Yesterday I wrote a post and we dropped out for some reason and it was lost. Even though it autosaves with regularity it doesn't do much good if we drop out for I can't retrieve it. Not that it matters much.
Cornelius is still with us. He was so sick, so weak, hadn't eaten in four or five days, that I was very close to wrapping him in a tea towel and taking a shovel to him (sounds horrible but without access to lethabarb it's the closest I can get to a humane death - if another, more humane way occurs to me I'd be very glad of it for any kind of death physically imposed is a violent death). I was very depressed thinking of what else I could do and whether I should just end his torture and put him down. Then a thin shaft of sunshine penetrated my gloomy thoughts; 'where there is life there is hope'. Now my mind never shuts up, as I've written before, and it's not as though that little piece of wisdom is unfamiliar to me - but the way that phrase occurred to me - like it was dropped in from outside made it as though a prayer had been answered, as though something or someone was was offering hope. Can't prove, qualify, explain or even make it sound special as I write it but it was special. Where there is life, there is hope. It saved Cornelius' life. I feared that by continuing to treat him while he grew weaker and displayed absolutely no tangible improvement I was being cruel. Like watching someone starve to death. Not only starving to death but starving to death while feeling like crap. But because of that silver phrase I waited. That evening, for the first time, Cornelius ate some seed. He hung over the bowl like an old drunk over spilled whiskey but, happy day! there were husks.
The next morning I wasn't so joyous. He was on the floor of the cage again, swaying, eyes closed, feathers fluffed. It was a fluke. He was going to die. But he rallied again, ate again. And so it has continued. He spends about half the time on the floor, but he continues to eat. He's also preened himself a little, swaying precariously on the perch and looking like he'll topple over at any moment.
Corny is not out of the woods yet. I may wake up one morning to find him stiff on the bottom of the cage. Birds are fragile creatures and he has undergone so much. Yesterday morning was the last time I used a crop needle on him. This morning I direct dosed one drop of Coccivet into his mouth.
I suspect that Tony, who had coccidiosis but was on the mend, introduced it all those weeks ago. Cornelius picked it up and slowly, ever so slowly succumbed. When I think back I think of all the signs that I took for behavioural changes because another budgerigar had been introduced rather than because he was falling ill. He stopped singing, he hung out on a wire at the far end of the verandah, pressed against the wall, he was reluctant to go in his cage at night. I just thought he was guarded because another male - with the exception of Dimitri, whose sex remains a mystery, they are all males on the verandah - had entered his space.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and very guilt inducing. I wish I had been more alert to the changes and hadn't jumped to conclusions. If I'd really looked and not assumed perhaps Corny would not be enduring this.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
These past two days have been eventful. Cornelius is still alive. I'm still in the dark as to what is wrong with him but I have continued the crop feeding with a drop of coccivet mixed in with 1/2 or 1/3 ml of 'First Aid for Birds' and water. He alternates between looking near death on the bottom of the cage and sitting on a branch. I saw him preen himself a little yesterday and in the afternoon, oh joy of joy, he was eating; his head hanging over his bowl. He ate in slow motion, not lifting his head, like a very old man drooped over his soup - but he ate. This morning, there he was on the cage floor again. I wasn't going to crop needle him as it is so stressful but when I saw that I decided to give him another dose. It remains to be seen whether I'll do it again. Yesterday I dosed him 3 times during the day. He was so weak I could pick him up with ease. I really thought I was being him unkind by not putting him out of his misery and then some words came into my mind; while there is life there is hope.
Now thinking and thoughts are a continuous phenomenon so it's not like that phrase is anything unusual - except it seemed that the phrase was inserted into my mind. Perhaps they arose spontaneously from that last vestige of hope I held onto which warred with the urge to put Cornelius out of his misery. I honestly don't know yet I clung to that phrase, that thought. He was alive and since he was there was some hope.
He's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot but I am more helpful than I was yesterday. I am beginning to suspect he had coccidiosis after all. Tony had it, without a doubt, and even though he was recovering he spread the oocysts every time he defecated. It wouldn't take much for Tony to pick it up. What's confusing is that his faeces, up until a few days ago, looked fine, tiny, tight, the right colour. Still, he'd been 'off' for awhile. Nothing I could put my finger on but a slow, infinitesimal decline in activity and especially singing. I thought he stopped singing because Tony was here but I think now it was because he was starting to fall ill. Anyway, fingers and toes crossed. The next couple of days should tell the story. If he keeps eating he'll get his strength back and he'll live. As a precaution I'm treating all water dishes, and there are four, with coccivet. And changing them every day. I was a bit slack
about changing them every day as the birds are not exposed to outside birds or droppings from trees.
The other event of our eventful last day was flooding. We had 70mm day before yesterday and 50 yesterday. Dry Creek came down with a roar. It was already running but our neighbour saw and heard the wall of water which came down during the afternoon. It covered the creek paddock, covered the pipe over Dry Creek, swirled down through the back paddock depositing a layer of silt through the pig shed and uprooted a couple of trees. On Dry Gully Road trees fell covering the road in several places. There are mud slips on every mountain, ridge and hill plus a few onto the road. We've had no phone since yesterday. The three dams in the dam paddock are now one huge dam. A pair of grebes were taking advantage of it plucking cicadas from the surface, well one was the other was diving for insects or tadpoles. P.R showed up in the afternoon. He'd spent Xmas at Woodford with G but now needed to get home to the cockatoos which were without food. R took him to D. Cachels where he could hike across country, up country with only one creek between him and home. He left here about 10 and got home at 7;30. He had to wait four hours for the creek to subside enough for him to cross.
Now thinking and thoughts are a continuous phenomenon so it's not like that phrase is anything unusual - except it seemed that the phrase was inserted into my mind. Perhaps they arose spontaneously from that last vestige of hope I held onto which warred with the urge to put Cornelius out of his misery. I honestly don't know yet I clung to that phrase, that thought. He was alive and since he was there was some hope.
He's not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot but I am more helpful than I was yesterday. I am beginning to suspect he had coccidiosis after all. Tony had it, without a doubt, and even though he was recovering he spread the oocysts every time he defecated. It wouldn't take much for Tony to pick it up. What's confusing is that his faeces, up until a few days ago, looked fine, tiny, tight, the right colour. Still, he'd been 'off' for awhile. Nothing I could put my finger on but a slow, infinitesimal decline in activity and especially singing. I thought he stopped singing because Tony was here but I think now it was because he was starting to fall ill. Anyway, fingers and toes crossed. The next couple of days should tell the story. If he keeps eating he'll get his strength back and he'll live. As a precaution I'm treating all water dishes, and there are four, with coccivet. And changing them every day. I was a bit slack
about changing them every day as the birds are not exposed to outside birds or droppings from trees.
The other event of our eventful last day was flooding. We had 70mm day before yesterday and 50 yesterday. Dry Creek came down with a roar. It was already running but our neighbour saw and heard the wall of water which came down during the afternoon. It covered the creek paddock, covered the pipe over Dry Creek, swirled down through the back paddock depositing a layer of silt through the pig shed and uprooted a couple of trees. On Dry Gully Road trees fell covering the road in several places. There are mud slips on every mountain, ridge and hill plus a few onto the road. We've had no phone since yesterday. The three dams in the dam paddock are now one huge dam. A pair of grebes were taking advantage of it plucking cicadas from the surface, well one was the other was diving for insects or tadpoles. P.R showed up in the afternoon. He'd spent Xmas at Woodford with G but now needed to get home to the cockatoos which were without food. R took him to D. Cachels where he could hike across country, up country with only one creek between him and home. He left here about 10 and got home at 7;30. He had to wait four hours for the creek to subside enough for him to cross.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Cornelius
Cornelius, the little yellow budgie, is dying before my eyes and there's nothing I can do.
He has no discharge, no swelling, his poos until yesterday, were normal. I saw him yawning and stretching his neck and assumed he had trichomonas so started treating with Flagyl. But I've been treating him for 3 days and there is no improvement. One day there were some smears on the mirror in his cage but he's never had the telltale slimy vomitus on his head or chest. So perhaps I made the wrong diagnosis (obviously!) so began treating for coccidiosis yesterday afternoon. He hasn't eaten for days nor have I see him drink. He's weak and getting weaker. Today I started inserting a crop needle and giving him a little water. He goes to the seed dish but doesn't eat anything. I don't know whether I should just wrap him in a tea towel and take the shovel to him or give him another day to see if there's any improvement. Lay awake most of last night trying to figure out what's wrong with him. It's Boxing Day and K will be away celebrating and I know from working at the vets that unless it's a bird vet most vets know stuff all about birds. If there was some sign...I've been reading my Avian medicine book. Thought maybe there was a blockage but the crop needle goes in fine. Gout? Until today he has had no respiratory distress - even now I think he's breathing tough because he's on his way out. A few minutes ago, for the first time, he was on the bottom of the cage. God I wish I could help him. He's only a couple of years old. He was the bird that was found with a broken wing on the side of the road. MCC taped the wing and although he can fly because he's bright yellow there's no way he can be released so he's lived, quite happily I think, on the verandah with Tachimedes and Dimitri.
Why has this happened? Nothing has changed, same diet, same routine. Yes, Tony is new but he's been with us for nearly 2 months and he's fine - as are the other birds. Thought because I didn't change the water every day, like I do the outside birds, that he'd got trich from that. The water is boiled before use and it's the same water, same routine - but something is happening which is slowly sapping the life from him. The only other thing I can think of is a growth. His mouth appears fine although as it's such a small mouth it is hard to see inside. His nares are clear, his vent clear. I'm at wits end.
I'm also going nuts with cabin fever. It has not stopped raining all day, like every other damn day. Never thought I'd be sick of rain after living through years of drought but if it doesn't stop raining soon.... Can't ride the bike, walk the dogs, hard even to feed up and do the birds as the rain, solid soaking rain, never ceases.
Just gave Cornelius his last dose of water with diluted Coccivet for the day. He goes to the seed container but doesn't eat. At least there are no seed husks that I can see. Not eating is a sign of coccidiosis - except birds with cocci aren't interested in food. He clearly is yet doesn't eat. God, I wish I knew.
The creek is high and running fast. The aviaries are turning into ponds. At least the birds can get out of the wet with the shelters provided. I've never seen it rain like this, have never seen this much water. Closed the gate to the dam paddock and noticed the water which has been standing there for weeks now has a current. It is running swiftly down the hill towards the gelding's paddock where I suppose it makes its way to the creek.
We are lucky here in that being near the headwaters of the creek it is impossible for us to be flooded out. It would have to be a flood of biblical proportions for water to enter the house especially as we are on 2 foot high stumps, but those people downstream....they will be in trouble. I don't even think we could make it into town as the dams further down the road can no longer contain the water and it crosses the road. Usually the water depth would be a couple of inches but I suspect it will be much higher now.
Well, good thoughts and lots of prayers for Cornelius. We'll see how he is tomorrow. As R keeps saying, there is nothing more I can do but what I'm doing. He has to feel a little better with the fluids although it is enormously distressing to have a crop needle inserted. I have no followers on this blog but if I did I would ask everyone to keep the recovery of little yellow Cornelius foremost in their thoughts.
He has no discharge, no swelling, his poos until yesterday, were normal. I saw him yawning and stretching his neck and assumed he had trichomonas so started treating with Flagyl. But I've been treating him for 3 days and there is no improvement. One day there were some smears on the mirror in his cage but he's never had the telltale slimy vomitus on his head or chest. So perhaps I made the wrong diagnosis (obviously!) so began treating for coccidiosis yesterday afternoon. He hasn't eaten for days nor have I see him drink. He's weak and getting weaker. Today I started inserting a crop needle and giving him a little water. He goes to the seed dish but doesn't eat anything. I don't know whether I should just wrap him in a tea towel and take the shovel to him or give him another day to see if there's any improvement. Lay awake most of last night trying to figure out what's wrong with him. It's Boxing Day and K will be away celebrating and I know from working at the vets that unless it's a bird vet most vets know stuff all about birds. If there was some sign...I've been reading my Avian medicine book. Thought maybe there was a blockage but the crop needle goes in fine. Gout? Until today he has had no respiratory distress - even now I think he's breathing tough because he's on his way out. A few minutes ago, for the first time, he was on the bottom of the cage. God I wish I could help him. He's only a couple of years old. He was the bird that was found with a broken wing on the side of the road. MCC taped the wing and although he can fly because he's bright yellow there's no way he can be released so he's lived, quite happily I think, on the verandah with Tachimedes and Dimitri.
Why has this happened? Nothing has changed, same diet, same routine. Yes, Tony is new but he's been with us for nearly 2 months and he's fine - as are the other birds. Thought because I didn't change the water every day, like I do the outside birds, that he'd got trich from that. The water is boiled before use and it's the same water, same routine - but something is happening which is slowly sapping the life from him. The only other thing I can think of is a growth. His mouth appears fine although as it's such a small mouth it is hard to see inside. His nares are clear, his vent clear. I'm at wits end.
I'm also going nuts with cabin fever. It has not stopped raining all day, like every other damn day. Never thought I'd be sick of rain after living through years of drought but if it doesn't stop raining soon.... Can't ride the bike, walk the dogs, hard even to feed up and do the birds as the rain, solid soaking rain, never ceases.
Just gave Cornelius his last dose of water with diluted Coccivet for the day. He goes to the seed container but doesn't eat. At least there are no seed husks that I can see. Not eating is a sign of coccidiosis - except birds with cocci aren't interested in food. He clearly is yet doesn't eat. God, I wish I knew.
The creek is high and running fast. The aviaries are turning into ponds. At least the birds can get out of the wet with the shelters provided. I've never seen it rain like this, have never seen this much water. Closed the gate to the dam paddock and noticed the water which has been standing there for weeks now has a current. It is running swiftly down the hill towards the gelding's paddock where I suppose it makes its way to the creek.
We are lucky here in that being near the headwaters of the creek it is impossible for us to be flooded out. It would have to be a flood of biblical proportions for water to enter the house especially as we are on 2 foot high stumps, but those people downstream....they will be in trouble. I don't even think we could make it into town as the dams further down the road can no longer contain the water and it crosses the road. Usually the water depth would be a couple of inches but I suspect it will be much higher now.
Well, good thoughts and lots of prayers for Cornelius. We'll see how he is tomorrow. As R keeps saying, there is nothing more I can do but what I'm doing. He has to feel a little better with the fluids although it is enormously distressing to have a crop needle inserted. I have no followers on this blog but if I did I would ask everyone to keep the recovery of little yellow Cornelius foremost in their thoughts.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
There has not, in twenty years, been as much water on the ground as there is now. After weeks of rain (soaking down at least 8 feet according to a dam builder), the ground is so saturated it just can't absorb what continues to fall from the sky. Dry Creek is now Rampaging Creek. The Peach Paddock is Peach Pond.
We took a short drive to look at Spinach and Ma Ma Creeks. They are huge and wide and turbulent. Another 3 people have lost their lives in Queensland by trying to cross creeks in their vehicle - despite repeated warnings and news reports about the dangers of doing so.
Awoke in the night to hear the rain coming down like a tap had been turned on, coming so hard and fast that it no longer was a case of hearing drops but of hearing a cascade. Straight down, no wind, a 'means business' sort of deluge. We had two inches overnight. It's tailed off a little now, the worst has flowed southeast but the rainfall is set to continue, in the form of showers, for the next 5 days. It looks as though we will not go to Redcliffe for Boxing Day and may not even attempt Brisbane for Xmas - which is fine by me. I don't want to take the chance that we can't get home. We have too many animals depending on us.
It occurs to me that I haven't written of Natalia lately. She is a remarkable cat. Very bold. I've never seen her flinch or run away from Matisse when he has a go at her. That's saying something for he is a large and intimidating cat. She's called his bluff and now it's him that hisses and turns away. She likes to be close to me, even on hot days which I know is uncomfortable for me and must be for her too. She lies next to me on the couch while I'm drawing. She likes being beneath the plastic sleeve I use to protect the work. Perhaps the smoothness and the crackling noise it makes when it's crushed amuses her. When it's hot she stretches herself long, like a tube, arching her back and often rolling onto it to present her paws for stroking (she has very strokeable paws). Natalia is the only cat in the household to give kisses. She also shows affection by gentle nibbles on nose, chin, arm or hand. If she is not happy, the nibbles have a bit more 'bite' in them. She purrs when you look at her or speak to her. Where you are she usually appears. Like Matisse she has developed a taste for the yoga mat. When the mat is unrolled there she is. Not as often as Matisse but most of the time. I don't know why cats find the mat attractive. Even Nairobi has been known to show interest but as she is more timid than the others, I don't see her as often. The cats are endearing and I appreciate them, being as they are yoga masters, showing me how it's done except they are usually demonstrating an asana right where I need to put a hand, a foot or my chest.
The new sketch is coming along. The mirror ball image needs more work but I'm leaving it at the moment while I fiddle with the rest of the drawing. I think leaving it alone, trying not to see it, will show me where it needs more work. The nude is also half done. I got stuck on her head. It was in proportion, in the right position but I just couldn't figure out what to do with her hair. I even tried the nude with the head of a finch but that didn't work either. Anyway, I've got the hair started and I like the look of it (blown up and off her neck like a nest of snakes but I'm not going to accentuate the reptilian aspect). So now it's the soothing background to do which I'm doing in ink. Very slow, very painstaking but it makes the mirror ball and the nude jump out. The nude is going to be a real test as I want her to be as 3-dimensional and smooth and real as I can possibly make her. Certainly a learning prospect. I keep looking at Greek and Roman sculptures in books and on the net - that's the look I'm aiming for with the nude...well, one must aim high even if one falls short.
We took a short drive to look at Spinach and Ma Ma Creeks. They are huge and wide and turbulent. Another 3 people have lost their lives in Queensland by trying to cross creeks in their vehicle - despite repeated warnings and news reports about the dangers of doing so.
Awoke in the night to hear the rain coming down like a tap had been turned on, coming so hard and fast that it no longer was a case of hearing drops but of hearing a cascade. Straight down, no wind, a 'means business' sort of deluge. We had two inches overnight. It's tailed off a little now, the worst has flowed southeast but the rainfall is set to continue, in the form of showers, for the next 5 days. It looks as though we will not go to Redcliffe for Boxing Day and may not even attempt Brisbane for Xmas - which is fine by me. I don't want to take the chance that we can't get home. We have too many animals depending on us.
It occurs to me that I haven't written of Natalia lately. She is a remarkable cat. Very bold. I've never seen her flinch or run away from Matisse when he has a go at her. That's saying something for he is a large and intimidating cat. She's called his bluff and now it's him that hisses and turns away. She likes to be close to me, even on hot days which I know is uncomfortable for me and must be for her too. She lies next to me on the couch while I'm drawing. She likes being beneath the plastic sleeve I use to protect the work. Perhaps the smoothness and the crackling noise it makes when it's crushed amuses her. When it's hot she stretches herself long, like a tube, arching her back and often rolling onto it to present her paws for stroking (she has very strokeable paws). Natalia is the only cat in the household to give kisses. She also shows affection by gentle nibbles on nose, chin, arm or hand. If she is not happy, the nibbles have a bit more 'bite' in them. She purrs when you look at her or speak to her. Where you are she usually appears. Like Matisse she has developed a taste for the yoga mat. When the mat is unrolled there she is. Not as often as Matisse but most of the time. I don't know why cats find the mat attractive. Even Nairobi has been known to show interest but as she is more timid than the others, I don't see her as often. The cats are endearing and I appreciate them, being as they are yoga masters, showing me how it's done except they are usually demonstrating an asana right where I need to put a hand, a foot or my chest.
The new sketch is coming along. The mirror ball image needs more work but I'm leaving it at the moment while I fiddle with the rest of the drawing. I think leaving it alone, trying not to see it, will show me where it needs more work. The nude is also half done. I got stuck on her head. It was in proportion, in the right position but I just couldn't figure out what to do with her hair. I even tried the nude with the head of a finch but that didn't work either. Anyway, I've got the hair started and I like the look of it (blown up and off her neck like a nest of snakes but I'm not going to accentuate the reptilian aspect). So now it's the soothing background to do which I'm doing in ink. Very slow, very painstaking but it makes the mirror ball and the nude jump out. The nude is going to be a real test as I want her to be as 3-dimensional and smooth and real as I can possibly make her. Certainly a learning prospect. I keep looking at Greek and Roman sculptures in books and on the net - that's the look I'm aiming for with the nude...well, one must aim high even if one falls short.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
I think I'm finally getting into a rhythm. A retirement rhythm. Unfortunately although I like being spontaneous I function best with a routine, albeit a loose one. Perhaps I'm not the only one that, if I have an hour to do a, b and c will have no trouble accomplishing same, but if I have an entire day to do a, b, and c, I may not even get through a. Getting up early helps. Fell into bed at 9:30 so got up at 5:30. Took the dogs for a walk (before the heat) and have already done the yoga hour too - and it's only 10:40. Haven't cleaned the house yet but that's something that can be done even in the afternoon if need be. Or commercial breaks if I'm watching the midday movie and drawing, which is something I like to do. Unfortunately I'm not a purist and don't close myself away in the studio with classical music and a vision. I"m propped on the couch with a drawing board, a coffee and the tv. If it's a good movie, I'll watch more than I'll draw but if it's a bad movie I'll draw more than I watch. I've got the end tables to hold drawing materials, the aforementioned coffee and two good lamps. R bought me this lamp a year or so ago which is a good light for drawing by - no heat either.
The studio as such (computer room cum studio) is too small and stuffy. I can't get far enough away from my work to see it properly. And it's claustrophobic in that to get the light I have to face the wall. Here at the computer I'm facing the bank of windows and don't feel shut in.
Anyway, this is just a thank you entry really. I am very happy with my life. Contented. Perhaps it won't last but while it is it is appreciated.
(Not to say nightmares don't lurk in the undergrowth - dreamed R left me and was so despairing I woke up).
I suspect, with hope and optimism!, that consistency is making a tiny impact on meditation. Some days are just horrible and then today, all huge 11 minutes of it, there was a moment, half a breath, when I was brushed by a quiet and peace that was deeper and felt like a glimpse of what meditation may be all about. Reading an article in Australia Yoga about making a groove in your mind that deepens with practice so that it is easier to go there with each session. That made sense.
It's starting to rain again, no thunder at least. Tadpoles are in every standing body of water. Most of them will have the opportunity to turn into frogs. Many seasons eggs are laid, tadpoles form and then they die because the waterholes dry up. We have a chorus of frogs in the fernery off the bedroom. They are so loud you think you'll never get to sleep yet in some strange way they are soothing and I drift off listening to the chorus. I don't know how they do it but they'll sing in unison and then, on some hidden signal, stop. No one keeps singing, no one voice croaks on for half a note. It's as though a radio was switched off. Starting up again isn't as all-encompassing. One frog will make that initial, somewhat tremulous, croak and then it's on, wave after wave of sound.
The studio as such (computer room cum studio) is too small and stuffy. I can't get far enough away from my work to see it properly. And it's claustrophobic in that to get the light I have to face the wall. Here at the computer I'm facing the bank of windows and don't feel shut in.
Anyway, this is just a thank you entry really. I am very happy with my life. Contented. Perhaps it won't last but while it is it is appreciated.
(Not to say nightmares don't lurk in the undergrowth - dreamed R left me and was so despairing I woke up).
I suspect, with hope and optimism!, that consistency is making a tiny impact on meditation. Some days are just horrible and then today, all huge 11 minutes of it, there was a moment, half a breath, when I was brushed by a quiet and peace that was deeper and felt like a glimpse of what meditation may be all about. Reading an article in Australia Yoga about making a groove in your mind that deepens with practice so that it is easier to go there with each session. That made sense.
It's starting to rain again, no thunder at least. Tadpoles are in every standing body of water. Most of them will have the opportunity to turn into frogs. Many seasons eggs are laid, tadpoles form and then they die because the waterholes dry up. We have a chorus of frogs in the fernery off the bedroom. They are so loud you think you'll never get to sleep yet in some strange way they are soothing and I drift off listening to the chorus. I don't know how they do it but they'll sing in unison and then, on some hidden signal, stop. No one keeps singing, no one voice croaks on for half a note. It's as though a radio was switched off. Starting up again isn't as all-encompassing. One frog will make that initial, somewhat tremulous, croak and then it's on, wave after wave of sound.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Bad storms around us again. Harrisville and Ipswich are getting flogged. The horses are galloping past the window. Drifter bucked, which for a lazy horse is quite an accomplishment, but they are only feeling the cold rain. There is blue sky behind, no hail although I'd wager, from the look on the radar, that some places are getting hail. Yesterday there was hail as large as cricket balls plus damaging winds. We're very lucky to get a few more mls of rain without the damage. It's odd to watch the radar because there's something about the topography which causes a long line of storms to split just as they come over us. Perhaps it's the hilly country to the southwest through Heifer Creek which causes the bifurcation - now there's a word! Anyway, we get a heavy shower which cools and refreshes and which will make my afternoon bike ride very pleasant.
Walked sans dogs yesterday afternoon. It was too hot, 33 degrees and high humidity. Not worth the risk (took them at 7:30 this morning which will have to be the routine through summer if they are to get a long walk). Anyway, I was trying to be mindful. Walk with mindfulness, feel each step, listen to the insects, the sound of moving water, the birds, trying to sense the larger ancient trees as I walked past (a doomed effort but I think there is benefit in the trying as one has to listen so hard and with more than just one's ears). Then it occurred to me that walking outside on this country road is rather like exploring the virtual reality of second life. When I go to a new destination and 'walk' I am looking all around me, listening to the sounds the programmer has installed, taking note of the terrain, the flora and fauna (if any), all the things the creator has decided to decorate his virtual location with. Just like reality. There I am, my feet crunching on the gravel and my head pointing toward infinity as I traverse this sphere rife with sights, smells, sounds and sensations. But this reality isn't real any more than secondlife is real. Perhaps it's a bit more real in that SL is derived from it but it's still an illusion. It was a gentle and gently odd place for my mind to be and was helpful in keeping me mindful.
Not so this morning with the dogs. Dogs are so much of the world and so enthusiastic about everything they see, smell and hear. I just have to be there with them and discourage too much enthusiasm as well as sluice them down with water from the still running creek to cool them. Yes, even this morning. We were all wrung out when we returned.
It was so hot and sticky yesterday that I didn't work on the drawing. Went grocery shopping and found a couple of silver xmas baubles to use as mirror balls. (Just spent five minutes trying to figure out how to print a copy of Escher's drawing of his hand holding a mirror ball. Hasn't got a great deal of detail but at least it's a little larger than the small photo I have in the book of his work). Anyway, even though I didn't work on the drawing I kept looking at it, propped up against the woodheater, and seeing it almost as dessert. There's no nicer feeling than having a work in progress.
Had another look at the radar and there's a second stream of storms coming. These will miss us as well as, like the others, they are passing to the NW of us. Wouldn't have minded a little bit more rain but shouldn't complain as this place is absolutely perfect now. It really is a bit of paradise.
Released Reginald, the rainbow lorikeet that came in to work with nothing wrong but a bad case of 'swimmers' in his poo. He's been on medication since he came and had recovered sufficiently to be returned to freedom. It seemed a good time to do it as there are two juveniles hanging around. Mom and Dad did their job and nicked off a couple of days ago. Figured the juveniles wouldn't be so stringent about not allowing new members to their group, plus there would be two extra sets of eyes looking for danger. When he first flew out the door I thought he couldn't fly well enough but he soon gained height and flew to the wattles bordering the peach and dam paddocks. Today he's been hanging around with the others. The food I put out for him has been eaten so even though I haven't actually seen him eat it I suspect he's the only one who would recognise a coop cup. He's flying much more strongly today so I'm hoping all will be well.
Unlike with little Jack the Rainbow Lorikeet of P and G's. Jack was surrendered to the surgery because he was a biter. P&G took him, put him in an aviary and his personality underwent a complete change. He went from Mr. Aggression to Mr. Sook. He fell in love with Peter and went everywhere with him, murmuring sweet nothings into his beard, riding on his shoulder or the steering wheel of the truck, helping with feeding the horses or general chores around the place. He even got on with P's other love interest, Charlie Bob the cockatoo. One would perch on one shoulder, the other on the other. Then I got an email from P. He heard a squawk and went outside in time to see a falcon fly off with Jack. Jack's last words were 'OK Mate'. We are all heartbroken. I feel terrible so can only imagine how gutted P and G are.
And why, of all the words and phrases that Jack knew did he say OK Mate? Was it acceptance of his fate, of death? Why not hello or what are you doin'? Like P said, at least it was quick. Little consolation though.
Walked sans dogs yesterday afternoon. It was too hot, 33 degrees and high humidity. Not worth the risk (took them at 7:30 this morning which will have to be the routine through summer if they are to get a long walk). Anyway, I was trying to be mindful. Walk with mindfulness, feel each step, listen to the insects, the sound of moving water, the birds, trying to sense the larger ancient trees as I walked past (a doomed effort but I think there is benefit in the trying as one has to listen so hard and with more than just one's ears). Then it occurred to me that walking outside on this country road is rather like exploring the virtual reality of second life. When I go to a new destination and 'walk' I am looking all around me, listening to the sounds the programmer has installed, taking note of the terrain, the flora and fauna (if any), all the things the creator has decided to decorate his virtual location with. Just like reality. There I am, my feet crunching on the gravel and my head pointing toward infinity as I traverse this sphere rife with sights, smells, sounds and sensations. But this reality isn't real any more than secondlife is real. Perhaps it's a bit more real in that SL is derived from it but it's still an illusion. It was a gentle and gently odd place for my mind to be and was helpful in keeping me mindful.
Not so this morning with the dogs. Dogs are so much of the world and so enthusiastic about everything they see, smell and hear. I just have to be there with them and discourage too much enthusiasm as well as sluice them down with water from the still running creek to cool them. Yes, even this morning. We were all wrung out when we returned.
It was so hot and sticky yesterday that I didn't work on the drawing. Went grocery shopping and found a couple of silver xmas baubles to use as mirror balls. (Just spent five minutes trying to figure out how to print a copy of Escher's drawing of his hand holding a mirror ball. Hasn't got a great deal of detail but at least it's a little larger than the small photo I have in the book of his work). Anyway, even though I didn't work on the drawing I kept looking at it, propped up against the woodheater, and seeing it almost as dessert. There's no nicer feeling than having a work in progress.
Had another look at the radar and there's a second stream of storms coming. These will miss us as well as, like the others, they are passing to the NW of us. Wouldn't have minded a little bit more rain but shouldn't complain as this place is absolutely perfect now. It really is a bit of paradise.
Released Reginald, the rainbow lorikeet that came in to work with nothing wrong but a bad case of 'swimmers' in his poo. He's been on medication since he came and had recovered sufficiently to be returned to freedom. It seemed a good time to do it as there are two juveniles hanging around. Mom and Dad did their job and nicked off a couple of days ago. Figured the juveniles wouldn't be so stringent about not allowing new members to their group, plus there would be two extra sets of eyes looking for danger. When he first flew out the door I thought he couldn't fly well enough but he soon gained height and flew to the wattles bordering the peach and dam paddocks. Today he's been hanging around with the others. The food I put out for him has been eaten so even though I haven't actually seen him eat it I suspect he's the only one who would recognise a coop cup. He's flying much more strongly today so I'm hoping all will be well.
Unlike with little Jack the Rainbow Lorikeet of P and G's. Jack was surrendered to the surgery because he was a biter. P&G took him, put him in an aviary and his personality underwent a complete change. He went from Mr. Aggression to Mr. Sook. He fell in love with Peter and went everywhere with him, murmuring sweet nothings into his beard, riding on his shoulder or the steering wheel of the truck, helping with feeding the horses or general chores around the place. He even got on with P's other love interest, Charlie Bob the cockatoo. One would perch on one shoulder, the other on the other. Then I got an email from P. He heard a squawk and went outside in time to see a falcon fly off with Jack. Jack's last words were 'OK Mate'. We are all heartbroken. I feel terrible so can only imagine how gutted P and G are.
And why, of all the words and phrases that Jack knew did he say OK Mate? Was it acceptance of his fate, of death? Why not hello or what are you doin'? Like P said, at least it was quick. Little consolation though.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Started a new drawing, a nude this time. Couldn't work on it last night because we were inundated with flying termites. Light attracted them and as it was hot and humid and my skin was sticky it was annoying and uncomfortable to have a light on. Miserable night, actually. So couldn't work on the drawing.
Rained hard all day today, well over an inch already and the creek is down once again (yippee!). But rather than work on the drawing I explored a virtual world after seeing a documentary on them. Second life. No news to most people I suppose but news to me. Downloaded the software and joined and then proceeded to run into every tree, wall and solid object possible - or *fly* into the sea, fly up into ceilings, overfly, underfly, overwalk, underwalk - damn hard to walk around places. Tried to go to certain landmarks, failed, tried to find art inspired spots, failed until found one which was beautifully done with flowers and birds and rabbits, kittens, crashing waves and idyllic waterfalls and pillow filled pavilions and a bathtub and oh, what's this? A naked lady floating onto a wicker bed, oops I might just take my accident prone avatar self and go elsewhere. Then I met the designer of the place. Very inspired but very airy fairy; muse and all that and may peace be with you and no I can't use it as my landmark home space because I'd have to join a group and I was afraid to ask what that group was. Was it not a place of peace and tranquility but a rendezvous for cybersex? She was provocatively dressed in a split-sided blue tunic with longer than long legs and breasts out to here and blonde Rastafarian locks and she kept twirling one leg around the other and all I wanted to do was get out of there and stop making polite conversation. So I did.
But it IS addictive. Got in there to look at artwork - and found some great stuff created by a university (Texas). Really good stuff. Was it all created on the computer or was it painted and then transferred. Really original stuff. So it's worth exploring but there is a big accent on buying things; land and just 'stuff' which doesn't interest me. If I can't view it, explore it for free than I'm not interested.
At the way station for beginners I could hear conversations between other avatars. Not very enlightening. Was really out of my depth age wise there. My first contact was with a spanish speaking gentleman which was nice except I wanted to explore and learn how to operate so I bid him a polite good-bye. Not that I'm any better at it now but I did copy down some instructions. Must be careful. Let me repeat that, must be careful. It could suck me in to the detriment of real life if I let it.
Big day for Dimitri. As it was raining and I'd read that it was easier to introduce birds to bathing when it was raining thought I'd give it a try. I also read that for shy birds it often helped to hide the bottle in your shirt. So I did. Went out there with the bottle set on fine mist and wrapped in my shirt. He was initially hesitant but I was so happy to see he didn't panic that I kept praising him in a very very happy voice. As it was mist it was difficult to saturate him but he did fluff his feathers and raise his one wing. He preened for a long time afterward. I'm encouraged to try again when it's raining, maybe even have the setting on slightly harder than mist. It's been well over a year since he's had a bath. Bet he felt wonderful.
Rained hard all day today, well over an inch already and the creek is down once again (yippee!). But rather than work on the drawing I explored a virtual world after seeing a documentary on them. Second life. No news to most people I suppose but news to me. Downloaded the software and joined and then proceeded to run into every tree, wall and solid object possible - or *fly* into the sea, fly up into ceilings, overfly, underfly, overwalk, underwalk - damn hard to walk around places. Tried to go to certain landmarks, failed, tried to find art inspired spots, failed until found one which was beautifully done with flowers and birds and rabbits, kittens, crashing waves and idyllic waterfalls and pillow filled pavilions and a bathtub and oh, what's this? A naked lady floating onto a wicker bed, oops I might just take my accident prone avatar self and go elsewhere. Then I met the designer of the place. Very inspired but very airy fairy; muse and all that and may peace be with you and no I can't use it as my landmark home space because I'd have to join a group and I was afraid to ask what that group was. Was it not a place of peace and tranquility but a rendezvous for cybersex? She was provocatively dressed in a split-sided blue tunic with longer than long legs and breasts out to here and blonde Rastafarian locks and she kept twirling one leg around the other and all I wanted to do was get out of there and stop making polite conversation. So I did.
But it IS addictive. Got in there to look at artwork - and found some great stuff created by a university (Texas). Really good stuff. Was it all created on the computer or was it painted and then transferred. Really original stuff. So it's worth exploring but there is a big accent on buying things; land and just 'stuff' which doesn't interest me. If I can't view it, explore it for free than I'm not interested.
At the way station for beginners I could hear conversations between other avatars. Not very enlightening. Was really out of my depth age wise there. My first contact was with a spanish speaking gentleman which was nice except I wanted to explore and learn how to operate so I bid him a polite good-bye. Not that I'm any better at it now but I did copy down some instructions. Must be careful. Let me repeat that, must be careful. It could suck me in to the detriment of real life if I let it.
Big day for Dimitri. As it was raining and I'd read that it was easier to introduce birds to bathing when it was raining thought I'd give it a try. I also read that for shy birds it often helped to hide the bottle in your shirt. So I did. Went out there with the bottle set on fine mist and wrapped in my shirt. He was initially hesitant but I was so happy to see he didn't panic that I kept praising him in a very very happy voice. As it was mist it was difficult to saturate him but he did fluff his feathers and raise his one wing. He preened for a long time afterward. I'm encouraged to try again when it's raining, maybe even have the setting on slightly harder than mist. It's been well over a year since he's had a bath. Bet he felt wonderful.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Night Cat Dreaming
Finished it. Slotted it into the big black folder where all unframed art is kept. R was supposed to take the frame into town to get glass measured but forgot. Have to paint it anyway. One of the downsides of buying used frames can be the colour scheme. This one is streaked yellow and blue in a failed attempt, perhaps, to make it look antique. Not that I'll be improving it much. Going to use a test paint pot of lavendar. Guess one of the benefits of using varying shades of black and grey is it goes with everything.
Now trying to come up with an idea for the next drawing. Done some idle thumbnail sketches but no joy. Am also looking through myth and mythology books, rediscovered John Duncan painting in the style of the pre-Raphaelites. Love the mysticism, the mystery and the jeweled beauty of his work. Should I copy? For practice? Part of me knows I should for I'll learn alot by copying such an artist but another part of me rebels at doing anything that is not my own.
Feel a bit crappy and uninspired today. Too little sleep contributes. Went to bed at midnight after watching a documentary on Lennon vs the USA. Then awakened by one of the birds having a night fright. Still have to get up early for the birds however.
Anyway health, rather ill health talk is boring.
Looking for a road bike to buy. Not going to the gym any more. Since I stopped going my neck and shoulders feel much better. Probably due to yoga but not motivated to spend 40 minutes driving so that I can work out when walking the dogs takes place in a beautiful setting. I am very grateful for our dirt road, The other day I saw a dingo crossing the road in front of us. The whippets seemed to know this was not a domesticated dog for although they were interested and on their toes they didn't spin on the end of the lead like they, well Radar, does when he sees a neighbour's dog.
A few days ago I heard this wet metallic wheezy screech, which is the best description I can come up with for the warning call of a pheasant coucal. Up the side of the hill in low scrub a largish hawk, too far away for me to identify, was flying from bush to bush dodging mobbing crows, magpies and willie wagtails. We weren't close but it didn't seem as though it had anything in its mouth. In hindsight I wonder if in fact the hawk was in trouble and couldn't fly well enough to gain height.
The creek came down a few days ago after a heavy deluge. R and I took the dogs for a walk and at one of the causeways saw a fish, about 3 inches long. Looked like one of those rainbow fish which are native to Queensland. But how did it get there? Dry Creek is aptly named. If we're lucky it comes down two or three times a year and usually stops flowing within a day. With all the rain recently it ran for about 4 days but still, a fish? The creek is stony dusty dry. All the water holes dry up. When we moved here 19 years ago the water hole at the eastern edge of our property had quite a few small fish in it. We didn't know enough to be amazed assuming the creek (that was the last year we had a normal season according to the locals) ran all the time. So the fish mystery remains. Still I like that I can't explain it.
Have subscribed to an RSS feed from Leo Babauta called Zen Habits. He has a Short and Powerful Guide to Finding Your Passion which I've started by listing my likes and desires and talents. Then comes the next bit; researching those who are successful - it comes down to Art of course. Do I really want to get out there and hawk my wares? I don't need to make a living but if I want my ego stroked and have people like my work, they have to see it.
Now trying to come up with an idea for the next drawing. Done some idle thumbnail sketches but no joy. Am also looking through myth and mythology books, rediscovered John Duncan painting in the style of the pre-Raphaelites. Love the mysticism, the mystery and the jeweled beauty of his work. Should I copy? For practice? Part of me knows I should for I'll learn alot by copying such an artist but another part of me rebels at doing anything that is not my own.
Feel a bit crappy and uninspired today. Too little sleep contributes. Went to bed at midnight after watching a documentary on Lennon vs the USA. Then awakened by one of the birds having a night fright. Still have to get up early for the birds however.
Anyway health, rather ill health talk is boring.
Looking for a road bike to buy. Not going to the gym any more. Since I stopped going my neck and shoulders feel much better. Probably due to yoga but not motivated to spend 40 minutes driving so that I can work out when walking the dogs takes place in a beautiful setting. I am very grateful for our dirt road, The other day I saw a dingo crossing the road in front of us. The whippets seemed to know this was not a domesticated dog for although they were interested and on their toes they didn't spin on the end of the lead like they, well Radar, does when he sees a neighbour's dog.
A few days ago I heard this wet metallic wheezy screech, which is the best description I can come up with for the warning call of a pheasant coucal. Up the side of the hill in low scrub a largish hawk, too far away for me to identify, was flying from bush to bush dodging mobbing crows, magpies and willie wagtails. We weren't close but it didn't seem as though it had anything in its mouth. In hindsight I wonder if in fact the hawk was in trouble and couldn't fly well enough to gain height.
The creek came down a few days ago after a heavy deluge. R and I took the dogs for a walk and at one of the causeways saw a fish, about 3 inches long. Looked like one of those rainbow fish which are native to Queensland. But how did it get there? Dry Creek is aptly named. If we're lucky it comes down two or three times a year and usually stops flowing within a day. With all the rain recently it ran for about 4 days but still, a fish? The creek is stony dusty dry. All the water holes dry up. When we moved here 19 years ago the water hole at the eastern edge of our property had quite a few small fish in it. We didn't know enough to be amazed assuming the creek (that was the last year we had a normal season according to the locals) ran all the time. So the fish mystery remains. Still I like that I can't explain it.
Have subscribed to an RSS feed from Leo Babauta called Zen Habits. He has a Short and Powerful Guide to Finding Your Passion which I've started by listing my likes and desires and talents. Then comes the next bit; researching those who are successful - it comes down to Art of course. Do I really want to get out there and hawk my wares? I don't need to make a living but if I want my ego stroked and have people like my work, they have to see it.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
One of the most important parts of drawing, in my limited experience, is not drawing. The creative process benefits as much from a certain lassitude of the critical process as it does from putting pen, brush or pencil to paper.
My drawings are clipped to an art board and in summer, when the wood heater isn't burning, the board leans up against the heater where I can see it from the couch. I may think a drawing is nearing completion and the drawing will be sitting there looking more or less finished and then suddenly, a day or two later, I'll see either something that needs more work or a shadow or squiggle will suggest another direction I can take it. This is happening with The Night Cat. In the textured background was a shadow which suggested a sort of hill and when I looked harder it seemed to fit in and enrich what was already there. Therefore today, yet another rainy day, I've spent making that shadow view into something significant. While I was working it was obvious other areas needed more definition; darkening or lightening, more detail here, less detail there. I'm really starting to like it now. The downside is it happens with already completed work. It will be hanging there (work that I've liked well enough to frame) and then I'll see either a glaring error or something extra I've could have done with it.
Sometimes I think, no, I know, the awake mind needs to be quiet so that I can hear the creative mind. Monkey mind, that chattering jittering anxious self-condemning mind has the top spot in my little cranium. There is very little time when it isn't yammering away like a thousand air bubbles in a bottle of cheap fruit flavoured soda. Sometimes it's still during attempts at meditation, sometimes during yoga, always just before sleep when I'm so not there that I'm not productively aware of it. How to make use of the creative silence while still being with it enough to make use of what floats to the surface.
Recently read about an artist, sorry I don't know who - I was going through a whole list of artists and looking at their work - who used a technique of staring at a picture for 30 seconds and then meditating upon it for 30 minutes. Good grief, what discipline! I can hardly rein in my mind long enough to continually focus on 20 breaths without swanning off to some five and dime store of superficial thoughts. Read somewhere else (yoga magazine?) where some study found that 42% of our waking life is spent daydreaming but rather than the daydreaming being of happy thoughts and happy places it tended to make us sad and depressed. I'm there!
And one other thing occurs to me. Watched an Oprah show a while back in which the subject of overeating was the subject. Rather than focus on a diet the learned guest spoke of how compulsive eating (or in my case compulsive Mah Jong or Spider Solitaire playing) was a way to avoid having to confront some aspect of ourselves. Hear Hear! I don't think I've got some deep dark kernel of unexamined trauma that I need to examine but the game playing is a sort of drug which keeps the mind from thinking. It dulls me. Why I desire that I don't know. Why is there a need to escape from reality? My reality is quite good; companionship, love, food, shelter, an entrance to the entire world through books and the 'net - why then? Is it a form of simple procrastination so that I don't have to do anything serious? To live up to the great blessing of being alive. I mean, how miraculous is that simple fact? Life. Being alive. All the billions who have gone before me, Living breathing. Then their life stops. And their breathing stops. Stops. That's it. The End. FINIS! Now it's my turn. No wonder I get so cranky with myself; guilt compounding guilt. What a privilege to be alive and I waste time (and I'm 55 years old, damn it!) playing stupid computer games.
Enough rant. I've drawn. It's been a good day. And I think I forgive myself for not being perfect and creating non-stop for all my waking hours.
My drawings are clipped to an art board and in summer, when the wood heater isn't burning, the board leans up against the heater where I can see it from the couch. I may think a drawing is nearing completion and the drawing will be sitting there looking more or less finished and then suddenly, a day or two later, I'll see either something that needs more work or a shadow or squiggle will suggest another direction I can take it. This is happening with The Night Cat. In the textured background was a shadow which suggested a sort of hill and when I looked harder it seemed to fit in and enrich what was already there. Therefore today, yet another rainy day, I've spent making that shadow view into something significant. While I was working it was obvious other areas needed more definition; darkening or lightening, more detail here, less detail there. I'm really starting to like it now. The downside is it happens with already completed work. It will be hanging there (work that I've liked well enough to frame) and then I'll see either a glaring error or something extra I've could have done with it.
Sometimes I think, no, I know, the awake mind needs to be quiet so that I can hear the creative mind. Monkey mind, that chattering jittering anxious self-condemning mind has the top spot in my little cranium. There is very little time when it isn't yammering away like a thousand air bubbles in a bottle of cheap fruit flavoured soda. Sometimes it's still during attempts at meditation, sometimes during yoga, always just before sleep when I'm so not there that I'm not productively aware of it. How to make use of the creative silence while still being with it enough to make use of what floats to the surface.
Recently read about an artist, sorry I don't know who - I was going through a whole list of artists and looking at their work - who used a technique of staring at a picture for 30 seconds and then meditating upon it for 30 minutes. Good grief, what discipline! I can hardly rein in my mind long enough to continually focus on 20 breaths without swanning off to some five and dime store of superficial thoughts. Read somewhere else (yoga magazine?) where some study found that 42% of our waking life is spent daydreaming but rather than the daydreaming being of happy thoughts and happy places it tended to make us sad and depressed. I'm there!
And one other thing occurs to me. Watched an Oprah show a while back in which the subject of overeating was the subject. Rather than focus on a diet the learned guest spoke of how compulsive eating (or in my case compulsive Mah Jong or Spider Solitaire playing) was a way to avoid having to confront some aspect of ourselves. Hear Hear! I don't think I've got some deep dark kernel of unexamined trauma that I need to examine but the game playing is a sort of drug which keeps the mind from thinking. It dulls me. Why I desire that I don't know. Why is there a need to escape from reality? My reality is quite good; companionship, love, food, shelter, an entrance to the entire world through books and the 'net - why then? Is it a form of simple procrastination so that I don't have to do anything serious? To live up to the great blessing of being alive. I mean, how miraculous is that simple fact? Life. Being alive. All the billions who have gone before me, Living breathing. Then their life stops. And their breathing stops. Stops. That's it. The End. FINIS! Now it's my turn. No wonder I get so cranky with myself; guilt compounding guilt. What a privilege to be alive and I waste time (and I'm 55 years old, damn it!) playing stupid computer games.
Enough rant. I've drawn. It's been a good day. And I think I forgive myself for not being perfect and creating non-stop for all my waking hours.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
I'm retired. Officially retired with the cake and parting gifts and everything. I think it must be like going on holiday; it takes a week before you finally believe you're on holiday and then you have that final week to enjoy before returning to work. Retirement hasn't felt real yet. But I'm trying. It's been raining so much that there is little I can do outside, didn't even take the dogs for a walk yesterday. There's a part of me that rebels and doesn't want to start spring cleaning just because I've retired. Have read a couple of books, well almost finished with the second one, and have worked on the drawing.
The drawing. I'm going to call it The Night Cat. It's an outline of a cat leaping. It's 'framed' by a leopard pattern frame surrounded by surrealist trees in a night sky. The background of the cat is a patterned space partially filled by a knobbly somewhat surrealist tree. Naturally I don't know what it signifies, if anything. (There is a rather soggy looking kookaburra sitting on the hills hoist. Foraging for all birds will be difficult with this rain. I know flying foxes starve because the nectar is washed from flowers and assume the same holds true for nectar feeding birds. Insects would be taking refuge from the rain as would lizards. I am glad of the rain but admit to missing the sky and sun. This overcast drizzly weather has been continuing for weeks with little days of sun inbetween). Anyway, a day when one works at art is a good day. I've had a lot of good days. Again this drawing is in pencil and ink. I like the blackness of the ink contrasting with the malleability of pencil greys. Doesn't it just excite you to make something that was not there before? To create. It is our hand within God's I think. The Power That Is CREATES but we in our tiny little reality can mimic that greatness and pull something from nothing. It doesn't have to be world class, it only has to be ours. And original. Anyway, tomorrow, weather permitting we'll go to a garage sale at Helidon. They have pictures in frames for sale and I am always on the lookout for cheap frames with glass already in them. It makes framing work so easy since I don't have a clue how to frame things and have never bought materials. I have a huge frame, bought for $20 from St. Vinnies. I don't even have paper large enough to fit in it. Not sure what I'll do but other people work large so it must be possible.
Which brings me to an artist called Laurie Lipton. She works very large and in pencil and although her works are somewhat macabre, she is a tremendous draftsman. (Ah, the kookaburra got something from the grass and has flown off over the dam. Earlier a wallaby raced across the dam bank so fast I thought one of the dogs was in pursuit but they were hanging out on their beds. The rain has curtailed their activities too. Radar won't stand at the corner wallaby watching. Whippets don't like getting wet me thinks). I've gone to her website several times for inspiration - not the subject manner but the way that she portrays it. It's humbling. Not only is her work detailed and lifelike but she has this well of creativity. Her pictures mean something. You may not like the meaning portraying as it does death and a sort of hopelessness. It is not life enhancing, referring to a previous post, except with the beauty in which it is portrayed. There is one drawing called the kiss or the embrace or something like that. It is a close up of a man, alive and warm with that life being embraced by a thinly fleshed skull with a skeletal hand holding the man's cheek. It is awful and it is beautiful.
Just had a short email from a friend of ours. He and his wife have just split up. What a bastard. Why does it have to happen to the nicest people? I know, I know. There's a reason and it's all good in the end but it hasn't been so long that I don't remember how badly it hurts.
The drawing. I'm going to call it The Night Cat. It's an outline of a cat leaping. It's 'framed' by a leopard pattern frame surrounded by surrealist trees in a night sky. The background of the cat is a patterned space partially filled by a knobbly somewhat surrealist tree. Naturally I don't know what it signifies, if anything. (There is a rather soggy looking kookaburra sitting on the hills hoist. Foraging for all birds will be difficult with this rain. I know flying foxes starve because the nectar is washed from flowers and assume the same holds true for nectar feeding birds. Insects would be taking refuge from the rain as would lizards. I am glad of the rain but admit to missing the sky and sun. This overcast drizzly weather has been continuing for weeks with little days of sun inbetween). Anyway, a day when one works at art is a good day. I've had a lot of good days. Again this drawing is in pencil and ink. I like the blackness of the ink contrasting with the malleability of pencil greys. Doesn't it just excite you to make something that was not there before? To create. It is our hand within God's I think. The Power That Is CREATES but we in our tiny little reality can mimic that greatness and pull something from nothing. It doesn't have to be world class, it only has to be ours. And original. Anyway, tomorrow, weather permitting we'll go to a garage sale at Helidon. They have pictures in frames for sale and I am always on the lookout for cheap frames with glass already in them. It makes framing work so easy since I don't have a clue how to frame things and have never bought materials. I have a huge frame, bought for $20 from St. Vinnies. I don't even have paper large enough to fit in it. Not sure what I'll do but other people work large so it must be possible.
Which brings me to an artist called Laurie Lipton. She works very large and in pencil and although her works are somewhat macabre, she is a tremendous draftsman. (Ah, the kookaburra got something from the grass and has flown off over the dam. Earlier a wallaby raced across the dam bank so fast I thought one of the dogs was in pursuit but they were hanging out on their beds. The rain has curtailed their activities too. Radar won't stand at the corner wallaby watching. Whippets don't like getting wet me thinks). I've gone to her website several times for inspiration - not the subject manner but the way that she portrays it. It's humbling. Not only is her work detailed and lifelike but she has this well of creativity. Her pictures mean something. You may not like the meaning portraying as it does death and a sort of hopelessness. It is not life enhancing, referring to a previous post, except with the beauty in which it is portrayed. There is one drawing called the kiss or the embrace or something like that. It is a close up of a man, alive and warm with that life being embraced by a thinly fleshed skull with a skeletal hand holding the man's cheek. It is awful and it is beautiful.
Just had a short email from a friend of ours. He and his wife have just split up. What a bastard. Why does it have to happen to the nicest people? I know, I know. There's a reason and it's all good in the end but it hasn't been so long that I don't remember how badly it hurts.
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