Free As a Bird

I crack the windows in my house and the furnace fires up. I tighten my scarf because I feel a chill on my neck. Back in February those know-it-all groundhogs predicted an early spring this year and yet it’s April and we got nothin’! This unseasonably cool weather is delaying the coming of spring and I don’t like it at all. The nip in the air just won’t go away, and it’s inhibiting my mood and activities. I think this officially qualifies as an abnormal seasonal funk

If it weren’t for the birds perched in the trees, singing their mating calls, starting to build nests, and noshing at my backyard birdfeeder, we’d have virtually no signs of spring here in the NYC area. This is why birds are awesome. They don’t give a damn. They go about their business in spite of rain, wind,  cold, providing visual and audible signs of energetic life even when the ground remains hard and dry and tree branches are still without leaf buds. Regular Museworthy readers may have noticed that birds pop up often on this blog in one form or another. Artistically and spiritually, I find them agents of cheer, beauty, and optimism. Right now as I write this post, I can see birds jauntily flitting through the trees outside my window and two plump robins digging for worms on my neighbor’s front lawn. Rock on my little feathered friends

So to honor of the only creatures willing to carry on with springtime ebullience, here are a few birds of art created by some great masters.

Two Studies of a Bird of Paradise, by Rembrandt. Beautiful in pen and ink:

The Kingfisher by Vincent van Gogh:

Bird Returning to it’s Nest by Georges Braque:

The cutest owl drawing I’ve ever seen, this is Albrecht Durer’s The Little Owl:

The Promise, by one of my favorite surrealists Rene Magritte:

And last but certainly not least, a bird by Picasso, work “Untitled”:

Navel-gazing

For the past couple of days I’ve resisted writing a blog post about the latest stunt at the Museum of Modern Art. The “performance piece” can be summed up thusly; Tilda Swinton sleeping in a box. You all know the actress Tilda Swinton? Well it’s her. Clothed. Sleeping in a box. At this point I should mention that the admission fee for MoMA is $25. The title of this piece is “The Maybe”, as in “maybe I can find something better to do with my time and money”.

If you’re curious to see images of Tilda sleeping in the box please click on the above link, or check out the ample coverage of this “event” in a Google News search, because I really don’t want to post them here on sweet old Museworthy. After all, this is an ART blog. <— burn!

So without embarking on a rant-like objection to this kind of gimmickry into which the contemporary art scene has sunk, or going into a lengthy jeremiad about the cynicism and soullessness that has crept into the art world in general, I’ll just say that Tilda’s shtick bothers people if only because it embodies the worst kind of navel-gazing. Since it’s Tilda’s piece, she could have hired a model or any other interesting individual to take a nap in a box. But she decided to do it herself, which makes it very difficult to dispute the sheer self-regard that seems to lie at the root of this piece. And extreme self-regard, to me, is just an inherently boring and off-putting quality. That’s all I’m saying. Tilda can certainly do whatever she wants, and no one is being forced to attend her “performance”.

I may be a professional artist’s model but it’s doubtful anyone would pay to see me sleep in a box, although they have seen me sleep on the modeling platform at Spring Studio. Just a couple of times And I too engage in a lot of navel-gazing in my work, but in the literal sense. So allow me to share the art model’s version of navel-gazing, brought to us by two of my favorite artists who also happen to be very dear friends.

My torso by Daniel Maidman:

Me reclining, by Fred Hatt:

A Little Chagall

Helloooo friends! Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was lovely. I posed for my last booking with Peter Cox, a modeling job I enjoyed immensely, and attended the Fountain Art Fair where I hung out with my pal Daniel Maidman. Throw in springlike warmer temperatures and now longer days, life is fine and fabulous

I’m flying out the door soon to pose for Mario D’Urso”s sculpture class but would like to post a quick Music Monday before I go. My oldest and dearest friend is a huge fan of Marc Chagall. Sadly, she and I are estranged and have not spoken in over two years. She used to read this blog regularly but I don’t know if she still does. In any case, I’d like to post this charming, colorful lithograph by Chagall titled The Accordionist, in the chance she might see it. I want her to know that I think of her often and hope she is as happy as I am these days. Miss you S. With love, sincerely, Claudia. xo

Becoming Found

Greetings friends. I hope this blog post finds you well, at peace, and still joyful from the holiday season. Monday night, I attended Christmas Eve services at St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church on Manhattan’s east side. Ten years ago my presence at that church, or any church, would have been highly improbable. On several occasions on this blog and in my other writings, I have alluded to, even discussed a bit, the “dark” stage of my life; my struggles with depression and anxiety, my exasperating inability to find peace and personal fulfillment, and my difficulty coping with losses and emotional pain.

As I walked toward St. Bart’s on that chilly, rainy night, my mind, my soul – my entire being – became swelled with thoughts; thoughts of how my life’s journey has unfolded over my 44 years, where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I might be going. I thought also of the grave plight of my fellow Christians in the Middle East and how the Western world is willfully turning a blind eye to their persecution. I thought of people everywhere; the ambitious, the destitute, the brave, and the misguided.  My heart began to ache, and part of me wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the pavement of Park Avenue.

Inside St. Bart’s, a magnificent structure of Byzantine architecture, the pews were filled to capacity with New Yorkers who came to worship. Our voices and the voices of choir members rang out like heavenly bells as we sang “O Come All Ye Faithful”, and the Rev. Buddy Stallings delivered a poignant sermon about hope and eternal light, about being lost and becoming found, and how even though we don’t always seek God, he always seeks us.

I never paid much mind to the notion of being “found” after having been lost, certainly not in the religious Christian sense. But it came to me, gradually, over the past several years. In fact, it snuck up on me and wove its way into my life in the most quiet, discreet way imaginable until I finally became aware of its presence and decided to pay attention. Consider it the slowest, steadiest blindside to ever take place.

Gouache sketch of me by Jonathan, created at Spring Studio:

For those who care to listen for a brief eleven minutes, here is Rev. Buddy Stallings’ Christmas Eve sermon, aptly titled “Forever Light”. And I invite all of you to share in the comments any creation – book excerpt, sermon, poem, article, work of art, piece of music – that holds for you the answers to your spiritual questions, gives you hope, or best reveals your understanding of life’s purpose. I’d be honored to read your contributions.

Abundant blessings to each and every one of you. Let’s meet here one more time before 2012 comes to an end. See you Monday, friends!

1:00 AM Post

Helloooo Museworthy. May I post for no other reason than to say hello to my darling readers? Of course I may, it’s my blog! In the early days of Museworthy I used to do that a lot. I’d log on right before bed, ramble some meaningless nonsense for a few sentences, and maybe post an image if I had one to share. But that was before I was the seasoned, proficient blogger I am now Just kidding of course. I was, and still am, your humble muse.

Here’s a sweet little pencil drawing of me by Susie, created last Monday night at the National Art League, local life drawing in Queens just a three minute drive from my house. During this 20 minute pose, my mind was consumed with rapturous thoughts of a special someone:

I’m a very happy girl these days. Looking forward to the holidays with warmth in my heart and joy in my spirit. I am blessed both personally and professionally, and if I could pass on my precious contentment to all of you I would. Maybe I already do a little bit, here on our little corner of the big wide web.

Hope everyone is well. See you again very soon friends

Thankfulness, Every Day

Apart from the historical implications, Thanksgiving, and its attendant spirit, has always been a warmly welcomed holiday in my heart. Why? Because gratitude comes easily to me. It’s one of my better qualities Certainly we should all be grateful every day of the year and count our blessings consistently, whether they be blessings of selflessness or self-worth, needs fulfilled in ourselves or needs we fulfill in others, opportunities to give, to provide, to inspire, to heal, or simply experience joy and discovery. And oftentimes even the smallest kind gestures can prompt a surge of gratitude that will change your outlook and reset your priorities, if they need resetting.

I am especially thankful this Thanksgiving and can sum it all up in one word: love. Love of my family, friends, and my rekindled old flame. Love of my modeling profession and my good fortune to actually make a living at it. The day before Thanksgiving I posed for the afternoon session at Spring Studio. Afterwards, a nice young man named Andy approached me and offered to give me the small portrait drawing he did of me on the final pose. How nice! I was thankful, but he too was thankful that I accepted. It pleased him so much to give me the drawing. Gratitude is everywhere.

Andy’s pen drawing of me, for Thanksgiving. Looks like a profile on a Roman coin. Love it.

Hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving, my friends. See you soon!

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”

– Meister Eckhart

Life is Beautiful

Every day . . . something to feel, something to experience, something to trouble or uplift, to sadden or gladden, to depress or inspire. I hope you’ve all been as fully, deeply engaged with life and all its fluctuating, erratic effects as I have been these last several days. In the middle of highs and lows one can find the counterbalances. For modeling, I exhaust my body to the point of physical pain, but my hard work is  acknowledged, appreciated, and begets the creation of art. I find, to my great horror, Prince the cat dead in the street after having been hit by a car. But I found him. Me. His adoptive mother. I removed him from the street and gave him an intimate, spiritual burial in my garden – the same garden in which he was born as a wild feral 3 1/2 years ago, under the hydrangea bushes. Prince is back home. My grief is swirled up with a sense of consolation that, purely by chance, I happened to be driving on that very street and was able to retrieve him before he got smashed by more cars. Or maybe it wasn’t “chance” at all. Family strife gets hot, then calms, then gets hot again. But we always manage to work it out. And an old flame who is back in my life, has shown me the joys of re-connecting. With wondrous delights, laughter, and thoughtful beautiful sharings, he and I are healing past pain and remembering the things that bonded us the first time around, and forging new bonds as well

It frustrates, it thrills, it worries, soothes, inflicts grief, elation, fear, and happiness, but through it all, perhaps in spite of it all, life is beautiful . . .

For my Momma’s birthday today, her favorite, Edgar Degas. At the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, pastel, 1885:

Silence Under Spring Street

It has long been my favorite place to model. Unique, authentic, true to the spirit of life drawing, Spring Studio is a little hidden gem in a blustering giant of a city. I use the word “hidden” not to suggest that it’s unknown. It’s very well-known in the New York art community. It is hidden in that it resides underground, literally in a basement space. Just feet from the Spring Street stop on the Lexington line subway, artists and models descend a staircase to enter the studio. Except in the very cold weather, the street door is always left open to allow air circulation. It also, for better or worse, allows for the myriad sounds of the city to travel down into our special space. For an operation that demands absolute quiet when model sessions are in progress – cell phones must be turned off, iPod volumes kept low, no talking, no disruptions – this is a very funny paradox.

I can’t emphasize enough how close the studio is to the street, its existence in a basement notwithstanding. The streets of SoHo are small, too small really to handle the traffic and activity. The area is crammed, almost claustrophobic at times. During the day, at our busy corner of Spring and Lafayette, the open street door means blaring taxi horns, chattering shoppers, revving motorcyclists, delivery trucks unloading, banging, clanging, and deafening jackhammers from the endless – and I do mean endless – construction taking place throughout the city. And then there’s the subway itself, which rumbles basically right alongside us. The model on the platform can feel the vibrations mid-pose. And at night, especially on Thursdays through Saturdays, the open door sends down the voices of revelers, tourists, and loitering smokers, often after enjoying a libation or two at the many so-called “hotspots” of the trendy nabe. Sometimes it’s laughter, sometimes it’s snippets of a conversation, sometimes it’s even a lovers’ quarrel.

Remember folks, this is New York City. This town bellows out more noises – some recognizable, some not – than you can imagine. Yet still, amid all the urban cacophony, life drawing persists in Spring Studio, the artists’ eyes and hands remain focused, blissfully impervious. They are undisturbed, unruffled. Noise? What noise? There is “silence” under Spring Street

Created at Spring Studio on Thursday morning, these are my quick poses, my movements and gestures captured in pastel and conte by the delicate, effortless hand of Bob Palevitz:

The Other Giacometti

After several unreliable weeks, I shall attempt to get Music Mondays back on track. And geez people, you can knock it off with the angry, pissed off emails ok? Just kidding

A Google image search of the name “Giacometti” pulls up thousands upon thousands of results of those skinny, sticklike sculptures we know so well. They are of course the distinctive works of the 20th century Swiss sculptor Alberto Giacometti. Although easily the most well-known Alberto was not the only artistic talent in the Giacometti family. His father, Giovanni, was an accomplished painter. His brother Diego was a fellow sculptor and his other brother Bruno was an architect.

There was also Augusto Giacometti, a cousin of Giovanni which makes him Alberto’s cousin/uncle twice removed? I don’t know, but whatever. They’re family! I found this very beautiful piece by Augusto titled Die Musik (The Music) from 1898, done in pastel, tempera, and gold flakes in the decorative, art nouveau style popular at the turn-of-the-century. The gesture of the woman kissing the forehead of the young violinist is really lovely. Looks a little like a Klimt, yes?

If you visit the artnet gallery of Augusto Giacometti’s works you will see that he had quite the gift for color and worked in variety of media.

The Animated Life

animation |ˌanəˈmā sh ən|
noun
1 the state of being full of life or vigor; liveliness : they started talking with animation.
• chiefly archaic the state of being alive.
2 the technique of filming successive drawings or positions of puppets or models to create an illusion of movement when the movie is shown as a sequence : [as adj. ] animation techniques | animations as backdrops for live action.
• (also computer animation) the manipulation of electronic images by means of a computer in order to create moving images.

Several years ago, in the earlier days of my full time modeling career, I was approached by a very nice young guy named Tom, a student in Dan Gheno’s painting class at the National Academy. We had a conversation in which Tom asked me if I’d be interested in modeling for life drawing sessions at his workplace. Eager for all and any kind of work in those days I blurted out, before he even finished his sentence, “Yeah! Sure!”. I knew nothing about the gig, mind you. When Tom told me that I’d be modeling at Blue Sky animation studios in White Plains, NY, I was momentarily perplexed. Intrigued, but perplexed. Life drawing? For animators? They do that? Tom explained that it was a weekly event for him and his coworkers – every Wednesday night at 6:00. Sounded good to me. I gave Tom my contact info and soon I was booked for modeling at Blue Sky Studios.

I vividly recall my first impressions. A great big facility with a palpable creative energy in the air. Computers everywhere. Darkly-lit screening rooms behind every door. Loungy. Informal. Clean and modern. Lots of cushioned chairs. The drawing session was well-attended, with animation artists gradually filling the room, sketch pads and pencil sets in hand. I couldn’t help but notice that the atmosphere was male-dominated. I say that not to provoke some sexism argument. Just making an observation, one with which I have no problem by the way. Another noteworthy observation about the group? Young. Or let’s say “youngish”. I’m not certain, but I don’t think anyone was over 35, which meant that the model was probably the oldest person in the room! Dammit But I did my thing in front of the fellas – my audience of polite, respectful, casually-dressed laid-back guys. Glasses, jeans, sneakers, backpacks strewn across the floor. Smiles. No easels, no tables. Drawing on their laps.

But the most significant observation I took away from my first time modeling at Blue Sky was this: those guys can draw the figure. Oh man, can they draw the figure. That this was even a revelation to me makes me feel like kind of a jerk. When I strolled around the room on a break, sneaking a peek at the sketchpad pages, I was blown away. Gorgeous lines, beautiful proportions, stylish, fresh. So artistic. So full of movement and life and spontaneity, and a kind of effortlessness you don’t always see in traditional fine arts classes. They had requested for the session mostly short poses – one minutes, twos, fives – and after looking at their drawings I understood why. To those guys, gesture poses aren’t just “warm-ups”. Gestures ARE drawings.

Among the many things I have learned in my art modeling career is that life drawing is, and has been, a respected practice for people who work in the animation field. I owe this discovery to Blue Sky. I recently came across an excellent article about acclaimed Disney animator and director Art Babbitt, and the life drawing sessions he organized at his home during the 1930s. Babbitt, who won 80 awards for his work, was the animator of the Wicked Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Gepetto in Pinocchio, and the character Goofy, just to name a few.

Life drawing class for Disney Studios animators, taken from the above linked article:

The article is a terrific read. Babbitt, who served as monitor for the life drawing sessions, hired models from the Chouinard Art Institute in Los Angeles, paid them 60 cents an hour, and made sure that the animators -again, all men – didn’t misbehave or act inappropriately.

The Blue Sky Studios job is not a frequent modeling gig, but an enjoyable, quality one. They have since moved to a facility in Greenwich, Connecticut, have many projects in the works, and of course, continue to hold life drawing sessions. They pay the models extremely well, cover our Metro-North train travel expenses, and treat us with great respect. As for sweet Tom, the guy who referred me to the job in the first place? He has since moved to California to work at Pixar. We haven’t kept in touch, but I hope he’s having a marvelous time out there

Days in the Atelier

Greetings on a Sunday evening! I hope this blog post finds you well. My most substantial art modeling job of the summer has come to an end – five weeks posing for Robert Armetta’s figure drawing atelier at the Long Island Academy of Fine Art. It was a top-notch experience. These intensive classical drawing sessions never cease to amaze me. As the model who sees and hears all, I can’t help but be impressed by the focus and dedication that goes into that kind of painstaking practice. Gosh those people work hard. Almost as hard as the model

The primary goal is to train the artist’s eye. Shapes and proportions provide the visual keys to representing the form, and the light reveals those forms. The human body is all forms, after all. Forms of muscle mass and underlying bone, creating relationships and contours, some of which are obvious, others more subtle. Artists in the classical tradition believe that drawing is the crucial foundation of painting, for it is through drawing that one’s ability to perceive forms – and mold those forms – is developed.

Robert and I set up a pose that would offer the class enough variations in forms without being too complicated. Then, with some perfectly angled lighting, we had a figure study that pleased the class very much. I found the pose fairly easy to hold. Maintaining my posture was the challenge, and I felt only minor lower back discomfort toward the end of each four hour session. Believe me, I’ve done much worse! Most of the class worked in charcoal, but some used graphite.

Three of the atelier students agreed, enthusiastically, to let me post their works here on Museworthy and I am happy to do so. The problem with drawings such as these is that the delicate qualities and detailed workmanship are less discernible on computer images than they are in real life. I’m sure you artists out there know how difficult pencil drawings are to photograph. They are best appreciated when viewed in person. But it worked out nicely that I have three images of the pose from three different perspectives.

This is Gerry’s drawing. She was working the closest to me, just a few feet away behind me and to the right. Very beautiful:

Smadar had a front view that presented a lot of foreshortening. She certainly handled it well. I love the light on the shoulder and collarbone:

And here is my friend Daniel’s piece. I really love the way he did the shadow shape on the stomach and front of the torso:

It was gratifying to pose for this atelier class and I hope I have the honor of doing it again. This week another group of artists awaits me – a figure painting workshop at the New York Academy of Art, taught by Maggie Rose. It will be my first time working with Maggie so I’m looking forward to that. Just one more week of art modeling duties and then . . .  can I say it? . . .

v a c a t i o n

String Theory

Hello darlings! It’s almost 2:00 in the morning and I’m still wide awake and on the computer even though I have work in a few hours. Yeah, I probably should sleep a bit between now and then, ya think? The problem is that I’m all backed up – with emails, writing projects, yapping on the phone, mixed in with trying to watch the Olympics, exercising, still haven’t done any shopping for Martha’s Vineyard vacation in August, doing laundry, wasting time on Twitter, and anything else you can name. I can’t time budget, AT ALL. I suck.

I have a 12 hour modeling day scheduled on Monday. I’ve gotta hustle from Glen Cove, Long Island to SoHo in Manhattan. It’s all good. I can handle it – with some SLEEP of course. But before I hit the hay I’d like to present a quick Music Monday. I came across this terrific Degas drawing while perusing around on Tumblr, which is a great place for browsing and discovery by the way. This is Study of a Violinist:

To accompany this image, I present some extraordinary music from an extraordinary composer. Regular Museworthy readers are well aware of my reverence and admiration for this man. It’s Beethoven and his remarkable Late String Quartet compositions, Performed by the Emerson String Quartet, this is No. 14 in C Sharp Minor, Op. 131, allegro molto vivace. Genius, passion, complexity, Beethoven’s Late String Quartets are truly singular works, astonishing in their intricacy, potency, and emotional depth.

Catch you all soon!

Horsing Around

“A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

- Richard III, Act 5, Scene 4

Richard is in dire circumstances when he speaks those words. Knocked off his horse during the Battle of Bosworth Field, his fate is soon sealed. A cry of desperation, Richard is suddenly vulnerable and at the mercy of his enemies, all because he is without his horse.

Before I continue I should share the reason for this horse-inspired post. Tonight my Mom’s Mother’s Day gift will finally take place. I’m taking her to see the Tony Award winning play “War Horse” at Lincoln Center’s Vivian Beaumont Theater. She’s excited, I’m excited, excitement all over the place

Man and horse have an intimate relationship that dates back for many millennia. In battle, in work, in history and literature, horses have provided faithful companionship and been there for us through thick and thin. Don Quixote’s fictional horse was the skinny, emaciated Rocinante, whose fidelity and temperament made up for his lack of beauty and athleticism. In real history, Alexander the Great had an extremely close bond with his horse Bucephalus, a true “war horse” of ancient times. Alexander fell into a profound state of grief over the horse’s passing and even named a city in his honor, Bucephala. The mad Emperor Caligula treated his white stallion Incitatus as if he were a human of equal legal and social stature. Caligula had the horse attended by a team of 18 personal servants, threw birthday parties for him, and allegedly planned to make him a member of the Roman senate. But of course Caligula, notoriously, was not of sound mind. And that’s putting it mildly.

Beautiful, strong, elegant animals, horses are loved by almost everyone, and Edgar Degas was no exception. It’s even more perfect that my Mom is crazy about horses AND Degas. So this post is pretty awesome for her.

In this lovely horse study we can see that Degas is working it out, trying to get the anatomy, forms, and appearance of the horse just right. Horses have a very distinct bearing and artists should focus on capturing the horse’s posture and comportment if they want to depict the animal well:

Horse and Rider:

Degas was not a horseman himself. So why would he be so attracted to the subject artistically? The answer is clear when we consider Degas’ consistent pattern in his subject choices. Think about it. He liked movement. Ballet dancers, stage performers, nudes in active situations like taking baths, combing hair, toweling off, etc. With a few exceptions, like portraits, the vast majority of Degas’ work is focused on the gestural. It was his wheelhouse, so to speak. So the horse, with its majestic gait, agility, and strong movements, was a natural fit for Degas’ repertoire.

I love this one from the Thaw Collection at The Morgan Library. Racehorse, charcoal on brown paper, 1878:

This painting, Horses in a Meadow from 1871, looks less like a “typical” Degas. Still a beautiful scene though:

The horse is also in the news a lot lately. The racehorse “I’ll Have Another” has already won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, which means he has a shot at the Triple Crown on June 9th at Belmont.

Degas’ pencil sketch Jockeys:

I found this excellent article Degas at the Races for anyone who is interested. A very informative, interesting read about Degas’ experiences and evolution in painting and drawing horses.

Have a great weekend everyone! See you soon.

School Days

So I was just about to get off the computer when a tweet came up in my Twitter timeline. It was posted by the New York Academy of Art, a superb art school where I am honored to work as a model and have mentioned many times on this blog. They’ve shared a terrific video by Life + Times which takes you into the school on a behind the scenes tour led by President David Kratz. It’s really excellent. Thought I’d pass it along here on Museworthy.

Hope everyone has a wonderful weekend! I am on babysitting duty tonight with my niece Olivia. I don’t know exactly what she has planned for us but I’m fairly certain that mayhem will ensue

Goin’ to the Printshop

Guess what everyone? I registered for a printmaking class at the Lower East Side Printshop, and it starts today. Yay! I’m excited! We will meet once a week for eight weeks. Excellent

This is an Intro class for beginners like me who know next to nothing about how to make prints. Emphasis will be on inatglio techniques like drypoint and etching, blocks, plates, and all that other cool stuff. Now I am fully aware that I’m a neophyte and therefore have no unrealistic expectations. So because I have no illusions about my ability, I’ve set very modest goals for myself. I’m thinking that after eight classes, I’ll be able to produce something of merely this quality:

Um, yeah, that was joke, in case you couldn’t tell

The above image is a drypoint titled Holy Family with Saint John, the Magdalene, and Nicodemus, circa 1512, by master printer Albrecht Durer. One of the greatest printmakers of all time, if not the greatest. Although Rembrandt’s prints are pretty amazing. The Met Museum has an informative essay, “The Printed Image in the West: Drypoint”.

Besides getting my creative juices flowing and hopefully having fun, I’ve also been thinking about how long it’s been since I actually learned something new. Gosh, it’s really been a while. I don’t mean learning in terms of acquiring knowledge. That’s something I try to do every day by reading, asking questions, searching on the Internet, etc. I mean learn how to DO something – a skill or a technique. Wish me luck!

Before I go I want to give a quick shoutout to my friend Janet Cook who is having a solo exhibition, “Power and Beauty”, at Dacia Gallery. Way to go Janet!! And I’ve been informed that one of Janet’s paintings of me will be among the exhibited works. That makes me happy Unfortunately I have to miss the reception Thursday night because I’m working. But I will definitely be seeing Janet’s show before it closes on May 11th.