Bite me!

"We have to convince the little housewife out there 

that the tomato that ate the family pet is not dangerous."

-- Attack of the Killer Tomatoes!

Killer tomato 10-22-13

"Last year, more people were killed by automobile accidents, 

heart attacks, lung cancer, and natural causes combined 

than by any one tomato."

-- Attack of the Killer Tomatoes!

"Give the victim sympathy and the biter a clear message 

this is an unproductive way of getting attention."

-- "Put a stop to biting ...", SuperNanny.co.uk

"A tomato may be a fruit, but it is a singular fruit.

A savory fruit.

A fruit that has ambitions far beyond

the ambitions of other fruits."

--E. Lockhart,
The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks

This face tickles me so much I can't even stand it.

Seriously.

I can't even stand it.

You know the drill

"I wondered if full-blooded vampires had something like blue balls for their fangs

if they didn't get to feed when they were expecting to.

Like some kind of pseudo-sexual gingivitis."

--Sierra Dean, Grave Secret

Self portrait 10-17-13

"Every tooth in a man's head is more valuable than a diamond."

-- Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote

Self portrait (2) 10-17-13

"Gingivitis erupts through the gums of plenty of biters."

-- Dope D.O.D, "What Happened?"

"Trips to the dentist --

I like to postpone that kind of thing."

-- Johnny Depp

This is me disguised as a vampire with excellent oral hygiene. 

Wolf! Where?

"Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness."

-- Allen Ginsberg

Self portrait 10-12-13

David:    "I'm a werewolf.

  Alex:      "Are you alright?

                                                 David:    "I don't know, I'll let you know the next full moon."

-- An American Werewolf in London

"I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's,

And his hair was perfect."

-- Warren Zevon, "Werewolves of London"

Where there's smoke

"Quoting, like smoking, is a dirty habit to which I am devoted."

-- Carolyn Heilbrun

Self portrait 8-2-13

Buzzed

"Should I kill myself, or have a cup of coffee?"

-- Albert Camus

Face composed from rubber donkey teeth, alien eyes and a mustache 7-31-13

"She didn't know what Liam made his coffee with,

but it had to be magical sparkles and crack beans,

because it was the most delicious stuff she'd ever tasted."

-- Rachel Caine, Two Week's Notice

"I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now."

-- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

I love coffee.

Strong, black, clean, unadulterated by milk or sugar.

I like coffee that has body, texture.

If I could, I would drink cups and cups of it all the live long day.

But I can't.

Due to a handful of health "conditions," (including insomnia and anxiety) I have become one of those unbearable middle aged people who has to carefully limit their caffeine intake. So I allow myself a single cup of coffee in the morning. Sometimes I sneak a second cup, and almost always regret it. Realistically, I'd probably be a lot better off without even drinking the first cup. 

But Jesus. 

I'm battling chronic insomnia. 

Something's got to give. 

To save me from myself chugging a whole pot of temptation, I rely on one of those one-cup brewers that uses the little hermetically-sealed, single-serve plastic pods. 

It makes passable coffee. 

It's drinkable. Just. 

No body. 

No texture.

Just coffee.

On weekends, if my husband brews a pot of "real" coffee, I drink a little demitasse-full.

His coffee is so, so very delicious. 

I savor it. 

I appreciate it. 

I wish for more. 

I try not to give in.

I drove past two Starbucks on my way home from the insomnia clinic yesterday. 

I really, really wanted to stop. 

I got up super early that morning to get to my appointment on time, and I felt like I deserved a little reward for the ride. 

Just a little treat. 

But the list of sleep rules and guidelines laying on the passenger seat was giving me a definite "look." I think it might have even rolled its eyes and made that exasperated sound.

I kept driving.

And don't say, "Why don't you just drink decaf?"

I loathe decaf.

I'd rather drink ink.

Sometimes I get resentful and angry about not being able to enjoy something as seemingly innocent and harmless as a second, or third, cup of coffee.  And if you've been visiting the blog for long, you know what I do when I get resentful or angry or whatever about anything. 

I make a face. 

For obvious reasons, I named this one "Buzz."

Unfinished business

"In hell there is no other punishment 

than to begin over and over again 

the tasks left unfinished in your lifetime."

-- Andre Gide

Polymer clay mask 7-25-13

"I don't like the word 'experiment' in the context of art in general. 

It implies something immature, unfinished, 

something entertaining for a moment before it becomes irrelevant."

-- Abel Korzeniowski

Peg Boggs:   Oh, my. What happened to you?

Edward:      I'm not finished.

 

-- Edward Scissorhands

Typically a face has to be "finished" before I post it on the blog.

But sometimes I like to indulge in a process that takes a little longer than a day to complete, from start to finish.

Often, if I am waiting for such a process to take its time, I make other less time consuming faces simultaneously, post those, and wait for the time consuming one -- the lolly-gagger -- to be finished.

But today's face, even though I plan to do more to it, looked kind of cool in it's unfinished state. 

So I decided to share it, and some of my process.

For anyone who's interested.

This face is a mask -- a life-sized face -- made of polymer clay.

Usually when I make a mask this size, I use the clay as a mold only, and render the final mask from it in papier mache.

But this face  looked pretty cool in clay, and it had some details that I didn't want to lose in the papier mache.  Plus, I haven't ever made anything this big in polymer clay and I was in an experimental mood.

So I went ahead and baked it and made it permanent.

Here it is "raw," while the clay was still pliable and before I glued in the teeth.

Polymer clay mask (unbaked) 7-25-13

Polymer clay mask, baked, with teeth 7-25-13

And here it is "baked." With the teeth glued in.

While I was photographing it, it was getting dark, so I had work lights on. 

I dug how the light filtered through the mask highlighting and shadowing the different thicknesses of the clay. 

Also, it made this face look super-sinister. Which I also dug.  

It looked like this:

Polymer clay mask (2) 7-25-13

He looks pretty devilish, doesn't he? 

Or maybe she's a she.

 I haven't decided yet. 

Stay tuned.

To get the image at the top of the page, I used this same image, and just fiddled with the colors and contrasts, turned and tweaked a couple of knobs.

I plan to do more with this mask, but I enjoyed playing with it the way it is. 

It's a lot like raising kids.

You don't have to wait for them to grow up before you can enjoy them.

They're lots of fun at every age.

And its nice to take pictures to chart their progress along the way.

Also, just in case I fuck up this mask by doing more with it, I wanted to have a record of its existence while it was still pretty good.

Which is also a lot like raising kids.

Aaaaaarrrr! A pirate's face for me!

"Life's pretty good, 

and why wouldn't it be?

I'm a pirate, after all."

-- Johnny Depp

Self portrait 7-17-13

“A taste for adventure is by no means a masculine monopoly.”

-- Lloyd Alexander

“I do not see, for there is no I to see. 

That is what the pirates know. 

There is only seeing and, 

in order to go to see, one must be a pirate.”

-- Kathy Acker 

"I have a pirate fetish --

 I just always thought eye patches were sexy."

-- Michelle Branch

So, remember how yesterday I said I might start wearing an eye patch to hide my fluttering, twitchy eye?

To quote myself, I said,

"I'm thinking about wearing an eye patch.
A really cool-looking, bad ass eye patch.
It could be my thing.
I could be that cool, bad ass chick with the eye patch."

Well, I went one step further and made myself a bad ass pirate eye patch.

And once I'd made the pirate eye patch, really the only logical next step was to actually dress up like a pirate and wear it for a self portrait. Besides, it was a perfect excuse to try out my tarantula neck tattoo.

Granted, I don't look much like a chick, but I still think I look pretty cool.
Pretty bad ass.
And that fluttering eye thing?
You can't even notice it behind the skull and crossbones and dozen metal spikes.

I totally love it that my kids don't even flinch when I do shit like this.

While I was finishing up this costume, my 18-year-old son, Sam, came home from his responsible, normal, grown-up, big kid job.

I should have been fixing supper, but instead I was upstairs blacking my teeth when he came into my bathroom.

He was like, "Hey, whatcha doing?"
And I was like, "Dressing up like a pirate."
And he went, "OK. Do I have time to mow a couple of lawns before supper?"
And I was like, "Sure."

I love my family.

I mean, you know, when I'm not at sea, swashbuckling and avasting ye hearties and plundering and getting booty and lots of other super-adventurous, dangerous pirate-y stuff.

Best. Scarecrow. Ever.

“I promise not to hurt you, unless you try to take my shit. 

Then I'll twist your head off and hide it in a bush somewhere.” 

-- Cedric Nye, The Road to Hell is Paved With Zombies

Zombie scarecrow 6-23-13

“Brains, BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS.
BRaiNS, brains, Brains, BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS.
BRAINS, BRains, brains, BRAINS, brains.”

-- Ryan Mecum, Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your ... Brains

I planted a lovely vegetable garden earlier this spring.
It is fenced in and gated to keep out the rabbits and squirrels.
And now, for extra protection, it has a zombie scarecrow as a security guard.
He is guardin' my garden.

The way I see it, scarecrows are scary enough as it is.
Zombies are even scarier.
So the one-two punch of scarecrow and zombie is a fright cocktail that should keep out anything with a brain.

My son, Leo, helped me build this scarecrow, which is standing sentinel between the yellow zucchini and the red bell peppers.
I, of course, made the face. I made it from a Styrofoam wig head, some spray paint, some polymer clay rotted teeth and raffia (for hair).
Leo provided the arrow penetrating the zombie scarecrow's heart, as well as the materials for the dangling eyeball (covered wire and a bouncy ball). He also helped me pick out the zombie scarecrow's wardrobe at the thrift store. (I particularly love the adorable little -- er, I mean super scary -- Freddy Krueger sweater.)
Leo also built the frame and distressed the clothing, and he made the hands.  

A zombie scarecrow really is the best kind of scarecrow.
Think about it.
I don't have to worry about him eating my broccoli, zucchinis, cucumbers, peppers, basil and tomatoes, because zombies don't eat vegetables.
Zombies eat brains.
And vegetable plants don't have brains.
Except cauliflower kind of looks like brains.
And I am growing three cauliflower plants.
I will keep a dangling eyeball on those.

All up in my grill

“It’s one thing to make a picture of what a person looks like, 

it’s another thing to make a portrait of who they are.” 

                                                                                                                 – Paul Caponigro

Self portrait 4-19-13

All right Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up

“There are no bad pictures; that's just how your face looks sometimes.”

                                                                                                          -- Abraham Lincoln

Self portrait 4-14-13

“I always find beauty in things that are odd and imperfect --

they are much more interesting.”

                                                                                       -- Marc Jacobs

Cut it out

"Arrange whatever pieces come your way."

 -- Virginia Woolf

Arranged cutout eye and mouth 3-28-13

Wild thing

“And Max, the king of all wild things, 

was lonely and wanted to be 

where someone loved him best of all.”

-- Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

Self portrait 3-14-13

 

I am a monster

Leave me be

Don't let 'em dig too deep

You might just find the monster in me

The things I hide

These things inside

Don't let 'em dig too deep

You might just find the monster in me.

-- The Stolen Season, "Monster in Me"

We can all get a little monstrous from time to time.

Keep me fed, exercised, occupied and rested, and I'm a real gem.

Mess with the balance and I am likely to turn on you. Especially if you mess with my sleep. I'm like a beast with a sharp, sharp horn, and I will rip, tear, chew and gouge anyone who tries to get too close.

I am best left alone when I get like that. Trust me, it's better that way. 

There are fewer casualties.
Less bloodshed.

It will pass. Eventually I will work it out and come back around.

Sometimes, I just need to growl for a while.
Get it out of my system.
That's all. 

I don't necessarily like my monster self. But it exists. It doesn't do any good to deny that it is a very real part of me. Like many monsters, mine is a shy and frightened beast who lurks in the shadows and shuns the intrusion of others. But we have found ways to co-exist. Sometimes my monster even holds still long enough for me to take its picture.

Whimsy

"You must not ever stop being whimsical. 

And you must not, ever, give anyone else 

the responsibility for your life."

-- Mary Oliver, Wild Geese

Self portrait 3-7-13

"The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, 

who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, 

and gave to it neither power nor time."

-- Mary Oliver

These are words I try to live by.

They are the words of poet Mary Oliver, and they strike such a deep chord in me. I don't want to be a regretful person who neglected -- or worse, suffocated -- the cries of my needy, unruly, goofy, curious, rebellious creativity and let it turn blue with neglect in its cradle.

In the end, my "work" may not make a damn bit of difference to anyone else.  But I can't worry about that because I can't do anything about that. I am the caregiver of my own creative life. It is my responsibility and I take it very seriously. I must feed it. I must teach it. I must discipline it. I must indulge it.

And above all else, I must let it out to play.

Self portrait 3-7-13

That is what this blog is about, really.  It is a nursery where, for these 365 days at least, I am feeding and teaching and disciplining and indulging and playing with my "restive and uprising" creativity. There is necessary structure -- crib rails, if you will, to keep the child's body safe from falling while its dreams spill and burble unbound. But the structure and rules also have doors that open wide onto abundant freedom, a sprawling playground with plenty of vast space for whimsy and silliness to shout and swing, to run and ramble.

I am not trying to impress anybody. I am not trying to be profound. I am simply trying to nurture my own personal and creative growth by giving it a space where it can explore, experiment, try, fail, succeed and test possibility. You are invited to join me as often or as rarely as you like. I hope you feel welcome here. I hope I make you smile sometimes and I hope I make you think sometimes. I hope I make you feel something. If I am occasionally profound, I apologize. It is most likely an accident.

Pulling faces

Staple puller with foot 3-1-13

This is my staple puller. It is one of the many faces looking back at me in my workspace everyday

I don't know if it is supposed to be an alligator or a crocodile. I honestly don't know the difference. I even looked it up on the Wiki, and I still can't say for sure. Oh, well. I'm going to call it a tie and say it's a crocogator.  Pulling staples is a pretty mundane chore. A crocogator staple puller makes it more like an adventure!

(Shout out to my model, Joe, for volunteering his dismembered limbs for this shoot.)

Staple puller 3-1-13

Staple puller with hand 3-1-13

Express yourself

When words fail, screaming helps.
So does art.
Whatever your art, it can be the most precious and effective tool you have to "say" what you otherwise cannot. Artistic expression facilitates and accommodates the visceral side of self that is often too messy, dark and tangled for words. I have found that the messy, dark, tangled stuff is where art gets really interesting. Whatever medium you use, go ahead an let it out. Scream into the void and make something.

Thrift store doll face 1-9-13