The true artist will write in, as it were, small leaps, on a hundred subjects that surge unawares into his mind. In this way, nothing is forced. Everything has an unwilled, natural charm. One does not provoke: one waits.”

—Jules Renard, Journal, September 1887 (ed. & tr. Louise Bogan and Elizabeth Roget)

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Desus and Mero, Beyoncé, or the Marine Corps Marching Band. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

 

Random quote of the day:

“How many books did Renoir write on how to paint?”

—Cyril Connolly, The Unquiet Grave

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Desus and Mero, Beyoncé, or the Marine Corps Marching Band. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

 

Random quote of the day:

“If you’re an artist, you’re guilty of a crime: not that you’re aware, which is bad enough, but that you see things other people don’t admit are there.”

—James Baldwin, LIFE magazine, May 24, 1963

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Desus and Mero, Beyoncé, or the Marine Corps Marching Band. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

 

Random quote of the day:

“Talent is a question of quantity. Talent does not write one page: it writes three hundred. No novel exists which an ordinary intelligence could not conceive; there is no sentence, no matter how lovely, that a beginner could not construct. What remains is to pick up the pen, to rule the paper, patiently to fill it up.”

—Jules Renard, Journal, 1887 (ed. & tr. Louise Bogan and Elizabeth Roget)

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this random quote of the day do not necessarily reflect the views of the poster, her immediate family, Desus and Mero, Beyoncé, or the Marine Corps Marching Band. They do, however, sometimes reflect the views of the Cottingley Fairies.

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