Louisville Zombie Attack (Pt. 1)

As I was walking along Bardstown Road toward Eastern Parkway, I passed this guy in a white lab coat. As he walked past me, I heard him saying into his cell phone, “…we have zombies on Bardstown Road…”

He hurried past, and started interviewing groups of people.

At Bardstown and Eastern, the crowd was gathering. The sidewalks were lined with spectators. I stopped and waited.

At 8:29, a cheer went up, and the zombies surged forward. The first ones ran (I guess to beat the crowd to the tables at Bearno’s), leaving behind the cutely shambling undead families, rotting hot mini-skirted cheerleaders, portly redneck beercadavers, pale corpse brides, and various other made-up grotesque goofballs to form a long cannibalistic parade.
Standouts were a zombie who continually wandered through traffic, often falling in the middle of Bardstown Rd. and crawling; a zombie Easter Bunny; a zombie Speed Racer; and an undead Adam and Eve, who really looked quite naked from a short distance away.

House drawing

Here is another house drawing that I finished a few weeks ago.  This is 5 x 7", smaller than the others I've done.   I don't want you to get the idea, based on all these posts, that I've been unusually productive. I've just been saving up.

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Printmaking: fraught with peril

Here is one of the other prints. I consider this one to be a fine, usable print, but you can see a registration error on it. It's most apparent on the front of the neck, where the orange color goes a little beyond the black outline.   I started with about 30 prints, and about half had to be discarded.  The majority of those "discards" had this problem, but worse.  The other common problem was poor inking or ink coverage.   That's the kind of thing I can get rid of with a little more practice and consistency.   This was an engaging project.  I quickly reached the point that I get to with a lot of painting: I don't just like the entire image, but also become very interested in the small details that most people who aren't "into" the process don't look at. More specifically, I like to look at the textures and minute ridges in the ink, how the colors lie atop one another, that sort of thing.  It's similar to looking at the brush strokes in paintings, and what the paint does at the very edge of the canvas. Fascinating stuff.  For me, I mean.

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"Masai Giraffe"

This is the completed product.

Linoleum block relief print in 3 colors: "Masai Giraffe"

I finished my prints of Walker the Masai giraffe from the Louisville Zoo. This is a 3-color reduction linoleum block print, 6 x 9 inches.   Out of about 30 attempts, I got 16 decent prints, which I think is pretty good for a novice working on his dining room table.  One of them was printed on a nice printing paper, the name of which I can't remember because I got it 15 years ago.  The rest were printed on white copier/printer paper.   Pictured are my printing/registration apparatus and a bunch of the prints drying on the floor.

That "paint-out" painting from back in June...

I never put up a picture of the actual finished painting from the LVAA Paint Out. Well, here it is.

Sunflowers 2

Almost all the sunflowers on the northeast side of our back yard ended up facing toward our neighbor's driveway, making me feel shunned. Stupid heliotropism!

Sunflowers

Our sunflowers are in full bloom.  I took a bunch of photos, but this one is the prettiest, with the blue sky and pretty clouds backing up the flowers.

"The School" by Don Barthelme

I've been trying to find a short film version of this story that I saw on PBS a few years ago. It was pretty good. I did find one version from the same time period, but it wasn't the one I saw before.  I did, however, find the short story itself online, and thought that Kevin and Brian might like to read it. http://web.mit.edu/norvin/www/somethingelse/barthelme.html

Here's what I was doing between 3:00 and 4:00 this morning

Kim and I were eating at a very nice restaurant, possibly Buca di Beppo, with musicians playing near the front door. It was dimly lit, and the musicians began a song that was captivating from the first notes: it strongly reminded me of a train gathering speed, and the string instruments were whirring rhythmically. The pasta I was eating was fantastic.   The next song was a Cracker cover. Then it was on the radio, and we were in a car driving at night.  The DJ started talking about Cracker, and we could see on the screen footage of the crazy interview that had everyone talking. Cracker was on tour in Australia, and two of the band members -- David Lowery and John Hickman -- were being interviewed at a school.  They were being interviewed by children, and (we could see this on the surveillance film) just a few minutes into the interview, the unruly kids started pelting them with candy.   The kids walked off. I was there, and I had one of the kids collared.  She was a young girl. I began to escort her to a classroom so that I could discuss her behavior with a teacher.   I was conscious of the fact that I was an American and everyone else was Australian. Did I know how these people would react?  I resolved to talk to these kids seriously.   We were now outside, walking down a very long, very steep hill comprised of concrete tiles. I was trying to keep up with the girl, but she was getting farther and farther ahead, even though I had longer legs and was trying to go fast.   Then we were actors in a movie.  The plot dictated that at the bottom I was to fall and badly break my leg, and the girl was to go for help.  I was supposed to fall and then call her back to help me, but she was sort of a bratty kid and I wasn't to let her know that I was actually acting and wasn't really injured.  She needed to actually believe I was badly hurt or else she wouldn't go through with it for the sake of the movie.   Then I began to suspect I was wrong and that she was actually a good young actress.  We were walking farther and farther.  Now we were in Greece, climbing a rugged hill.  I decided to climb out along this fallen pine trunk that was hanging over the edge of a cliff; I could use the trunk to climb from one part of the cliff to another.    I was out on this decrepit twisted old tree trunk, fearing to look down, when I realized that the tree was probably not going to support my weight.  I started backtracking, but the girl told me to keep going.  She knew Greek pines well, and climbed on them all the time. This one wouldn't break, she said. (She made a joke. I, still not looking down, asked her what would happen to me if I fell. She said that I'd really enjoy that vodka... that vodka they used here in Greece... that vodka that the Greeks used for embalming.)   I made if off the branch and climbed through the window into the room.  The girl had been getting older and older as the dream progressed, not as a plot point but just the way people's IDs in dreams keep changing. Now she was closer to my age and had been telling me her life story and her interests.   "So," I asked, "have you always been interested in entomology, or is that just a sort of sideline for the other things you need or want to study?"  The center of this large tiled room we were in contained some kind of large block-like machine made of brass or gold. I tried to get a good look at it.

Missing key

Last night I realized that I don't have my minivan key.  I don't know where it is. At some point in the last week, I took it off for some reason.  I have a very vague recollection of taking it off so that someone else could use it, but I don't know when, where, or who.

Meteor watching

Last night was pretty clear, so I set out for Long Run Park and got there around 11:50. I circled the lake and saw just a few other people on the hoods of their cars or on blankets. I presume they were looking at the sky, too, although I kept out of their business.   It was very dark (there are no lights in the park), so I didn't realize that the field in which we used to throw out blankets for late-night picnics and stargazing was overgrown until I had walked right up to it.  I suppose they are letting it grow over both because it's more environmentally sound and because it costs a lot of money to mow such a huge space that isn't used much.   I put up my lawn chair in the stip of mowed grass between the field and the road. The bugs weren't bad, although I did keep hearing things moving in the tall grass behind me. I had a pretty big flashlight, so I figured that I could defend myself if I were jumped by a rabid raccoon or a swarm of carnivorous field mice.   I sat for about an hour and counted eleven meteors, plus a handful more that I think I saw in my peripheral vision. Some of them were very bright. By 12:45 the half-moon was climbing above the trees and the sky was getting lighter, and I knew I needed at least a little sleep, so I headed home.  If I had been in a location with less light pollution, I feel sure I could have tripled my count.

Meteors

Last night was the forecasted high point of the annual Perseid meteor shower. I considered going out to Long Run Park to watch, but it was cloudy and rainy early in the evening and I wrote it off.  By the time I realized that the night was fairly clear (at least I think it was), it was late and I was very tired from a few nights of staying up much too late and getting up too early.   The weather guys seem to think that tonight will be clear, so I'm considering going out tonight around midnight.  The Perseids are likely past their peak, but they should still be decent.   I've been going out to watch them, on-and-off, since I was sixteen.  Long Run is probably just about the best spot within easy driving distance, but it's not nearly as dark as it used to be. New subdivisions and stores and a golf course were all built in that area over the past decade.  My friend Loraine suggested Taylorsville Lake State Park, which would surely be darker than Long Run, but it's too far out of my driving range for a brief stargazing excursion.   I'd like to go out to watch the Geminids in December, which are generally rated as the best annual meteor show, but they're…well, in December. December nights aren't usually the most comfortable, although I did go out one December night in Laramie to watch. I dressed as warmly as I could and lied on the hood of my car, but man, it was still cold and windy (I think it was about 15 degrees. I didn't last long.)  Then again, during the mid- November big Leonids show of 2001, we were at Otter Creek, and it wasn't too bad out at all. We were on blankets on the ground for a couple of hours.   It would be nice to spend more time stargazing at Kim's Aunt Penny's house in Michigan. It was beautifully dark and clear there.

I thought this first headline on Yahoo was poorly worded. I know it was a disaster, but I sure hope there are more Taiwanese survivors than that.

Sunday Night Part 2: Squash & Mint

At lunch today, I prepared our first freshly harvested summer squash. I tried a new recipe that turned out to be, in my opinion, surprisingly delicious: sauteed squash slices with honey and minced mint leaves. My daughters did not like it. I sort of threw a small slice into Kim's mouth, and she said she thought it was pretty good, although I noted she didn't get any more (perhaps she decided that it didn't go well with the spaghetti and pesto she was eating for lunch, which I an understand, although I thought it went fine with the garlic tomato sauce I had on my pasta.)

Seriously, though. If you have some squash and some mint, you should consider this. I was impressed.

Sundary Night Part 1: Hot

Our air conditioning is out. Kim and the girls had planned a "girl's sleep-over" in the living room, and the lack of coolness didn't stop them. Our daughters stayed up late watching movies, getting their toenails painted, and eating ice cream. I worked on getting the AC going, but my feeble efforts failed. Now the girls are asleep on the floor, Kim is in the love seat, and I'm blogging in bed.

Kim had the girls' "lovies" (their favorite dolls they sleep with each night) set out for them, including Jill's Curious George. Jill, however, marched Curious George straight back to her bedroom: "No! This is a girls' sleep over!"

White to black

This is going to bug me.   Last night I was finishing up a pen-and-ink drawing, and needed to touch up one little area.  I rummaged around until I found an old tube of white Pelikan-brand gouache (artist-grade tempera) that dates back about 20 years to my college art classes.   There wasn't much left in the tube, and I could hear it rattling dryly, but I knew it was water-soluble and would probably still be usable. So I used scissors to cut into the tube, tore it open, and dumped out the lump of color within.   But it was black. I rechecked the tube's label. It said, very plainly (in four different languages), that it was white.   I got some of it wet, and it was very black. I smushed some of it back in to paint. It looked for all the world like a nice inky lamp black. I re-read the label again to make sure I wasn't crazy.   So here's what I wonder:   1. Has there ever been an instance of Pelikan plaka changing color from white to black over time? Some sort of chemical reaction, maybe? However, an artist-grade paint that changes from white to black seems like a horrible scandal and extraordinarily unlikely.   2. Could it really be that, years ago, I transferred black gouache to a tube that had held white? I would have had to clean out the white tube to remove traces of white, and then put the black paint in (presumably by squeezing from one tube into the other through the openings). And then I would have neglected to re-label it.  I would then have to forget ever doing this. And why would I have done this in the first place? I can imagine a tube of black getting a hole in it, and me deciding that I need to put it into another container, but why into another tube? This would have been at a time when I had access to other little empty bottles and jars.

Garden update

We had our first ripe (cherry) tomato on July 31, about a month later than last year; There are tons of green tomatoes of all sizes hanging all over the plants; the first sunflower opened on August 1; I just planted the seeds from the cilantro that I planted in the spring, in the hope that in a month or so we'll have fresh tomatoes and cilantro together in the garden; there are now some squashes bigger than my thumbs, and almost ready to pick; the pumpkin vines are growing quickly and well.   Photos to follow.

Michigan sand dunes

This is one of two photos from our vacation that I specifically wanted taken of me so that I could put it on my blog (the photo in the last post was the first.) Why this photo?

Just so I could caption it with, "Look, sir. Droids."

Dr. William Beaumont

We came across this monument on Mackinac Island. I had to have my photo taken with it; the story behind it is sort of cool. Also, I might have to print a copy of it to show to my gastroenterologist, just to let him know I was thinking about him on my vacation.

On a beach in Traverse City

I think this is a really cute picture of my family. It's the second or third in a series of photos, and this duck kept getting closer and closer until we had to react.

Belly painting

This is my most recent painting, from a few weeks ago.

Independence Day photo 2

Independence Day photo 1

A picture for the previous post

Mark your calendars; 2017

I was reading about the total solar eclips in Asia yesterday...or today...I'm not sure which...but, anyway, it made me wonder when I'd get a chance to see one myself.   I recall, years ago, looking at an eclipse map and schedule and thinking, "Well, I suppose I'll be able to see one, but it's decades away..."   I looked up such a map again, thinking it would still be decades away. Iti's really just a bit over eight years, although it's amazing to me that the year 2017 can seem so close.   The total eclipse won't be visible in Louisville, but it will be just a little road trip away.   See you in Paducah or Nashville in August 2017!

There's just two songs in me, and I just wrote the third

Why am I so tired? It's because of the songs I must make up each night. I sing to my daughters when I put them in bed. They request the music. It used to be easy: Mary Had a Little Lamb was in tight rotation, but there were frequent requests for Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, that sort of thing.   Lately, however, they've been asking for number songs. "I want a song about three," or "I want songs about zero and ten."  And now it's getting even harder, as exemplified by last night's request: "Umm…I want a song about… one-hundred seventy-two one-hundred zero."   They're wearing me out.

loving work

While visiting with friends a couple of nights ago, our conversation touched on careers and work.  We talked about work in which a person is so interested that he feels gladly immersed, derives satisfaction from it.   I was asked whether I had this feeling while painting--did I feel absorbed to the point that I could lose track of time? Are there any other forms of work I feel that way about?   With art, definitely.  Producing images can be a frustrating ordeal, and it can often be hard to focus.  I can be tense and even angry.  But mostly I want to keep working and I wish I didn't have to look at the clock.   I also thought about coin collecting.  It goes beyond simply looking at and trying to acquire coins. Reading about their history and trying to understand their cultural context is engrossing for me. I can be quite consumed by performing "detective work" on a mystery coin. However, it still feels more like a hobby, and I feel a lot of my motivation derives not from joy in the work but from a primal desire to possess, and to compete with rivals who want to possess, and to cooperate with others in honing my skills at acquiring. It's no wonder that my favorite coins have animals on them; it's hunting. What would the world of numismatics be like if a large percentage of coins featured scantily-clad women?   Later, after our conversation had moved on (I would have mentioned it, but it would have been too much of a digression), I realized that gardening was probably closer to art in terms of feeling like deeply satisfying, engrossing work.  It's harder to do, logistically speaking: much of the time it's too cold, or too muddy, or to mosquito-y.  However, there is always, always more work to do, and I want to do it. Much of the time I am inside the house, I can feel the plants outside pulling me.  I want to tie and stake, trim, and mulch.  I want to flip and stir the compost.  I want to look for harmful pests and disease.  I want to dig more space and plant new things and eat what's growing. I don't know why it feels so satisfying, but I only stop when I really feel like I have to meet other obligations or when I realize that I am harming myself physically (through sunburn, bug bites, and dehydration.)

MDing first

On my lunch break I went to the doctor to get my allergy shots.  I was in and out pretty quickly, and it left me with about 20 minutes for metal detecting.  I went to the edge of a school ball field to hunt, and had another first: my first dollar coin.  It's a Sacagawea coin, but I haven't cleaned it off enough to see the date.   With things getting hot for the summer, I only feel like I can dig while detecting if I'm in mulch, an already not-so-nice area, or if conditions are wet. Today I made sure my digging was in out-of-the-way spots, and only made little holes.   I've found a fair amount of change there in the past, and it's an old school, so I'll go back again sooner or later.

Happy birthday...

...to the Dalai Lama!  And to Kevin!

Distant cousin?

Norbert Dobler runs a restaurant, Dobler's, in Mannheim. That's in my ancestral homeland of southern Germany.   http://www.doblers.de/

Blackberries

I asked the girls to pose with the blackberries, some of which we ate last night. My youngest really takes after her father. We may not get another photo of her making a "normal" face until she's twenty years old.

Sunflowers

Here is one of my patches of sunflowers.

first tomato

This'un here is the first little tomato I seen growin'. And it aint even on a plant I planted! This darn thing is a tomato that come up in my old compost pile. Go figure.

Misc.

Here's a photo of some recent stuff I've worked on. Top right: a small watercolor, with pen-and-ink, of a tree at Hounz Lane Park.  I did the watercolor portion on lunch break, and the pen portion that evening.   Bottom right is a sumi ink drawing I started on lunch break a last week. It is also a creek-side tree at Hounz Lane Park. After I got home, I used a couple of ink pens to add some detail and shading.  I don't much care for this drawing, in part because the tree resembles a giant hairy wrist or ankle, with the roots a foot or hand sinking into the bank – although this strange appearance has something to do with what attracted me to it in the first place. The roots were weird and elegant.   The giraffe is a proof-print of the linoleum block I am carving. It will end up being a three-color reduction print. There will be more photos of that later.  I am going to hunt around for something nicer to print on than regular printer paper, at least for some of the prints.

Illuminated footprints

Here is another example of something that I have experienced, and which would probably provoke headshakes and mutters of "I think you're making this stuff up" from friends.  This is taken from the following site:   http://www.lifesci.ucsb.edu/~biolum/answers.html#q26   "My husband told me there are places you can go (although he could not remember where any of these places are located) where some sort of phosphorescence actually creates a "luminescence" in beach sand -- not just the ocean water itself. He said you could walk along the beach at night and leave glowing footprints. I would love to know where such conditions exist.    [ Top ]  -- Andrea C. "Your husband is right -- the sand will light up sometimes because tiny organisms have been washed ashore by the waves. When I have seen this phenomenon, it is mainly in your footprints, but it can also happen in a ring around where you step. I believe the footprint-glow is from the organisms (most commonly dinoflagellates, but also copepods and small jellies), which had been resting peacefully in the damp sand, getting squished. The ring of light, though, seems to happen as you compress the sand, and the disturbance stimulates them. In my experience a footprint in the sand raises the sand around it and "dries it out" a little bit. "Even though this isn't really happening *in* the water, the organisms originated there, so you are more likely to see it in the damp sand near the ocean's edge, or following a receding tide. It would also be enhanced when bioluminescent organisms are abundant in the ocean itself. "Enjoy the show! "     I don't remember when it was I saw this, but it was as an adult. Perhaps it was the last time I was at the ocean, in South Carolina, or it might have been an earlier trip to Florida. I think it was the South Carolina trip.   The beach was dark. I noticed that the sand around where I stepped grew distinctly lighter, and when my foot was removed it darkened again.  I spent some time trying to figure out if the effect was caused by my foot compressing the sand and pushing moisture out of it, affecting how well it reflected light from distant sources (both ambient light from the sky and distant lights from streetlights and hotels.)  After messing with it for a while, I tentatively concluded that it was some form of bioluminescence.   It is a strange and beautiful world.

New house drawing

This is my newest walnut ink drawing; it was commissioned by a co-worker. I'm very pleased with how it came out, although my photographs of it are somewhat lacking. The top two are close-ups for detail. The guy who requested it asked that the little jockey be visible, as the house's owners were very fond of him.

First sumi ink drawing, part 2

…and here is Jill's, which she described as, "that's a house that can walk and it's a robot, and that's all the stuff that you need to wear, and that's a house for the steam, and that's all the steam popping. There's more smoke, and more smoke, and more smoke, and more smoke, and more smoke, and more smoke, and more smoke."   I am a rather proud father of these artists.

First sumi ink drawings, part 1

Here are my daughters' first sumi ink drawings, done last week with ink and brush. They were coloring at the dining room table, and I had out my sketchbook and ink. They expressed curiosity about what I was doing, and I asked them if they wanted to try it.   This one is Erin's: it's a scarecrow on a post inside his house, with big gray storm clouds coming.

Last night I had a dream that my friend Aaron won the Daytona 500. It was very exciting and we were all very proud of him.   Congratulations, Aaron!

refurbished ink

Yesterday I decided to clean up my jars of walnut ink. After I made the ink a year-and-a-half ago, I never added any preservative.  They have since molded, and the mold formed blobs of gunk inside the ink.  Yes, disgusting, I know.  The ink has still been usable, but as the supply of ink within the jar has dwindled, the gunk has become more and more in-the-way.  So yesterday I gathered the jars of ink I could find (I was surprised by how few I had; I think I've used up more of the ink than I realized. A lot of it gets wasted.)  I re-strained it into a new jar, and added a couple of tablespoons of denatured alcohol.   I haven't used it since. I hope the alcohol has no effect on the ink's application.   I still have walnuts in the garage.  Sometime soon, when I have an opportunity to make a mess without bothering my family with it, I'll have to make some more ink.   Kim has been complaining about a strange smell in the garage, one that I don't notice (the garage, to me, smells like gasoline, paint solvents, and grass clippings).  I wonder if she's smelling my rotten walnuts?

More time

While discussing time with Brooke and David over the weekend, I realize I have another time-quasi-picture in my head for the decades of the last hundred years or so.   When I think of the years of the past decade and the 20th Century, I vaguely see them in my head as a series of stepping-stone-like tiles, sloping downward and backward from the present. They are grouped in tens, by decade. The 60s have President Johnson hanging over them spectrally. The 40s are warmer-hued and darker.

Take me to the river

Well, I received some very nice, and interesting, comments regarding my previous couple of blog posts.   Regarding Kevin's comments about the circularity of I-264: I agree totally. Now that I live near the Gene Snyder, I-265 is the focus of my frustration for the same reason.  Whenever someone asks me for directions, I have to tell them, "OK, get off 71 onto the Gene Snyder going either west or south…whichever it is, you're headed towards the right…"   One thing that I became aware of when I lived in Laramie was my use of landmarks when I navigated.  These landmarks could be things actually seen, or they could be things that are real but which are unseen and exist as constructs on a mental map.   While driving in Laramie, I realized that I had lost the major navigational "beacons" of my mental map: the interstates and, most significantly, the Ohio River.  While driving in Louisville, everything ultimately relates navigationally to the river.   In Laramie, the mountain ranges became the guiding stars, which was usually easier because except on the darkest nights one can see them from pretty much anywhere.  It was hard to get turned around and be facing the wrong direction when I could just crane my neck around to see where the Snowy Range was.   One can only take the need for navigational aids in Laramie so far, though. If you get lost and drive in a straight line, it won't be long before you come to an honest-to-God edge of town. Once you spot antelope, you know you've missed your turn.

Counterclockwisey Loosey, or, why everyone but me is weird and stupid.

Everyone’s heard “lefty loosey, righty tighty,” right? It rarely makes sense to me. I know what people are saying when they say it, but when I point out that it doesn’t make any sense and in some contexts it’s confusing, people usually tell me that I just see the world in a weird way. Or do I just see the world more clearly, I wonder?

Exhibit A: This beautiful rendering of a jar lid (thanks to the talented boys and girls down in the graphics department!) depicts, via informative arrows, “lefty loosey.” But why is it turning left, I ask? If it is rotating, then exactly half of the lid is turning towards the left; half it turning towards the right; half is turning towards you, and half away from you. It seems just as accurate, to me, to say, “righty loosey,” or “downy loosey,” or “away-from-me-loosey.”

This, of course, seems especially true when the object is horizontal. If the object is rotating on a vertical plane, it makes more sense to say that it is rotating in the direction that the top is moving, since we all seem to have a prejudice (whether it’s biological, cultural, or simply derived from our usual vantage points, I don’t know) to identify with the top. However, I think the concept of lefty-loosey-righty-tighty is encountered much less frequently on the vertical than the horizontal planes.

In fact, we usually see things at an angle, as the jar lid in Exhibit B. In this case, it makes more sense to me to place emphasis on the portion of the object that is nearest, which would make it “lefty-tighty,” as emphasized by my extra-scribbly arrow.

Oh well. I know I can’t change the world. But maybe I can find a little understanding.

Forward in Time

I envision the year as circular, like a clock. The new year begins at the 12 o'clock position.  However, when I think of the progression of months and seasons, things run counter-clockwise. January is at 11 o'clock, February is at 10 o'clock, and so on.  Summer is always at the bottom of the year. Winter is aways the top of the year.   On the wall of one of the rooms at church, there is a huge felt banner laying out the church year like a clock.  Each Sunday is a dot around the edge, and there is a big felt arrow, like a minute hand, that can be moved by one of the kids each week to tick away the Sundays and to show the progression towards and through the holy seasons of Advent and Easter. Something about this big calendar bothered me right off the bat, and after many months I finally figured out that it seemed to me to be going backward, since it ran clockwise.   I often run into confusion when people talk about "moving something up a day" or "back a day" in a schedule. In my head, schedules form a timeline. Usually, when I'm picturing my involvement in some event, I identify with some spot on the timeline: The day on which I have an appointment, or the day I have off from work, or the hour of the day during which I take my lunch break.  This spot on the timeline is the "me" spot.   When something is moving forward, that means it is progressing towards "me."  That means if it is an event that happens after the point on the timeline that I'm interested in, "moving it up" means shifting backward in time, in my direction.  If the event is chronologically before the "me" spot, then "moving it forward" means pushing it to a later time towards "me."  Obviously, this is confusing, since moving something forward in time can mean going backward or forward on the timeline in my head, depending on where I see myself as standing on the timeline.   Things are a little different when I think of days of the week.  Usually, days in this context spread out before me like a somewhat abstract, nebulous tunnel, with each day labeled with its name.  I am moving forward through this, so if we're talking about "moving something forward" in this context, it always means pushing it back in time, in the direction that I am headed.  I have to consciously change my thinking about it if I'm discussing it with someone and I realize we're probably thinking of it differently.   Weeks have a color, by the way.  They are a light cool gray.

Proud trophy recipient

A day of painting en plein air

On Sunday I participated in the Artebella 100 Paint-Out, sponsored by the Louisville Visual Arts Association. There was a registration fee of $50 (a little less for LVAA members) to participate.

At 7:00 a.m. I showed up at the Water Tower with my carload of paint and painting gear. I had my blank canvas stamped, and headed out to paint.

The location I selected was at Champions Park, formerly River Road Country Club. I set up my easel at the edge of one of the former fairways, the morning sun to my back. I started in the shade, but I was in the sun after a couple of hours. This prompted me to move a little. Sunburn was a secondary concern; I was mostly trying to avoid being dazzled by the bright light. Looking at a white palette and a white canvas in sunshine can make color selection and mixing a challenge. In addition, it’s been my experience that getting the brightness of colors right for indoor viewing is very hard when painting in sunlight. A painting that looks great outside can look much too dark viewed indoors. A landscape that I painted and which Ed and Loraine now have suffers from that.

I ended up having to move several times to get out of the sunshine, but I knew going in that this would likely be the case.

Champions Park is a very doggy place between 8 and 11:00 on Sunday mornings. At least 50 dogs, taken to the park by their owners, came running up to check me out. A few different times I had four or five dogs around me, chasing one another, sniffing my paint tubes, and barking at my easel (two different dog owners informed me that “strange structures” upset their dogs. “He’s afraid of ladders, and your easel is like a ladder,” said one.)

I tolerated this pretty well, I think, although after one peed on my backpack I kept a large stick handy and was prepared to use violence to enforce (human) social norms, if necessary.

It was a beautiful day for painting. I worked as quickly as I could. All paintings and drawings were due back no later than 3:00, and I made it back around 2:30.

There were about 70 contestants registered, more than expected. There was a large range of skill levels and subjects, in pastels, watercolor, oils, and acrylics.

Along with many of the other participants, I set up some of my artwork in the parking lot as we awaited judging. I sold a couple of small walnut ink drawings, and had many nice conversations with other participants and people who had come to watch. The experience made me much more interested in participating in an art fair sometime in the future.

I ended up with an honorable mention (a ribbon and a $25 check), which was nice.

I’d only had a little more than four hours of sleep the night before, so I was worried that I might end up feeling pretty bad before the day was over, but I felt pretty good.

Green Digit

A couple of days ago, I told Erin that we needed to pick some more sugar snap peas. They are starting to come in fast now, and there's a small window of a couple of days when they aren't too small or too big.  Erin was eager to run outside to pick them, but I stopped her for a moment at the door.   "Make sure the ones you pick are big enough," I told her. "They have to be at least as big as your thumb. No, wait," I continued, noting how small her thumb was, "hold out your hand."   Erin held out her hand.   I touched her longest finger and said, "Make sure they're as long as this finger before you pick them."   She carefully folded back all her fingers except for her middle one, keeping that extended as she ran out the door.  Oops.    I'll have to remember not to make that mistake if I help out the kids with gardening in Kim's preschool class at church.

Tiny Art Director

http://tinyartdirector.blogspot.com/   My friend Ed clued me in on this. It's awfully funny.

Petting goats at the Louisville Zoo

Bernheim Forest's Bloomfest

On Sunday we attended the Bloomfest at Bernheim Forest with the girls' Aunt Pam. It was lots of fun. One of the activities was the construction of "fairy houses" with any woodland materials you could scrounge up, plus a few additional decorative items (pine cones, flower blossoms, and other interesting bits) that the ladies at the fairy house zoning ordinance tent let you pick out.

Lots of fun! And ticks! And, for me, even a little touch of poison ivy!

More Derby Day

Brian and Kevin on the trampoline with their nieces.

Late Derby Day photos

It's taken me a long time, but here are some pictures from Derby Day. We spent the day at my cousin's house up in the knobs. Lots of fine, fun people; good food; games; and a great view of Louisville. We could see the banner tow operators circling Churchill Downs, far off in the distance.

I played cornhole, which is always fun. Here is Jill giving me a few pointers: And here is one of the exciting horse races we watched. I love the fact that Confused's jockey looks a little dazed, Wrong Way is facing the wrong way, and Slow Poke is in back.

Germantown Street, October

Here is a painting that I'm almost done with; I just need to put a little more work into a few spots. I'm very happy with it. I've been working on it, on and off, since October. It's small, only 8 x 13". I'm also working on a second painting of the same size. That one is a view from the same spot of the opposite side of the street. It's not as far along.

A detail shot:

Yesterday and today I tried several times to update my blog via email. The updates never got through, so I had to wait for a time (which is right now) that I could actually log in and update on this blogger site itself.

I don't know why the emails didn't work; I've done it before, many times.

Now I'll need new business cards

Our office receives various junk mail items each week; there's plenty of it, although we probably get less than many offices, thank goodness. Most of it just goes in the can, but one item caught my eye last week. It's a postcard advertising a free Myron brand pen, upon which one can have printed one's business name and address. Since this thing seemed up for grabs, I grabbed it, and just now I logged into the Myron website and ordered my free pen. That's why, in 2-3 weeks, I'll be excited to get a pen that says: The Sexy Numismatist he's also an artist! I can't say I'll mind the junkmail that comes addressed that way, either.

Erin woke up yesterday, walked into the living room wearing her nightgown, and lay on the couch. "I'm cold," she complained. "I want a blanket."   I grabbed a small afghan and tossed it over her, and went back to fixing breakfast.   "This blanket isn't big enough.  I want a bigger one," Erin griped.   To encourage her to just get up and get one herself from the small stack of blankets ten feet away, or at the very least ask politely for me to retrieve another, I said "Well, what's a good way to get one?"   There was a long pause, and then Jill chirped brightly from the other room, "You could say, 'Here, little blanket!'"   ---   I was up sort of late last night working on a sketch of a giraffe in preparation for my next linoleum block print.  I'm eager to begin the actual cutting process.  I also went out at lunch today and worked on a little watercolor sketch of a tree. It's nothing very involved, but it was a good way to spend lunch.