Camilla Hates to Fly

Camilla Hates to Fly, 5 x 7, acrylic, Elizabeth W. Seaver

"I won't spend another winter, freezing my tailfeathers off in that strange excuse for a lake in Central Park shopping hell," Camilla muttered to herself as she leaned into the October wind. "Just because I'm afraid of heights...I don't have to miss out on winter in Mexico."

Her breath came in short gasps, and her legs, previously only used to scuttle across Central Park Blvd. to worry the patio diners at Chipotle as she scarfed the chips they dropped, ached with a burning sort of throb.

"What is it with Amtrak that they won't sell a ticket to me, a respectable goose? Next spring, I'm getting into it with Julie!"

Musing on Stolen Art

Next Year, Florida, 4 x 12, acrylic on canvas

Elizabeth W. Seaver

In the past, I've had a few pieces of artwork disappear off of my work table here and there--pins drying, cards drying--little things, easy to palm, slip into a pocket or under a shirt. I've always thought of it as the price of doing business, especially in a large arts workshop with open studios and wandering visitors. That's how we get folks to look at our work and meet us. We work out in the open and make ourselves available for comments and questions and just plain conversation. I love it.

But yesterday, I went to check my showing space and found four empty nails on my wall. I did not jump right to the happy conclusion that all four paintings had sold. Why is that? After all, they're pretty cute, if I do say so myself. They make people smile, and most of their brothers and sisters from a 30 paintings in 30 days challenge have sold already.

But my stomach got that funny feeling--something wasn't right. For one thing, if I had sold four paintings at once, my behind-the-counter-buddies would have been as happy as I, and before the Square screen was dark, they'd have been on the phone to me.

So--the paintings are gone. And my friends and I all have guesses about what general category of folk have the stones (and the backpacks) to carry away four original artworks measuring just about the size of a box of granola bars.

But, here's the thing I wanted to share: I am hurt and sad and angry. I'm not flattered. In fact, I'm not sure those paintings were even wanted--I expect they were just the object of a momentary thrill.

Those of you in creative pursuits know exactly how much time, effort, money and love goes into doing what you do. And never with enough compensation. I feel assaulted by this event. But, I am trying not to let it weigh too heavily on my spirit. Time will help. And painting.

I got up and painted at 3:30 this morning. Because I will not let the bad guys win.

Thanks for listening.

Abner

Suddenly Abner Was Quite Popular, 4 x 4, collage/acrylic

Elizabeth W. Seaver

We see Abner just before his life changes forever.

I leave you with just one question: How many licks does it take to get to the chocolaty center of a Tootsie Pop?

Okay, maybe two: What is your favorite flavor?

Party Underground

Party Underground, acrylic, 24 x 24

Elizabeth W. Seaver

I never blogged about this piece. I created it for the show I had in the spring--all underground veggies.

Now, THIS vegetable is very rare. I have not ever actually seen it in its natural setting.

If you know where it grows, please let me know.

Bitsy Picks Her Own

Bitsy Picks Her Own, acrylic/collage, 16 x 20

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Bitsy is entertaining tonight. She uses only fresh local produce for her soirées, and everyone knows that the freshest produce is the stuff you pick yourself.

 

I didn't get an invite. Did you?

Present 25/30

Present, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6, Elizabeth W. Seaver
Sold

Finally, on the third morning of shopping for it, Isadora found the perfect present for her friend Pilar for her birthday. It wasn't just an ordinary birthday present, one that would be played with a little while and then break or sit high on a shelf, forgotten. It was special. Isadora wanted it to say to Pilar what Isadora could not say out loud. She wanted the present to say thank you for hugging her when her kitty died and what fun they had when Pilar threw the surprise party for her and for the worm bisque Pilar made when Isadora got sick that time. It was hard to find a small token which expressed all those things and fit into a box, but she did! She wrapped it in paper and ribbon as beautiful as Pilar.

Crumbs were all that remained of the corn meal cake, and Pilar opened her gifts. The stack of gifts dwindled until one lovely pink box was left. Isadora sat breathlessly on her chair, hoping that when Pilar opened her gift, she would know all the warm feelings in Isadora's heart.

Pilar slowly untied the ribbon and draped it over her neck. She carefully pulled the tape off and placed the wrapping on a stack of paper to be reused throughout the year. "OH!" Pilar gasped when she finally removed the lid of the box and looked inside.

What was in the box? You tell me.

Polo Anyone? 24/30

Polo Anyone? collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

sold

Even with a special mallet, how long would a bird's wings have to be to reach a ball from the back of a horse? Really long. A bicycle is the only answer. In fact, bicycle is the answer to many questions about birds if you only think about it. And I have thought about it--a lot!

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Please join us on Saturday from 10-5 at LibertyTown Arts Workshop for our Holiday Open House. Many artists will be in their studios to help you find just the right hand crafted thing for Aunt Mabel or little Sam. Perhaps a gift certificate?? Come by to shop, talk, drink apple cider and eat cookies with us on Saturday.

Pajama Day 23/30

Pajama Day, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Marvin refused to wear regular clothes. They poked and pulled on his softest places, and he loved being comfortable above all things. He was a busy boy, and he didn't have time for the distraction of a pinchy waistband. Luckily, he'd been able to sneak away from the house before his mother saw him this morning and made him change his clothes. He kept to the wooded paths where he had the best chance of escaping unnoticed. Then nosy neighbors might not see him as they flew over and call his mom to tattle on him.

His favorite pair of pajamas zipped up the front. Best of all, they had the feet in them. Then, no bother of crouching down, getting red in the face while he tried to remember how to tie his tennis shoes. "Rabbit ears in the hole...pah!" He was too busy to learn that--besides if he had his way, shoes would soon be completely unnecessary. Marvin was currently designing a whole line of pajama-inspired outerwear.  He'd set aside this morning's ride to brainstorm baseball pajamas with cleats on the bottom.

"At the very least, there should be no tie shoes in the world, only slip-on ones." Marvin dreamed. "Flip-flops. I wish I could meet the person who invented flip-flops. What a genius!"

On Line Chat Room 21/30

On Line Chat Room, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

It was the best job ever. Floyd and Fred and Erma and Amy sat every Monday morning on the Boynton's clothesline, making sure the Boyntons' Saturday night, whoop-dee-do, go-to-town, hoe-down clothes dried nicely, all ready for the following weekend. Mrs. Boynton paid them in as much birdseed as they could carry away in their plump, late summer bellies.

Now, Sunday night is the birds' whoop-dee-do, go-to-town hoe-down, so every Monday morning, there was plenty of fodder for the rumor mill. The latest was that Alfred Jay made a terrible fool of himself over Miriam Cardinal, and her a married woman. Tinker Jay let Alfred know just how far off base he was in the Peck-n-Paw parking lot. And then, Penelope Peacock looked upon the persimmon wine while it was orange, grabbing the microphone from the band. Her rendition of Feelings cleared the joint. The party continued outside. The paper-rock-scissors loser had to go back in for the next round. The owner of the Peck-n-Paw banned her from coming back for two weeks.

Yes, there was lots to talk about this morning.

Coffee Break

 Coffee Break, acrylic/collage, 18 x 24

Birds take them, too, you know.  They might even smoke, although these didn't seem inclined to do so while I was painting.  It's in their contract that they get to take time off from singing songs, digging for bugs and hopping charmingly from branch to branch.  Being charming eight hours a day is exhausting.