Grafitti Buster

We were walking down our driveway the other day, and were greeted by this unwelcome sight. Just across the wash was a brand new, big blue and black piece of graffiti. On a (formerly) beautiful granite boulder.


Now, I'm an admirer of graffiti on walls of derelict buildings and trains. I know, it's not exactly legal and it's bad to damage other people's property, but some of it is incredibly beautiful, nonetheless. Graffiti in a natural location is something different altogether. In my humble opinion. And this wasn't even great graffiti.



After Jim made a phone call to the local sheriff, and we both spent a couple days stewing, I decided to take action. First step: look in my studio for various noxious solvents. I landed on lacquer thinner. Yes, I know this is not the best chemical for the environment. I was very careful to apply it to small areas, and then scrub away with my scrub brush. What I ended up with was a big blue blob. And blue hands (yes, I forgot to wear gloves). In the photo above, I've begun to apply paint to the blue blob.


While the blue blob was a signal to the "graffiti artists" that their handiwork wasn't going to be left living around me, it was still really ugly. Well, maybe even uglier. So I got my Golden acrylics and mixed up some batches of rock like colors. I applied them with a spatula. Some water and paper towels helped with smearing the paint around.


The disguised blue blob.



Back to normal. Thanks to Jim for the photographs of this endeavor. Perhaps I can add it to my portfolio and hire myself out as a graffiti buster!

P.S. A friend told me (too late) about a tagger cleaner that is non-toxic. Next time (and I hope there isn't a next time, I'll find and try this stuff.

Changing Gears, Going AWOL and Crabby About It

I've temporarily gone AWOL from my studio. Read below for the reason.

My second job is working on the US Route 89 project. I'm very enthusiastic about it. My husband, Jim, got fascinated by this historic road, which goes from Mexico to Canada, about 8 years ago. Gradually, the fascination turned into a passion.

When I began working on my art practice full time 2 years ago, two things became apparent to me. One was that this project of Jim's was such a major undertaking, there was no way he could do it all by himself. It made sense for me to begin to help out. Secondly, it would be great to experiment with doing a creative collaboration with Jim. As with any collaboration, we're constantly working out the wrinkles in the system.

The picture, above, taken by our photographer friend, Jewel Clearwater, shows us in the "Pod", our teardrop trailer, anticipating our upcoming trip.


Now for the changing gears part. And the crabby about it part. I love doing this work with Jim. But no matter how hard I try, it seems that the first few days of travel (okay, I admit it, sometimes a few more than a few), are a difficult transition for me. I'm not in my studio working. I worry that maybe somehow, I'll never manage to get into my studio to work again, once my routine is disrupted. I have trouble looking at the big picture. My gears are grating against each other.

Here I am, in the Pod, at a lovely campground, with a cup of coffee. I'm grumpy nonetheless. It's early in the morning (6 am) and instead of lounging about relaxing, we need to move along and get back on the road.

Stay tuned for progress reports when I have internet access and time. We'll arrive back home on August 13.

By the way, here's the website for the Route 89 project. It's fabulous!

The Spector of Health Insurance Raises Its Ugly Head

Here we are, me with my paint brushes, Jim with his camera and Mat with his school books. Above us is an ugly monster called health insurance, which is threatening to bleed us dry.

Long ago, I went back to school to become an art teacher for two reasons. One was a steady income. The other was health insurance. As it turns out, I loved teaching art. The pay check and insurance were a bonus.

When I decided to become a self employed artist a year and a half ago, we signed up for COBRA, which extended our health insurance for 18 months. Seemed like forever at the time. COBRA is a very expensive interim health insurance policy. For us, it was costing close to $900 per month. A lot of money.

The 18 months flew by. Some time ago, we started investigating individual policies, since we are self-employed. Guess what. We got a big fat DENIED from every policy we applied for. The good news is that the state has what's called a portability law, which means some insurance company is forced to cover you even if they don't want to, once you've been denied.

So we applied for a portability policy, figuring that it would, of course, cost more than what we are currently paying. Guess what the estimate for the three of us was? No, your guess was too low. In order to continue with insurance which would cover what our current insurance covers, our monthly payment would be $2800!!! Now does that sound like a great option?

We are mulling over the situation, and have several different companies doing research for us. Too bad the government can't get it together. Of course, we are only one of countless people facing the same problem.

Yes, going back to teaching would be an option. Not one I'm entertaining at the moment. Not that there are any jobs out there.

My Worst Nightmare

What is your worst nightmare? I actually have a series that occur depending on what's happening that is currently stirring up my personal phobias. When I'm teaching, I have nightmares about getting lost on the way to class, frantically trying to find art materials for a class starting in minutes, etc. This print refers to the nightmares I had when Mathew was in the hospital as a preemie. Don't worry, he's now 19 and doing fine. In this print, I'm peering into his incubator as rats threaten to do awful things to him that I don't even want to describe here.

I guess this image could be classified as art as therapy.

Which brings me back to the question of what does it mean to people when you say you are an artist. What is an artist, anyway? An article in the New York Times Book Review, June 1, by Marisha Pessl has a paragraph in it that addresses these questions. Here is the quote:

" 'Artist' can't make even the briefest public appearance without extensive baggage. The next time you're at a party and someone asks you what you do for a living, boldly say artist, then sit back and watch the jolting effect that little word has upon a conversation. Above 14th Street, the person will smirk, dutifully ask 'What kind?' or appear to start swallowing an egg, which is a disguised yawn. You'll get a hug in the Midwest. In Santa Monica, you'll get 'sweet' and an in invitation to go Rollerblading. In certain parts of the country you'll get tied up and thrown into the back of a pickup truck, and no one will ever hear from you again."

All of the above reactions could fall into my worst nightmare category. There really isn't any standard way to know you are an artist except to believe that you are. And confessing that you think you are an artist to anyone is totally different that being able to tell someone you are a doctor or banker or grocery store clerk. Who knows what their reaction will be.