Y'all, I'm pretty excited about this piece. It's a work in progress, but an explainable feeling tells me it's close to completion. It's gone through quite the transformation, more colors than one could imagine. Last night I was on the verge of painting a big red X across it - one of those artist moments where nothing seems to be working and clearly the piece of canvas is the root of all problems. But somehow I managed to walk away, painting unscathed, and magically this morning I have an all new appreciation for it.   

Abstract Exercising

I have found Instagram to be one of the greatest customer surveying tools out there. And bonus - it's free. This little abstract received more likes in a matter of a day than any other piece I've completed. What's humorous, I never paint abstract. I'm too restricting and often find it difficult to let go.  I've read many abstract artists took time to get to a free way of painting, one I relate to a contemporary style of dance.  The idea of painting without control is often a learned mechanism. While I prefer the much simpler abstract, I turn into a hoarder of paint, slathering every which way possible. Wade constantly tells me to leave it alone, but there's always that little spot that needs a pickin' or paint lovin'. 

Diary 6.13.13

My lapse in posts isn't purely because I "fell off the wagon".  I've been tackling two commissioned pieces over the last two months and finished both last week - a joyous moment adding your signature and sealing off a piece that contains a snippet of your heart. Yesterday I was finally able to deliver one of the pieces, a bright-colored pink sports car, to a friend who is expecting her first baby this coming Thursday. Her little one, Shelby, is named after the Shelby Cobra, a passion both momma and daddy share. It totally reminds me of a Barbie car. I'm pretty sure my Barbie drove this across furry brown carpet, in the latest of 90's fashions. I can't wait to see it on the little one's nursery wall!


Diary 6.3.16

I've recently become a bit obsessed with Ziegfeld girls, or "follies" as they've been called, during my daily pinterest conquests. That is how women should look - luminous, curvy, confident.  Ziegfeld and Erte. My art mimics nothing of Erte, but still, I have an immense appreciation for his work. My grandparents have actually collected his work for years. Their living room has monstrosities of walls; walls that are decorated with beautifully framed prints. One day, one fine day, I hope to create something as timeless and beautiful as Erte. Till then, I'll keep up with my quick sketching. 

Diary 6.1.16 Perfume Ad

A week ago as Wade and I snuggled up in bed, unwinding from the day, he began to read aloud an internet article citing random facts we as humans rarely give a second thought to. The one he found most intriguing (and in his words, ridiculous and stupid), as any man whose body inhabits a smiggen of estrogen compared to my own, was perfume ads/commercials. The idea that we (ones with compelling amounts of estrogen) are drawn to particular perfumes simply by extravagant television ads that make absolutely no lick of sense. An ad selling the idea of a smell. Case in point ~ Natalie Portman escaping her wedding, only to be lifted midair into a helicopter by a rope ladder. Oh, Miss Dior, I'm baffled, yet totally drawn into this 30-sec soap opera. I suppose wearing a spritz would make me cheeky and a heroine all at once. You managed to portray the craziest of acts with fervor and well, yes, I'll take one bottle, please. Dont even get me started on Charlize Theron glamorously ripping gorgeous ocean pearls from her neck while hoisting herself up amber-colored silk. I wonder what Khaleesi's ad would look like?