The First Day

The First Day

Covering Books

8.5" x 11"

pencil

We came home from school after that first day, loaded down with books, book covers, and our supplies. We didn't really have complaints of aching feet, but, often, there were blisters from those new shoes. (Tired, aching feet and legs came about the time of student teaching and later.)

We had listened to our teachers, some of whom had taught our partents, looked dreamily at the new young male teachers and wondered why a nice looking young female teacher would ever want to be a teacher. We looked at what our friends were doing, and wearing, wondered what we would wear to school the next day, checked out the other students in study hall or in our class to see if there might be someone new who might be cute and a possible boyfriend. But, no, it was pretty much the same, silly boys, year after year. We would have to go out of town to look for more mature, and cute, boys.

I looked out the window, no matter what side of the school we were on, and wished I were at home. I tried to listen, but that only lasted for so long. Soon, I was watching clouds, formations of airplanes as they flew over, the flag waving, my great-aunt sitting on her porch snapping peas or working in her yard, Mama and Bertie washing and hanging clothes on the clothesline in the back yard, and Daddy driving up the street from town to eat dinner. Paper and pencil would come out to write, or books to read from, but I started out writing, with two sheets of paper, one on top of the other. I drew girls or movies, on the bottom sheet, and slid it under my work when the teacher would approach. When the teacher stood by my desk, I pretended to be thinking really hard about my work.

Back at home at the end of the day, I got a drink of water, played with my cats a little, then lugged the books and supplies over to my friend's house next door. There, we spread out on the floor in her parent's bedroom, and covered our books with the brown paper covers with store advertising and sports schedules printed on them. My friend's covers always fit perfectly while mine were not quite right. One side would be too loose, one side so tight the books wouldn't close, or they would be off center . We didn't have Scotch tape as part of our supplies but we used white paste in a small jar, or, some years, we made our own with flour and water. Supplies were fairly simple. Scissors, two pencils, a box of crayons, or colored pencils if we were doing maps that year, a fountain pen and a bottle of ink. A tablet in lower grades, a notebook with notebook paper in later years. A protractor and compass were signs that students were now old enough to take Geometry. There were no backpacks, calculators, pencil bags, ball point pens, watercolors, or poster board for students. Some years, we had a cigar box to put our loose supplies in, that were obtained from any store where they sold cigars. We just had to ask. Later, there were wooden cigar boxes, which were really nice, but much heavier to have to carry around.

I thought I was really grown up when I got to have a blue cloth covered notebook and could use a fountain pen rather than pencil. As soon as books were covered, and notebook paper had been inserted in the notebook, names were put on the book covers. We thought we were really "slick" when we reversed the book covers, to show the plain side, and then wrote names all over those covers. Then we used fountain pen and ink to write names on the outside of the blue cloth notebooks. Those were added to all year or until the notebook fell apart and we had to get a new one. The teachers were not happy with our decorated book covers, though, and made us put on new covers, the correct way.

Now, I wonder why none of us ever thought to decorate those book covers with pictures or designs. We only copied each other in writing names on our books. (Never inside, though, except on the correct line inside the cover.) We didn't have art, and I don't remember but one other person doing any art work when we were in school. She had decided she wanted to be an artist, at one point. But, I don't recall ever seeing any art work that she did. We did have coloring books though.

My mother drew and painted, but she stopped when I was born, and didn't take art up again until I was a bit older. I wasn't exposed to drawing or art work at home, particularly, but I drew anyway. I thought of it as an escape, others looked at my drawing as something I was interested in.

We were taught to cherish and care for books and materials. We didn't dare put a mark in the school books, or even get a tear in the cover. It was really hard for me to use a highlighter or mark passages in the books I bought in later years. I still don't like to do that.

Of course, this was around the time of WWII, and there was a either a shortage or rationing of almost everything, including paper. War time followed the Depression, so people were still conserving and saving, trying to recover from those hard times.

The cost, as well as the way books are used and cared for today, have changed quite a bit. I still remember the anticipation of using that new package of notebook paper in the decorated notebook, of adding more names to my notebook and book covers, of dipping the fountain pen in ink and filling it, of going to the pencil sharpener for the first time and standing in line to sharpen my two pencils, the feel of paste on my fingers as I spread it on the corners of the book covers, and of wondering who I might have to sit by in class.

I don't have books to cover anymore, but I do have a notebook, with a fresh package of notebook paper to write on, when the notion strikes me. And, I have a grandson, to keep up with school work.

I have added a counter to my blog page. I thought it might be interesting to see where people are when they view my blog. I had seen that on several blogs and finally found how to add that on artist Nancy Standlee's ( Arlington, Texas) blog.

I hope that first day excitement and enthusiasm continues for you, and that tired feet recover soon. And, for others, I hope you get back into the rhythm of getting up early and sending the family off to school, and all the other schedules and rules that revolve around school.

Back To School

Getting Ready 8.5" x 11" pencil

Good luck to everyone-students, teachers, administrators, parents, and family members-as the 2007-2008 school year gets underway. It's nice to be able to wave "goodbye" as everyone goes off to school in the morning, after so many years when I was always in a rush to get on the road to school. Of course, there were quite a few years when, as a student, my mother chased me to school with threats of using the hairbrush or a switch, and telling me, "Don't dawdle!"

In "Getting Ready", I've shown the first step in getting ready for a new school year. Shopping!

We made several trips, with Mama and great-aunts, to Marlin and Waco, to look for supplies and new clothes for school. Some mothers sewed a lot for their daughters, and mine did, too. But, the exciting new things were those that were purchased in places like specialty shops or the big department stores, with their memorable fragrances and attractions.

As soon as all my school necessities were ready, I headed across the empty lot to my friend's house. We spread out all our clothes and supplies, and compared what we would use during the coming school year.

I started to school at age 4, in the same class with my friend. Most of the other students in that class were 6. I got mad and went home, vowing to never return to school. I spent the rest of that school year, looking out the window and wishing I was at school with my friends. When school started, the year that I was 5, Daddy made me go. I was still the "baby" of the class, but I could do what all the other kids were doing.

"Getting Ready" shows me coming in the back screen door of the neighbor's house, with a sack full of clothes and supplies, another package of supplies under my arm, and a box with a new pair of shoes. Ready to go to school. As the years passed, though, there were more boxes and bags of things to share.

Hope that you have had some memorable "getting ready" experiences.

Summer Afternoon In The City

Summer Afternoon In The City
8.5" x 11"
pencil
Summer is about over, with school starting here Monday. And, the weather man on tv last night said that signs of the approach of fall are showing up from the far north in the way of cooler temperatures. Many of us are so connected with school that seasons go by the school year schedule, rather than what is going on with the calendar or the solar system. Fall begins when school starts, summer begins when school is out. Didn't the summer just fly by this year!
I thought I would add a drawing today about spending summer in the city with one pair of grandparents. My sister and I would each go for a week, separately. We couldn't go together because we argued and fought too much.
After World War II, my grandparents, and their daughter and her new husband, moved from a small apartment in Victory Village where workers in the aircraft plant and Air Force personnel lived with their families. As soon as houses in the new additions were available, people flocked to the little houses, all in a row. My grandparents bought their house, and my aunt and uncle bought a house just around the corner and down a couple of blocks. So, they were close.
Some people planted small new trees, and plants in their yards, but there wasn't much to provide shade in the hot summer. And there were no fans or air conditioning in most houses. My aunt and uncle did have a water fan, and a small table fan, but my grandparents didn't. Grandma chose to have her entire back yard planted as a vegetable garden, with a small space to walk around the edges. So there was no shade there, and no place to play, either. We could follow her around as she worked in the garden, and look for bugs. But, that was about all there was to do in the yard.
I could sit on the porch and wait for a car to go by. An ice cream truck came in the afternoon, and sometimes I was given a nickle to buy a treat, if I had been good. Usually, though, I just had to watch that truck drive on down the street. I was hot, uncomfortable, bored, wanted to be at home, so I whined, and cried, fussed and pouted for a lot of the time I was there. Grandma's switch, though, put a sting on my legs and an end to my complaints, for a while. I just pouted in silence and was anxious to go home.
The days went like this. Grandpa got up early, before the sun came up, and cooked a big breakfast and baked. He might turn on the radio to listen to the farm news or "The Breakfast Club" from Dallas, while he ate breakfast. Grandma dressed in her long sleeved dress, and spent a long time brushing her hip length hair, then braiding it and putting it up on her head. Then she went out in the yard and chopped whatever needed chopping. She might pick some tomatoes, or dig some potatoes, whatever she wanted to pick for dinner or for the rest of the day. When it got too hot to work in the yard, she came in, ate something and drank some coffee, then washed out clothes in the kitchen sink or bathtub (not many people had washing machines), and Grandpa hung them outside on the clothesline while Grandma started cooking dinner.
I got up, had some cereal, or just looked at whatever Grandpa had cooked. I was a very picky eater, and especially didn't like eating away from home. All I liked to eat was cereal, fruit, and milk for meals. I could be coaxed to eat desserts, but, with sugar rationing, we were used to missing out on sweet treats.
I would dress and sit in the living room for a while, then go out on the porch, which was on the west side. It was cool there in the morning. Or I would follow Grandma around in the garden on the east side of the house for a little while. Then, I would make up my bed and stare at the next house from the window. Then I would move back to the living room and sit on the floor a while. There was an old set of dominoes that were missing a few dominoes, and I would stack them up and build buildings with those, then knock them down and start again.
Grandma's living room suite only made the house hotter. It was bulky, overstuffed, and covered with fabric that was scratchy, like wool, to me. And, it was a color that seemed hot pink and bright red combined. I chose to sit on the hardwood floor, which was a bit cooler and didn't make me itch.
At dinner time at 12 noon, we would sit in silence. I drank my milk and waited until I was dismissed from the table. They didnt' talk, didn't turn on the radio, just went about whatever they were doing in silence. Dinner might consist of iced tea, (milk for me) "light" bread, sliced tomatoes, fried potatoes, fried okra, creamed or corn on the cob, beans or peas, fried round steak with gravy, or liver and onions, or macaroni with canned tomatoes, fried chicken with pan gravy, plain roast on Sunday. And Grandpa might bake rolls, or a pie or cake. They didn't have salad as we have today. I never heard of salad until I was in high school, and, then, it was either fruit salad, or a congealed salad with fruit in it. The first time I saw a salad was when I was in college and I was eating in a restaurant. Usually, orders were served with a lettuce leaf and a slice of tomato, and a sprig of parsley, so there was no need to order a bowl with lettuce and tomatoes. But, people just ate the things separately, at home.
By this time of day, it was getting really hot. We hoped for a breeze through the open windows. Usually, there was no breeze at all and the heat was suffocating. Grandma washed and put away dishes, turned on her soap opera on the radio, then retired to her bedroom with Grandpa. They had metal twin beds, that they had used in the one bedroom apartment. The beds were on opposite sides of the room, with a night table in between. The table only held a jar of Vicks or Mentholatum, the wind up alarm clock with a face that glowed in the dark, and a flashlight.
Grandma sat on her bed, facing Grandpa, just looking at the floor. Grandpa sat on his bed, facing Grandma, and also stared at the floor. They usually didn't lay down, but spent the afternoon in this hot room on the west side of the house, just sitting and sweating. Grandma had her spit can on the floor by her bed. She did take a dip of snuff, which seemed really disgusting, to me.
They didn't seem to care what I did, just as long as I was quiet and didn't bother anyone. I tip- toed back and forth from the second bedroom, where I was staying, to the living room, to the bathroom, and back. There were no books or magazines to read as I did at home when I stayed with great-aunts, and it was their bath and nap time.
Finally, Grandma pulled a package of playing cards from a drawer and gave them to me. I didn't know what to do with them, but to build houses, which kept falling down. So, she showed me how to play Solitaire, one afternoon. Well, I didn't like numbers or math, so I really didn't want to do that. But, in desperation, I finally started playing, just to pass the time. But, all the while, I was thinking of what I could be doing at home. Wishing I had a friend there, or, better still, a boyfriend there, could go to the movies with someone, to a park, or even down the street to where there was a stable with horses that people could pay to ride. There were so many things to do there, and it was rare that we got to do any of them.
As the afternoon wore on, I started looking for that ice cream truck, and hoping I could get a nickle for a small ice cream cone. If I got the money, I would sit on the back steps, in the shade of the house, and try to make the ice cream last as long as possible. In late afternoon, Grandma would check her garden, pick something, if needed, and start a little supper. That might be something like milk toast, cereal, or left overs. Sandwiches were not a meal, but were considered a snack or party refreshments.
After dishes were washed and put away, kitchen and bathroom floors mopped, everyone dressed for bed, and my grandparents went back to sit on their beds for a while, then lights were turned out and they went to sleep. I sat on my bed, looking out the windows, until a cool early morning breeze came through the windows. I rolled around on the bed, thinking of someday. Wishing that someday would hurry up and come. Someday, life would be full and fun, and I would have a fan or air conditioning in the summer. Someday, I would not be like my grandparents. I thought that they were living boring and lonely lives. How could they stand to live like they did. Someday, I would have someone to love,and we would talk and enjoy life. Dreams of youth.
My grandparents didn't have a car, but depended on their daughter or son-in-law to take them shopping and to places they needed to go. There were buses in the city that could have taken us somewhere, I thought. In later years, my aunt introduced me to a girl my age, and we would meet at the movies, or she would come over, or I might just talk to her on the phone. That helped to improve my visits to the city.
Occasionally, Grandma would take me for a walk along the street and back up the next street. She usually stopped to get a switch and would pop my legs with it when I started lagging behind or whining. She did tell me how to pick out a stick that was good to use for a toothbrush and about using cobwebs to stop bleeding. She told that her father had been a "hillbilly doctor" in Tennessee and she served as his nurse, as she grew up.
I thought, "Why not just go to the store and buy a toothbrush and toothpaste, and why not just go to the doctor if needed?"
She probably talked of other things, but I didn't pay attention. I was thinking of home, my friends, my pets, my toys, and things I would like to do and the way I wanted things to be someday. I should have listened and encouraged her to tell her stories.
It was boring to just walk down those streets with rows of houses, almost all alike. I wanted to go to the end of the street and, at least, spend time looking at the horses at the stable and the pasture where they let people ride. I know that I got to ride them about 3 or 4 times, usually if Daddy was there, and he had allowed enough time for a ride. Sometimes, Daddy would take us to the park and we got to ride the little train, go to the zoo, and ride the carnival type rides there. They had the most wonderful little train with a steam engine to pull it. We had gone to the botanical gardens and concerts under the stars, when my aunt and uncle were dating. And my aunt had taken us downtown into the city to go to the big department stores. Another time, we went inside a large Catholic Church to look at the organ. My dad liked to take us to the Fat Stock Show and my mother liked for us to go to the Ice Capades. But, those times were rare.
While I didn't do a lot, I did learn some things during these visits. Besides learning to play (and dislike) cards, I learned to be quiet, patient, and to deal with things like heat and boredom. Today, I could spend the time writing, painting, drawing, but I didn't have access to those materials at that time. My drawing was usually in school , when I was supposed to be doing school work.
In my drawing above, "Summer Afternoon In The City", I have shown my grandparents as they spent the afternoon, in their bed room, and me, playing solitaire on the bed in the guest bedroom. Through the windows, you can see the new house across the street from my grandparents' bedroom on the west side, and the new neighboring house on the south side behind me. There was actually a little hall where the bedroom doors faced. I used a bit of artistic license with this, in order to show what we were doing.
I hope that you have made some good memories this summer, and that my drawing will remind you of some summer memories of your own.

Vision-Black and White Movie

Black & White Movie
8.5" x 11"
Acrylic on Paper


I love old movies-really old movies! Even black and white movies. One time, I was watching an old movie in black and white, and my youngest grandson asked, "Grandma, when did the world change from black and white to color?" I still laugh when I think about that.


Of course, it is helpful for artists to do value studies in black and white, whether that is in oil paint, acrylics, charcoal, pencil, tempera, ink, or whatever the media of choice is. Maybe watching all those old movies has made it easier for me to do those studies using only neutrals.


In the painting above, I had been watching an old movie from my bed. I blinked and tried to clear up the image, but it didn't help. I had to walk over to the tv set to see what movie I was watching. I could see a woman in a triangular shaped dress, wide at the shoulders, silver, with spangles on it. There were a couple of men, dressed in dark clothing, in the scene. Other characters were sort of smeared into the picture, with some rectangular, tall shapes that I thought might be fence posts or buildings. What looked like some Art Deco art to me, was actually a western movie. Men were dressed in dark suits, a woman, perhaps a dance hall girl, was dressed in a silver, spangled dress. It was a western street with buildings in the back and a sign near the woman. Actually, this image was sharper than what I actually saw.


As I painted "Black & White Movie", I was very aware that, although I was trying to paint something that was distorted and blurred, my brain was insisting that I paint something more realistic. Something that showed characters and buildings while still concentrating on contrast, light and shadow, and shapes. It seemed like a battle between the left and right brain. I wanted to let that right brain work, but that left brain just had to have its say in what I was doing.


I was determined to show what I was seeing, so I kept working on different versions. I seemed to work backward, from a more detailed painting, then taking away and distoring in subsequent pictures. There are six of these, each a little different. The last one, shown above, is closer to what I was seeing.


I began to think that my characters were more like Art Deco people than people in a western movie. I thought of the movie and song "42nd Street" as the paintings developed. Slick, greasey, black hair and tuxes for the men; slinky, clinging dresses and slick, waved hair for the ladies. A street scene that looks like a set for a dance number. I didn't want the painting to be about 42nd Street, so I decided to call it "Deco Street".


I actually like a lot of the old 20s, 30s, and 40s designs, including Art Deco, modern, and streamlined. I appreciate it more now, than I did when I was younger, and there were more of the original designs from that period still around.


I used only black, white, and silver acrlyic in this series of paintings. The metallic silver doesn't show up as well in the scans as they do in the original. Here, they are another gray tone. They are all on paper rather than canvas. I thought these little paintings might be studies for something larger on canvas, if they were successful as small pieces. And, too, I wanted to record the images I was seeing before I forgot them.

Deco Street

8.5" x 11"

Acrylic on Paper

I had a little trouble posting the past few days, but Blogger seems to be working again, and I figured out what I was doing wrong, as well. Whew! That was frustrating. But look for more work to come.

Check out my links to Artists and Authors and Interesting Sites. And please refer my blog and group to others who might be interested. I appreciate your comments and your interest.

Hope you enjoy these Art Deco paintings.

Vision-Fractured Flashing Crystals

Fractured Flashing Crystals
8" x 12"
watercolors
Soft afternoon sun filtered through the lace curtains in my narrow bathroom window and washed the wall beside the window and part of the shower door with pale yellow. A thick purple towel hung on the shower door and a pink net "poof" hung inside the shower. This room, with its slanted roof and wallpaper with purple flowers, was a cozy place-a refuge that somehow reminded me of the bathroom that had been added onto my grandmother's house before I was born.
Over the years, I have spent a lot of time, just looking out the bathroom window in many places I have lived. Sometimes, I just watched the clouds, or wondered what was happening just over the hill, watched animals outside, or the changing seasons.
I don't look out this window very often, though. The window has frosted glass, and it is fairly small, and it has the lace curtain covering it. I have other spaces in the house, now, with better windows to look out of.
This particular afternoon in March, however, as I walked into the bathroom, I saw a curving line that resembled the outside edge of my eyelids around my eye that has wet Macular Degeneration. But, instead of a distinct line, this line was made up of parts of the shower, broken up into bits and pieces of glass or crystals. I called it fractured, flashing images inside crystal or glass shapes. The light and images were not steady, but, instead, seemed to flash or have changing light as opposed to a steady image.
I blinked, I closed my eyes, I rubbed my eyes, but the image remained as long as I looked in the direction of the shower. I went into the bedroom and put a cool washcloth over my eyes. The image disappeared when I left the bathroom.
More abstract art for me to paint. But this was too real. I would prefer to make up something, or to paint or draw more freely, rather than trying to portray what I was seeing as abstract art.

Vision-Another Night of TV

Another Night of Watching TV
7.5" x 12"
watercolors
Sometimes, it seems like I can see from inside my eye. That happened at the eye doctor's office. Now I was seeing some of the inside of my eyelid. There was a lot of light around the eyelid and in the room.
I could see a little bit of the picture on the wall behind the tv set. Faces of the people who were on the tv program, were distorted in shape and in color. There was a "C" shape to the left that moved around, along with clusters of specks. These are the floaters that are often present.
After the injection in my eye, my eye seemed to water a lot and I had to keep wiping with tissues. I thought it might be just the usual sinus trouble. But, now, my eyelashes felt like they were woven together, keeping my eyes from opening completely. They also formed a curtain of sorts that I was trying to see through. They opened just enough in the center for me to see part of the tv, or whatever I might be looking at. I could just barely make out the rest of the room.
Added to the curtain of eyelashes, were what felt like big rocks-hard, golden blocks firmly stuck in my woven eyelashes. I used warm washcloths, to soften the rocks. But my eyelashes felt a little greasey and the rocks kept returning, for over a week.
The technician in the specialist's office had warned me about using some of the eyedrops that are over the counter meds used for red eyes. He said that some of those would dry or irritate the eyes. I wasn't using any of those, so I knew that was not the problem.
I didn't think that my eyelashes were long enough to actually weave together, but that's how they felt and appeared from my view. I kept pulling them apart, but as soon as I moved my fingers, the woven curtain returned. The situation did make it difficult to watch tv or focus on anything.
Anxiety, fear, frustration, sadness, anger can all fill the days and nights while you are torn with whether to just give up or to be determined and fight against something you can't do anything about. It seemed to be the only thing to do was to record it through paint, paper, and words, and hope that answers will come, and sharing might help someone else who will encounter AMD (Macular Degeneration). I don't have answers or help, but I can tell what happened to me.
I hope that you will share my blog with others who might be interested. And look at the links I have given on the right side of my page under Authors and Artists, and Interesting Links. Let me know if you see something of interest to you. I welcome your comments and your support.

Vision-Night Intersection

Night Intersection
8" x 12"
watercolors
"What's that in the sky?" I asked anxiously.
"Where?" My sister was concentrating on driving in traffic on an unfamiliar street.
"Over those trees on the right. " I pointed, not thinking that she couldn't very well look to where I was pointing while she drove, and not to mention not being able to see anything in the dark.
It looked like a UFO to me. But, could it be the moon, with some sort of strange thing happening with the light?
It was dark early that night, and we got caught in the dark. I had traveled these streets for years, but, now, since I didn't drive, they seemed almost unfamiliar. I could spot some landmarks like familiar buildings, but there weren't any really tall ones in this area. Reading signs was impossible, unless the car stopped and I could look at the sign up close.
It was a relief to spot a familiar intersection with a parking lot on the left. I recognized the balls of fireworks above the parking lot as the strong lights in the parking lot. Rectangles that appeared over a line of what looked like stars, were actually lights of a pharmacy that I used, on the other side of the intersection. The stars were headlights of cars approaching the intersection from the south. Red stars in front of me and to the right were tail lights of cars in our lane, and cars on the north side of the intersection. I could see a little dark green of the grass that divided the street from the sidewalk beside me. A faint light reflected on the woods that had been left on the right side of the intersection. A bit of light shone from a parking lot for some apartments beyond the trees.
Above the intersection, brilliant red, and yellow lights blazed, with washed out green below. I could see a bit of the pipe that held the lights near the pharmacy.
My heart raced a little with excitement at the sight of the strange object in the sky. Maybe it was a helicopter. We moved, but it didn't.
There was a dot of light in the center, surrounded by other dots of light and spokes as you might see on an outer space movie of a space station.
I watched the light all the way to my house, trying to ignore the security lights that appeared as bursts of fireworks. Inside the house, after my sister left, I pulled back the curtains. I summoned my grandson.
"What's that light out there? Can you see it?" I asked, still feeling a little excitement at that strange sight.
"It's a star," he announced and went back to his game on the computer.
"Oh," I said as I closed the curtain. More shapes and designs instead of seeing things as they really are. It was beginning to be annoying, but I told myself that they might make some interesting pictures.
Lights, up close, such as the ones in my yard, or in the same room, looked fine. It was just those that were in the distance that were giving me problems and a show.