New ATCs

New ATCs from a "leaf" swap.
Think I'll try applying this technique to some larger works

More Artists Trading Cards

I'm on a roll.

Artists Trading Cards

I've become addicted to making these 2-1/2 x 3-1/2 art pieces. It's a chance for me to get right into that paint and glue. As the name implies, these mini artworks are to be traded and not sold.



I had never made them before but signed up to participate in an ATC swap earlier this year through an internet art group I'm a member of. Each participant received the same packet of materials and were to create and send in 3 ATCs, for which each participant would received 3 ATCs back. The 3 I received were all so different, even though we all started with the same materials.



But, of course I made 4 and kept one for myself as a souvenier.



So, the group has another ATC swap and this time there are no restrictions. So I've tried some new techniques, incorporating some of my laser transfers onto collaged and painted card. Can't wait to see what I get in return.

Hanging Out Some Old Laundry

I've been dealing with a lot of elderly people these days. It's very depressing. My sister-in-law (73 with Parkinsons and dementia) is in a facility in Victoria with 2 people to a room. She has the half without a window. She's allowed to bring one dresser and hang a few pictures on the wall.

Another old friend of the family (97 who fell and injured himself) is in a facility in North Vancouver where there are 4 people to a room. All his belongs have to fit into a closet that's approximately 2 feet wide and a single drawer. His prize momentos are kept in a ziplock bag. Even more depressing.

My father (93 who fell around Christmas) has just transferred into an "enhanced assisted living" wing of a residence in Richmond, having been in the "assisted living" wing for the past 2 years. Lucky him, he has a private room and his own bathroom. There, he has his own bed, drawers, a big closet, chairs and TV. But, he's unhappy. He feels he is surrounded by dying people, which they technically are. Most people who leave this facility do so on a gurney.

So, are we reduced to this at the end of our life? Perhaps alzheimers and dementia are not so bad, at least you don't realize what's happening to your aging body. To fit your prized belongings into a ziplock bag, god, I can't even fit them into a single room, nevermind one small bag.

A Mother's Ramblings

I've just finished reading Lovely Bones and am now reading A Perfect Day To Go To China. The books have made me introspective these days, what with being a mother of two daughters. I always thought that the true love of my life would be a man and even though I am married to a wonderful man, I find my daughters consume my life. I always thought that once my daughters grew up, they would journey off on their own path, returning occassionally for Sunday dinners and special occasions. Not so.

When they were in their terrible teens, I wanted to disowned them, but miraculously they outgrew those years of rebellion. Then followed a few years of independence where they got full time jobs, lived with boyfriends, experimented with life, and I hardly heard from them. Now like the prodigal son they have returned and I seem to see them more than ever. Although neither live at home anymore, one in Vancouver, the other currently in Toronto, we email and talk on the phone almost every day.

When they were kids a mother's kiss could make the booboos better, an ice cream cone could make you forget you weren't invite to a sleepover birthday party. Now, I miss them when I'm not with them. My heart breaks when theirs is broken. My heart soars with every accomplishment. They constantly creep into my art.

Looking back, I take full responsibility for their careers in the music industry. When they were little, along with the preverbial bedtime story, each could choose a song and we would sing together before lights out. When they began kindergarten, they began music lessons. The rule in our house was that everyone had to take some kind of music lessons, piano was just the start. Soon after, one switched to drums and trumpet (much to our neighbours chagrin) and the other to violin then to voice (that's an instrument too she would say). They took associated dance classes and acting classes to round out thier performance skills. We had our share of bands practicing in our basement, nail biting auditions, and obligatory parental presence at performances. To this day, I try to go to as many performances as I can, from smokey bars in Vancouver to award ceremonies elsewhere.

We always encouraged them to follow their dreams and they did; unfortunately we forgot to encourage them to try to include a stable income as part of that equation. So one is a drummer and the other a singer. Both have had success to some extent (both have had Juno nominations), although the family bank seems to bail them out all too frequently.

Butterfly and Hosta

One of a series titled Close Encounters With Nature. Images are macro shots taken with an Olympus Camedia 5050. The hosta leaf with dew was taken in Campbell River on an early May morning. The butterfly wing was taken at the Spencer Entymological Museum at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. Images were combined in CorelDraw.

The Mind Is A Mansion

This is page 7 from The Mind Is A Mansion, an altered board book. The original book came with the holes. Background consists of washes of acrylic paint. The black and white text and image are transfers. Image is a black and white laser output of a traditional (non digital) collage onto release paper. Mirror image text is also a laser output to release paper. The transfer itself is accomplished using gel medium.

text for The Mind Is A Mansion:

The mind is a mansion that contains many rooms
Each a compilation described by our thoughts, dreams, emotions, ecstasies,
angers and secrets of our deepest selves.
There is so much that remains unseen
until we unlock the door and look inside.
There are infinite questions to be asked.
Much of the mind is cloaked in mystery
The more we look inside each room
the more we realize
that while these paradoxes and enigmas
are infinitely questioned,
they are forever never answered.