Monday, July 21, 2014

Progress on Moleskine and Noah book

"Bid Noah Goodnight"
"And they came in in twos . .  ."
Casual Poppy Card
print card from acrylic painting
for pocket
Not sure if these are done yet.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Biker Buddy With Potato Chips

Keith with Potato Chips
I made this on my new Surface Pro in Artrage

Keith with Potato Chips
Then I printed it, and painted over almost the entire thing with acrylics
click images to view larger.
The second one I am including in Ballookey's pocket.

I am still working on two other pieces.  I will maybe try scanning them later today.

I am looking at these two paintings and I see things I like in the original and may do more work on the acrylic.  Oops, thought I was finished.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Unfinished self-portrait with left hand

Trying "watercolros" and "pastels"

Switching to trying "oils"
I was using a brand new program (app?) (new to me), "Fresh Paint," and my left hand.  I got so frustrated my right hand kept trying to take over for my left.  I had to give up.  The reason I was using my left hand was for a challenge for Daily Challenge/Me/You health.

It made me think how frustrating writing and drawing must be for little kids who don't have much manual dexterity.  Seriously difficult stuff!

Monday, June 16, 2014

Updates on progress on my current painting.

After a week of work I still haven't got the first layer of paint down!
This is with a different camera!
Getting the colors right without a good scanner is a pain!
Day 8 on this piece
Still not finished!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

New Art in process, Moleskine, June 2014

I am sorry to report that my scanner is still not working, so I have tried to photograph the pieces I am working on.  The first one is a collaboration with Andrea.

Collaboration with Andrea,
PITT Faber Castel pigment pens and colored pencil

The second piece is the one I am currently working on, showing two stages of work. It is for my book, Frankie and Noah have a party.

Collaboration, 1st half, for Mike
The last piece is a collaboration for Mike to finish.  My intention was to do a simple graphic black and white but I got carried away and colored it.  "The owl and the Pussycat went to sea/ in a beautiful pea green boat."

Mike, feel free to change the these, paint or color over or change any part of what I did, etc.  You can erase the lines of the boat and the ear of the owl if you want to do something entirely different--it could be a scene in the daytime.

Click images to view larger.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014


We're leaving tomorrow to go camping at the the Pinery in Ontario Canada.  I haven't been around much anyway, unfortunately.

But if you try to contact me, I won't be able to respond.  No internet.

Have a wonderful week. :-D

Sunday, May 04, 2014

Still a Girl at Heart!
(Girl at Wilcott Mills,
photoby me, Mary Stebbins Taitt)
click image to view larger.

May 4, 2019

Dear Younger self,
I know you think you’re getting old and may never finish or publish your books, but I have some great news for you!  Your health efforts have paid off in spades and I feel better at almost 73 than you did at almost 68.  I am vibrant and healthy and amazingly energetic and lean.  No one believes I’m 73.  No, I don’t look twenty, and never will again.  But we’re a rocking 72 and 11/12ths! J

And I have more good news.  Your ADHD and other issues have reconciled themselves to the point where you have completed several of your novels, including Frog Haven, and two are published and one will be soon and another is getting close to ready.  Not only that, but you’ve had a chapbook and poetry book published and a novella!  You had so many close to being ready that putting effort into them one at a time did the trick.

Love, your happy, healthy older self!

Friday, May 02, 2014

Feeling Like Myself

by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt
a digitally altered photograph
taken and altered by me
click image to view larger.

Feeling Like Myself
                I need to write a narrative poem for class.  Every time I try to think about it, I think of the hummingbird grove in my dream.  But that seems more lyric than narrative. And besides, how could I communicate the thing that made the dream special, the joy of it, without sounding clichéd or maudlin etc.?  Everything about the dream shouts cliché   But the feeling of the dream (or the vision, since I wasn’t actually sleeping) was anything but clichéd to me.  The twisted fairy trees on a hill that looks like a print, a perfect arc of circle with the magical trees and their bright saturated glowing colors.
I am at Pier Park.  They are predicting rain and thunderstorms, but it isn't raining yet.  The sky is dark, cloudy, with thunderous looking clouds and it's windy and cold.  And am not dressed warmly enough and may have to go home early. 
                Again, I think about the narrative poem, the rainbow trees, the humming birds.  About the very dark horizon.  Ships going by, cold wind batters me, the water that seems opaque rather than transparent, a kind of pale grey green.  My hands are cold in this big wind.
                I am interested in the detritus that collects in the corners, balls, water bottles, dead fish, lakeweed, driftwood, trash.  Two geese hiss at me.  I hiss back, circling around them to give them some space.
                I see rain at a distance, clearly visible against brighter clouds behind it, grey streaks of rain slanting in the wind, pretty, but I'm already cold and not eager to get wet. 
                The rain comes closer and all seems to be coming from a single cloud that is almost over me.  I wonder what makes one cloud rain and another not rain. The water at the edge of the beach as the waves retreat almost seems to be glowing and I realize it is the pinky beige clouds behind the rain cloud.  On the beach I find the breast bone of a large bird, very light and dry, like the keel of a ship.  I find a plastic rake and a bobber and an empty snail shell.  I see a bleached pail, a chartreuse plastic cup and trash. 
The beach has grown, accreted.  People have been dumping trash here, which is sad.  The natural trash, the flotsam and jetsam, is bad enough, but black bags of crap, parts of an old trunk, things like that, have been brought and deliberately left.
                On the beach, I see lots of tennis balls.  A dead goose, a live starling, a pink action figure (toy), tons of zebra mussel shells, driftwood, trash.  Multiple bobbers.  Red and white, da-glo yellow and white.  Two geese are honking at me.  I want to walk the length of the expanded beach.  The pink action figure is an ape with its mouth open.  There is a yellow plastic pistol, a squirt gun, I guess.  Large clamshells, too.  Mints, touch-me-nots growing.  Black peppermint.  Grass and sedges.  A fishing pole with a reel still attached, half buried in the sand.  Plastic bags and cups, beer and soda cans.  My feet, with brand new sandals, sink into pockets of rot.  Rope, yellow and black nylon rope wound around some wood.  I get zebra mussel shells and crud in my sandals.  A colorful beach towel, half-rotted.  Wow!  The beach has really accreted (grown) since I was last here, much more than I thought. It is so much lonmger than it was! A soccer ball, clean and good looking, and more tennis balls, good and bad and half buried.  Lots of birds flitting about.  A fishing net (seine type, with big holes for big fish).  I find a dead bird, maybe a grebe (black head, long beak, grey feathers, partly rotted.)  I try to photograph it with Fiona, the W3, but cannot see it on the view screen, so I try again with Pandora.  But Pandora can't get far enough away.
                I walk to the very end of the expanded beach.  There are more dead bird and live bird and mussel shells and sand and something that looks like a collapsed pup tent and I walk until beech disappears under the water and head back to look for a place to climb up.  For no particular reason, I pick up a faded, once red plastic thing that looks like a spring, but isn't.  I put it in my pocket.  Then I pick up a snail shell, but when I can't determine if it dead, I put it back.
                Small succulent plants grow in the rocks.  I can't remember their names.  They have yellow flowers, but are not flowering yet.  The dandelions are. The birds I on the beach so far were starlings, grackles, robins, ducks, geese.  Now, however, I see a tern.  Between the beach and the lakewall, there are ponds and phragmites.  I see another dead bird.  I walk down onto the lakewall to try and see it.  It may be a pigeon or a gull, difficult to tell, half buried as it is.  In some spots, the ponds between the wall and beach are very black.  The older back parts of the beach have common evening primrose and willows growing on it.
                Even though I am cold and alone, I feel happy here in a melancholy way.  Out on the stormy windy lake are three of those 4H sailboats, looking forlorn, clinging together, with a man shouting orders.  And here comes the rain again.  And, there it goes.
                My new sandals are now full of sand, mussel shells, crud, and sludge.  That's how I know they're mine. I am really really really glad the rain stopped and I was able to walk on the wild beach in the wind. I feel like myself, for a change.
I can't let go of the dream in order to imagine another subject for a poem, so I decide to write it and see what happens.                  I sit on the lake wall and write a poem from my dream.

*A Promise of Apples*
You walk all day in the rain; the wind beats against you,
reddens your hands and face, dries your eyeballs.  Your legs
feel like concrete, hardening in its molds.  You want to sit
to lie down, to sleep, but you haven't arrived yet. You must continue,
step after step after step.  The soles of your feet ache.
You approach a hill that rises in a round hump toward
the setting sun.  Fire rims each of hundreds of ancient
twisted apple  trees.  Each blossom
explodes into flame, and hundreds of hummingbirds
glow with ethereal light.  Your hair, loose, and floating
around your face, burns and burns without turning to ash
The humming bird hang suspended, then flit from flower
to flaming flower.  The colors deepen in the sky and the trees
and blossoms and birds take on impossible hues.
You forget your fatigue and stand staring.  The hummingbirds
have tiny voices, but so many of them sing that the grove
reverberates with the sound and color and smell of joy.
You taste the promise of apples.
1st draft 2014051-1500
This is the first draft.  I have now written 7 drafts.  I don’t want to post it again until I finish it.  I’ve changed the name, the time of day and other things—it’s almost turning into a real poem.

by Mary Stebbins Taitt,
digitally altered photograph (taken and altered by me)

Fun and Games, Variations on a theme

Fun and Games IIIe (Insomnia)
by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt
digitally altered Photographic composit from my own photos
click to view larger
Fun and Games IIIeb (Spring Sprung)
by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt
digitally altered Photographic composit from my own photos
click to view larger
This post is dedicated to Tyree Gyton and KT Lowe.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Thwarted! (Dream)

The Forest at Night IV
by me, Mary Stebbins Taitt

“Ya cain’t get they-ah from Hee-ah!”

I am going to a personal retreat at a rented cottage that seems to be (in my mental map) south of Syracuse (Tully, Pompeii?) in the hills.  I am driving my normal little silver Cruze headed down there, happy and excited.  I start feeling a little confused, like I’m not total sure of the directions, but I think I can find my way there.  I come to a construction site and the road is totally torn up, the pavement is gone.  I consider continuing on the road past the ‘closed” signs until I see ahead huge earth moving equipment.  Then I become a little nervous about continuing and decide to turn around.  It appears from the tracks that other people have done the same thing and I follow the well-worn tracks of a U-turn that takes me onto a different road that seems to be heading the way I want to go.  But a little while later, the road diverges west.  I keep turning on other roads trying to head back south, but every road takes me in the wrong direction. The next thing I know, I am walking south, determined to get where I am going.  I run into other people also trying to get to cottages in the same area and we talk about the cooks that will be preparing our meals.  The cooks are fat.  The other people are younger than I am and walk faster.  The trail we are following takes up over what appears to be a mountain pass.  It gets progressively more difficult and dangerous.  The people ahead of me enter a mass of huge, pointy rocks and boulders.  I follow, but a few minutes later, they return.  “You can’t get through?” I ask.  “No,” they say.  I consider going to look for myself, but they are younger and fitter than I am, and if they can’t get through, I probably can’t either.
I wake up distressed.  Dream, Thursday, April 24, 2014

How does this make you feel?  What does it remind you of?

“I consider going to look for myself, but they are younger and fitter than I am, and if they can’t get through, I probably can’t either.”  I need to remember that that statement is not necessarily true—think of climbing Seward, Donaldson and Emmons, when I was only one out of 26 people, all younger than me, who made it to the top.  (Speaking of which, a “secret” inner goal of mine is to be able to climb again, but I feel very discouraged about that happening [which is why it is secret].)

I am feeling confused about where it is that I want to be going.  I want to be healthy (physically, mentally, emotionally, socially and spiritually), I want to deepen my relationship with Keith and with Frankie and my kids and I want to publish my books.  I want to be lean.  But there is also the feeling of something deeper.  In the dream, I seem to be going to a personal writing retreat (not an organized one, but one I set up for myself, like the one at 7th Lake.)  But since this dream theme is constantly recurring, I need to explore it a little. I would like to do some special work on it, including writing and journeying, as well as talking to Brian and friends).

I feel as if I need to pick ONE project that is the most likely to succeed and try to keep it on or very near the front burner until it is finished.  But meanwhile also look at the trajectory of my life and deep goals and see where I might be failing or headed wrong, or how I can remove the roadblocks.  I also feel that for me, it is OK to work on more than one project at a time, because they act as mind cleansers and feel each other and give me a break when I feel mentally exhausted from.  But not more than 2 or 3 on the front burners.  (A regular stove has four burners, so maybe that’s a good symbolic analogy-2 on the front burner, two on the back burners, the rest in the fridge and freezer.)

In the dream, I feel sad and thwarted.  In my phenomenal life, my health, my writing and other aspects of my life (tidiness, cleaning) seem to meet with one obstacle after another.  Some are internally generated and some are from outside myself, or seem to be.

The Forest at Night III
By me, Mary Stebbins Taitt
click to view larger