World Wide Sketch Crawl Tomorrow

Tomorrow is the big 23rd World Wide Sketch Crawl. Go to http://www.sketchcrawl.com/ for more information.

Locally, in Bryan, meet at the LaSalle Hotel in downtown Bryan at about 8:30 a.m. Saturday morning. From there, we can decided where to work. We will probably need to find a cool spot, near restrooms, as the day warms up.

After 10:00 a.m., you can register at the Frame Gallery, 216 N. Bryan Ave. That will give us some idea of how many people are participating. Contact Greta Watkins at the Frame Gallery for more information.

If we have a group, some may choose to work together. Or people may choose to work alone. Possibly, we could meet later to share experiences and work. At the end of the day, experiences and work can be posted on the Sketch Crawl website, on individual websites, or places like Flickr, Picassa, Facebook, etc.

Just bring yourself, your materials that you want to use, and any personal items you may need. You might want to include a folding chair or stool, depending on where you want to sit. So far, I have been able to find a bench or chair to use, but I have a lawn chair in the car, in case I need a place to sit.

This is a FREE event, open to all ages, all skill levels, all media, groups, families, or individuals. You can journal, draw, sketch, paint, or even doodle. You can work all day, or for a few minutes-at home, in a group, or solo. There are no rules.

In Calvert, meet beginning about 8:30 a.m. at Mud Creek Pottery, 407 Main St. Contact Sonny Moss for more information.

People in other communties can work there, perhaps forming their own groups, or they may join in another group such as in Calvert or Bryan.

Let's Draw The Brazos Valley!

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Speaking of art, Greta Watkins is having some classes at the Frame Gallery in downtown Bryan. Tomorrow, she is hosting a workshop on linocut printmaking.

On Wednesdays, there is a group that meets there focusing on painting portraits in oils.

See her website or contact her at the Frame Gallery in Bryan for more information.

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Remember sunbathing?

I've been avoiding the sun for a long time because I get sunburned and blistered, instead of getting a nice tan. The light bothers my eyes, too. But, now, my doctor told me to to go out and get at least 15 minutes of sun a day. So, I'm going out on the deck in the mornings, sitting in the sun with my hat and sunglasses, sketching and listening to the birdies sing.

Kind of a nice place to be.

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My Rainbow

Top Photo: Photo of Simba on my drafting table

Bottom: Photo of my drafting table with travel set of Winsor Newton watercolors

I found a cute little test to do, but, like the slide shows, it keeps saying that blogger can't accept my html. I don't know anything about it, so I can't fix it. I wanted to put it on my blog, but can't do it. Don't know what the problem is, and the tech people don't seem to know either. Computers can be so frustrating!
I just did a cut and paste, and maybe you can go to the site and see what it tells about you. There is supposed to be a picture here-a band of colors-but it didn't come out.
Hmmm. I wonder how they knew about my colors-and me!

Your rainbow is strongly shaded violet.

(There should be a picture here!)
What is says about you: You are a creative person. You appreciate beauty and craftsmanship. You are patient and will keep trying to understand something until you've mastered it.Find the colors of your rainbow at spacefem.com.

http://spacefem.com/quizzes/rainbow/

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If you are in the area of Bryan/College Station tomorrow night, I hope that you will make it down to First Friday in downtown Bryan. Lots of artists, musicians, food, and entertainment and even carriage rides. You can go to the Downtown Bryan website to see what all is going on.

Thanks to Cindy Peaslee and Greta Watkins for keeping me updated on downtown activities.

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I actually turned the tv off today! Now that is rare for me. If I am at home, the tv is on. Well, I just turned off all the programs and went to the end of the channels where there is music. I turned on the channel with "Singers", a lot of oldies like Frank Sinatra and Jo Stafford, and newer ones like Harry Connick Jr.
My intention was to paint, something kind of playful and experimental, on the order of Martha Marshall's processes while the appropriate music was playing. Well, it's sunset, and I'm still getting painting things together. I did finish the letters on the bank painting, with a toothpick (and it was too large!) and decided that I need to put out some fresh paint before I start painting. Then the cat was sick for a bit, so that required medication and clean up.
Had to look for my reference pictures on the computer, found some scrap materials to use with my painting, then spent hours trying to find where I put my hole puncher. Checked out Facebook and e-mail, and, that has been the day.
It takes me so long to move all my little "burglar alarms" that I set up each night, before I can get to my painting area. I don't have them set up for two legged burglars, but for the 4 legged characters. Cats like to get on my drafting table and look out the window. That would be okay if they wouldn't scratch on things, etc. I think they are learning! They don't like the noise when they jump on my table and cans, etc. start falling. A few shots with a water pistol helped, too.
One of these days, maybe, I will be able to leave my painting things out and the cats will go somewhere else in the house.
I know. Some would say "Get rid of the cats!" But they are family. We are down to Bitsy, age 23 and not doing well due to renal failure, and Simba, age 5 (or is he 6 now?), the king of the house. And an occasional visit from Ike, the big, black cat who came to us the night that Ike, the hurricane, moved in. He's still coming back to visit! Comes in to eat our food, drink water, and nap. Ike doesn't bother anything. It is mainly Simba now who likes to sit on my table, unless Ike is in the house. Then he is like a shadow, staying right behind Ike, not letting the visitor out of his sight. Protecting us, I guess.
I wonder if Ike has a home around here, or if he was dumped. He's a big, solid cat-and absolutely black.
Now, I wonder what I am going to put on the Thing A Day Project site for today. We're supposed to do something creative each day to put on the site. I finally got caught up last night, and thought I would have another painting to put on. But, it isn't done, and, if it were, it would still have to dry before I can scan it. I do have a drawing that I've been working on, but it isn't finished.
I have to remember that they go by Eastern time on that site, and things are supposed to be on there by midnight. I was late a couple of nights because I thought I still had time-not thinking about EST and Central time. No telling what time people in California have to have their work in by! Earlier/Later?

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Thanks to Edie and Maurina, I now know where Dr. Parker lived in Calvert! If you don't remember, he lived by Gladys Casimir. That is coming back to me, now. I guess I never went to his house, so I didn't remember. We all agreed that he was old when we knew him. And that those steps up to the doctors and dentist's offices were scarey to kids. It surely meant that you were going to be hurt or embarrassed!

*****

Well, I've lost the light, and tomorrow is another day. I'm going to try to get into the paint again tomorrow. I do alright with sketching at night, but I sort of need some sunlight to paint, these days. Sometimes I can't tell if I am using blue or black, beige or lavender, etc., except in sunlight. I took a "drumstick" ice cream cone out of the freezer this afternoon, and thought it had a funny taste to it. Maybe a little orange extract in it? Wondered why they would change these treats that have been around forever. I thought it might be like so many things today where they are trying to change recipes to make things healthier and cheaper. I went into the kitchen with my ice cream when Chris needed an ice pack for his ankle. I was so surprised that the ice cream under the chocolate coating was---green! It turned out that the package of drumsticks has assorted flavors in it! I didn't know there was anything but vanilla! I think I had mint, and I'm really not that fond of mint. Too late. I had to go on and eat it.

That ice cream looked white, to me-and that was by the window where I paint!

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Dancing Spirits

Dancing Spirits

6.5" x 10"

Mixed Media

watercolors and toner

There is sad news today as we learn of the deaths of Dr. Michael DeBakey and Tony Snow. I have felt so priviledged to have been able to hear these men speak.

Dr. DeBakey

I heard Dr. DeBakey speak at a Lions Club sponsored function many years ago. At the time, I was teaching art, but my heart was really in nursing. So, I was particularly eager to hear him. Nursing had not worked out for me, but his talk brought an interest in medical illustration. I couldn't do that, either. I didn't think I was good enough at drawing realistically, for one thing. But, the main thing was that I had children to support and care for, so going back to school was not an option. It would have, most likely, paid a lot more than teaching, though.

I was upstairs in an auditorium when Dr. DeBakey spoke to the community. He brought slides with him to illustrate his fairly new, at that time, heart surgery. I was really impressed with his intelligence and humor, and his energy.

As he showed the first cut, many people felt sick or faint, and had to leave, as he drew the scalpel across skin and a trickle of blood followed.

"Ooops!" he said. That one wasn't supposed to be in there. He usually left that one out because a lot of people would faint when they saw the cut and the blood. That one was for his medical students. He said that some of them fainted, too.

Now, I'm one that has always fainted when someone just showed me a needle, so I was surprised that I wasn't among the first casualties! At least half the audience had to leave. I thought that I was doing really well.

After that first slide, I watched, fascinated, as he explained what was going on through heart surgery. It did get a little warm in there, though, when he started suturing the incision . But, he made it funny, saying that he learned to sew from his mother-"a simple over and under stitch". And that's the stitch he used in surgery. I could just picture him, as a little boy, sitting there, at his mother's feet, learning to sew.

I taught my students things like creative stitchery, and, usually, the boys caught on and did a better job than the girls. So, I was not surprised.

He told something of his schedule, saying that he got up at 4 a.m. every morning, took walks, ate little, and went to bed fairly early. I've heard a lot of people, artists, writers, etc., who say that they get up at 4 a.m. It's a quiet time, with no phones or interruptions, when they can work or just think, and enjoy the solitude.

The schedule seems to have worked for him as DeBakey died at age 99.

I thought he was a really amazing man. I might have liked to have been a student under him, or just talked to him. He certainly lived a long and productive life and has left so much to help mankind.

Tony Snow

I first noticed Tony Snow when he was a news anchor on tv. He was distinctive, with silver hair that seemed to match his last name of Snow. He had a distinctive voice, too, a little on the raspy side, I thought. But he was someone who stood out from the other newscasters.

Later, when we learned that he had colon cancer, I wanted to ask him about it, and, at the same time, felt concern for him. When he returned to broadcasting, not only was his hair white, but his skin looked very white-almost like his hair. I thought it must be from the surgery and chemo.

Soon, he was looking better, had some color, but I thought that might be makeup.

And, then, we heard that he was replacing the very bland Scott Mclellan (I probably spelled that wrong!) as White House Press Secretary. "Good for him!" I thought. "He should certainly be better with reporters than his predecesser was, since he was one of them." And, he was.

I was a little concerned that he, sometimes, seemed to be going over to the administration's side on some issues, but that was understandable since this was his job. It wasn't always comfortable from an observeror's standpoint, or, possibly, from the reporters position, either.

And, then, one day, they announced that Tony Snow was coming to the George Bush Library. I just had to have tickets to that. So, my daughter got tickets for my grandson and me to go.

I thought that I might have a bit of a problem because, by this time, my knees were bad and I was having to walk with a cane and had trouble getting up and down from chairs, or sitting too long, or walking very much gave me trouble. But the newest problem was my eye with Macular Degeneration and cataracts in both eyes. I wasn't seeing very well. But I was determined to be there, even if all I could do was listen, and if I had to ask everyone around me to help me up out of the chair!

The night of the event came and we walked across the plaza with the piece of the Berlin Wall and the sculpted horses jumping over it, to the auditorium. Protestors were off to one side of the building, with poster board signs that I couldn't read, of course.

" College kids," I thought. "They should have seen the days of the Hippies!" But I was glad that they weren't as bad as back in those days.

We entered the lobby with our tickets, and found that the main auditorium was full. We were ushered into a smaller auditorium, an annex, where there was a large screen in front of the room. We picked a spot about the middle of the auditorium, on the aisle, and sat down. An usher soon moved us and directed me to sit against the wall. I knew that I wouldn't be able to see a thing there, and what if I should have to get up and leave! I told him that I couldn't see at all out of one eye, and that I really needed to be on the aisle so I could see. And also that I had bad knees. He kind of rolled his eyes, and said I could stay there, but moved my grandson to the next row behind me, next to the wall, and filled the row beside me with a family. At least my grandson is tall and could see over people in front of him.

I talked briefly to the people sitting beside me. A family who had come from the Beaumont area, to Austin, and on to College Station, just to hear Tony Snow. As the evening progressed, I learned that people had come from all over to hear Snow. So many, in fact, that they filled the annex auditorium, and the dining hall. Certainly an overflow crowd.

I wondered about Snow's hair. He had been on tv earlier, and his hair looked gray instead of white. In fact, each time I saw him on tv, his hair was a little darker, and his skin had more color.

George H.W. Bush (Bush 41) and Snow came into the auditorium where we were and told us of the overflow crowd. They would be speaking in the other auditorium and we would watch on the big screen. However, when it was over, they would come in and answer questions.

Actually, it worked out better by seeing them on the big screen, for me, at least. I could see them so much better than the smaller figures that they really were, in front of the auditorium.

Following a very lively and interesting talk, Snow answered questions, then Bush and Snow came into our auditorium. They were on a slightly raised stage. Four Secret Service men stood in front of them. I hardly noticed the men, at first.

As the speakers answered questions, I did my usual thing in trying to see better. I leaned out into the aisle and closed my bad eye and blinked with the good eye, trying to clear up the image. Since no one was walking up the aisle, I stretched my leg into the aisle a little and leaned on my cane.

Snow talked , enthusiastically, about the wonderful job he had, and his excitement was contagious. He spoke of many things in history that he had so much knowledge of, and brought those things to life.

"His hair is brown!" I thought! "And his skin is tanned! He looks really healthy and good! Maybe he is well, now. Or could it be dye and makeup. Could be the lights. But he does look younger and like he feels good."

I suddenly looked at the Secret Service men, glaring at the audience.

"Oh, dear! I wonder if they can see me!" I told myself. "I had better stop this. No telling what they think I am up to, winking at Tony Snow and the president!" I could picture those Secret Service men, rushing up the aisle to throw me onto the floor, thinking I was up to no-telling-what!

I pulled my leg back under the chair in front of me and kept both eyes open as I looked at the speakers. "Behave yourself!" I thought. I'm sure that they couldn't see me at all, but, if they did, I'm sure they wondered why that old lady was winking at the president and Tony Snow!

After the speech, we were not allowed to leave through the front door, but were ushered out a side door. We were told that there were protestors and they wanted us to be able to get to our cars easily. I couldn't walk too fast, so I was a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to get to my car fast enough. Maybe I should stay in the building until the protestors left. My daughter was waiting to pick us up, so I was relieved to see the car nearby.

As soon as almost everyone had cleared the sidewalk, the protestors swarmed over to the sidewalk where people had been leaving. It was a funny sight. I remember young people, waving posterboards and laughing. They seemed to be having a good time. Guess they thought they would be on tv. And one person was pulling something that looked like a children's wagon, with slats on the sides, and Christmas lights on it. We thought they were harmless and must not have homework or a date that night. But I was relieved to get in the car and out of the crowded parking area.

It had been good to see that Tony Snow looked so much better in person, and to be able to hear some of his life and experiences, as well as all the history that he shared.

It was only a day or two later when we heard the announcement that Snow's cancer had returned and he was scheduled for surgery and more treatment. I was stunned. He had looked so well and full of life when he was here.

After he returned to tv, and said that he was going to be a news anchor again, his skin and hair looked gray on tv. I hoped that he would be alright. He seemed to be one person who would certainly beat the illness with all his exuberance and love for life and work. I truly thought that he would triumph and go on to live a long life.

Sadly, the news today is that he died. I had not heard that he was not doing well, so it was quite a shock.

While he did live a full life, in his short 53 years, doing so much more and having so much more knowledge than most of us are priviledged to, he had so much potential to do more.

We've lost two amazing men, but they have left us with so much.

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The small painting above, "Dancing Spirits", was created by first using a watercolor wash of yellow over the paper. Then I used rubber cement to mask the light design in the center. A final wash of reds and oranges was placed over the paper. After the watercolor was dry, I removed the rubber cement to leave the design with the warm background.

I thought that there must be a good use for all that used copy machine toner that everyone was throwing away, so I decided to paint with it. It didn't mix with water, at all. But I was able to mix it with acrylic gloss medium and varnish and got something that had a wonderful consistency and a rich black color to it. I mixed it in small jars, then used a straw and a popsicle stick to pick up the "paint" and drip and smear it on the paper. Since I don't like to get my hands dirty, I was very careful not to get it on me, just on the paper. And it only took a small amount to get a rich black.

Later, I was told that the toner is very toxic, could cause cancer, and to not get it on me. But, I couldn't help but wonder about the safety factor when so many teachers and office workers, were changing toner cartriges and got that powder all over themselves, the machines, and their surroundings. It was always a mess, and no telling how much of the powder we inhaled while trying to put new toner in.

So, you might not want to try this idea!

I enjoyed my idea as I thought I was recycling, for one thing, and also I liked to paint with unlikely things, like berries. I moved on to use more watercolors and acrylics and natural materials, however, and didn't continue my experiement. I only did a few paintings with the toner as my black paint.

In this painting, as the drips took shape, they seemed to be like figures in a circle. At that time, I had learned of the death of a former student, and thought of her, being brought into a circle of other spirits, with a dance of joy and sharing.

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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-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.

Vision-Kitchen Counter

Kitchen Counter What Happened to the Edge? 8"x12" watercolor
Morning light streamed through the blinds over the sink. I had put my grandson's oatmeal into a bowl and was waiting for water to heat in the microwave. I stood in front of the sink. I remembered that I needed a spoon to stir the cereal after I added the water, and reached to put the bowl on the counter while I went to get a spoon from the drawer.
I reached, and reached- and reached. I couldn't see the edge of the counter! What happened to the tiles and the edge of the counter? Instead, there was a purple cloud where the counter edge should be. I touched the counter and tried to put the bowl where my hand was. The bowl fell, crashing to the floor. Dry oatmeal and glass scattered all over the floor. I was sure that I had put the bowl where the counter should be, but, apparently, I had missed.
"That is so stupid!" I fussed at myself as I cleaned up the mess. "Where did the edge of that counter go?" I stood up and touched the edge of the counter. It was all there again and I was seeing it. I fixed another bowl of oatmeal for my grandson. The water was ready.
How long will I be able to enjoy the morning sun coming through the blinds? How long will I be able to fix breakfast for my grandson? Maybe I should just give it up before I have a more serious accident. I had already burned my hand and now dropped a bowl because I wasn't seeing correctly. I also realized that it took me several tries to hang a clothes hanger on the rod in the closet. I kept missing the rod and my clothes kept falling on the floor. I sat down to watch "The Golden Girls" on tv after everyone left for school, sipped a soft drink, and held tight to my elderly cat.
This painting was done using Winsor Newton watercolors on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper.

Vision-Morning Toast

Morning Toast
Making Toast In The Oven
8" x 12 " watercolors
Each school morning, my grandson and I have breakfast together. We have some nice conversation to start the day off in a calm way, which takes away some of the anxiety we both have. He's always had anxiety about going off to school, but it has been better in the past few years. No more screaming and crying, kicking and resisting, until he has gotten settled in for the day. And I was always in a rush to get dressed and out the door, feeling anxious about going to school, when I was young, and being there as a teacher in later years. I would cry, too, when I was in school, and my mother had to even chase me to school with a switch or the hairbrush-even to graduation. I wanted to stay at home. Some days, even when I was teaching, I could imagine my mother coming closer with her switch or her hair brush, urging me to hurry up and get to school before I was late.
Now, I fix breakfast for the young one, and we sit and talk, or even watch "Sponge Bob" on tv. His favorite breakfasts are French Toast, although I have a lot of trouble with consistency on that, and toast and juice. I try to sneak in some fruit with the juice and toast. Oatmeal was good, but he got tired of that. He did love cheese toast, but eventually tired of that, too. So, I put butter in each corner of bread, put it on a pan, and under the broiler in the oven to toast. I tried a toaster and a toaster oven, but oven toast is just the best. He likes this even more than cinnamon toast. Sometimes, I make the pats of butter form a happy face, or something appropriate for the day. Later in the day, we may even have toast with soup, or just for a snack.
"I wonder what has happened to bread!" I said as I put the bread on a cookie sheet. "I used to put four slices of bread on this pan and it filled it up. Now, I have to use six or eight slices of bread to fill the pan. Even when I make sandwiches, I have to make two sandwishes to be as large as one sandwich used to be. And, not to mention the smell and the taste. What ever happened to that good, sweet, yeasty smell of bread! We used to drive past the big bread bakeries in the cities, and that smell was so good! Just like another tourist attraction. Now, you can hardly smell anything, even if you put your nose right on the bread. It has about as much taste as cardboard too. Goodness only knows where it comes from. It's probably made in some foreign place, like everything else these days, frozen, and shipped a long way to us, and passed off as being fresh. I guess they cut corners in ingrediants so we have to pay a lot more and get a lot smaller bread. Or, maybe some do-gooder is trying to make us eat less. It doesn't work. We just have to eat twice as much."
I put the pan in the oven, leaving the door open so I could take the pan out when the butter melted and the edges turned golden. The cheap pan began to curl up like a piece of plastic. "I'll bet that supposedly metal pan is really covered with plastic, is why it curls up like that. We're probably getting poisoned from that pan, even though it is new." I complained as I watched.
My sister had explained to me that you need the vision in both eyes to have depth perception. At this point of my Wet Macular Degeneration, I caught myself closing the affected eye often, attempting to clear things up that I looked at. I hadn't noticed a problem with depth at all. Just having trouble reading things at a little distance, things were wavey, blurred, had spots sometimes, and colors like blue and black, beige and lavendar, green and purple, were a bit of trouble to distinguish except in the sunlight.
"It's ready!" my grandson advised me that the toast was just right to take from the oven. I picked up the hot pad and reached for the pan. As I lifted the pan from the oven, I touched my hand to the top of the stove. It felt hot, but really didn't hurt that much. But, I could see the red from the top burner on my hand.
I put the toast on plates and my grandson took the plates to the table attached to the couch. I ran cold water over my hand as an angry red welt formed. I didn't know why I ever put my hand on the top of the oven. There was plenty of room, and I never had missed the correct space for moving my hand away safely before.
I put antibiotic ointment on my hand and a large bandage to protect it.
"Now that was a stupid thing to do," I lectured myself after everyone had gone off to school. I put the dishes in the sink and turned on "The Golden Girls" to watch as I finished my toast. It was nice to wave goodbye to everyone as they went off to school, while I could leisurely eat some breakfast, watch tv, or even go back to bed, if I wanted. I would have to remember to pull my hand out of the oven lower, the next time, though. I guess it would be easier to use a toaster.
This painting makes me think of the book, "Burnt Toast", which was given to us at the George Bush Library last spring by the author, Teri Hatcher, of tv fame. The book certainly has her voice. It reads just as if you are listening to her talk. Thanks to Teri for the book. That was really a nice surprise at the leadership program hosted by former president Bush. Other participants were Harriet Miers, Eileen Collins, and Chris Evert. Some days, I end up with the title to Hatcher's book-burnt toast in my oven, and I have to start over.
"Morning Toast" was painted with Winsor Newton watercolors on 140# strathmore watercolor paper.

Vision-Telephone

The Telephone 8" x 12 " watercolors
I don't like telephones. From the irritating noise they make, I know that it can only be something bad, if someone calls me. Or, even if it is something good, I sound like a blithering idiot, as the old saying goes, when I talk. I never can think of what to say, until long after I have hung up, so I just stumble around, saying nothing that is the least bit intelligible. And that doesn't even take into account my drawl and my croaky voice which I am embarrassed for people to hear.
As usual, the jangling ring of the telephone was an indication of something bad to come that day. The mail wasn't much better. The letter came first. A bill for almost $4,ooo from the specialist. I almost fainted! I thought insurance was going to pay for everything but the copay. Insurance, it seems, would only pay $125. Foundations would cover what insurance would pay, according to the doctor. Not to worry, I had been told. Just decide on which treatment I wanted and show up. My focus had been on my eye and recovering from the shot.
"Sorry. We only cover your out of pocket expenses for things like hotels, meals, and travel, once you have paid out $5,000." One foundation told me by phone. I didn't have any of that.
"So sorry," another foundation said over the phone. "We only help out with the $25 copay after you have paid $500. We can't help you."
When I applied, they assured me that I qualified and there was money to help me, if needed.
Now, over the phone, it seemed there was no help and I was shuffled out the back door.
I called the doctor's office about the bill. It had to be a mistake.
"Sorry, but your insurance didn't cover it so we will need the $3,000 amount, plus another $1800 to cover the office visit this afternoon, before you see the doctor," the office worker told me. "We require that all payments be made before patients see the doctor."
"I told you to begin with that I don't have that kind of money. I would never have gone if you had not told me that it would be paid for 100%. " I tried not to sound so concerned and excited.
"We won't make any future appointments until this is paid in full," she said coldly.
"Well, I guess I'll just have to cancel, " I said angrily. I was swelling with frustration and tears. "I won't be back until you all get this insurance business and foundations straightened out." I hung up.
I had been scheduled to go in and have my red eye checked after the shot. It was a struggle to scrape together the $25 for the copay. But, that was something that was possible. Thousands of dollars was not.
"You don't just have to have treatment," I recalled the doctor saying. "But, without it, you will lose your center vision. You won't go totally blind, but you won't be able to read, write, watch tv, cook, sew, drive (and, in my mind, I added draw or paint). "
My daughter left the house to go on an errand, and I was glad to just sit at my desk, crying and feeling angry, all afternoon.
I put my nightgown on and sat in my comfortable desk chair. I tried searching online for others who had similar experiences, and for possibilities for help. There was only similar information to what the doctor had given me and information that didn't apply to me. Everything was geared toward people who either had lots of money or good insurance.
Now, what was I supposed to do! Go blind, I guessed.
Sometimes, it feels like there is some giant above me with a big hammer, and, everytime I start feeling a little bit hopeful, that giant is right there to hammer me back down into a blob of nothing. A grease spot in my chair. The phone brought feelings that sweat and tears were pouring from me, into a big puddle on the floor. I gripped the chair arms with my hands, and wrapped my feet tightly around the bottom of the chair.
I couldn't take any more bad news.
"Well, I can't ever go back to that doctor, and I may as well give up and prepare to go blind,"I told myself. "All this reading and searching about Macular Degeneration, and having to go through that shot, was just a waste of time. Who cares anyway." I gathered up all the material that the doctor had given me to read and threw it in the trash. "That was a waste of paper," I said. Even the Amsler chart went in the trash. "What good is it to check and see if it is getting worse or changing, if I cant' do anything about it."
I moved my chair over to my drawing table, pulled out a block of watercolor paper, my watercolors and brushes. I filled a can and spray bottle with water, and started painting.
"I may not be able to do anything about this, but I can paint about what happened to me." I told myself. And, there are some interesting designs and unusual things that I have seen during all this. Maybe someone else might find them interesting, too. And, who knows, maybe my pictures will help someone else."
My eye didn't get checked and I felt betrayed and hopeless, beaten into that blob in my chair. I thought that the nice doctor didn't really care if my eye fell out of my head. He wasn't going to ever be bothered with me again. I felt that his sign in the window that said, "Don't come in if you're sick". Should have added to it, "And go home if you don't have a lot of cash and insurance." The door to care was closed to me,and my journey seemed to be on the road to darkness. Maybe I should just prepare to be a blind person. I couldn't believe it. This could not be happening. It had to all be a bad dream. I didn't want the phone to ever ring again. I knew that it could only bring more bad news.
I had already cut out so many things including going to doctors, buying medicine, some insurance, drinking water, food, clothes, entertainment, my car-everything that I could to cut expenses and still get by on my retirement. I wondered if one reason I was having the eye problem might be due to lack of blood pressure medicine. That is listed on the possible causes of AMD. But, I'm told that I make too much to get assistance, so I just have to do without things.
They say that depression, anger, confusion, and other things go along with AMD. I can see why those things happen.
It becomes very difficult to know that there is treatment that can help, but it isn't available due to money or the lack of.
There is an incident that has stuck in my mind for many years. A little boy was on the news, going around with a jar, collecting change so he could have an operation. He needed $30,000 to have that surgery. He died before he raised enough money. To me, that is just criminal, to let someone suffer and die when someone else has the ability to help that person. I know that we all have to make money, but to deny someone what you are able to give, is just wrong. I guess that is my school teacher mentality-to give and to help, and not expect a bunch of money in return. That's why doctors have money, I guess, and teachers remain poor.
I heard one presidential candidate speak a few months ago. Many of his remarks were greeted with silence from the audience after an initial enthusiastic and warm welcome. One thing he said was that "We are not going to just let anyone fall out on the sidewalk and die. After all, this is America!" I said a soft, "Ha!" No one clapped for him. He was answering a question about health care for illegal immigrants. I knew that I could fall out on the sidewalk and die, or my eye could fall out of my head, and I had better be able to take care of it myself. I won't be eligible for any help.
My journey continues.
The watercolor above was done on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper, using Winsor Newton watercolors.

Vision-Eye Test

Eye Test 8" x 12 " watercolors

"Eye Test" was done on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors.

A few days passed after the injection in my eye, and my eye looked some better. It still sagged and drooped, watered, and was a little pink looking. But, my birthday had passed and my drivers license had expired. My daughter took me to get the license renewed. I felt confident because two doctors had told me in the last two weeks that my vision was good enough to pass this eye exam.

What a disappointment it was. I took in my old license, the renewal notice, and my fee, ready to keep my license. I had braved all that the doctor's office had thrown at me, so I felt ready.

I was directed to look into what looked like a wooden box. All I could see was the edges of the box around my face, a wavey, black background with squiggley green lines on it. I tried closing one eye, I blinked, I squinted and it didn't change. The clerk took me to another machine and it was no better.

"Time to see an eye doctor," she advised.

"I've been to two eye doctors in the past two weeks, and I could read their charts", I told her. "I do have sinus trouble today from the wind, and I'm getting over a little eye infection."

She told me that I had two years, and to come back and try again when my eye was better.

I didn't want to tell her that my eye may not get any better, but only worse. Still, I should have been able to see something. I didn't know what was wrong.

"Just don't get caught driving with an expired license," she advised as we left.

I was dejected, to think that I couldn't drive anymore. I got my license when I was 12, and had started driving when I was 8, although that was a bit reluctantly. Daddy insisted that I try to drive the war surplus Jeep he had bought. Scared both of us silly when I drove up a little hill and into a neighbor's yard when I tried to carefully turn a corner! So, he made me drive the tractor out in the pasture, to learn how to drive better. As long as I could remember, I either sat in someone's lap while they drove, or stood on the seat beside them. I guess my driving career might be over. Good thing I liked to ride around in the back seat and talk to the grandsons , or look for pictures to draw, while someone else drives. Still, riding in a car is not that fun anymore, with all the distortion and strange things I see. I hadn't been driving since I didn't have to go to work anymore, and, even then, I preferred to have my daughter drop me off at work. And, when my knees started bothering me, I quit driving. Still, not having a license is not a good feeling-just in case I should need to drive and my eyes were better. Maybe, if the eyes and knees get worked on, I can drive again.

It was like one more thing had been taken away from me. One more stone in the path to the end of life. I tried to stay as cheerful as I could reminding myself that it was better to let someone else do the work while I enjoyed looking for pictures, taking photos, drawing, talking to the kids. Still, I knew that, if I just wanted to take myself for a ride, or I needed to go somewhere, I had to wait until other people could, or would, take me. Sometimes it's easier to just stay at home.

I hope that this one goes through. I've had trouble "publishing" or posting the last three posts. I finally got the first one to work. I gave up on the one I was going to send today, about Saturday nights, and will try that some other Saturday. I had to delete what I wrote about for this one, and I'm rewriting it shorter. I think the problem comes when my internet can't find the server, or something of that sort. Computers are a mystery to me. I did print and save the original story, so I have them to keep with my pictures.

The painting today looks like some sort of Egyptian design rather than an eye chart. But, that's how it appeared to me.

Today, I heard an interesting program on tv with an author who has a book out on a man who was blind since age 3. The blind man has had surgery which restored his vision somewhat. Colors and patterns were fascinating to him, but he didn't have the depth that he needed. So, he was having trouble with 3-dimensional things, like faces. I am putting a link to the author on my page in the Authors and Artists section.

Enjoy, and pass my address on to anyone who you think might be interested.

Vison-Ready To Go

Ready To Go

8"x 12"

Watercolors

and acrylic

The darkness faded away to boiling clouds of smoke-colored fog that filled the room. I could see the cabinet with a chair beside it, the door frame, and the mirror where the eye chart reflected. And, I could see my feet with my black walking shoes on the foot rest of the examining chair, poking out from the fog.

I could see the letters on the eye chart, just like they had appeared when I had looked at it during the exams. The letters were not clear with shadow images appearing behind and to the right of each letter. Smaller letters toward the bottom were blurred and were indestinguishable. Still, the doctor had said that my eyesight was good enough to pass the eye exam for the driving test.

The technician had told me, as we were signing papers before the injection, that they would give me some eye drops to take home with me and to use them every 4 hours, as directed. He said it would help if I kept them in the refrigerator. They would be soothing to my eye, if they were cold. He also advised me to use cold washcloths on my eye if it started to be uncomfortable. He explained that some people said that they felt like there was something in their eye, like a grain of sand. And, he told me that my eye may turn very red, if the doctor hit a blood vessel when he gave me the shot. But, that was nothing to be concerned about. It was normal. He also said that I might experience pressure on my eye, but it would not hurt to get the shot. They were doing lots of deadening. (Of course, I had not really believed that. My heart was pounding. I felt hot, anxious, a little sick at my stomach. I may faint. Even after the shot.)

Dressed in blue sweat pants (I guess they were scrubs but they looked like some kind of excercise outfit, to me, instead of a professional looking nurse uniform) and a patterned smock top, the nurse came in the room. She took a small, round object from the cabinet and came over to me. She put the insrument on my eye and quickly removed it. She turned back to the cabinet, put the instrument down, and walked to the door.

"Okay, you can go now," she said as she walked out the door.

I thought that was a little odd. She wasn't very friendly now. Before the shot, she had not been exactly warm, but she had been sort of in the background, with the techician and the doctor closer to me. She could have, at least, asked me how I was doing, or commented on something like the fact that it was all over and I was doing just fine.

I stood up slowly as my daughter arrived at the door. "Ready to go?" she asked.

"I guess so," I answered. I thought the doctor might have appeared to reassure me, but the hall was empty. I had to use my walking cane for a little while since my knees bothered me after sitting. We walked to the reception desk. Water ran from my eye and I used the tissue to blot the tears on my cheek.

"Here's your card for your next appointment," the receptionist handed me a card, which I couldn't read. I thought it was from my eye watering. I handed it to my daughter. I thought that, maybe, this is why they wanted you to pay before seeing the doctor. You might not be able to write a check after seeing him. But, of course, the person with you could take care of that.

"He wants to see you in a week to check how your eye is doing. If it turns really red, call us right away." She turned to talk to the person working beside her.

We went out to the car. My daughter was driving.

"The drops!" I said. "I thought they were supposed to give me some drops. I didn't get anything."

My daughter went back into the office and returned with a small bottle of eye drops.

I had read, online, about someone who had a shot in their eye. They said that, after their injection, riding in the car really bothered them. They finally solved the problem by just closing their eyes for the trip home. Now I understood what they meant. Things seemed to just whiz by, if I looked out the side windows, almost making me seasick. Light reflected off the back of parked cars like big, bright, half rainbows. The bending and distortion of objects also tended to make me a little sick at my stomach. I closed my eyes and held the tissue over my eye. I didn't like to ride this way, unable to see where I was going and what was around me.

At home, I put the drops in the refrigerator and fixed a cold washcloth to put on my eye. I walked to the couch in the den, sat on the reclining section of the couch, took off my shoes, and put my feet up. I turned on the tv to watch an old movie. I would spend a lot of time here, with the cool washcloth on my eye, listening to an old movie, in the next few days.

I didn't have nerve enough to look at my eye until later. At least we knew the answer to what would happen when they put a needle in the eye. It didn't deflate, fall out, or have all the juice inside to run out. I remembered being cautioned so often about standing on a chair and holding a coat hanger. I was told that an older girl had put her eye out when she was on a chair, with a coat hanger, and fell. So, wouldn't a needle also make one have to get a glass eye?

I couldn't help but think about the rhyme we used to say as children. "Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a needle in my eye." This was about the strongest promise one could make. I never dreamed anyone actually would do that, for legitimate reasons. But, I had just had a needle stuck in my eye.

When I finally did get the courage to look at my eye, I was horrified to see the bottom lid drooping some, and the top lid hanging a little. It was only a little pink in places, so I was sure that the doctor had avoided hitting a blood vessel. I guessed that it would clear up quickly. He had done a good job. The drops and cold packs would probably tighten the lids up again, and make my eye clear up soon. It did feel a little like something in my eye, like a piece of hair, perhaps. So, I kept pushing hair away from my eye-some of it real, some of it just the way my eye felt.

I had survived the shot and now looked forward to going back to the doctor to get it checked in a week. Hopefully the extra blood vessels would have stopped forming, the bleeding avoided, and my vision would start improving. I tried not to think about the injections that had been scheduled for every four weeks during the next year-possibly two years. I needed to think about the positive, and the "right now", and not dreading the rest of the shots. Hopefully, they would all be as easy as this one had been. Still, I was a bit uneasy about how long it might be before the discomfort would go away and I could see better. It was manageable for now. Soon, I may be able to continue drawing, painting, writing, and riding in the car with less distortion.

"Okay, You Can Go Now" was painted on 140 # Strathmore watercolor paper using Winsor Newton watercolors. Acrylics were used on the eye chart.

I hope that you will share this with anyone who you think might be interested. I am curious as to what others with AMD, or similar problems, experience. My original idea in starting a blog was to share what I have experienced so that others might be better prepared when it happens to them, or that others might relate to what they, or those they know, have already experienced.

Other subjects and memories will be posted on my blog, but I thought it best to post my AMD experiences in order, as they happened. You can see some of my other art work on my Google group, Art -By-Cecelia. I hope you will jon that group and get updates when I have added something to my blog or pages. Also, take a look at the interesting Authors and Artists, and Interesting Sites section of my blog. Check back when you have time, and enjoy!