D Selby Designs

I Once Killed a Man, But Judge, He Needed Killin’

Newest Mom-ism: she got up the other night and asked my help to find another gown, because the one she was wearing brought back too many bad memories. She was wearing it when she killed somebody.

Greg now locks our bedroom door at night.

Portrait of Carey coming along, but even acrylics need curing time. Working on a rough linen piece I started long ago as a lark, and now I’m kind of liking it, so the choice of canvas was a poor one. Extra texture. And then some. Eleven by thirteen inches of a cow I met in the late seventies in Fleming County, KY.

I warned you. Have slides, will paint.

Some Days You Get The Bear

And some days, you just cover your head and hope the bear goes away.

This is my mother, in my studio yesterday evening (I raised the levels so you can see her; it was quite gloomy) when I went in to tell her dinner was ready. I had to take a picture, for I had no words. She couldn’t explain it, either.

I’ve started a portrait in acrylics of Carey (below, in yesterday’s post for some reason; don’t question WordPress programmers) from one morning when she stumbled into the studio, stared at the morning light, growled, and went back to bed. I got one shot of her, maybe two, before she realized that the camera was present.

She would have preferred a blanket over her head, too.

Taking Stock . . . Photos

Being art majors and owners of 35 mm cameras, Greg and I took LOTS of photos in our first decade together. We’ve moved them along with the rest of our household 9 times. Once across the ocean. But have we looked at them? Rarely. I just figured out how to scan slides, and used my 40% off coupon at Hobby Lobby for a light table. Yep. I had Greg haul the big Global Silverhawk moving box full of slides into my studio. Probably won’t live long enough to look at them all.

I have come to a couple of conclusions: we weren’t nearly as talented in photography as we thought we were. Or, I wasn’t. And the circular file is okay for most of them–though Greg is very nervous that I’m throwing away anything–as has been the case for 40 years. And lastly, I was cuter than I thought I was.

I wish I could have gone back in time and been my own mentor, because about 99.5% of the stuff I worried about was truly no big deal. Yes, kids ARE a big deal, and that’s what I worried about the most (whether or not to have them), and they have turned out to be fine, dandy, and a good life choice. Career was another, and looking back I’m not sure I would change anything. Except maybe the shoulder pads. And my lack of discipline in preparing for retirement.

John Lennon was right: life is what happens while you are making other plans. I am much: much older, much fatter, and much grateful for both the hills and the valleys.

The photo here is the result of eating 800 calories a day for months in preparation for a Panama City Spring Break from teaching.  And I STILL wore a size 14! Pass the pasta.

Joyous Celebration, followed by Carbs Lethargy

The sun is setting on the houses behind us in a wash of golden orange, as a colorful ending to this Christmas Day. It is so fortunate that the mega-builder who put in the development over the hill used a most neutral taupe in the siding, so that whatever the sun is doing in the evening, a mirrored image reflects into my studio from the west-facing sides of the homes. And when it’s snowing, they disappear in the neutral light. Could be so much worse, since it’s only for about 4 months a year. Greenery fills in the rest of the time. I love my studio, even when I’m just gold bricking.

It was a lovely, lovely day for the Selbys. At the moment, my mother is sitting in the corner of my studio that I equipped for her with a comfy chair, a reading lamp, and a table for her cashews and cups of tea. There is a new bird-watching station outside the window, since our dear Mocha has passed on, and Mom finds the cardinals endlessly entertaining. Zach is asleep in ‘my’ chair in the den (he remains the deepest sleeper I’ve yet to meet) and Greg is doing manly stuff in the garage. I offered to take the gift boxes (remains of the morning) up to the attic, knowing that Greg would quickly refuse. I’ve slipped off those rafters twice, and the resulting holes in our little rambler’s ceiling remain un-plastered. The one in the garage (pre-Carey’s wedding: looking for ribbon) is just like it was immediately after my leg came crashing through. The one leading into Greg’s office (trying to find some of the Christmas ornaments last year when Greg was in a wheelchair) is covered with a piece of 400 lb. white Arches watercolor paper and clear push pins. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not that noticeable, and now you’ll look for it.

I hope that you had a wonderful Christmas Sunday, and that friends and family are healthy. We got home from the Christmas Eve service last night five minutes before the timer went off, alerting us to the ‘done-ness’ of the roast. Several tasty side dishes and a from-scratch German Chocolate Cake put us in the ozone and we all napped and waked at different stages of  the Christmas Story marathon. I felt quite justified in having everyone fend for themselves where breakfast was concerned this morning.  Carey and Griff have moved on to two other family dinners, and will head back to Atlanta tomorrow. Zach said earlier that he may go with them, since he has a two-week holiday from UK work. That means I’ll have no excuse to put off getting butt-in-gear. SO: watch this space!

It WILL Rain. . .

When I ran wild on Bob-o-Link Drive as a wild child with my Gang of Five, we found a dead bird in a yard. Saddened, we dug a grave and someone sneaked out a shoe box and a box of New Blue Cheer laundry detergent so that I could draw a couple of flowers on the grave. Even at that very young age, I knew that rain would soon melt the flowers into the ground, but it was a temporary lift for my friends.

Speaking of, and to, friends: the rain always comes. Lift up your hand and your Heavenly Father will lead. I know for a fact that God lives at the end of my rope. Merry Christmas.

Is it Chocolate or Oil Paint on My Wrist?

Couldn’t tell, so I licked it. Chocolate. Breakfast of Champions.

Greg is in Ohio taking his dad to the doctor, so I got lots of painting done yesterday. I’d post the results but our camera is in the car, and it’s too cold to venture out. I’m working on a series I’m calling “Small Plates”. Yesterday, I worked on an 11 x 14 composition of a pear half on a pink plate and another 11 x 14 of a peach half on a mostly white plate.

I am very sad to retire Spool, but Greg was so miserable. Rare is the individual who enjoys selling advertising, especially in this economy. We were SO blessed to have the experience, and do so without losing money. Next week holds the tedious task of refunding remaining subscription funds. There may those who would take a ‘tough luck’ position, but I’m not inhabiting that place. I so appreciate the support we had from both advertisers and subscribers.

So: it’s back to painting, and back to doing my bit for the KY Guild. Greg had an interview this week and is very excited to get back to work, and I am very excited that he has recovered from his near-death experience.

I hope that all of you Americans had a great Thanksgiving holiday, and that everyone enjoys the Christmas season. Our decorations are up, and seem so much more precious since we weren’t able to decorate last year. The image here was taken by good friend Jeff Rogers while he and Missy joined us for lasagna last week.

Rain! YEEESSSSS!!!!

That’s it. Rain. Sweet relief.

That Time of Day

Every day around 10 AM, the sun comes through the sky light landing just where I’m computing. A series of things happen. I switch from coffee to iced tea, start using the promotional ‘funeral home’ paper fan acquired at a trade show, wonder why the house gnome isn’t up yet, and have a profound thought that must be recorded just as the house gnome wanders in verbalizing her own thoughts that I’ve heard a thousand times before–and losing mine.

Guess I could have just told you “I’m hot and cranky” without pulling you into my world, but there you are. Nobody made you read this.

I’m reading Classic American Short Stories, and Jack London’s “The Law of Life” really hit home as I sneaked into dreamland last night. An Indian tribe, chief-ed by Long Feather Kervorkian (I made that part up), broke up camp and moved on, leaving an old former chief (the narrator)  to die of frostbite. I won’t spoil it for you, but it was a bit close to the bone for me. If Mom dies from heat exhaustion today, it won’t be my doing.

Finished Back 2 Ewe yesterday. Had just mixed a big puddle of green when the house gnome wandered into my studio, stood beside the palette cart, and stuck her hand down flat in the oil paint. She yelled, I yelled, Greg yelled from his office. The cat had very little to say, and continued with his window-ledge nap. Got Mom cleaned up then put her at my drawing table with an easy jigsaw puzzle.

Greg tells me that we were up with her a couple of times last night. I have no memory of it. What did caregivers do before the age of Prozac and Ambien? Oh, that’s right. Jack London wrote about it.

Back Two Ewe

What was meant to be a month of painting turned into a month of . . . I’m not sure just what, but not so much painting. Had my ego stroked when An Unnamed Company (not publishing) contacted me about a position, and I went for the interview as a sort of ‘let’s see if we fit’ exercise–and DANG if they didn’t expect me to wear the proper hat and articulate / problem-solve! Since the interview was two days after exhibiting at a major trade show in a different industry, and one week after getting Summer Spool off the press, I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

These Two Ewes are in mid-process. I under-paint with strong acrylics, strong in both composition and hue. Often chosen for these first layers are complimentary colors of the final palette, so it takes some planning. Choose final colors first, then under-painting colors. I have a box of paint chips from big-box home improvement stores. The chips are free, and I am voracious. I lay out choices and narrow them down to the final palette. I had a very good colorist in my past so I can see the mineral make-up of a hue. But: I also have a reference board with paint daubs from each tube I own, so it’s easy to pick the proper pigments.

As one of the Impressionists said, ‘there is a lot of red in greenery’, so reds for final greens, dark for lights, flash for dull. The house shape in this painting will be light, and the purple in the golden sheep is under-painting. Walk your colors across the canvas for rhythm and pattern. I love the word ‘rhythm’. No a-e-i-o-u, but six letters that say it all. Wonder how many other 6 letter words have no legitimate vowels–in English, not Welsh? But I digress.

An earth-friendly way to begin the brush cleaning process is cheap vegetable oil. Choose the store brand. Pour some into a cup. Wipe excess pigment from brush, dip in oil, wipe again. A bit lazy? Dip in oil again, and put in plastic container. Clean later. Like, in a day or two, not a month or two. That’s not lazy, that’s just shiftless. Move on to brush-cleaning soaps and solvents.

In the photograph here, there are plastic tubs upturned on my palette. This keeps air flow off of oil pigments overnight, but for longer preservation (and for acrylics, for even a short time), those wet sponge storage palettes work a treat.

Anyone loving the water-soluble oils? I fret. Saw a retrospective of Maxfield Parrish a few years ago. Beautiful, but technically not up to the effects of time. He put his work out in the sun and looked for other ways to rush the oxidation process of oils, and it shows in cracks and peeling. The sheep are mocking me. More painting, less talking.

Just Dropping in

Finished Summer Spool the other day, so that’s 4 under the belt. I like the quirky mix in this one, and Jennifer has once again outdone herself. Since I’m blogging at www.spoolmag.com and posting on Facebook–not to mention the big print job, I’ve not blogged here. I did start 4 canvases recently, and say cautiously that I see a painting AND publishing future if I can stay organized. Once I learn how.
Be sure and visit the Spool website and order a copy of Summer, available after June 15.