The Art-Fed Ordinary

Of Maps and Men

2010-07-07T08:36:00.000-07:00

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 Jumbo...in 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.

Short Story Debut

2010-05-24T09:38:00.000-07:00

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....

THANKS GINA!

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.

Illusory Cupcake

2010-05-03T07:58:00.000-07:00

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!

Inspiration jump-start

2010-04-30T08:40:00.000-07:00

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."

The Art in Creation of a Space

2010-02-24T20:52:00.000-08:00

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.

The "Taco" grill

2010-01-31T07:39:00.001-08:00

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..."

Alternate Realities

2010-01-12T14:02:00.000-08:00

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.

Moss Man Revisited

2010-01-02T09:01:00.000-08:00

The holiday season was disapointingly hectic for me this year. Hence the LONG gap in posts. I always resolve not to be sucked into the commotion but then it hits and it seems inevitable. That said, I had a lot of fun making this painting for my friend Boyd. He is the sort of amazing person that makes you feel like at least there are a few solid souls in life on which you can rely.

Boyd introduced me to The Moss Man. It's an incredible story (in Outside Magazine) about a man who stayed in a hot springs so long that when they came to get him, he literally had algae growing in his back hair. Hence the title of my painting.

It turned out really great when framed and matted by the super-sweet (owner?) Cliff at Wild River Publishing Company here in Missoula. I am plugging the shop here because he was such a kind person and did a fabulous job... and cut me a deal.

If you want to check out the story of the Moss Man-and you should- just Google "Lean, Green, and Amazingly Serene." The article should pop up.

Hope you all had splendid holidays...don't forget to include me in the giving spirit...send me some of your art-finds and or creations....

Tired Poetry

2009-11-27T20:37:00.000-08:00

This is a super raw-format poem. Wrote it one night nodding off at the dining room table. Passed it on to my sis who thought it needed some tweaking. But I prefer it in it's unrefined state.

Sometimes survival
Is a sigh of simplicity..
(I’m too exhausted for desire).

Remember broken hearts are a luxury.

Lust-
Not love
Because there is no time...

I find temporary relief
in chocolate chips straight from the bag; crushed candy wrappers on the dining table and dreaming next to my softly snoring
Son.

Yes,
These days I plod past the poetry.

Value the art in
Existence.

How your heart is
muscle-meat
with electricity.

Reincarnation of a Door

2009-11-22T08:58:00.000-08:00

I am always amazed at how many covert artists there are. So many people harbor these hidden caches of talents that they don't view as "art" and I like to discover them.

This is my not so subtle hint to you that occasionally peruse here to SEND ME YOUR STUFF.

Kelly Bryan is an artist. I think she knows. She is an amazing seamstress and makes these super-cute bags (see her blog kellybeesewing.blogspot.com ). So I KNEW about the bags but I was pestering her to send me some picts for this project here and she told me about her table.

She started with an old door and refinished it.

Then as appropriate for her craft, had cloth swatches placed under cut glass that filled the hollow-portion of the door itself. Cords conveniently can come up through the knob hole.

End product being an amazing table!

I plan on pestering her more for picts of her other projects...

Kitchen sculpture.

2009-11-14T22:28:00.000-08:00

About a week ago, I was visiting with my brother, whirring around making dinner, while my 3-year-old climbed in and out of a lower kitchen cupboard where I keep my mixing bowls. I was happy he was content and only half aware as he clanged around. I paused in my chatter only when tripping on the contents of said cupboard which methodically emptied out onto the floor.

My brother stopped mid-conversation and started to chuckle.

I turned around and my little boy had constructed this impromptu sculpture. How he balanced all those things is beyond me, (in case you didn't catch it, there is a colander buried in the middle).

My mermaid

2009-11-08T20:34:00.000-08:00

At friends' house for dinner, flipped through a catalogue and fixated on this mermaid. Never had an affinity for them before but this one stuck with me.

Next day at work, forced co-worker after co-worker to give me their opinions and all politely gave me the that-is-really-hideous-but-i-want-to-be-kind smiles.

Bought her anyway.

She is fabulous on my dining table. Forget-me-nots that I inherited, seem happy in her tail.

Art of Saying Good-bye

2009-10-22T09:27:00.001-07:00

Does anyone like goodbyes? We always say that: "I hate goodbyes."

My dear dear freind and crazy-German-girl, Ramona and I both agreed no long-drawn out misery.

I gave her a Montana belt buckle and belt to remember our fun summer and she gave me this:

When I was looking through the pictures of her trip to Alaska, I told her I wanted to paint these flowers.

She sketched them for me, instead.

The black and white is from last winter when we took my son sledding.

In the end, it was perfect; she was late for her flight and panicking (over-reacting REALLY, she had an hour) and she leapt out of the car and we exchanged quick hugs and that was it.

Later on the phone I said I miss you and love you and can we plan a trip to Alaska?

I miss her immensely.

Pumpkin Carve

2009-10-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

I have never been that into carving pumpkins. Haven't done it in years....In college I once caused a serious roommate rift by opting out of a pumpkin carving party (mainly because I was so poor I didn't want to buy a pumpkin). It just seemed like more work than it was worth.

But, I made an impulse buy at the Super One Foods in Stevensville after stopping for cheap pears, post trail run.

Two large pumpkins.

In honesty, the purchase was largely motivated by the desire to watch my 3 year-old scoop out the pumpkin guts.

Called up friends that I knew would make it even more fun, and spent the evening laughing.

Turns out I bought the toughest skinned pumpkin known to man. We literally needed the sawzall...

The art of a great song

2009-09-29T11:59:00.000-07:00

Last week I opted out of updating here because I was playing in beautiful Bishop, California; home of the most fantastic bouldering anywhere (in my humble opinion).

It is a BEAUTIFUL fall in Missoula despite the smoke. So out winterizing the yard I thought maybe I would share a song this week. I've been enjoying it all summer. The sort of song anyone can relate to. The caveat being if you have an extreme aversion to the word "fuck." Not that I am advocating it as the best means of self-expression but sometimes, no other word quite carries the simplistic intensity.

The original song by Jenny Owens Young, "Fuck was I," is fantastically written but I prefer the Morgan Page remix on his album Elevate. It makes a better run mix. The whole album is fantastic but this song in particular is my favorite. I am putting the link via YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6mLAj8wbdI

Roots

2009-09-15T08:44:00.000-07:00

I bought a new camera this spring. Love it. It's a Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3. The camera itself is artistically crafted: small, cold, heavy, metal. I love the feel of it in my hand. That said, I am still learning how to use it...

These gorgeous Lord-of-the-Rings-esque roots were located on the far side of Lake Louise in Canada. That water is Glacial goodness-fun only for a temporary foot splash. I tried to do the arty-blurry water effect, but the whole thing is a bit out of focus. Still, I think it's a nice capture of how pretty the scene really was.

Squash blossoms

2009-09-06T17:08:00.000-07:00

I bought these nesting metal mixing bowls from Ross earlier this year and love them for cooking. They are super-functional for prepping and also look pretty on the table -added bonus of the reflection of pretty things like these squash blossoms.

My sis makes these incredible Ricotta-stuffed, battered, and deep fried delicasies. She has been perfecting them over the course of the summer and I dream of them now that my plants are bare and she is on the road to Seattle.

More chimes

2009-08-30T06:12:00.000-07:00

Went back to Lake Louise (Canada) last week. It had been 15 years for me. Felt completely over-whelmed by the mass amounts of people around the lake, though I'm sure if we would have planned a bit better and ventured more off the beaten path it would have been easier to breathe. That said, with my toddler in the pack, we hiked on the of the busiest hikes in the park up to the Plain of Six Glaciers and accompanying tea house.

It turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. Amazing views! And everyone who made the hike was so exuberant that my irritation with the traffic turned to a sort of bizarre pseudo-wilderness camaraderie. And chiming tinnily on the deck of the Tea house were these hippie wind-chimes- sister chimes to those recyclables banging about under my own eaves. The prayer flag and balloon background begged for a picture.

A Poem

2009-08-26T00:12:00.000-07:00

My sister Easton, has always been an amazing poet (at least per a style I like). In harassing her to give me one for this blog she said I could pick one.

I like this perspective on my chaotic winter home-life. My sis lived with me while biding time between the Army and grad-school and her German girl, Ramona was also staying with me. I'm normally very protective of "my space" but this winter circumstances were such that I bent a bit.

Her poem:

My sister’s bed

It’s the hottest in the house
After 36 hours
dead teenagers
and confused families
she ousts the strays (myself, house-guests)
declares
we are like a family
of migrant workers
sleeping in shifts
our imprints cradle each other’s
exhausted dreams

The furnace breathes heaviest there
stains are chocolate—my nephew’s
chaos body heat
Elmo
counting books
clean laundry
dirty socks
and me cradling the cat
hot water bottle
fleece cap
3a.m. Demons
and the restless guilt of too much
sleep.

by Easton Branam

Outcome vs intent

2009-08-17T07:07:00.000-07:00

I think perhaps the best thing about being a hobby-artist is recognizing that your skill is rather minimal so your intent is irrelevant. I am always surprised by the way things turn out because of the haphazard way that I paint... usually on the kitchen floor and over the course of several days.

I gave my babysitter her painting Friday after dinner.

She is planning on winning the lottery; minimum 75 mil -she doesn't even buy tickets for smaller jackpots. When she wins she will buy a bigger house and have only art that she or someone she knows makes. She tells me she will trash all her previous Target-brand decorations...so I told her this is for her new house. Even if it only makes gets a place in the laundry room.

Wings in progress

2009-08-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

The following is a work in progress.

In trying to plan how I was going to paint wings on my pasty-angel-body, my friend Ramona ran into my son's room and grabbed these wings off his wall. I love the way they look as-is, but feel compelled to paint them anyway.

My favorite thing about the art medium of paint (particularly acrylic) is that it is very forgiving... I rarely get anything right the first time.

This one is for my babysitter; she is an angel in her own right.

Friday will be her birthday and I'm hoping to get this done by then.

Sooo, you are seeing the lovely before picture...

Play on words...

2009-08-04T12:20:00.000-07:00

I am something of a grocery store connoisseur. Since I really enjoy shopping for food, ambiance and decent prices get me all a'twitter.

My favorite store in Missoula is The Orange Street Food Farm. They have great produce, the best wine and beer prices in town and above all, the local anti-chain charm that sets them apart from all the other chains we have in this big-but-doesn't-know-it town.

The employees would most likely never be hired at aforementioned chain stores... or, if they did they would be late-night stock people. Quirky would be putting it mildly... The meat man (even though I never buy meat) is my favorite. We bonded over my love for uncooked tortillas (which it turns out, he is in charge of ordering).

So today, making my usual rounds, paused to say "hi" and he grabbed these stickers for my son. apparently they ordered "Buffalo" stickers to place on prepackaged meat. Alas the request was lost in translation.

Beefola. A whole roll of neon stickers of absurdity to hand out to chirping 2-year-olds.

Just to be sure there was no meat product by this name. I Googled it.

Turns out there is something called Beefalo. Its a cross between Bison and Beef. Not apparently to be confused by Cattalo.

But Beefola is not yet in existence.

Seriously.

Ephemeral Chemical

2009-07-26T13:22:00.001-07:00

I've been delinquent in checking my email lately. Found this pleasant surprise from Emily.

She wrote only this: "I left a small jar of chemicals outside for a few days, and when I finally got around to cleaning it up, I found this scene in the bottom of the jar."

So beautiful. Thanks Em for sending it to me....

Spam.

2009-07-20T15:05:00.000-07:00

I have a penchant for Spam. Though I haven't eaten any since I was a kid, it brings a sort of 1950s-life-is-meant-to-be-perfect nostalgia. I admire its resilience.

Very Andy Warhol don't you think?

A friend of mine in SLC showed us his collection (he recently returned from Guam, which apparently is a big fan of canned meat). He had purchased this large amount for a Spam and wine pairing party.

I can't wait to copy the idea...

The Art of Laughter

2009-07-13T09:59:00.000-07:00

My dad has had long hair all my life.
As a kid I always tried to convince him to cut it, but as an adult I gave up.

My sis and I suprised him last week in Salt Lake City where he is getting various cancer treatments.

On the second night of our visit, dad decided it was time.

His hair was falling out anyway.

I got the initial honor; started really hamming it up. My sis was capturing this historic moment on film.

And as usual, when we are all together, it ended in laughter.

Recycled Gypsy Wind-chimes

2009-07-04T08:40:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to assemble this for a while. I think the original idea spawned at a barbeque years ago when an aquaintance of mine had a bunch of old rusty spoons and forks hanging together in a more rustic version of the one I made.

There are a bunch of more homogenized versions and instructions of the net. My particular plan was to find interesting kitchen implements and implement them.

I've been slowly accumulating random odds and ends at thrift stores. They don't sound at all the same when you are trying to hold them and clang them together. So it's really a surprise to see what your end result willl be. This particular mix sounds great.

It's a great friendship barometer when someone comes to visit one night and you're visiting and drinking beers and suddenly you leap up and say "I have an idea! Here, help me build this!" And they're actually excited to help. Thanks Angie and Mike!

The Art of Survival

2009-06-28T14:40:00.000-07:00

My dad is someone who doesn't realize his own age; a great giver of obvious advice; a philosopher of not-so-obvious-things; a man you can tell anything and he will at least listen even if he does not agree; a fabulous telemark skier and a patient teacher of tele skiing to those who aren't so great; a talented craftsman; a subtle artist; a master in the art of self-deprecating humor; and a great dad who became great by trial and error (probably like most other great dads of his nature).

Sometimes I forget how amazing he really is...

His girlfriend/best friend/adventure-seeking-fireball (a.k.a. Judy) painted this picture of him before any of us knew he had cancer. Suddenly the image is the perfect symbolic of the journey he is now on.

He started chemo last Friday.

Dad's whirlwind diagnosis and subsequent treatment has been a punch to the solar plexus. We are still gasping for air. But, as he is one of the functioning parts of our strange little family amoeba, we are all now in this together.

Except he has to do the hard part.

The Shard Pile

2009-06-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by all that I DON'T know about the people around me. We really only understand what we scratch away from each other.

I read last night in The Week that researchers have found that people literally cycle their friends every 7 years and our friendships are based more on circumstance than on real connection. Depressing or just confirmation that we really are all alike (or likable) in some way.

SOOO in a long-winded way, I bring you the art of Chris Cole. I know not much about her actually. She is a day-shift nurse in the ICU and I am a night-shifter so we meet briefly to swap patients. But I noticed one day on her locker a picture of her using the pottery wheel. I have an affinity for art. AND I also know that she lives in the middle of nowhere (where I would like to live if babysitting somehow worked out). AND I just LIKE her. AND I suppose I could analyze that one to death but it really doesn't matter.

I asked her to help me with my blog and after a couple attempts (she is not computer savvy) she sent me these picts... AND I just like them too!

The Art of Egg Noodles?

2009-06-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

I love to cook.

For me, cooking is a subtle form of meditation.

There is something so inherently satisfying in creating a meal from basic ingredients; it gives me the same feeling as when I paint.

Similarly, I can appreciate other artists. Especially when said other artist is my sis back from Italy and I (red wine in hand) get to spectate while she creates.

I've never made pasta before. I was struck (again) by the art of cooking.

The Art of Ambiance

2009-06-11T21:50:00.000-07:00

There is a definite talent for finding unique or interesting places to eat.... or drink. When I travel to Spokane for drill with the Air Guard once a month I look forward to connecting with Ramona. She is a German transplant temporarily there for studies. But Ramona (aside from being an all-around fantabulous girl) has an affinity for out-of-the-ordinary places.

She brought me to the Baby Bar in Spokane. It is a tiny space (hence the name). When we walked in, there was only one other patron in the cubby. The bar-tender was engaging in a non-dominating sense and sold us on a couple of fresh-squeezed greyhounds. He grabbed a couple of the fruit from grapefruit pile heaped in front of us, made us two rather stiff drinks, then went out for a smoke with the other patron of the bar, leaving us to ourselves.

I couldn't resist snapping some picts.

Art in the establishment is partially that which is displayed on the walls and even more so the feeling of a space when the owner is of a creative mind. I will be back.

Art in Words

2009-06-04T08:28:00.000-07:00

I had the priveledge of attending a madatory trauma conference last Saturday.

There were some interesting presentations but when it's a lovely sunny day in western Montana it's hard to be satisfactorily appreciative. As I was sitting through a mildly interesting death-by-powerpoint lecture on various drugs, the doctor used the phrase "emotional incontinence" in relation to some agitation-control meds.

It was a very artistic descriptor in contrast to the dry content of the rest of the lecture. I thought it was a beautiful accidental poem.

Turns out it's an actual psychiatric diagnosis.

But I think it's a lovely label for so many selfish explosive personalities.

More Treasured Trash

2009-05-30T22:06:00.000-07:00

On that same superbly sunny day, after spotting the decrepit crane in the field, I made my friends stop again at this old barrel on the roadside. I am impressed by the graphics -particularly the swirling design.

For contrast I tried to look up the modern equivalent, but I couldn't find anything.

I have an affinity for this rust color...

Stopping by the roadside on a sunny afternoon

2009-05-25T12:36:00.000-07:00

It takes a very special set of friends to be appreciative when you insist on pulling over to the side of the road after a day of rock climbing to marvel at a nice old crane. Takes an even better set to allow you to interrupt the trip home and borrow their camera because you forgot yours...

A Note on the Sex Life of Chironomus Plumosus

2009-05-22T19:30:00.000-07:00

Brian Doyle is my abstract writing mentor. He is the esteemed editor of the University of Portland Magazine and the author of several scrumptious books. I met him when studying at The University of Portland. I admire him immensely and am sooo honored he tossed me a scrappling when I told him of my blog idea.

A Note on the Sex Life of Chironomus Plumosus

Now here’s a tale. A young pitcher for the New York Yankees,
Untouchable during the season, is on the mound in the playoffs,
Facing down the heroic men of Cleveland , that gnarled old burg
On the shores of vast Lake Erie . A warm night, unseasonably so
For Ohio , and out on the sea of the lake the midges gather, alert
To this last heat before the long sleep of winter. It is the custom
Of midges to swarm while mating, and to swarm in the brightest
Light on the hottest night before the off-season, and the ballfield
Is brilliantly lit, so into the stadium they flood by the thousands,
And it is their ancient habit also to gather at the highest of points
In the brightest of lights on the warmest of nights, and said point
Tonight is the young pitcher, Mr. Joba Chamberlain of Nebraska ,
Around whom they swarm so thoroughly that he completely pops
A gasket and fires wild pitches and walks guys and is pummeled
By the heroic men of Cleveland who win the series and the news
Papers are filled with bleating and wailing about insect invasions
And grim omens and the dereliction of duty by indolent umpires,
But even as I am delighted to see the satanic evil spawn Yankees
Dismissed from the playoffs, and even as I relish and savor Joba
Chamberlain saying soberly afterwards yes, they sure bugged me,
I find myself thinking what did the midges think of all the hoopla,
You know? I mean, it was the highlight of their year, they’re all
Dressed for a wild night out and there’s lust in the air, they zoom
Off to the brightest light they have ever seen, conditions are ripe,
There’s even a lovely erect hill interestingly wearing number 62,
And things go so well that after forty minutes the swarm retreats,
Everyone grinning and exhausted and maybe craving a cigarette.
I mean, the midges will buzz about that night for years, you know?

-- Brian Doyle

Rainbow Chard

2009-05-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

When I was young and couldn't sleep I would lay awake determined to imagine a new color. It would be something amazing-uncategorizable by anyone...

I am convinced now that people never really do anything "new" they just try desperately to outdo what's already been done.

This chard shames my attempts to improve the existing palette.

My sis Easton took these picts after harvest while working for 5 days on a "Twelve Tribes of Israel" farm in California. Though they seem pretty radical in their beliefs, their honest desire to live so uncompromisingly true to what they believe makes me wistful.

A little audio experiment...

2009-05-18T09:01:00.000-07:00

Emily Lang recently sent me my first "audio art" to add to the blog. Perhaps as interesting as the recording itself is Em's description:

"This is a recording that I took while I was staying at a Hare Krishna farm in Argentina. It is of a 16 year old girl who was sent to live with her mother in the community because she was failing school and spending all of her time with her hip hop group. Now she leads the chanting in the temple during the day, and sneaks into the tents of the farm volunteers at night."

Here's the link to the clip:

http://www.alpinedave.com/artfedordinary/Hari_Krishna.mp3

Longboard Art

2009-05-15T14:26:00.000-07:00

My brother is an unassuming artist; both in the incredible way he moves when he is on his longboard and in the way he builds them.

So he obliged after much pestering and sent me a couple photos of boards he has built thus far. Although a bit blurry (ahem Ryland) they give a taste of one of his many talents...

Rosa Lisa

2009-05-14T08:27:00.001-07:00

So I pestered Judy until she sent me another of her pieces.

This is "Rosa Lisa, Mona's younger, less inhibited sister". In collage.

Not only am I delighted by the story developed in my mind per just the title, but I love the bright colors and Mona-esque eye (that must be familial trait).

Locker Art

2009-05-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

I'm intrigued by how (and why) people choose to express themselves: personalized license plates; bumper stickers; locker art.

Working Critical Care can be intense.

It's exhausting on a million levels.

Maybe this is why the field attracts such an eclectic bunch. The main vein we share is a certain sense of cynical humor.

It keeps you afloat.

Ann Benson, my charge nurse, is a bit of a wild-woman. When she is not working she is typically in search of snow (ski freak).

She is an amazing resource but she keeps us in constant-chuckle.....

Her locker is a small reflection of her great personality...

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T09:51:00.000-07:00

I had to do it.

I won't regularly be inundating this blog with my son's creations but...

It IS Mother's Day after all.

And he insisted on green petals (per his babysitter).

And the face...

One of my favorite pieces thus far!

Painted Eggs

2009-05-09T07:42:00.000-07:00

Ramona Brejcha is the sort of girl I adore. She's someone you can call to do nothing but sit and sketch and talk...(even though her accent gets thicker as the evening wears on). She came from Germany to study and become a prosthetician. I am looking forward to her internship here in Missoula during the summer.

She hollowed and painted these lovely eggs as a gift for my son and me during a visit to Spokane last weekend.

Meter Maid

2009-05-07T07:00:00.000-07:00

I wrote this poem a while ago after a particularly difficult night at work. Last night I was the nurse for a similar tragedy. Thought I'd post it while fresh in my mind.

I am the meter maid of silence
marking time between
missed beats and sobbing prayer
in the pause between
his question
my answer
when he inquires of his little girl
and I tell him
she is dead.

Tell him what he knows.
As his wife prays loudly wildly
incomprehensibly alive
next to my hesitating faith.

And I offer my own whimper of a prayer.
Wispy and hesitant;
like how I feel when he makes me repeat
that she is gone
over and over.

I am the miserable emissary for death
initially apologetic
then forgetting to feel
anything.
I am callused to this cruelty.

They didn’t see us try to save her.

Smother my sob in a cough.

Bad Hair Day

2009-05-05T06:45:00.000-07:00

Judy Palmer is one tough chick! She is an assuming adrenaline junkie-up for pretty much anything and a bit of a "Jane of all Trades."

Though she is working construction right now, she also makes jewelry and other lovely works of art like this piece. I feel so privileged to post it here.

Medical Mannequins

2009-05-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

Every time I have the opportunity to work with mannequins I have a sort of morbid fascination with them.
This weekend while working with my Air National Guard unit in Spokane, I helped train our medics. We "coordinated" with WSU campus staff (i.e. paid them heinous amounts of money) to use their brand new facility. The mannequins are our patients and subject to IV starts; nasal gastric tube insertions, foley cather placements etc. While the new nursing clinic area is gorgeous...the mannequins and I.V. practice ams really stole the show...

The stars themselves.

Drunken Portrait Session

2009-04-30T11:41:00.000-07:00

Two of the more creative people I know worked together on this, each painting the other.

Easton in foreground and Em in background, not an exact likeness though given the title, maybe I see why.

Thanks Emily for sending me this!

Art by Emily Lang and Easton Branam

Poem from Mexico

2009-04-29T16:59:00.000-07:00

My wayward wandering sis sent me this poem from Mexico today.... She is studying surfing before studying Landscape Architecture at UW in the fall.

The wave
ATE my watch
gargled, sucked
the band over my hand
like limp spaghetti
spat me out
and swallowed
the forever beeping thing

~Easton Branam

Poem for my Dad

2009-04-28T12:33:00.000-07:00

One summer evening following a visit to my dad, I scribbled down these thoughts. Later, he told me he wanted something I made myself as a Christmas gift for him. I turned the poem into a painting. I'm happy to see he proudly displays it in his dining room. My dad is really an amazing person.

Here it is:

Dad tells me
I should do somersaults to stay young
He rolls across the grass

And I should invert myself every day
A necessity.
he shrugs aside my stretching
He is not convinced.

I MUST roll.

But it is a kidney punch to me.
I protest.
Attempt a cartwheel.

You should do two in a row.

He demonstrates
Critiques my off-kilter turn
and we practice
yoga poses-
challenge eachother
while the dogs interrupt.

The Greasy Wilton

2009-04-26T18:42:00.000-07:00

During a random night in with my friend Tim, we became (perhaps excessively) intrigued by the lighting and abstract artishness of this pan as I washed dinner-dishes.