Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Lorraine Corrigan

These gorgeous papier-mâché dogs are made by UK-based artist Lorraine Corrigan in Hounds of Bath.

Lorraine adores sight hounds with their sleek lines, grace and elegance.

She loves to introduce the surprising concept of rolled paper art to those who have never seen or heard of quilling.

Lorraine began sculpting dogs with paper around four years ago and has now developed a sophisticated technique using wires and layers of fine papers from recycled books.

Each piece is individually made to order and develops a unique personality as the finishing touches of the expressive eyes and fine ears are added.

At the end process, due to the use of the text, the piece is almost stone-like in texture.

Each piece is then finished with two layers of sealant wash to preserve it for many years to come.

More of Lorraine Corrigan‘s amazing art can be found at All Things Paper and http://houndsofbath.tumblr.com/.

Thursday Evening Art on the Veranda

Spring…Summer…Autumn…all are perfect times to walk around the art gallery. Don’t fret — the art is protected from the elements. The weather is perfect, the sun is starting to set — a perfect time to explore a new and unique artist.

Since this is our premiere, let us showcase something…unassuming.

My trip to North Carolina last year.

Who’s The Old Guy Driving the Red Convertible?

Why is it that whenever  I see a shinny red sports convertible driving down the road it’s driven (a) a man, and (b) he’s got white hair.

No offense to any white-haired men out there driving red sports cars, but…

I rarely see a kid or even a millennial toolin’ down the highway in a jacked up beefed up sports car of any color. It’s almost always a man. An older man.

My first guess is that no one under 60 can even afford an old super sport Vet or a Pontiac GTO. Cars of that vintage are rare and well pampered. Most are lovingly polished and primmed and taken out only on fully sunny days. My second guess is that most millennials haven’t ever heard of a Super Stock Dodge or a 1969 RS/SS Camaro. They’d rather have a  Lexus LS 460 L or any kind of BMW. (In most cases I don’t blame them.)

But back to the little old men.

Why do they get to have all the fun?

You remember Jan and Dean…The Little Old Lady From Pasadena…

The Little Old Lady From Pasadena
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
Has a pretty little flowerbed of white gardenias;
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
But parked in a rickety old garage,
There’s a brand new shiny super stocked Dodge.

Okay. So here’s a granny. Like me. She probably has a couple of kids and a bunch of grand kids. She’s probably worked all her life as a waitress or a baker or a receptionist. Has a tiny pension and lives in a run-down 80-year-old house. All she’s got are a few scraggly gardenia bushes to make her smile.

And ev’rybody’s sayin’ that there’s nobody meaner than
The Little Old Lady From Pasadena.
She drives real fast and she drives real hard,
She’s the terror of Colorado Boulevard.
It’s The Little Old Lady From Pasadena!

Everybody’s saying there’s nobody meaner. Let them try and figure out Medicare and pay the doctor bills and live on social security and trying to walk around the block with a replaced knee and osteoporosis. It happens to all of us.

If you see her on the strip, don’t try to choose her,
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
You might have a go-er, but you’ll never lose her;
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
She’s gonna get a ticket now, sooner or later,
‘Cause she can’t keep her foot off the accelerator.

So she speeds a little bit. Isn’t it better than following those old fogies that drive 20 miles under the speed limit? Have you ever been behind a driver on the country roads that slow down and look at every field, every farm, every animal? Heck — I’m married to one.

You’ll see her all the time, just gettin’ her kicks now,
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
With her four speed stick and a four – two – six now;
(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)
The guys come to race her from miles around,
But she’ll give ’em a length, then she’ll shut’em down.

By the time you get to my age, you get tired of all the bull$hit in the world. You get tired of your taxes going up, gas prices, mortgages, and insurance payments.. You drive home from a rough day at work and all you want to do is freebird the ride home. You’re leavin’ the 9-5 behind! Freedom! Fresh air! Who cares if you’re only going home to catch up on Breaking Bad reruns?

So back to the original statement. White haired old men driving spiffy red convertibles. You may look sexy, you may look debonair, you may have earned that red Corvette convertible you strut around town with.

But just wait. Granny and her red convertible Vespa will be right on your tail.

(Go Granny, go, Granny, go, Granny, go)

Which Button Do I Push?

It’s Friday night. My mates and I have driven 4 hours north to our cabin near the lake. It’s a long drive, but every time I stand on the deck/porch I tell myself it’s worth it.

We have no cable, no Internet (except for a hot spot, which I am using as we speak), no TV. Radio, okay. CDs and Tapes if we are in the mood. Being four hours away from the small town/city I live in makes all the difference in the world.

So here I am Friday night, wanting to watch a DVD, and I’m confronted with four controllers, one TV, one VCR, one gaming device, and one DVD player.

Good luck trying to figure out how to watch a movie.

One machine shows DVD, Tape, TV, SAT, and several other choices. Pick a device, pick a controller, and hopefully you’ll find your way to a movie.

Not me.

It’s not that technology has passed me by — I just can’t figure out which dang controller goes with which dang machine. Or which order I’m supposed to push the buttons. I don’t consider myself technically challenged until I get into the comfort of my own home. One wrong button and I’ve changed cable channels, input mechanisms, and devices.

I don’t get it. I’ve learned new programs at work like Wrike and Google Analytics and Agora Pulse, yet the mere appearance of more than one TV controller sends me into Flipper Hell.

Why does everything need to be so complicated?

My hubby and I like to play video games, especially Gauntlet on PS2. But by the time I change input and turn this machine on and that machine off, I’ve given up and resolved myself to watching  Deadliest Catch reruns.

This is the part of getting older I hate. Not remembering which machines to turn on, which buttons to push, how to get back from pushing the wrong button.

I wonder if that’s a metaphor for my life.

I don’t have time to think about the cosmic applications and interpretations of such. All I want to do at the moment is watch The Mummy on DVD.

Buttons be damned.

 

Coming Attractions

My research folders for my Sunday Evening Art Gallery are bursting at the seams with new creative artists! I am so psyched at the amazing talents I’ve found that I’m almost tempted to open a second evening’s showing — Thursday Evening Wine and Art Gallery or Thursday Tea and Art or Thursday Evening Art Walk something like that.  (Suggestions are welcome!)

Here is a peek of coming attractions:

Tell your family — tell your friends — every Sunday evening, and perhaps every Thursday evening, you will find magical art and artists here at Humoring the Goddess, then in excess at the Sunday Evening Art Gallery.

My creative artists will thank you.

Sunday Evening Art Gallery Blog — Nick Veasley

British photographer Nick Veasey uses industrial X-ray machines to discover what makes up the natural world and highlight the surprising, inner beauty in some of the most common objects.

Veasey got the idea to use X-ray machines for art while dating the daughter of a truck driver who was transporting thousands of soda cans, one of which contained a prize worth 100,000 pounds.

He rented an X-ray machine from a local hospital to find the winning can. Although he was unsuccessful, he credits this moment for sparking the idea that launched his career.

Due to the high risk of working with radiation, Veasey custom built a concrete structure to contain it.

To get his pictures, subjects are placed on a lead surface with film behind it. The X-rays pass through the subject and then onto the film where from there he can control the exposure time in a separate room.

Veasey doesn’t actually use any human subjects, as they would have to endure radiation for about 12 minutes. Instead, when a model is needed, he uses skeletons in rubber suits or cadavers that have been donated to science.

Veasey focuses on finding an antidote to the “obsession with appearance” by revealing the beauty within.

Veasey’s work also comments on our society’s increasing paranoia and control by security and surveillance. “To create art with the technology … that helps remove the freedom and individuality in our lives … brings a smile to my face.”

More of Nick Veasley’s fantastic photography can be found at http://www.nickveasey.com/.

What Does That Stand For?

Today, as most days, I find myself lost in the world of letters. Of acronyms. They haunt my day, stand in for lengthy explanations and too many words.

Sometimes I write these acronyms on a sticky note and place it at the base of my computer screen where no one can see it but me. A subtle reminder to stop doing whatever it is that I’m doing.

Like M.Y.O.B.

How many times do you find yourself getting worked up about something that has nothing to do with you? Your opinion really doesn’t matter because you really don’t know much about it. Yet you yap it up like it’s all about you.

S.S.D.D.

Everybody always asks how’s work or your family or your social life. For most of us, life doesn’t change much day to day. Somebody will ask what my plans are for the evening, and they’re the same every night. Eat, clean, watch TV, go to bed. Unless I get asked to the Met Gala or to go out to eat at Sobelmans, it’s pretty much S.S.D.D.

E.T.C.

Everyone knows this oldie acronym. It’s like yadda yadda but with initials.

B.F.D.

Everything in my life is a B.F.D. Just ask me. I need to learn to tone things down. Everything’s not a crisis. Everything’s not about me. See M.Y.O.B. for reference.

R.O.F.L.

There are a few Internet shortcuts that could apply to me, but if I have to think of what they mean every time I use them (like R.O.F.L. and A.F.K. and A/S/L) they are really just letters to me. What’s worse is that my friend David (http://davidkanigan.com/) had to tell me I had my letters mixed up!

B.2.B.

A popular phrase around work, I used to think it was body to body. Then I realized our company is a B2B. I didn’t think my translation was appropriate.

B.F.F.

Mine drifted away last year, so the meaning has changed. But I still know what it means in a cosmic sort of way.

L.M.A.O.

A rare condition these days, nothing is better than laughing yourself silly. And my ‘A’ could use a little trimming anyway.

L.O.L.

This is a popular one, especially from my texting friends. It can mean Lots of Love or Lots of Luck, but whenever I see it I just think of lollygagging. Or lolly. Nonsense no matter which initials you use.

O.M.G.

Another popular one, often used around little kids so they don’t hear you using the Lord’s name in vain. I don’t know if there are acronyms for other swear words, though, but I really should put that on my research list.

P.O.T.U.S.

I didn’t know what that meant until a few years ago. Imagine. 60 years old and figuring it meant the place where you went to the bathroom. Where I got that I’ll never know. Never.

 

There are many, many more shortcuts for words in this world. As I said before, the Internet is full of them. But I have enough pressure on my brain cells in learning new programs at work that I don’t need to remember letters and abbreviations to get through the day.

My life is short enough the way it is. I don’t need acronyms to make it even shorter.

G.B.C.U.L8R.