Wednesday, February 20, 2013


Off the walls

Bounce, bounce, sploosh!

Signing off of Faceworld.

Has anyone had real success with "signing out for a couple of months"? Does the public guilt really keep you from coming back?

Let's find out!

Like most people, I have no will power. I check facebook far too regularly, and usually end up getting sucked in for at least 15-20min, sometimes well over an hour. Eventually closing the window, saying to myself "silly mortal, you'll accomplish nothing this way".

So I'm trying this. I'll be back May 1st (After classes and ArtWalk) - Until then, see for updates. And you can reach me the old fashion way! Thanks for playing along!

To be continued...

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Fabulous Bits of Paper Feigning Aquatic

tigoboSCHOOL has me on a paper animation kick, and I love it!

"A Whale's Tale"

"First fishy school is in session"

"Heeeeeere fishy fishy fishy... friends."

Forgotten burns and warm water.

You know that horrible sensation you get, after momentarily forgetting yesterday's sunburn, and stepping into that hot shower today? Well, I burnt my finger on the kettle this morning. Stung like hell! You can't see it now. I mean - gosh, I'm such a baby - you couldn't really see it at the time either, but I could feel it for sure. I tended to it well - ran it under cool water until it finally stopped hurting. It ached for a while after the pain subsided, and after that I eventually I stopped thinking about it.

By the time I'd finished breakfast, I had forgotten the incident ever happened. Then I started washing dishes, the warm water hit, and it stung almost as bad as when I burnt it. I yelped! I'd completely forgotten! My finger - my finger remembered. It was still healing, long after the hurt. The water wasn't even that hot, but my finger was extra sensitive, and it was wary of being hurt again so soon.

As I ran it under cool water again, I wondered to myself: Do our hearts remember being burnt before? There is no damage seen on the surface, are we still healing something deeper? Even though we may have long forgotten the pains of our initial injuries and loss - is this why new, warm love stings old wounds? While we are still healing, are we not extra sensitive and apt to perceiving unintended slights? How do we remind ourselves then, to continue tending to these unseen scars, long after the pain is gone?

* * *

I shared this with Hollye and she added what was missing: "I do think our heart holds onto old wounds, burns, stings, and pain. And new love can remind us, trigger us, into remembering our ouchies. But, our ouchies heal with time, by loving ourselves, working through stuff, etc. Perhaps they may never fully heal, but perhaps we will be stronger, more beautiful, wiser, as we let ourselves feel them and heal them."

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Sketching at Barb's @ the Brewery

Here are some of my quick sketches of Barb's at the Brewery, for CDA's Sketching for Environment class with Ed Li.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Dreams of Giants, Death, and Acceptance

I awake, curled on a warm bed of soft moss, dried leaves, and dead grass. Aching joints and stiff muscles, moving is such slow and arduous work. Stiffly, I stand to find myself in a sun drenched swampland, deep in the forest. The warm rays of dawn's first light, breaking through the canopy, feel absolutely wonderful on my face. I look out over the lush forest floor. It is littered with dead bodies and I am immediately filled with an intense feeling of understanding that only comes in dreams.

This land has been ravaged. There are no survivors.

Everywhere I look, there is death. Yet as the light touches us, we are reanimating. Humans, trolls, giants, everyone. Everyone that lay dead or dying only moments ago, all waking up. Each one, disappointed to discover their current state.

I look down, over a small river, full of these massive troll like creatures. Bodies white and bloated. Their great balding heads, squashed in. Their long strands of gray hair, dragging out, collecting dead leaves in the stream. I notice a giant just waking up. He is stuck on the river bank, his body bumping up against a dead log. As he stirs, he looks solemnly down his long torso, and with an uncertain hand, pulls thin stringy organs from his slashed belly. I watch quietly as he studies his pale intestines, and finally releases them with remorseful acceptance. Silently he turns away from the bank, away from me. Rolling with the current, flowing peacefully down stream. He rides the waters into the lake, to meet and make small talk with others who, like him, can no longer leave the waters. The swamp is alive with the hushed murmur of its inhabitants.

Needing to move on from this place, I start down the bank. I can see a place for safe crossing up ahead on the right, where the river narrows. With each step, my movements grow more fluid. I walk, I stumble, I melt, I roll. I walk, I stumble, I melt, ...

I know what comes next.