Tarot card #9

They're done! Nine personal tarot cards in total. Actually, I'm fairly happy with the result, contrary to the expression on my face here. This card was inspired by dreams I've had from time to time throughout my life, ever since the first "Star Wars" movie came out. (The very first one, not the "first" prequel. Blech on Anakin Skywalker and everyone else in that dreck.)

In the original dream, Darth Vader has landed in the parking lot of our local supermarket -- yes, it's funny now! -- and he and the Storm Troopers are laying waste to everything in sight. People are running and screaming everywhere.

Lord Vader stalks closer to where I'm hiding behind a splintery wooden pillar. I'm just a breath away from being discovered. If he turns his head just a fraction of an inch, he'll see me.
Not exactly a pretty self-portrait, but it gets the point across. The coarse pumice gel covered up the original background, and I think I simulated a cave well enough. And the queasy green of my sweatshirt turned out the way I wanted.
And here are all nine, laid out on their background. Still not sure if I want to permanently affix them to the background, or attach them in some way that lets me pick them up. What do you think?

Monday -- good mail day

Get thee to thine mailbox and look inside, woman!
All right, I'm paraphrasing, but that's essentially what my girl Tally told me to do in yesterday's email. Here's the big news:

"Dear Contributor:
Congratulations! Quayside Publishing's book Good Mail Day by Jennie Hinchcliff and Carolee Gilligan Wheeler in which your work appears has been published. A complimentary copy will be mailed to you as soon as stock arrives at our warehouse...."

Tally and I had swapped postcards for a few months, just to keep up with each other in a fun way. Loose deadline of about a month for each postcard, no other rules, just us. If I remember correctly, one of her favorites I sent her was the one where all my friends lived on the same street.

Then Tally noticed the call for art for Good Mail Day. Since we were talking about other publishing-related stuff, she asked if I'd be interested in sending a couple of our postcards. So we made haste, made the deadline, and mostly forgot about it.

Meanwhile, Quayside was busy shooting our stuff. I know for sure we're on page 102. Wonder how many times the photographer had to reposition my merman card to avoid the glare. Ha!

You'll also see other contributors whose names you might recognize: Stephanie Hilvitz, Lisa Engelbrecht, Holly Stinnett, and of course Tally.

And now I get the marvelous letter that starts up the party music in my head. If you were here, I'd play "Shake, Shake, Shake, Senora" for you.

One last thing: if you like what you see in the book, please write a five-star review of the book on Amazon. Only the five-star reviews boost the book's ranking. (Who knew?) So the more great reviews, the more books they print, the more we all get to have a good mail day.

Art journals reach the chi-chi set

I actually really like much of Anthropologie's clothing and design. It's kinda seductive.

Now they've given me another reason to like them. The book 1000 Artist Journals is for sale here. Wouldn't have taken Anthropologie for the type to like or understand this stuff. Maybe it just goes with the decor.

Fortunately, I don't have the kind of cash necessary to shop here regularly.

As I went a-walkin'

.. I found these alternate methods of transportation on the Burke-Gilman trail.

Ephemeral

Two weeks ago, TwoBoo cut his first teeth.

On Saturday, he began army crawling like he'd spent his first nine months of life in a trench.

Today I came home and sniffled after dropping off The Boy at kindergarten. Then I cried as I pulled out the child safety seat for TwoBoo, who is now big enough to move out of his infant carrier.

I wish I weren't quite such a cliche, but my hard candy shell is broken.

So much of what I love is ephemeral: the changes in babies and small people, paper and other scraps to be used in artwork, photos (that I'm still dying to see) stored in my aunt's basement, family stories and memories.

So as I told myself to suck it up (see how well it's working?), I thought of this article on the first art made with plastics. The artists thought it would be "the new marble," but surprise! the plastic bonds are unstable and now they're melting, stinking, falling apart. And the pieces can't be fixed. All the museums which house them can do is exhibit them as little as possible, and take pictures of them while they're still recognizable.

Guess I should be glad my kids are growing, not degrading, and that they don't stink (irreparably) as they change.