The Angry Landscape: New Studies

I like to make art that says something, that follows a concept through different manifestations. The house series, the alphahouse series, and the big girls all spoke about emotions, psychology, and empowerment, hopefully with a sense of dark absurdity. So when I looked at the blank pages of my sketchbook, and considered the equally blank walls of Ripe Art gallery, I knew I wanted to say something, but as to what, I wasn't sure.

I don't believe in writer's block, or painter's block for that matter. It's not a luxury I allow myself, so I plowed ahead, knowing that once I had lines on the page, even if it was absolute crap, I'd have a reference point. And then an idea came. Indulge me for a moment.

After a winter of snowstorms, hail, toppled trees, earthquakes, and flooding, it felt as if the earth was striking back at humanity. Roofs ripped off, rivers in basements, limbs crashing across suburban lawns, buildings reduced to rubble, power lines grounded-- Mother Nature's wrath was everywhere. As I was assembling the top collage of a house in a landscape, a rather mundane image at first, the hedges fell across the page in exciting angles, ones that suggested violence. 'The Angry Hedge' made me laugh, so I played with some other angry landscapes. Having personified emotive houses, it seems a 'natural' extension to now have nature attack us, not unlike killer tomatoes, and it definitely taps into my desire for a more eco-aware consciousness.

Ol' Blue

Cars are a superficial way we define ourselves and others. A new Corvette? Mid-life crisis. Mini-van? Make that a double mid-life crisis with a built-in DVD player along with the third row of seats. For me, I knew Potic Cottage would never be complete without a pick-up truck.

It was a magical moment-- me, the truck, Potic Cottage-- it all came together this weekend. The truck, yet another way actor/musician/fabulous person Tom Judson has enriched our lives, is perfect for bringing the kyack to Green Lake, or for hauling furniture, or for all those rugged things I've been known to do (uh, well, maybe not so much, but now with the truck-- definitely maybe!) Too bad I had to leave it behind as we cut our week upstate short due to heavy rain and coastal flooding back home in Islip. The perfect vehicle for that moment? Ark.

Goin' Underground

Gardenscape by Nadine Palumbo Bouler

I was completely inspired by Wes Anderson's film version of Roald Dahl's The Fantastic Mr. Fox. As I prepare for a flurry of new artistic activity, seeing this incredibly creative stop-action animation gave me some ideas about my course of action. I've long admired Roald Dahl's work, and certainly children's literature has informed many of my own images and writings. I also love the underground, with many of my paintings revealing two landscapes-- the public one above ground and the private one below. In fact, I set my fantasy novel Searching for Moongirl in a subterranean world. That's why I've always loved Edgar Allen Poe's work-- as his characters try to bury their crimes in basements, caves, the floor boards, until they are exposed for all to see. But like Mr. Fox, I'm not quite ready to give up my view of the sky. For my week up at Potic Cottage, I plan to dig in the ground and gaze at the stars, hoping to find a new landscape to paint.

Sketchbook

Not sure where these are going, but it's a start. And mark your calendars-- Louise Millmann and I are having a show at Ripe Art Gallery next December.

Spring Clean Up Continues

So what I've discovered with my spring clean up is that the fewer things you bring into your home, the fewer things you eventually have to toss. Obviously I know it's the first R in reduce, reuse, recycle, but it became evident that packaging is a huge part of that equation. After recycling the laundry detergent containers which had gathered in a corner of the basement, I decided to switch to Method, sold at -- where else-- Target. Because the soap is more condensed, it requires less packaging. It's the same reason I've switched to bags of coffee instead of cans-- less to recycle. Any other swaps for the sake of packaging? Do share.

In Praise of Mushrooms

There's something so mysterious about mushrooms. Not a plant, not a root, but a spore, they appear as if by magic. Mycological societies are incredibly popular in Europe, where the mushroom community bespeaks culture and tradition, where mushroom varieties have been catalogued for many generations. Not so much in North America, where the problem of identifying mushrooms is two-fold: a lack of previously established guides and the vastness of the region. To find a mushroom in the wild and determine if it is edible, even with a guide, is risky business. My great-grandmother used to send the children off to hunt mushrooms, soaking their finds in a tub, and throwing in a coin. If the coin stayed clean, the mushrooms were edible. If it turned green, she said she didn't believe in old wives' tales and ate the mushrooms anyway.
We took the safer route last year, purchasing a block of shitake mushroom spores on line for $30. After watering the darn thing twice a day with well water from Potic Cottage, I emerged with two mushrooms (what's that, $15 each?!), until the basement flooded and generated a third. At that rate, I might as well buy a shaving of black truffles.
Why all this talk about mushrooms today, you might very well ask. As I gear up for a week in the studio, I'm looking to all sorts of places for inspiration: field guides, photography, museums, literature, the garden, the city skyline, dreams, children's drawings. I'm not sure if anything will come out of it in terms of a painting or two, but I can say I'm quite enjoying the quest.

Louise's Entries

A Book About Death: Belgium

Here is my entry to the Book About Death Show in Belgium.

Chop Wood, Carry Water

Here's a photo essay of the 'Before and After' of the meditation garden clean up.

Every year I swear I'm going to clean it out in the fall to prevent unwanted mold and blight, yet when early autumn rolls around, I can only savor the last moments of greenery. By the time the leaves are down and blanket the garden, I seem to lack the spare afternoon or energy to put the garden to bed properly. Instead I tell myself the ground will stay warm and cozy until spring's clean up.

Yesterday's clean up was especially grand with its warm sunshine after a long winter. I turned on the last of a great audiobook-- Hunting Unicorns by Bella Pollen-- and savored the afternoon preparing for this year's herbs and flowers, celebrating its completion with Clara, James, and a bottle of prosecco.

Dinner at Verace

Dinner last night at Verace with Modernemama and the Guy-- a perfect way to spend the last Friday in winter.

Captree Site Visit

A sunny Friday morning is the perfect time to check on progress at the Captree site where siding and roofing are headed toward completion. I'm a huge fan of the skirt roof, the bump out in the gable, the variety of the roofline, but my favorite part? Check out that wraparound deck.

A New Find

Surfing the blogsphere over lunch today I discovered Vintage Printable, an awesome site for downloadable images-- everything from botany images to photographs. I'm thinking it might be a great source for some new collages.

Color Controversy!

Did Apartment Therapy realize the angst they would cause by listing the colors they would like to have "BANNED" from decor? It's a wonderful diversion from arguing about politics or from suffering anxiety over global warming, so I suggest you check it out, along with the incoming flurry of comments.

Painting a room a color is often a bold decision. And sometimes you need to be prepared admit defeat-- like when I painted a kitchen lime green, or when the yellow in a room was too bright. What looks great on a swatch can be painful in an entire room, but I think to have a rather lengthy list of colors to strike from one's options is rather provincial. One color struck down is navy blue, seen here in my downstairs bathroom. I don't know, but somehow the color doesn't offend me.

A Thousand Welcomes

I half-expected it to have faded, like a mirage, but here it was, the breathtaking views of the rugged coastline, the mist rolling in off the sea, the sheep maure lodging itself into the cracks in the soles of my shoes. Heaven? No, I don't believe in Heaven. It was home. -- Celtic Knot

When I wrote those lines about returning to the west coast of Ireland, I was speaking as the main character, but might as well have been speaking about myself. The image seen here is a photo I took from the top of Connor Pass, looking over An Danegean with the Ring of Kerry in the distance, and every time I go back to the Dingle Peninsula, I feel as if I can breathe again. Happy Saint Patrick's Day, and Slainte!

Spring Cleaning

Am I the only person who gains energy by setting the clocks ahead? Ever since the clock sprang forward an hour, I've been on a cleaning jag. The book shelves need some pruning, the bric-a-brac some editing, and the basement--- don't ask.

It's amazing how quickly the tide of clutter needs to be revisited. Last year I didn't get to my spring cleaning until June, so I knew I wanted to get started a bit earlier this year. My goal, to get something out of the house every day. Today I donated toys and coats, parted ways with a paisley silk blouse, shared a lovely scented soap, and tossed a broken humidifier. It's a start.

Over lunch I read a 'how-to' article about organizing one's home; however after reading the tips, it seems far easier to do the annual toss than to follow their complex regimen and stringent guidelines. If I had that kind of time on my hands, I wouldn't be disorganized in the first place.

Mellene of Melleneland blog and I commiserated on spring cleaning-- check out her hilarious entry on the issue.

Hudson: The Countdown

With spring in the soggy air, I look forward to heading upstate, especially to Hudson. I miss my favorite shops-- even just to poke around. Neven and Neven Moderne antique shop has the kind of mid-century stuff of my dreams. Gourmet shop Olde Hudson, seen here in its old location, is a must every time we go-- either to pick up snacks, dinner, or both. And of course no visit is complete without a pint and a read at the Spotty Dog.

Dear State Legislators

Please send your letters ASAP.

Note to Self: Reply

A couple of weeks ago, I responded to Mara Thompson's online call for snail mail art entries, Note to Self with a mixed media collage. The reply-- a charming image with the following words of wisdom on the back: 1) Focus; 2) Duck; 3) Keep an Ace. Good advice, I think.

Asian Fusion at Toku

Friends and I went to Toku at the Americana Mall in Manhasset a few weeks ago. Tucked between high-end boutiques, the place crackled with style and elegance. The interior, with its restrained color palette and intriguing lighting, was both urbane and intimate. As for the food, the presentation of the meal was only outdone by how delicious it tasted. A place I truly recommend.

It Isn't the Size of the House

This house in Upper Brookville might beg to differ. Listed at 12 million dollars and boasting 11,000 square feet, this house is a pastiche of architecture styles: Mediterranean, Georgian, Italiante-- you get your money's worth in the finish work alone. Handcrafted clay tile roof, nine marble bathrooms, marble tiled basement, sauna, steamroom-- you get the idea. It's a showpiece for sure.
Last night James and I attended a magazine launch/open house at this residence hosted by Shawn Elliott Real Estate. We were not alone. 300 people turned out to check out the Gatsby-eque scene, replete with models and musicians. It was the perfect setting for people-watching of both those who attended and those hired for ambience. My favorite staging was the couple in the hot tub, who sat in the sweltering water for four hours. Newsday covered the event-- check out their video report featuring our very own James Bouler playing the reporter in a round of Pac-man. (and check out the picture of the wallpaper in the 'game' room-- not an option for your foyer, modernemama!)

I know there is a market for this type of home, and certainly the opulence was staggering. But for me, the house became less of a home in its quest for luxury. Few spots invited me to sit and stay. In fact the best spot in the house had to be the third story observatory, which overlooked the five acres of beautiful gardens and trees. Even at night, it was all about the view, which was the true luxury.