Instant holiday de-stressor

Another pastel

Here's Adam, who was trying hard not to fall asleep while he sat for us. He'd been posing for different artists since 9:30 in the morning and had been up most of the night before with his 3-year-old, watching the first snow and playing with dinosaurs. So the intensity you see above is him saying to himself, "Must. Keep. Eyes. Open!"

Blue

I've been sitting in on a pastel class at the National Arts Club lately. Pastels? What? I know, that's what I said to myself, too, but there was an opening in a class and an invitation and in the midst of the strange trip the last six months of 2010 have been for me, saying yes was the path of least resistance. Yes to chalky, hard-to-control pastels! Why not! And the surprise is, they're fun. You get to make a big mess. The colors are all very intense and don't only offer up sherbet-y pinks, blues, and greens. It's also the closest thing to painting without using paint, and that's really weird...and fun.



This is Tania, the woman who sat for us on Tuesday night. Tania was awesome. She sat very still for three hours (with a few breaks, of course) and then disappeared downstairs, to the second floor, where there's always some kind of party going on (last week it was a big to-do for Jules Feiffer). She started playing incredibly intense music on the grand piano near the bar down there; it turned out, she's a kick-ass pianist. "Of course," she said, when some of my fellow students expressed surprise. That's what I thought, too, after I listened to her play for awhile: "Of course."

What's your name again?

NYC rite of passage

Staring out the window of a subway's last car and watching the station you just left disappear from sight.

Teamwork

When Henry's friends heard he was going to be an exclamation point this year for Halloween, they decided to be the letters B, O and O, so they could all spell out

Seeing double

Early this week I sat a couple times for the talented painter and all-around great guy Mark Milroy, who'd asked if I'd like to have my portrait painted. "WHY, YES!" I replied. But then I faced the conundrum of deciding what to wear. I finally chose my crazy, old Marimekko t-shirt, which I thought could easily stand up to posterity and would also be fun for Mark to paint.

I'll post a picture of the finished portrait when it's done.

The post that almost got away

I went to LA at the very end of the summer to visit Frank and almost forgot to post about it. O. M. G.

When you get to Frank and Patrick's radically cool house-on-stilts in Eagle Rock, it's hard to focus on just one of the many compelling things they have in this corner or on that shelf or up on that wall.



We were only there for a few days, and then Frank and I drove out to Susan's house in Palm Springs. We stopped at a supermarket on the way for supplies and came across this rather fine bottle of wine.



Don't overlook that Ralph's sticker or the "discontinued" label below it.



Frank couldn't wait to show off some of the many pool tricks he's taught himself, such as being able to stand on a noodle in deep water.



I can't remember exactly why Paul McCartney's stage preamble before performing this summer at Coachella annoyed him so much, but here he is saying "F*** you [Paul McCartney]!" about it.

I was also enamored of this crazy made-out-of-a-car-muffler bird that was behind the house. He stands there under the hot (HOT) sun every day.



You can see him through the house when you're out hanging out around the pool. See the red arrow?



We also spent a day out in Joshua Tree, visiting some of Frank's desert-loving friends. I used to think Joshua Tree was a single tree in a Sahara-like expanse of desert that people would drive long distances to see. I think I was getting it confused with Burning Man. Duh.



I'm standing next to one of the best swimming pools ever: a dark, cool, non-chlorinated pool of water in a huge recycled canister of some sort. THAT'S how you work it out in the desert.



When I got home, Olive was like, "Wow, tell me all about your tr-zzzzzzz."

Aw. It's sad summer is so long gone!

The Snake House is open

Phew, finally! I opened my Etsy shop today.

P had the great idea last weekend to photograph the snakes outside, so on Sunday afternoon we found ourselves in the Liz Christy garden on Houston street, peacefully conducting our business amongst the lovely greenery while cars screeched and honked hysterically just feet away on the other side of the gate.

Snakes love attention.

I included the mice in the indoor photo shoot, figuring that if I ever actually do get a buyer, they'll want to know what that rattling mouse-shaped thing in the tail looks like.

I didn't notice the one that toppled over.

I'm a lousy photographer. I can take amusing pictures sometimes, sure, but this experience made me realize how tricky it can be to photograph something. It's all about controlling the light! And understanding your camera! I'm not good at either!

If I'd really thought ahead I would have brought these faux serpents out to California when I visited Frank earlier this month. We spent a day out in Joshua Tree; I could have taken action shots of real snakes beating up on the stuffed ones or something.

Big old rat on 2nd street

Grr-meow

Embroidery by Erica Wilson. Photo: Todd Selby

Snake invasion

I made a couple snakes for the lovely Cat Stat last week and when I woke up the next morning I was shocked to see they'd multiplied. During the day they multiplied further, particularly during the U.S. Open tennis matches.



Some are corduroy and others are cotton velvet. Some have red vinyl tongues and others have pink felt ones. They all have embroidered eyes and none of them are the same. It's kind of freaky.



What recourse do I have but to try to sell them on Etsy? I must warn some of my dear readers, though: if they don't sell, you might find yourselves opening boxes this Christmas containing these mighty slitherers, and have to listen to me explaining how they function wonderfully as neck wear.

Two hands

I came across two compelling hand-related things at around the same time. 

The first was this image from Neilwaukee's blog:

I've never seriously thought about getting a tattoo, and I'm still not, but if I was shackled to a chair in a tattoo parlor and forced to make a decision about what to ink and where, I'd get the word "ART" on the tip of my pointer finger, like it is on the sign Neil made for one of his super cool outdoor art shows.

I just like the idea. But see, in a year's time, maybe sooner, I'd probably change my mind about the wisdom of this decision. Which is one of several reasons I don't have a tattoo.

The other item was this ambitious sight, a woman's entry in a nail painting contest from The Daily Nail. I'm not really sure what I was doing over at The Daily Nail, a blog kept by a woman in Las Vegas who changes the designs on her nails every day, but it's sometimes not useful to ask why.

Amazing, right? I bet those are good caricatures of her family, too!

The Cardboard Queen

My crazy talented sister Brook has long been illustrating her heart out, and this week launched her new website. I've been tapping my foot waiting for this moment like the annoying little sister I am. I'm so glad it's finally here. Homey is even blogging. Congratulations, Brook!

Back in the day, she went through a serious cardboard phase. I think it started after she found a huge bunch of it around the corner from her dorm at Parson's, on 17th Street and Union Square West. Correct me if I'm wrong about this, B.

Around then we had some make art/hang out sessions in her dorm. Here are a couple evidential photographs of one such evening.



The (other) foxy blond is the lovely Julia.



I think we probably drank more cheap beer (Budweisers, shocking), smoked cigarettes, and chatted with our artsy friends than made art, but whatever. It was fun.

A few years later, Brook and I were sharing a room back at home when she was hired to do figures for the window of the old Patricia Field store. You can tell how big the figures are by comparing them to the two mannequins in the far right corner.



Those suckers were big! She got them all back when the window was taken down, and I remember often waking up with the redheaded vixen in black in the middle giving me the eyeball.



She did cardboard pieces for magazines, too, like these of Clint and Whatserface. Whatserface's hair is truly a tour de force, especially when you see it in person.



I really dug the whole era, obviously. But much like hmm, say, Picasso's Blue Period, Brook's work with heavy wood-based paper was destined to end. And you know what? This post is making me feel really old. That cardboard era was a hella long time ago!

Check out Brook's more current work at brookmeinhardt.com.

Another snake

I made another snake toy this week. He went into a box last night and I sent him off this morning. Goodbye, snake number 2!

We had a teary-eyed photo shoot before he left.



He's for a little man named Van, the baby of a friend of Evany's. I hope he likes it. Moreso, I hope Van and Desi get together and have snake wars or snake coffee klatches together long into the future.

Although I suppose if this guy just ends up stopping a draft, that's not so bad.

Gasp

I've tried to keep P shielded from what goes on in my apartment when he's not around, but then he found this image on the web.


Photo found here.

Bookworms

I thought it was funny when I went to the library to pick up books this week, how revealing my current stack is. It's like, duh, I wonder what kinds of things this person is thinking about, and what time of year it is?

The dangers of recycling

Can you imagine the nervous breakdown this building's super has when he finds a greasy pizza box in the plastics bin?

N'awlins

Last week, I went down to Louisiana's fine city with P for its annual cocktail convention, the same one we attended last year.



It was fun, and swampy as hell hot. Sadly, I didn't take any photos as amusing as the one from last year of someone's crutches locked to a parking sign (sorry, Erica). In fact, the only pictures I'd like to share with you, dear reader, are of lampposts. It's not as boring as it sounds. I hope.

The first is of the ubiquitous "Sauce" tag. Mr. Sauce is everywhere in New Orleans. When you're driving into the city from the airport, he's picked several prime locations to shout out his chosen graffiti moniker in a big way. If you ask me, this guy has perhaps unwittingly opened the door for food-inspired graffiti names. When is the notorious Spaghetti going to start competing with him, for instance? SAUCE vs. SPAGHETTI!!! OK, that's kind of stupid.

Drivin N' Cryin is still together, thank god. (Whenever I think of this band's name, which is surprisingly often, it makes me crack up.)

Speaking of the Lord. We found ourselves on the corner of Race and Religious one night. I don't know if there's another street corner in America as intense as this one. P bought an all-natural, very delicious plum snowball on Piety street one day. Or maybe it was Desire street. Desire comes right before Piety in New Orleans. But even those weighty words are no match for this particular crossroads.

Whoa.

We also ate and drank a lot: Parasol's roast beef po boy, fried chicken from the Praline Connection, enormous, cold sweet teas every five seconds, crazy ice cream flavors from the Creole Creamery, kooky cocktails from here to eternity, swam in a lovely pool every day, and peeled out of town to check out the bayou and hike around a little, but didn't see any snakes or alligators (aw). In other words, I have never sweat so much in my life.

This kind of thing never gets tired

Looking at pictures of the crazy outfits of yesteryear, that is.



I guess it's not surprising that macrame never really returned as a trend. I tried to stir interest in the early aughts by purchasing a brown macrame vest with pom-pom ties. I thought I'd wear it with a red t-shirt and jeans and set an example of how you didn't have to look like you snatched a blanket from someone's country house guest room and potholders from the kitchen and made a skirt out of it to show a little acrylic yarn love. But alas. I only wore it once or twice and then threw it back into the thrift store juggernaut.

There's a lot to be said about these three, I know. But I'd like you to turn your focus to the woman on the far right. I mean will you just take a look at the smokin' hot woman on the far right. She makes me want to schedule a business meeting just so I can go to it looking as much like her as possible.



Lastly, the family. What the hell is going on with this family. I had a kind of dark vision: what would happen if a freaked out cat entered this picture? There's a lot to be said about these guys, too, I know, but I think it's best if I just be quiet now and leave you to your musings.

For the love of a good lake

My friend Dawn lent P and I her house upstate last weekend so we could swim in her local lake, eat like pigs, and pass out in her hammock. Fresh air is a real tonic, don't ya know.

So is swimming in a crystal-clear body of water full of little fish who will happily glide around you.

We also hung out at a winery, where P took this rather civilized-seeming photograph of me. You can't tell I'd just come from swimming in the lake and was trying to figure out how to convince P to stop at the lake again for another quick swim before we went back to the house for dinner, right? I just look like one of those smug bastards from the city who show up on holiday weekends and expect the locals to be excited to see me.

Dawn, I hope you know, you have an open forever invitation to take over my dilapidated apartment anytime you want to come breathe in the sooty air and experience the hobo-and-nut-filled streets of my grubby neighborhood. We're here for you with open arms!

They Live! They really do.

I saw THEY LIVE this weekend. Apparently it's a long-treasured, cult classic B movie, its 5-minute plus long fight scene (hilarious) highly youtube-able, wrestler Rowdy Roddy Piper in the lead (ok?), written and directed by the man who brought you Halloween, John Carpenter. Well, I didn't know any of this. I just knew P was hopping up and down from excitement when it arrived in the mail courtesy of Netflix. Do the smart thing and get your hands on a copy of it. Or just watch it right now here. (Crazy internet.) You won't be sorry. It's so brilliant. OK, it's not for everybody and I do get alarmingly hyperbolic about things I like sometimes. Whatever. It's still brilliant.

I'd like to be...under the sea

Spoonflower is a genius site where you can design fabric and sell it (they'll print and ship it). These cool seamonster threads are by a Virginian mosaic designer named Cean.

Of course I want to design my own fabric one day. Don't you?!

Shorty

I'm making shorts for P. I wanted them to be seersucker but he said no freaking way. I snuck some into the pockets anyway.



I used a pattern I found at Scavenger's. I've sewn from a lot of vintage patterns, but this time I felt like I was in a time warp. Something about creating the same kind of trousers I used to rifle through racks of at thrift stores....

I had to take them in about four sizes, shorten the crazy long waist by about half, and nearly had a nervous breakdown trying to figure out the pocket installation but otherwise, it's been a lovely experience.

A sad sight

Did you know a dead whale washed up on the shore of Jones Beach a couple weeks ago? This isn't a freak occurrence, apparently: sometimes whales get killed by ships. And then we bury their bodies in the dunes. So there are enormous whale skeletons in the dunes at Jones Beach. Isn't that sad, and spooky? And bizarre?

Photo and story courtesy of Gothamist. (I'm not a fan of Gothamist, and I'm not sure why. Occasionally those cats report on stories like this, or on horrific bike accidents in the middle of Union Square, more immediately and reliably than other news sources. I know, I know. But I still don't like them.)