East Side Mary

February 21, 2017 Earnest Painter

This is The Virgin Mary in her grotto on the East Side of Austin. I feel that she looks sad because she's locked in there, but I'm told that it's for her own good. Apparently not everybody on the East Side respects her the way we do.

A Stretching Exercise in Futility

February 18, 2017 Earnest Painter

The night before last the back of my right leg – just above the knee – warned me that it was about to cramp, big time. It was about 1:30 in the morning and I had to get up and walk around the room, thoroughly confusing my cats who didn't know if it was breakfast time or if we were still supposed to be sleeping. Normally when I stand up it calms the leg cramp down, but that's usually on the calf; this one was on the back of my thigh and it wouldn't be assuaged. It felt like if the cramp ever really took hold it was going to be hard, and I might never stand again. I went outside and walked on the patio, which just threw Anastasia into a complete meltdown. She sat in the window crying for me, but I had to keep walking. I went into the kitchen to drink water and take two Advil. After about 20 minutes of stretching, walking and standing on my feet I felt like I could trust the muscles to sleep through the rest of the night.

Since then, I still have a bit of a sore spot there, particularly bad this morning. So, this being Saturday morning I decided to do some serious stretching. I stood on the floor, feet apart and tried to keep my back straight, or arched as if standing, and bend at the hip. I put my palms on the floor. The cat, Butterbean, mistook my activity as meaning that I wanted to give her attention, so she came over and flopped on her side in front of me.

I decided to take my stretching outside into the back yard, in the shade of the live oak tree. Again, I stood still, breathing slowly. With my feet apart and keeping my back arched as if standing, I bent at the hips. This time I put my palms onto the soft grass. It's February, but we are also in Central Texas, so there is a mixture of dead grass and live grass along with the assorted other plants that make their home in our back yard. Our Calico, Mozart, came up with her demanding meow, accompanied by one of her sons, Magritte. Still bending at the hips, I pet them both as they arched their backs and their tails stood up straight. Soon, Matisse also showed up to get in on the action. I put my palms on the grass, then wrapped my hands/arms around the outsides of my legs and held onto the back of my calves, stretching the muscles in the backs of my legs, trying to reach that place on my thigh near the knee.

I put my palms back on the grass and Matisse bumped foreheads with me while Mozart demanded attention and Magritte lay in the shade under the cement table a few feet away. I pet the two at my feet and then put my hands back into the grass, this time walking myself with my hands forward in the soft grass until I was in a position resembling a downward dog. Matiss walked under my head and rubbed his body against my arm, then turned around and walked back. Mozart sat off to the side cleaning herself. Matisse walked to my hands again and tentatively licked my fingers, then gently nibbled. He looked at my with half-closed eyes.

I slowly walked my hands back to my feet, tried to bend the left knee while stretching the right leg out, then switching sides. Finally, I stood up and walked back inside to find Cleo enjoying the last of the waning morning sunlight.

Cleo, looking up from her sunbeam when she saw my phone camera

The last of the morning sun slipping away...

I don't know if I ever stretched the muscle that was bothering me, but the cats seemed to have appreciated the exercise.

Archiving, Letters and Ephemera

February 15, 2017 Earnest Painter

There's been a lot going on around Kiamo Ko / The Cattery / My Home. I just haven't had the time or inclination to write about any of it, which is strange being that all of the changes and sacrifices I made were so that I could write more.

Life isn't fair.

My new job has coincided with a newly discovered interest, that of archiving. I mentioned this before and it has turned into an interest that I cannot help but pursue. I don't know that I have so very much to archive, but I shall find things. I have letters that my father has written me. I have received many, many letters in my life – from the time before the internet and email – but I don't believe that I have any of them any more. If I come across them, you can be sure that I will take care of them.

I don't really know what I'm doing, though. I have a nifty scanner, so I plan to scan the items and keep electronic copies of things. I have acquired acid-free, archive quality sheet protectors and a notebook. (I'm only beginning and I have precious little to conserve at the moment.) From what I've found online these things are very important. I would like to find a library that does preserve letters and other ephemera, just so that I could learn from them how to properly preserve and catalogue.

In addition to letters and personal ephemera, I plan to arrange my photographs. That will be a related, but different sort of project. I'm thinking of Creative Memories, or something to that effect. My interest in genealogy has also been piqued again, simply from working at a place that handles birth and death records – actual paper records, from what I'm told. (I only get to see what has been electronically imaged.) This job has opened my eyes to a lot.

From studying history and other reading that I've done I have gathered that atmosphere is a very important consideration. The deserts of Egypt have papyrus writings from thousands of years ago. The dry air does not encourage moisture to get into the paper, which tends to allow it to last longer. Rainforests, on the other hand, are little beds of life. A picture on the wall will mildew within weeks, if not days, in that level of humidity. People have to fight it all of their lives – from their paper products, their clothing, towels, etc. Mildew is a type of fungus and it begins the process of breaking down organic matter. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. In The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, Leah reflects on Africa's ability to take its land back, no matter what Man does. Africa always reclaims. Leave a garden unattended for a few weeks and you wouldn't know that it was ever there. Life destroys things, organic things especially, in the cycle of living and dying. In the arid desert that processed is slowed – almost to a stop – and preservation is possible.

All of this makes me think of a friend of mine, Sunny. She is part of an organization called Society for Creative Anachronism. People dress and play the part of different time periods – all European from what I can tell. There are sword fights, dinners, kings, queens and all of the trappings of the particular era that they are focusing on. Sunny's interest seems to lie mostly in the historic study of the eras, particularly regarding the clothing and recreating it as close to authentically as possible. (I haven't seen her discussing dueling, cooking or other activities.) Not only does she want to find or make patterns for the appropriate styles, but she is interested in the types of fabrics that would have been available and even the method of sewing from the era in question. Sewing machines were becoming available in the early 19th century, which is very recent in our history. So, hand-sewing is what would be ideal for the authentic replication of the clothing. (That's not to say that she always has time for such things, but it is what she claims would be ideal.) Online I have witnessed her struggles with button holes and other fine stitching. She has received at least one commendation for her pursuit of historical accuracy, not only in her own endeavors but to bring her fellows to a level of accuracy that they might not otherwise be inclined to spend time on.

This study of history, the pursuit of knowledge and of preserving heritage is something I can relate to, even if I can't relate to the sword fights and politics of the pretend royalty and aristocracy. I tend to get the feeling that I really ought to pay attention to current events as much as history, so I've begun to read more newspapers and magazines. (The current political climate has also encouraged me to take a more active role in our society.) So, now I have magazines that I can hoard... preserve. I've written before that sometimes it helps an artist to be surrounded by things that encourage creativity, as long as we don't let it get out of control. This is where I need honest friends to help keep me real when it comes to hoarding tendencies. And, I need to learn to listen to them.

So, I'll let you go now. Thank you for taking the time to read my words. I do hope they have touched your life in some way. If they have, please take the time to write a comment below to let me know about it.

Until later I remain

Yours truly,

Earnie Painter

Art as Therapy

February 12, 2017 Earnest Painter

I stopped working for a minute and put my feet up. This happened immediately.

Things continue to progress here at the cat sanctuary, where cats have taken over from the flying monkeys. The new job is going well; the plan to consistently get through workdays without medicating myself is going as planned. In fact, the new job has rekindled an interest in archives and libraries. More on that later as the interest blossoms into a full-blown obsession.

Speaking of obsessions, have you ever felt paper? I mean really felt paper? Good paper. I have fallen in love with the way a Sakura Micron Pigma ink pen feels as it moves across a fine-tooth surface. I use 3 1/2" square tiles made from card stock, and sometimes larger – 5 inch squares – for larger projects. The ink from the pen does not bleed into the paper. I get a nice, crisp line that dries fairly quickly, without any need to blot. As the pen moves across the surface, I don't feel the tooth of the paper breaking. It's smooth, and relaxing and delightful.

Last year I began playing around with Zentangle. I could relate to the explanation of how it started – an artist and a Buddhist monk couple discovered the meditative aspect of art, specifically repeated patterns. It reminded me of when I was younger, of becoming almost intoxicated while working on a drawing project. I would get into a bit of a trance and I would barely register the things happening around me. When I looked up from the drawing, I felt that the songs playing on the radio were so much better, food had so much more flavor. I would be positively radiant with happiness, which made my family give me strange looks. Working from a photo, slipping into the zone of drawing was a physical experience as my eyes moved from the photo to my drawing and my hand moved across the drawing paper, recreating the space relationships and the tonal values with my soft-lead pencil. It's like when you put earbuds in and the sounds from the world turn off, or like when Bilbo Baggins puts on the magical gold ring. Slip, and then I would be in a happy place.

So, now as I think about the story lines that I'm trying to develop, I let my pen work on the simple strokes that make up the Zentangle method – simple strokes that repeat and create patterns, relaxing the mind and letting it wander in a way that cannot happen if I'm staring at a computer monitor. Per the Zentangle method, I write a little note on the back of my tiles and now I have a small artistic journal of my time since I decided to make a change in my life. I've expanded into mandalas – modern mandalas, not the Buddhist or Hindu religious pictures. I feel a little guilty for borrowing a sacred style, but there are mandala coloring books every three feet in bookstores, so I don't think I'm breaking rules or taboos – none that haven't already been trampled to unrecognizable bits anyway.

Below are some of the things I've done.

Zentangle desk. I have finished the larger piece that's in the top middle of the picture above – here it is a work in progress.

Zentangles 2 – I tend to incorporate phrases, lyrics and quotes into my tangles, the kind of phrases that stick in my mind for days on end.

Screened Window

January 14, 2017 Earnest Painter

Life is better with a best friend.

And a screened window.

bemol Ardiente