Armand at Work

Armand at Work, 6 x 8, acrylic on Masonite

Elizabeth W. Seaver
sold

"Bliss," thought Armand. He cycled around the three rings of Humbolt's Harrowing Circus keeping tabs on piles of poop deposited by Erma the Elephant and the tiger triplets, Hocus, Pocus and Dorcus. Next act, he'd be spotting Boomer the Bear and the snooty dancing horses. Armand didn't mind who was pooping. He loved his job.

The seats were full. Cannon fire in the middle ring made the whole arena shake and filled it with smoke, turning it into hazy perfection. And just because Armand had Poop Detail, the least mysterious job in the whole circus, didn't mean he loved any less the thrill of the ride, the riot of calliope music, and the roars, sighs, oohs and ahhs from the ticket holders.


Whoops--Erma let loose a steamer. He swung by the curtain shielding the acts waiting offstage for their cues. "Surely and Pete, you're on. Big plop dead center stage left," Armand called.

"Aw, man! I'm getting tired of this s**t," Surely whined to Pete, who never said anything. Pete always agreed with Surely. It was easier that way. Pete nodded leaving her behind the curtained area. He moved towards Erma's disgrace: cartwheeling, back flip-flopping, ending with high-flying round-offs. The crowd laughed and clapped. Pete took the pooper-scooper, size large, off his belt, grabbed the pile and flipped it into a large receptacle at the completion of a thrilling set of acrobatics.

Armand watched with envy--ok, maybe there was one job he wanted more than Poop Spotter-- Acrobatic Poop Scooper Clown.

"Tomorrow, I'll start to work on my cartwheel," Armand resolved. "Surely--she can be replaced."

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!"

Didn't Mean to be Gone So Long!

Going Courting, 11 x 14, collage/acrylic

Elizabeth W. Seaver

I just finished this for my buddy, Tim, who makes beautiful things out of wood. This is his trade for letting me take one of his mixed wood lidded boxes home for my husband for Christmas. As it happens, Tim owns and rides some very early Ordinary Bicycles, so my birds on bikes caught his eye when he first moved into the studio next door to me. I knew exactly what to paint for him as payment (one of the great perks of being an artist is trading work, in my opinion.) 

He's promised to bring one of his bikes in for me to see. He has one from 1885 and one from 1889--amazing! If he does it, and I remember that I said this, I'll get some photos and post them here.