Real Men Sew

Three new wallets hand made by my "Completely Geeky" husband

Everywhere he goes, when Trey whips out his hand-made wallet people swoon. OK, that may be going a little far, but it seems people always have comments and questions. They want to know, "What is the wallet made of?" Coffee bags. "And, why does he make them?" We drink lots of coffee, so he puts the empty bags to good use.

During a recent visit to our neighborhood Starbucks the barista with awe tinted by excitement in her voice asked, "You're THE Trey?" See, even the good folks at the coffee shop have been saving bags for my handy hubby to recycle into useful and stylish accessories. Real men sew, people. Real men sew. Apparently, word has spread of his magnificent talent.

Any who. She bought a wallet and gave Trey a big ol' hug. Gawrsh! People really like those wallets.

Shoes Give Me a Kick

Second draft illustration of "Rainboots Love" in pen on sketch book paper.

Clear, golden bright skies-- the kind that appear on romantic movies -- accompanied me on the 30-mile stretch of interstate to work today. Those of us in NLA (north Louisiana) may enjoy it only for tomorrow before we are poured upon again. One more day-- another chance to wear for the fist time my va-voom strappy sandals. So why did I post an illustration of these clunky, chunky rain boots which have already had their moment in the spotlight? They can't get enough attention I guess. Those strappy me-yow! sandals will have to wait for their own drawing.

Rain Drain Gets Me Carried Away

I love my funky old rain boots. Laugh world, laugh. I'll keep my feet dry, thanks.

It rained and it poured yesterday, this morning and throughout the day making me want to simply stay in bed. But rather than burrowing in the soft cover of my cocoon-like bedroom Monday, I went on a fun run, day long shopping excursion with my mom. Target and Dillard's won much of my hard-earned money, and lunch consisted of bowls of pasta salad and vanilla flavored Italian cream sodas with a shot of whip topping.

After marathon shopping, a weekend spent painting the kitchen "Red Currant" and one super-blooper disaster, which I will detail another day, sleeping in this morning was all I had in mind. The sweeping first thought I had today was, "How could three days have passed already"? I dragged myself to work, Starbucks coffee in hand, and squeaky sweet polka-dot rain boots carried me the rest of the day.

Simple Makes it Sweet

"The Sweet Life" Watercolor and Prisma Color pencil on cold press paper

With a three-day weekend stretching ahead as if forever is before me, I've made life a little sweeter by simplifying circumstances. Given a slice of unstructured time after a day's work, I'll be able to melt into the creative pursuits that energize and renew me. And, that's all I need for now.

* Americana Market blog has been taken down. Just after we'd made plans to peddle antiques as a team Trey enrolled himself back into school to pursue another degree-- this one in the medical field. He'll be entrenched in a rigorous study program. So while now may not be the time for Americana Market, it's still a goal for the future, and we'll know when it's right.

Memory Serves Me Not

These vintage chairs--perfect gifts-- were Trey's presents for me on our third anniversary, today.

Three years and counting. It's mine and Trey's wedding anniversary. Since we said our vows, I've often been confused about what day we actually tied the knot. "Was it the sixth or the eighth," I've been known to ask. Trey has quizzed me about it in front of friends and family who've tried to supress their giggles when my delayed response proved to be wrong.

Here, wrapped in brown paper, is my present to Trey.

Trey, gufawing, hemming and hawing at the fact that he-- the man -- remembers his anniversary date and his wife does not. Even now-- a work day -- I have found myself wondering, "Is it the sixth or the eighth?" Maybe later it will sink in, but whether or not I ever remember, it won't change the fact that my wedding day was certainly the most important of my life and I can celebrate that any time.

Cheers!

Progress: Kitchen and Bedroom Makeover

Check out the new kitchen back splash. Groovy!

Ahoy friends, come take a tour of my house.

Trey and I spent this weekend with gusto launching the kitchen and all-over home overhaul-- the master plan I crafted together with the afore mentioned interior designer.
After two days of work Trey has nearly finished installing an embossed, faux tin back splash that considerably brightens up the already cheerful room. Looks real, doesn't it? Next step, cranberry walls.

He's one hard working man.

Now follow me down the hall to my bedroom to check out the progress made there today.

(Left) bedroom curtain fabric, (Right) bedspread fabric

With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a loaded paintbrush in the other we finished in one day coating the room in this comfortable hue above, "Honey Wheat." I think the dark, heavy drapes and warm color provide gracious accommodations for snoozing day or night.
Thanks, friends, for stopping by.

Breaking the Rules: An Artist Statement

The typewriter leads to manifesto

As I see it every artist needs an artist statement, and up until now I didn't have one. But today as I see every flaw in my drawing (above) I embrace them.

From now on with my art I won't think twice to bend the rules of style or to just brazenly turn my back on them. Six years of art training ingrained methods that, while necessary to know, held my personal style hostage. But I'm not a Nelly neatnick. In life I color outside the lines. So, why not on paper?
Breaking the rules includes:
-- wavy lines
-- smudges and smears
-- drawing curled up in a chair by lamplight because its comfy, cozy-- So long proper form.
-- picking up the pen and putting it down again-- Hello wide lines and bold contrast. (Hideous! Are you reading this Mr. Ward?)

Admittedly I have a short attention span and the simple, spare and unembellished quality of my work speaks of and tellingly represents me. Finally, a pictorial language that's all my own.