Busy 'Line 10/30

Busy 'Line, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver
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Caroline couldn't remember when she'd stopped being Caroline and become 'Line. She hated having such a lazy name, just as if your mouth didn't wake up until you got to the end of it. What about a cute nickname like Caro or Carrie? She really wished everyone would just call her Caroline. Why not? Why did her parents name her Caroline if they weren't going to call her that?
 

But, she had discovered over the years that it was difficult to change your name. She had tried when she was little--a couple of times. Once, she asked everyone in her family to call her Liza, figuring if they called her Liza, then everyone else in town would follow suit. But her mother and father, brother and sister just laughed. Then, she thought she'd liked to be called by something beautiful like Opal or Pearl or Ruby, but no one went along with that, either.

Now, she dreamed about the day she turned eighteen. On that day, she was going to the courthouse to change her name, officially. And if she had to refer to herself by her own name for the rest of her life, she was going to make everybody call her by it!

As she clipped the laundry to the 'line, she pondered the problem, My new name has to be perfect because it will be mine forever, so who will I become? She had to think hard and fast; she only had two more years to get it right.

Bliss 9/30

Bliss, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

For some reason, when I was painting this one, I remembered visits when we were small to Mississippi. We used to go to Percy Quinn state park and other places to swim and camp with our cousins, my mother's brothers' kids. We were stair-stepped in age and always had a blast together. The time I remember in particular, we went swimming at a place called Cool Springs, I think. I was too small to jump off of the rope swing over the water, but I sure wanted to. The sheer joy in the whoops and hollers as the swingers let go still echo in my mind. I'm not sure I'd have the courage to do that today, but I like to think I would!

That's why Bliss. For summer, for cool, sweet spring water to sink into, for unbridled, simple joys of hot summer days. Bliss.

Birdman 8/30 and 4th Blogiversary

Birdman, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Theodore was Birdman; Birdman was Theodore. There was no separating the two. Now he hangs upside down from this tree, and it must be said, grace and attentiveness during flight is not in his skill set.

Enthusiasm, yes. Zooming wildly about rescuing chicks fallen from the cradling nest, yes. A heart as big as all outdoors when protecting the weak and the undefended, absolutely yes. Which, if you think about it, are all very fine qualities. And if, several times each week, Theodore wrapped himself around a tree limb and had to be rescued, well, it went along with being Theodore.

Looming tree limbs are a normal part of life when you fly. It takes lots of courage to yell for help when you're beak down, cape over your head, skinny legs hanging on for dear life. You are never more vulnerable than then. But that is what friends are for: to support your removal from that tree, straighten your cape, brush off the leaves and twigs which have gotten stuck in your feathers and say encouraging things so you can fly fearlessly again. 

 

Go, Theodore, go!

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In other news, I cannot believe that I just blew by my fourth anniversary of starting this blog. I looked back at my first post about making tiny paintings on slate that had been removed from the roof of my church. Since then, I have painted enough slate in large and small pieces to roof a small building. I still find stacks of it in my garage and in my basement studio, and I took the last of the pins I made from it to Lorton this month for the gift shop there. So, there's a thread from past to present!

 

A creative life is essentially a solitary one. Most artists I know encounter deep pits of self-doubt and discouragement along with the heights of achieving something you never thought possible. If you stick it out, this roller coaster ride, the learning is incredible and such blessings emerge when you stop and look around. A blog is a historical document of your creative life, and sometimes even the personal one. It is proof that you stuck it out. It reminds you where you have been and how far you have come and that you CAN keep going because look what you have done so far. 

So, blog on, blogging friends. Thank you for coming with me. Thank you for taking me along on your journeys.

Bettina on a High Wire 7/30

Bettina on a High Wire, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Ooo, her tights were sagging around her knees and ankles. "I hope no one can tell from the audience," Bettina thought, disgusted. Her best pair were in the wash, and she'd had to borrow these from the Soaring Smiths' youngest daughter. Shondra Smith was round where Bettina was lean and straight where Bettina was round, and truth be known, should have gotten rid of this pair already since it had a ladder that ran right up Bettina's back end. At least it had made it easier to accommodate Bettina's spectacular tail feathers.

 

Not only was Bettina the tiniest tight rope walker at the circus, but she was also the owner. Tonight she almost missed her performance, making sure all her employees greeted the guests properly and then double checking their math when the ticket booth closed for the night. 

 

Truvy the Bearded Turkey, who had been at the circus as long as Bettina, fussed at her friend nearly every night, "It's time for you to give up that high wire act. Pardon me for saying so, and you know I only have your best interests at heart, but you are getting long in the beak for that kind of work."

In her heart, Bettina knew Truvy spoke the truth. But Truvy never ventured out on the high wire, much less danced lightly along it way up in the air, feeling the spring of it under her weight, getting that regular infusion of adrenaline as she perspired in the spotlights. No, giving up all of that was not so easy. It had been her dream since chickhood. 

 

Retirement loomed like a bad case of avian flu in her future, but tonight, she was on. Tonight, she took a deep breath, forgot about her baggy stockings, ignored Truvy's admonitions and gave herself to the act. She twirled and balanced, spun and jumped, tiptoed and back flipped, and the audience cheered. Ah, there was the music of her life. And Bettina knew, she'd be back on the high wire again tomorrow night, heart light in baggy tights.

Bert on a High Wire 6/30

Bert on a High Wire, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver
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Has this ever happened to you? You get out in the middle of something and then make the fatal mistake of looking down. That's exactly what happened to Bert.

He was doing fine, stepping to the music, enjoying the gasps as he danced on the wire. But there were more gasps and whispers than usual. He got curious. Not that he didn't think he deserved all the excited attention, but something just didn't feel right.

Maybe Alphonse who sold the peanuts and popcorn had fallen down the stairs again. Alphonse was one of his best friends, so he thought he'd better look and see. He stopped and peered over the ends of his toes. OMG! He'd done it again! He'd gone to buy the latest Jennifer Cruisie novel before the show, and he'd forgotten to change his shoes when got back. He was going to hear from the ringmaster for this.

At least they matched this time.

Belinda on a High Wire 5/30

Belinda on a High Wire, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Today, Belinda is thankful for good insurance.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Don't forget, tomorrow night from 5-7, 30 x 30 opens at The Workhouse. There will be artists there all day demonstrating in their various media. It will be the place to go for a local, cozy Black Friday shopping experience and entertainment. Click on the link to read all about it. Hope to see you there!

Beach Babe, 4/30

Beach Babe, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver
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"Oh, no, not another one," you say to yourself while you sit on your tricycle, or balance marooned on a scooter with sand-clotted wheels, or worse, stand flat-footed holding a lame beach ball. There she goes, riding elegantly by, another of those gorgeous creatures, the beach babe on bicycle. 

They barely sweat as they pedal lazily up and down the crowded shore, breeze blowing through feathers which never frizz in the humidity. The sun shines a little brighter on them and gulls and boys trip over themselves to buy her ice creams and lollipops to curry favor. Perhaps she will descend from her mobile throne and allow one to ride in her stead, and they may feel what it is like to be so blessed. But for now it is enough just being close to the queen of sand and surf, the goddess of the two-wheeler,  an empress in golden suit and orange tights.