Tis the Season

I know Thanksgiving and Christmas are right around the corner, but I'm speaking of the art festival season. Here in Florida it runs from October through April, sometimes a May show. It's a crazy thing!
It starts with the search for the perfect show, which usually means a subscription to Sunshine Artists magazine. Or the online digital entry process through one of several websites like Zapplication. Ah, the perfect show, it must be there... a wonderful location (sunny but not too hot)that attracts thousands of well-heeled (poem to follow), saavy, somewhat impulsive, wealthy, original art adoring, patrons. And could the organizers of the show please provide coffee and pastries in the mornings.
It can be a scary thing! Let me just lay myself out there for all to see, and comment on. Most artists, me for instance, are highly emotional beings...we long to share a glimpse into who we are and what we are passionate about. You could have a great sales day and still be stuck remembering that one, not so well-heeled guy with the cigar that shook his head and frowned when he walked by.
Working the artshow circuit is expensive too, you will need the following items:
a tent, (with sides and weights, and ropes), display racks, picture hangers, bungee cords, a hammer,(I never use it but...) extra tarps, a rug is nice, several chairs, an umbrella, a small table, a print bin, a coffee mug, pencils and a guest book, sales books and credit card machines, masking tape, duct tape. Not to mention paying for the 10x10 space that all your gear will sit on for the week-end. The list goes on and on.
Following is a poem I wrote during the throes of a show, it will explain the reference to "well-heeled shoppers.

Judge art shoppers

by their shoes

Flip-flops; not good

Worn out sneakers; no sale

German driving shoes,

Short stylish sandals with heels,

That's what I am looking for!

Peeking out from under my umbrella

I always feel the urge to smile when I

look someone in the eye,

It's 3:30 and my jaw is sore.

By the way, I will be in booth 106 this week-end at ARTWORKS in Melbourne, Fl. Please...wear your good shoes.

Road trip beginning the art

NEW ARTWORK

I have started the artwork inspired by my "roadtrip" this summer. A pilgrimage to the roots of my father's childhood, in the mountains of West Virgina and Kentucky. I was fortunate to share the trip with my father and my 19 year old son. I have been madly sketching the memories and impressions of the trip. The images develop quickly as I read the notes I scribbled along the way. Places that seem a million miles away from where I sit now.

I hope to share the process of this special project. Please feel free to share your comments.

"Cruel Punishment" sketch

"Seventh" sketch and start

More pictures to follow...

Renee

Something Exciting happened today...

I got a present this morning, a suprise gift. I walk in my neighborhood regularly for exercise but live near the beach and haven't been taking advantage of the opportunity to enjoy the ocean air and gorgeous view right down the street. It has been my goal to walk the beach on Saturday mornings, for the last month or so. I almost didn't go this morning, it was getting late and I had things to do, but my husband Jay agreed to join me for a quick walk.
The weather has been rough for several weeks here in Indialantic, high winds and waves. We weren't sure we would have much beach to walk but found the tide just coming in. I discovered a few sea beans, early on and that always entices me to scour the sand for treasures. We are making our way through all kinds of flotsam, natural and manmade when a shape caught my eye. A little turtle shape way up near the dune. Lots of sea turtle nest had been disturbed, but this was a not an eggshell, it was a turtle. I picked it up and immediately thought it was dead, but it's tiny eye was open and the light caught a faint reflection. We rushed to turtle to the surf to wash away the dried and caked sand and Jay thought the turtle moved. The surf was too rough to consider returning the turtle to sea.
We rushed down the beach, back to our truck and drove down 3 or 4 miles to the Sea Turtle Preservation Society. I cupped the turtle in my hands protecting him from the sun. He never moved, but I could see his tiny eye, and it felt like he was alive. I carried the turtle inside and met a volunteer and explained our find. She peeked into my hands and picked up the turtle and he started to immediately move his flippers and his head.
The little loggerhead was not a hatchling, but had washed back to shore due to the offshore winds. He would have died, too exhausted to protect himself from the sun or seabirds.
What a great present this morning, a wonderful suprise.

Road Trip!

I went on a road trip this summer. Probably not the type you would expect, not what the mind may conjure up at the mention of the phrase. But, it was great, really great, a pilgrimage. My traveling companions were my 86 year old father and my 19 year old son. Our mission was all about my dad and his desire to "go home" to the mountains where he was raised, where all his childhood memories took place, memories that were stirring in him. I have always adored and respected my father. He is a man of fine character, he is compassionate and generous and humble. He remembers all the names and details of his childhood and young adulthood, which makes for some wonderful tales. This was a trip down memory lane, well...country roads.

My dad was born in 1921, in Borderland Camp in Kentucky. Borderland was a coal mining camp where families lived and worked. They bought their groceries at the company store and usually didn't have anything left over. My dad comes from a family of 12. Seven of his siblings,the remainder of his family are spread throughout the south. Several of them still live in Kentucky, not too far from home.

One of the objectives of this trip was to locate the land where my father's paternal grandparents had lived. It was the farm where he spent summers , where he would travel to throughout his childhood to pick apples from the orchard and carry sacks of them home on the running boards of his dad's truck.

His instruction to me, the driver, was to take it slow as we drove through Louisa KY and over the bridge into Fort Gay, WV where his dad was born. We were looking for "a road going almost straight up the side of the mountain". That's it? The extent of my directive? Just when I am thinking were are going to be disappointed, my dad says, "stop here and let me run into this little store and ask someone". Okay, my dad is 86, so this farm was around some 80-100 years ago...I am thinking that no one is going to remember this place, but here he comes with a smile on his face, "we just passed it, it's around that bend". We found the land where the farm and my fathers fond memories were. We drove "straight up the side of the mountain" up a winding one-lane road, past neat little homes and mobile homes and a few shacks that my father remembered. We got to the top and a lot had changed. My father was not so sure...it looked so different. So here we are at a fork in the lane, my dad steps out of and says he is going to go knock on a door and see if he can talk to someone. This is a little alarming to me, we are up a holler, don't know anyone and he wants to knock on doors. Some of these people live here because they don't want people knocking on their door. I looked around and said, "go to that door daddy, it has flowers and a welcome sign". So that was the direction he headed. A man appeared on the driveway and made his way down to my father. I was waiting with my son when my dad motioned for me to join him. I get chills as I am writing this...we were in the right place, this man knew my father's family and many of the people from my father's memories. My grandfather had sold his father the land decades earlier. We had gone to the right door. My father got his wish to reminisce, to remember. On top of that mountain we found the little family cemetery where my great grandparents were buried. Some of the men who still live up there stopped their work to "visit" with my dad, talk about the old days...about where certain people in their lives had ended up, who had died, who was still around.

For anyone who may think this was coincidince, well... I don't believe in coincidince. This was a gift for someone special, a God thing...and this was only one of many on this road trip. A trip that we three will always cherish.
I have so many fond memories of this trip, I am hoping to share them through some new art that is still in my head. I don't know if it could capture the impact this trip has had on me, but here's hoping.
Renee

how to start, where to begin

All this is talk of blogging, should I? Do I need to ? Do I have time? I do love to talk.

I am not bragging, but I lead a blessed life...I see it that way. It is never boring and there is usually something to laugh about every day. I love life and the strangest things can get me so excited. I am fascinated with the all of creation, the plants and animals and even a few people. I guess what I desire to express as an artist is the uniqueness of my subjects, and my perspective of that.
My support system is a wonderful family and some very special friends;I live with all males there's my husband, my two sons and my dog Spike, (my weiner dog). This can be tough on a girl, with all this testosterone floating around. Luckily, Spike can talk and that often is a source of distraction. I don't know if other families speak through their dog, but Spike has a voice in all we do. My oldest son does the best Spike, then me, then my husband; who makes him sound somewhat Mexican. Thinking back, I don't believe I have ever heard my youngest son speak Spike. Spike is clever...he can say what no one else can. He can ask you what your problem is, call you out, and declare just how much he loves you. He can say things that I might not, like "Diddy,(his word for daddy) is a mean mean man"or "you smell funny". This can be a handy tool. I don't think he knows he talks, or exactly how important he is to all of us. My husband says he has a pea brain. I think he knows the phrase "pea brain" because of my frown upon hearing that phrase. You will hear a lot about Spike.

My art studio is called ARTESCAPE, for I find that escape is part of my art process. I have always been a dreamer... imaginative. I say I am painting my passions, and I hope that is always true. I have had many adventures in my life and they all have played a part in shaping who I am and how I see my world. I have coached little league, helped run a autobody shop, been to Hawaii twice, sang in a country band for 3 years, built furniture, sewed my own clothes, caught a 5ft shark on the beach, lost 100 lbs., led tiger cubs (boy scouts), coached Odyssey of the Mind, raised two teenagers, cooked dinner for 40 friends, been married 24 years, been to Paris for the food and art, sold a cow painting to buy a live cow. I said it was never boring.