In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
It has been raining for five straight days and this sunflower wants the sun back. Actually, I am the one who wants the sun back even though it will make everything extremely humid. After all, this is Florida!! As I anticipate a three day weekend in honor of Memorial Day, rain could be good though. I have two new books from the library; The Story of Edgar Sawtell and Scarpetta, the new book by Patricia Cornwell. So I could read. And I believe my next collage has finally taken shape in my head so I could work on that. The beans in the garden will be ready to pick by Sunday or Monday....I have never grown beans so this is very exciting. And I need to pick the last of the lettuce which has been fantastic. The property needs to be mown, the beds trimmed, and mulch spread. Just another day in paradise...for which I am very grateful.
Janet bought me a Pocket Field Sketch box, water colors for traveling. I tried out my sketchpad yesterday while sitting on the back steps. I haven't had to courage to use color yet but may do that today. Small pages are easy to work with; not quite as intimidating as a large sheet of watercolor paper. I never fancied myself as a sketching or drawing artist but I'm trying to just let myself go without being judgmental about my product. 
This jar of buttons is a prize I found at a yard sale on Friday morning. I got up really early so I could get to the sale before going to work. I love old buttons and was excited to find this unique assortment. I plan to use some of them in my next collage which is already taking up space in by brain. I have been wanting to construct a collage with a religious theme and am finally ready to tackle it. I can see these buttons embellishing an altar of some sort.
In my studio, I am surrounded by items that I love. This is the Singer sewing machine, originally a treadle machine, that belonged to my mother and upon which I learned to sew fifty years ago. (My, has it been that long?) I dreaded summer sewing lessons but my mother insisted that every proper young lady should know how to sew. Therefore, I would go each week to Mrs. Lazzara who would comment constantly about the selvage edge of the fabric. I was not a good seamstress back then but learned enough that I could make dresses for my three daughters until they begged me to stop.
Hanging on my supply cabinet are these pointe shoes, a gift from my oldest daughter to indulge my fantasy of being a ballerina someday. My mother also made certain I had dance lessons and so, at the age of four, I began taking lessons at Ella May's School of the Dance. Can you tell how very old I am by these requirements of my youth? Dancing school was a constant frustration for me, though, because only the cute little blond girls could be ballerinas. I was a cute little Hispanic girl and so I was only allowed to tap dance. These pointe shoes are a reminder for me that I could have been a great little ballerina if I had been given the opportunity. And my art is frequently a mirror of the events and descrimination that still creep into the world of women and girls. I would love to hear your stories if you are willing to share.
