Run Through The Wringer....

....I'll tell you right now folks, I don't think there will be artistic content in today's post. Acerbic humor maybe (hopefully!) but I feel as though the art has been drained from my body. I feel like I should be living in the above photo----in this grey, windblown, desolate shack with the bottle trees out front.

They are, as far as I know, a Southern Thing. I have always wanted one. The original purpose was to ward off bad spirits. Blue bottles would have some water put in them, and they would be hung in quantity from trees. Evil spirits, being inquisitive, would go into the bottles and not come out. The modern bottle trees--and yes, you can ORDER one.....OY!--are just a variety of bottles usually on a rebar welded shape. Not the same.

With the goings on lately, I think I could have used a yard surrounded by real old fashioned blue bottled trees. And maybe a moat and a few bear traps. Can't get into it right now, but I am sure that some evil spirit has sucked the artistic soul out of me and I am a black and white walking shell.

Today is the first day I have had off in, oh my gosh, I don't know how long and I wasn't going to post but discovered I had a new follower and thought "Get thee off thy lazy pouting rear and DO IT!" So a very hearty WELCOME! to my new follower and usually my posts have more depth or at least a good rant or sometimes, if we're all lucky---ART!!!!

I know I am rambling today---the photo I posted is a favorite of mine. I don't know why other than it expresses a long gone era and it has a quality of, hmmmm, almost that feeling when you walk by a cemetery at dusk. There is mystery that you want to investigate but not too much. There is back story but you're not sure you want to know it. It, in some ways, reminds me of the poorer areas of my grandfathers farm in Virginia, where he moved when the TVA took the land they lived on . I do recall he built a small, small house (we would call it a shack by today's standards) until the family could settle and get a proper home built.

Maybe that is what I see in this---a legacy of people surviving anything.

Which of course circles back to me and my whining. And that's what it is.

I think I will go cut roses off my old fashioned shrubs and bring them in. And then go to the wet studio and clean things. Purge. Throw things out. Start anew. Burn some of my candles to clear the air, smudge the place. Do whatever necessary to refresh my inner artist.

On the other hand, since two of those things involve FIRE, maybe I should just get a spritz of air freshener and call it good!

I love seeing firemen in all their get up, riding those big trucks.......but not in my driveway! LOL!!!

So from me to all of you, may you be protected from everything that dries your creativity, may I be your little bag of gris-gris, shielding the inner artist and drawing away the distractions.

And may you step out of the black and white and into the world of full color creativity!

Now get thee off thy rear and go have a productive day!

Or make gris-gris and send me some........

Hand of Glory

(Anne M. Huskey Lockard, copyright 2009. All rights reserved)

At the request of Tristan from Enchanted Revelry yesterday, I am posting the piece I was working on in the photo shoot. This is one with a long story and will probably require two posts.

It is another in the "Dualities" series, this one dealing with HooDoo in the New Orleans area. First off, I want to say although I have read extensively about Vodou (which is a legitimate religion) and HooDoo (which is something totally different--almost folk religion/medicinal/magical belief), I am no expert. Any mistakes I have made in interpretation of either are not meant to offend. In depth studies and literature are hard to come by, so at best, this piece embodies my interpretations and artistic response.

The hand on the front is typical of the many signs you used to see in the South as an advertisement for a Spiritual Reader. In HooDoo, the "Hand of Glory" has particular significance and power, which is far too much for me to explain here. I just wanted something that was a visible, recognizable symbol and for most people, the palm readers hand is it. The front of the canvas then, represents a quasi-religion, that although not supported by locals, is/was something tolerated.

The sides of the canvas again use the moth as a symbol of the souls release. This particular moth is from a watercolor I did many years ago; it was dead when I found it but in good condition and one wing was a bit tattered. It fits perfectly into this Post-Katrina series. This is more about the areas that are off the beaten path, still a bit battered, things forgotten. While the front has the textures and shabby elegance of the old New Orleans, the sides begin the journey to the back, which I will post tomorrow.

I am asked why I choose to do work like this, things that seem to have disappeared from our current world. Well, because they haven't completely, and I believe there is a certain amount that should be preserved, despite the authenticity of the belief per certain religious views. It was/is a part of an old culture and worthy of some form of preservation.

There is beauty in the decay, in the disappearance of these things. There is no shame in remembering them.

Tomorrow I will post the back of the piece, which will have a lot of text due to the content. I hope you enjoy it, if not for what it represents, at least for the technique that has been used and looking at it strictly as ART.

That, I suppose, is an artists hardest job; making the viewer feel comfortable with the piece and then being able to tell the story and defend the work critically. There is so much I could ramble about with this canvas and why I love it, but I would rather have your response and what you see.

Good or bad---post it.

Now have a good creative day, be happy and please, ask questions if you have them! I would love to answer them as best I can.

Delicious Creativity!

In my book, there are two types of creativity; the artistic type (which covers a broad range of subject matter) and then there is my Southern cooking. If you are of Southern blood, then you know it is a prerequisite to be able to produce an absolutely perfect pound cake, rich with butter, crunchy properly browned top and last but not least, the absolutely perfect crumb inside. If you've not baked a pound cake from scratch before, then none of this makes sense. If you have, then you know the sheer delight of taking a razor sharp knife and slowly working it through the still warm cake, gently sliding that piece out and indulging in a portion of pure heaven.
This was my project yesterday, and I am sooooo glad I made it. It is wonderful---the comfort food of the gods. To heck with Ambrosia or those gooey salads---give me a large chunk of pound cake and I am happy and beaming.
Serve it with coffee or tea of choice and experience rapture.
Have it for breakfast. Yes. I do.
I truly wish all my gentle readers could be here to share this with me, and enjoy for themselves what we cooks strive to achieve; the combination of dense and light, rich but not overly sweet, melt on your tongue decadence.
Hmmmmmmmm..........
Well, maybe not! (that leaves more for me and I do need to bribe the gentleman who does my PT...)
Now go do something creative--whatever you do well. And if it's cook, drop a post on what wonderful yummy you have whipped up!
Life is too short for beige clothes, bland lipstick, bad food or lousy wine!
Cheers! :)

P.S. I might add, this did take all the oomph out of me, so today I need to kick back and take it easy. After PT. HA! And again......HA!