The little bluebird, restless artist,
Flew over the orange horizon without restraint.
With his box full of colored pencils,
He thought he could paint the sky in an instant, of course!
But too many pencils and too few wings,
Unbalanced the poor little bird.
So many colors, no coordination,
His creative disaster fell to the ground!
Orange, yellow and red pencils shattered,
While the little blue bird fell in tears.
His celestial dream turned into a nightmare...
Until he saw - a rainbow formed!
From sadness, joy overflowed,
In that magical moment he understood:
It doesn't matter the skill or the tools,
Art comes from the heart, even if messy!
Ms. Nathan was a play production teacher with flair and a big personality. She wore colorful clothing and loud socks that never matched. Her joyful, chortling laugh filled the room—or the hallway—wherever she happened to be.
Staff meetings and PD days have always been strong invitations for observational drawings. Over the years, I’ve found that there are many boxes to check in a wide variety of systems. I often created my own boxes—and checked them with sketches of my colleagues.
This one goes out to the colorful Ms. Nathan.
Joan Miró (1893-1983)
Miró always maintained a rigidly inflexible daily routine—both because he disliked being distracted from his work, and because he feared slipping back into the severe depression that had afflicted him as a young man, before he discovered painting. To help prevent a relapse, his routine always included vigorous exercise—boxing in Paris; jumping rope and Swedish gymnastics at a Barcelona gym; and running on the beach and swimming at Mont-roig, a seaside village where his family owned a farmhouse.
Miró hated for this routine to be interrupted by social or cultural events. As he told an American journalist, “Merde! I absolutely detest all openings and parties! They’re commercial, political, and everybody talks too much. They get on my tits!”
From Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey
FEDERICO FELLINI
In a 1977 interview, he described his morning routine:
I'm up at six in the morning. I walk around the house, open sindows, poke around boxes. move books from here to there. For years I've been trying to make myself a decent cup if coffee, but it's not one of my specialties. I go downstairs, outside as soon as possible. By seven I'm on the telephone.
- Daily rituals by Mason Curry.
#inktober #masonCurry #federicofellini #dailyritual
Anubis and his box of threads.
I am going through the wiki list of mythological hybrid creatures and imagining their lives and what they might be like and what they might like to do. It's been fun - sometimes; some of the myths are dark and sad.
The Jack Story from Rooster's Wife by Russell Edson.
There was the Jack of the beanstalk story, and a Jack Sprat who could eat no fat. And there was Jack-in-a-box who used to spring out of a box for no reason at all. And Jack who broke his crown fetching water with a certain Jill. Not to forget little Jack Horner, or the jack who jumped over a candlestick...
Theirs is a club of Jacks.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CjniuMsuDWM/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
I had a rock tumbler as a child and really enjoyed it. When my youngest was a child we bought her one. She was eager to enjoy it too, but somewhere after starting on that path, we lost track and it everything inside turned into a solid mass. We tossed it and forgot about it. On a recent beach trip, I collected handfuls of rocks, as I am always likely to do, and, upon return, remembered how I loved my childhood rock tumbler. I immediately researched, ordered and eagerly anticipated its delivery. Of course, with Amazon Prime, that was only a couple day’s wait. As soon as I unboxed it I thought “what am I doing?” I have neither time, nor space for yet another hobby. I thought “what will I DO with a pile of polished, pretty rocks?” I would gather them in my hands and feel their silky smoothness. I would likely gather them in some beautiful glass bowl and…then what? I have toddler grand kids frequently at my home. They put small colorful things in their mouths and up their noses and feed them to the dogs regularly. And I don’t even have a single space to display a bog bowl of pretty rocks. So I quickly decided “I’m Returning the Rock Tumbler” and will, for NOW, stick to painting them when the mood strikes.
