Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Of Maps and Men

My friend Trevor brought me this huge map he made of Glacier National Park.

He hauled it, carefully folded, in a giant plastic garbage bag that he slung over his shoulder and biked over the back of Mount a light spring rain.
Trevor refuses to own a car (on principle). He lives wherever. He is a super-kind immensely free spirit who leaves me notes on my door when he passes through and sometimes gives me gorgeous bouquets of wild flowers. The map was mine, he said, because I have an adventurous soul (could a better compliment be given?). I am honored, especially in light of my by contrast, much more mainstream existence.
The map was so big I devoted a whole wall in my son's room to it as there were no other open spaces in the house that could accomodate such a treasure.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Short Story Debut

I have yet to post any short stories on my blog and am excited now to offer this one. Gina Simunovich, is a coworker of mine, an ICU nurse, a mom, and (evidentally) a short story writer too....


Old Habits Die Hard

The sky was awash with sun, but my mood was gray as I watched my daughter bounce away from my car, trotting happliy tward her run-down apartment and abusive husband. Nylons ripped, skirt too short, a fine crust of blood barely visible under one of her nostrils. I shook my head at the wonder that she was still alive. Born and raised New York, she would have been beautiful if she weren't a junkie. She begged me for money frequently. I gave it to her most of the time. What the hell else could I do? I hated to say it, but if her entire brain were high quality heroin, it probably wouldn't retail for enough cash to buy a decent meal. I touched the gas pedal of my Mustang and eased it away from the curb, glad to leave that scene behind me.

I kicked a Lucky out of the pack on my dash, lit it glumly and sent a jet of smoke to the ceiling with a sigh. My mood worsened as I crossed the Triboro bridge. Driving didn't feel good, but home didn't sound good either. A gas station loomed ahead and I pulled off to calm down; to collect myself a little. Taking my cigarettes, I got out and sat on the hot black hood, absorbing the street in front of me.

A couple of shabby old men in tattered jackets sat on the curb, passing a bottle in a paper bag back and forth, smiling and talking in the afternoon sun. Loud, rapid-fire Chinese came from the open door of a laundry to their left. Even further down the street, a wolf pack of punk kids caught my eye. Five boys strutting down the street in a formation like flying geese. The apparent leader in the front, with two of his followers on each side, slightly behind. They all wore beat up jean jackets with the arms cut off to show off new tattoos. All of them had the air of an almost desperately projected toughness, just waiting to be challenged. All of thier hands were covered in black leather, fingerless gloves.

The leader had long, blonde hair that turned short and spiky on top. He pointed to the old men and said something to his friends, who laughed and quickened their pace. The leader approached the first old man and growled some kind of threat. The man glanced up briefly and turned back to his friend. "Can't you fucking hear, grandpa?" the kid screamed, "I told you to get off of my street!" Enraged at still recieving no reaction, the kid reached down and grabbed the old man's jacket roughly, sending one of his friends into an idiotic fit of giggling.

Suddenly, the old man scrambled to his feet. Bending from his knees and raising his arms, he transformed his posture from and old man's to that of a boxer from the 40s. The kid's friends stopped laughing. The kid threw up his fists in some feeble attempt to mimic what he'd seen on TV, but he didn't stand a chance. The old man didn't need his gloves, he heard the bell go off in his head and he was back in the ring again. He sent three lightning punches to the kid's face and drove a hard left into his stomach, catching him with a solid blow to the jaw as he went down. I heard an ugly crack. The kid was crumpled on the ground. His buddies didn't help him up. They weren't there anymore.

The old man walked shakily back to join his friend, who handed him the bottle and they resumed their conversation. I took a deep breath and looked the street up and down again. The sun beat down on my hood and the laundry that continued to spew Chinese. A light breeze tossed a wrapper down the sidewalk. By the time I looked back, the kid was gone, and so were my blues.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Illusory Cupcake

I am the type of girl who surreptitiously enjoys store-bought frosting straight from the can. Even I have my limits though....I watched skeptically as my room mate was digging gobs of frosting out of aforementioned can and loading it into the freezer. Apparently she has a friend that hates cake (I know right, who hates CAKE?). So Lindsay made her a solid frosting birthday cupcake. The result was super psychedelic and rather Alice-in-Wonderland-like. Of course, I had to post the pict!

Friday, April 30, 2010

Inspiration jump-start

My sister, Easton, just got me out of my blog-funk. It's seemed sort of a pointless venture in the hectic scattered nature of the rest of my life. But she, who is always doing a million amazing things at one time, sent this to me with only as explanation "for your blog" and now I am jump-started into getting going again. And I have lots of stuff I've been hoarding away in my file marked "blog." So bear with me. It is going on summer after all...

It was super hard to read the beautiful poem that is underlying the art on this so I separated it here for "easier reading."

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Art in Creation of a Space

I love exploring how other people arrange their homes. I see it as sort of a window into who a person is...judgmental? Maybe. But, in general, I find I am bored by people with bare walls and new furniture.

My super-amazing and really-rather-pregnant girlfriend, Angie arranged for us to escape the Missoula grey last weekend. She made a call and away we went to Salmon, Idaho our sites set on Gold Bug Hot Springs.

Her friend Amy, has a big old house in Salmon that she has filled with antique odds and ends, random art pieces from friends, and walls that are marked with her whims. I loved it!

She left it unlocked for us and I felt deliciously voyeuristic when we got there and I was finding "my room." This wall had me at first glance. The warm yellow and contrasting grey outside and the feeling of motion she made on the wall with the silver.

And when she came home, Amy reinforced my theory that interesting people can't help but reflect that in the way they create their space.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

The "Taco" grill

One of my best friends recently bought a new truck; a Tacoma. And when Jesse showed up at my house to show off his new purchase I thought that was the end of it. Nice truck-REALLY nice truck. Then he spent the duration of his break here in the US doing random auto-junkie things to it and now it is really a work of art in of itself. He was showing me picts of various stages of the alteration process and agreed to give me the ones below.

Truly "found art"

His explanation follows.

"I took the "Tacoma" emblems that came on the sides and tail gate of my truck off to give it a cleaner look. I was replacing the stock grill with the mesh one in the photo and decided to get cute and cut the "ma" off the end of one of the emblems to make it say Taco and put it on the grill. The emblem was chrome and I was on a chrome killing mission all over the truck so I decided to paint it the body color. The silhouette you see in the picture was happenstance, I just moved it a couple of times while I was painting it and it stenciled the outline onto the cardboard. After it dried and I picked up the emblem the pattern caught my eye..."

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Alternate Realities

My new room mate, "Bobby" Laitman, is an artist.

He is also a maintenance manager at a trailer park; a creator of insane levels of noise when he plays with my son; and someone who insists on leaving one swig in the bottom of every beer can(which is terribly annoying when sorting the recycling).

We operate on completely different levels.

I am fascinated by how he manages his existence. And while he has been utterly disruptive to my life, somehow it works.

And sometimes I crave chaos...I think.

I came home one day and he has posted his latest drawing on the fridge.

He said it reminded him of me.
I am immensely flattered. Maybe I flatter easily.