Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

Random thoughts on assignments I don't want to do and 'stuff'

Note to self--I really have to talk to blogger about those 'bullets' in the last post. I wanted bullets, not posies. Sometimes I really do miss Alphatype.

I think I want to go back to the first assignment, because I've already done that thinking and today my brain is slightly broken. Or I'm just being lazy. It's hot, it's summer, I'm allowed to be lazy.

The trouble with encouraging the dog (did I say that) to eat my homework is that I don't want to begin to try to explain the damage to the Black Beauty or the Red and Shiny Joy (damn, I just realized she'd have to eat two laptops, well, scratch that plan) to anyone.

Sadly, the Black Beauty has actually turned out to be the Really Dark Midnight Blue Beauty but I'm not sure that has the same ring to it.

The biggest problem I see with the blog so far is that I haven't been talking to a reader but to myself. If you don't think anyone's out there listening, acting as if seems a bit--odd? hopeful in the face of overwhelming apathy? silly? self-absorbed? Better to act as if it didn't matter, to wrap that insouciant James Dean air about oneself like a blanket.

It's easier to at least try and focus here at the B-A-M (by the Haunted Wal-Mart); I don't have to deal with a slow internet connection and the internecine bloodbath that flares up at least a couple times a day between PyePye and Moti, with the Noodle adding to the fun. Surrounded as I am by the autistic savant, Breck (the Fairy Princess, my border collie) and the four heartless, ice in their veins serial killers most folks call house cats, sometimes I just get 'jumpy.' They tolerate me for now though PyePye would miss me, I think, if I were gone. If the others ever develop opposable thumbs, I'm due for a short trip to the rest forever in a shallow grave alongside the highway. Ha! but even with thumbs, they'll never learn to work a stick--they're too short to work the pedals and see over the dash at the same time. Will they realize that in time? I can only hope.

More random stuff--the Keuring in Weirsdale is less than a month away and I'm going this year. And I'm not going to sprain my knee. Oh, no, I learned that lesson. I'll have at least two batteries freshly charged, at least one brand new memory card, maybe two, and make sure I bring both lenses with the Canon. I might bring a sketchpad and some pencils. I keep going back to that gesture drawing of the keuring judges I did a few years ago and want to do something with it. I think I might try enameling it onto copper, using a stencil.

Hot puppies but I'm gonna see me some Friesians real soon. I do love horses with My Little Pony hair.

School starts for me on Wednesday. Alora apparently relented or we made our quota, I'm not sure which. I'm hoping to run over to the school (oh where oh where will I park now, they've started that Fine Arts building and blocked off a bunch of the parking lot in front) and snag a studio monitor form from Kleckner. I wonder if Pat has a class Monday or Tuesday afternoon. I could make it a one-stop deal. Then at least I'd only have to deal with the parking lot and its problems only the once. Elsewise, I'll pick up the form, and try to make it in to the Fabrication class Monday night. Might as well frighten the toddler/trinket makers early. I can hear the whispers now--she's scary, she's fat, she's decidedly unstylish (but she's carrying Vera Bradley, something that embarrasses me no end now, oh how the mighty have fallen), she's old enough to be our mom--she's not supposed to be here! I must use this power only for good.

It works out for Pat, I'm sure it's easier to teach the two classes separately than to try to juggle the fabrication toddlers and the casting toddlers and whichever returnees happen to turn up. For me, it's neither here nor there. As long as I have studio access, and a studio monitor form, I'm good no matter what.

I signed up to take Dietrich Dohrmann's class through Community Ed. I'm hoping that since the man trained in 'the old country,' he might be able to teach me raising techniques. If not, I'll have to search further afield. The course description though mentions enameling on copper. I'll stay in the class for that. That is, if the man is content not to force me to set a cab in a bezel on an asymmetrical pendant and call it 'art.'

I'm supposed to write a post, the same post, to three different 'people.' I'll have to think about that. Ticking off the list--my mom, oh wouldn't that be whiny and unpleasant, with a big dash of self-pity thrown in. Museum curator, art critic, nah, I don't think so. BFF, that sounds good, ideal reader, that's not too bad, fellow artist, I could get behind that. I think I'll break out the paper journal and ponder it that way, when I put pen to paper I write differently, I get more contemplative or something. Maybe I'm just making it up.

The cat at the top of the post is Miracle, also known as the Noodle