An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

The cat  leaves its tracks  in the studio  paw prints  of many colors  on the newly washed floor  out from the studio  a swirling wave  of wet paint  ignorant of their new slippers they leave their mark fainter and fainter the trail is harder to see as time goes on they turn the house  into a canvas  for a feline masterpiece

 a silhouette dark against light  stands on the balcony  the artist draws only what she can see the black pastel crayon  copies a strong outline  but features are lost  who is this mysterious wraith in the night? it does not matter  for we can tell  the unique shadow

Mother hates tattoos she thinks they are tacky  unattractive  a sign of a criminal  She talked about them behind their back but never directly to their faces Husband thinks  those who have them  are rebels against  polite society  He says he believes in live and let live but he always has a definite opinion I believe that  they are beautiful art  an expression of  individuality The colors and patterns fascinate my creative eye perhaps one day I get pictures of my own

An egg for breakfast  with shell so fragile  yet that is a blank canvas  for all hues of color a pinhole in the top the yolk for a tasty omelette from wax relief  stark white lines scratched in the surface for those Easter hunts where the bunny hides surprises for the children. to the priceless pieces  favored by emperors tiny jewels attached with the greatest of care a masterpiece of delicacy unmatched by modern means.

glass pen slender and swirled  dip the point  into purple ink  the pressure  determines  the thickness of lines smooth curves  of a forgotten  writing skill as the silent scratch of the parchment letters joined into words invite you to a party or a wedding or a letter of intention a poem of love or a binding agreement a code that hides all sorts of secrets no one can decode in this day and age.

A writer like me  scribbling words  words and words  for others to read  digest and analyze  An artist like me  paint on canvas  pen on the screen  for others to see  judge and criticize  A musician like me strum softly on strings or warble a beloved tune for others to hear and enjoy sing and dance That is who I see  deep within the depths  of the electronic sea  I smile when I view  their creative works

What is Haiga? Dip the glass pen into the ink make straight lines curved into letters minimal strokes of the brush to convey a scene for all to see green for spring flowers blue for deep rivers white for puffy clouds red for sunset's tears words and art work in tangent in harmony to make the idea whole.    (art "Star Dancer" copyright A. Dameron, 2015)   touch the stars tonight all over your fingertips dances all winter  

A haiga is a haiku paired with visual drawing. It's usually a painting or a drawing, but it can also be a photograph, collage or digital image. pastel on black paper, 2019 Faithful companion you have crossed the rainbow bridge wave from other side

Colored pencils watercolors brushes and inks oil pastels chalk double-sided markers collages scrapbooks little cartoons plein air urban sketches portraits landscapes a treasure of a lifetime pictures are windows to a past that is rapidly fading into monochrome

So many colors so little time like little pockets of broken rainbows that I can tuck away into cakes of bright and cool shades. All it takes is one brief burst  of inspiration.  Nothing has to be perfect or worthy of the most exacting art critic. Paint with your heart not with their expectations.

    Quite disturbing yet in a cartoon-like way stands with its hands on its articulated hips doesn't seem threatening at all but everyone forgets the scorpion might be small but the poison sting is in its tail. 

Constantly changing the hues of the palette seem to mix in strange and unusual ways The wood warps and cracks paint seeps through the edges stain the deep set grooves in rainbow. You could trace the ages through splatters of cobalt and the era of styles through sprinkles of glitter. Memorialized in contrasts white swirled in dark to make it lighter russets and oranges shade into verdant swipes that may be leaves or maybe grass for spring flowers or dying falling petals. Any painter throws it away but it is a memorial or a testament to canvases gone by.

A humble workshop where creativity lives Quiet and private tucked in the shadows of a Parisian alleyway or perhaps within view of the Bow Bells in London. The painter does yet another study applying the imprimatura and pulling out the lights out of the darks giving form to the formless and shape to the shapeless how many values black and white with warm grey and dark grey or even more than that? A sculptor finds life in marble chisels away the excess and what remains is the core of the stone's meaning. A potter shapes curves and ridges with their hands as the wheel goes round and round slower then faster then sets them to find strength in the fires of the kiln. Time hardly passes here but techniques become new as they are employed with the old.

My art studio doubles as the dining room table. Paints stacked in the corner of the closet. Poems written in the wee hours of the night when everyone is asleep. Sketches hastily drawn between doctor's appointments and daughter's music lessons. The piano book still on chapter two the guitar out of tune the strings gathering dust. It feels like splitting time between demanding lovers running from one room to the next and not devoting enough minutes for a proper relationship. But it is worth the hassle for a moment of peace and thinking all is right with the world.

Thirty years old I picked up a pencil only spare doodles as the baby slept. I picked up a paintbrush mixed paints Those early canvases were hardly masterpieces done between play dates and kindergarten antics. Now fifty one pencils at the ready drawing characters while the kids are at school. Paintbrushes worn hues dried on the palette The recent canvases still reflect my mind done between crises and midlife musings.

The color of kings Rare and expensive Light of vibration that lifts your soul and calms you down. The mystics treasure it this hue of Knowledge the rage of red balanced with the calm of blue a mix of balance of the two. Not as scarlet as rubies or deep as garnets. Not as azure as sapphires. Amethysts are their own very unique shade. Reserved for the mightiest until it could be duplicated replicated for the common man: purple is my favorite color.

Paint with words try to describe how I feel Not very easy to start even more difficult with a limited palette. You can do much with the basics   Color theory complementary colors to make harmony. red and yellow make orange yellow and blue make green blue and red make purple black and white make gray. I have more than I think.     But I must plan this composition the shades, the tone, the light even the subject matter to make the painting pleasing to the eye.     From the underpainting to the final draft every brushstroke is stifled: for I need to ensure your sensibilities aren't offended.

Alone in the studio the paintbrush speaks the music swells the sound of the tumbler as rocks turn into jewels. The vase throws itself onto the potters' wheel the arrangement of flowers please the eye and the mind the smell of the food wafts from the kitchen and whets the appetite. Every stitch lovingly made every warp and weft in patterns. Pixels make people laugh and amaze others with their resolution. These are all reflections of the artist's mind heart and soul. Lovingly created and lovingly shared as an expression of creativity within.

Kintsugi (or Kintsukuroi)): Japanese. Fixing a broken object with gold resin The fire burns bright it eagerly claims the coal void transforms to pure light the frozen to searing heat molten gold fills the cracks of your heart. Still liquid, still pliable shining and seeking to fill the low pooling within the dents and transforming the shattered pieces not making it as it once was not making it whole but strengthening it making it shine despite the wear and tear of life's battles. It becomes part of the tapestry not a mere observer and unifies the chaotic making it coherent again old yet new.

The randomness of it all: teddy bears, smiley faces and the faces of customers sitting in the diner Quick pen strokes capturing the weariness the cheerfulness the hustle and bustle of servers coming and going from the kitchens shouting "corner!" to prevent collisions and the chatter of the old style cash register. Tiny pictures crammed into every available space a capture of a time when all eyes are turned away but a snapshot of the moment still exists.