Half-assed screen prints coming soon!

I wanted a logo and I wanted to screen print it on my bags. So I learned to design logos and screen print. Okay, I learned the minimum basics required to do both, and bought the minimum basic materials to do them. I didn't want to spend a lot of money on something I have never even attempted before. Which means I have equipment from a starter kit, which did not include such screen printing necessities as hinge clamps, stretchers, photo emulsion applicators, or very comprehensive instructions. However, thanks to You Tube and some trial and error, I developed a pretty decent half-assed screen print method with what I allowed myself to buy.

The Used Art logo screen print (featuring Kenneth Noisewater the Cat) went so well, I thought I would branch out and try printing an image I made for Drew. It started out as a tattoo design for a Northwest Indian-influenced phoenix bird. The tattoo never happened, but I did paint it on a canvas tote that he used for several years before it eventually looked like this.

Drew's Phoenix 

Since it had reached the Old Masters stage (cracked and faded), I figured it was time to replace it, and now that I am an old master at screen printing, I gave it a go.

For some reason (if I was really an old master at this I would know), this screen is a little trickier to print from. I have to use a very delicate touch spreading the ink. Too much and the ink bleeds through everywhere, not enough and I don't get a good covering of color. But I'm only two canvas bags in and there is a lot of room for improvement. I expect I will have sellable bags with this design in the near future. 

This is how the first half-assed dual-screen print bags are looking. If I get enough interest, I will make some available for purchase, and maybe invest in some real screen printing equipment. MAYBE.

Drew's Phoenix screen print

Thanks for reading, friend. I APPRECIATE YOU.

Simple and Elegant, or Just Simple?

Taking votes. Is restraint a good thing here? I like the extremes in values. The bird is one that I watched take off from this beachside pond. It's a bit of a change of pace for me, but not sure if it's a step back.

I put this bird on it.

We'll see if it grows on me. If it does, I'll varnish it on a sunny day and it will appear in the studio page. If not, it will probably go home with Dean.

Chicken

Painted part of an otter, most of a baby chick, and all of this chicken today.

This is a special Kauai Chicken. The ocean behind her got lost in translation, but you can FEEL it, right?

Seascare

Haystack Rock has seen better days.  

As one of the most photographed and painted features on the Oregon Coast, it has seen its share of both masterworks and wasted paint. Today was not a win. 

I started out with the best of intentions. A nice burnt umber wash to give me a map for when the paint starts to fly. Maybe I should have stopped here. 

A promising start

Then I wanted to make sure that the colors of the sky were dramatic, but soft, like it was when I saw it last. 

Sky background, clouds, water that seems to be heaped up in the middle.

Then I tried to layer the clouds over the sky. I don't think the Rock ever recovered. Sometimes the fun of seeing the scumbles of paint left behind when I pull a loaded palette knife over a canvas takes over, and my original intention is forgotten in the moment.

Also an issue, as with all my seascapes, was the water. I seem to have lost the straight line I gave myself as a guide, and the ocean has developed a definite tilt. But I'm not done. That could be a good thing, or just a delay of a trip to the dump for this $50 canvas.  

Here comes the rock. The water has evened out, but needs more work.

Okay. The water is less awful, but in an attempt to give some interest to the gray sky (why? that's the color of the sky here most of the time), I have made a dog's breakfast of it. Some of it is dried paint from another session, some of it is new. I was hoping that the dried paint would lend an interesting chunkiness to my new palette knife strokes, but it just looks like a grisly accident.

Water is done. foreground is done. What the hell is happening in the sky?

I walk away and think. More, in this case, has not been better, and even more will undoubtedly be worse. There is only one thing, other than a bonfire, that may work. 

Sometimes with thick oil paint thinned only with linseed oil, mixed strictly for use with a palette knife, reaching for a brush is not feasible. Only one tool is built for this job: the human hand. I use my kindergarten training and start finger painting. Later, after putting my entire palm (and then lots of studio soap) to work, it may live another day. It will never be a masterpiece, but it might not be a piece of garbage either. I'll see how I feel in the morning. 

Palette knife abandoned for fingers and finally, full palm to calm the skies.

Yellowstone Diaries: Escaping the Waddle Zone

I sense interest in our dumb trip waning, so this will be my final vacation blog. Probably.

Crowds waiting for Old Faithful

That first day, we realized that we were not the only couple of a certain age and hair color to have the brilliant idea of postponing our Yellowstone trip until after school started. Visiting the park in September may have lessened the amount of children in the park, but it did not lessen the amount of bodies. The hotels and campgrounds were all full. But instead of getting run over by rampaging packs of children, we were slowed to a crawl by large waddling Americans and large busloads of tourists from all over the world. Sadly, you didn't have to listen for an accent to guess whether a tourist was from the U.S. You just had the check the boardwalk for sag. We Americans are obviously all doing our part to prop up the high fructose corn syrup industry.

The view while hiking the rim of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone

Walking around in one of the most tourist infested parts of the park, I can't help wondering what our evil overlords look like. The ones who are so obviously fattening us all up for slaughter and rendering. Because we, as a nation, are ripe. 

328 stairs to a viewpoint: another way to escape the Waddle Zone

Which reminds me that High Fructose Corn Syrup would be a good name for an indie band. 

Swimming in the Firehole River swimming hole. There were maybe a dozen other people here.

Did you know we all evolved from apes who have a gene mutation that makes us not only crave sweets like high fructose corn syrup, but sends that fructose directly to our liver to be turned into triglycerides, a form of fat?

This lady had the same idea (not at the same time or place).

Another thing I realised while dodging  herds of single-minded photo-oppers, is that you can abbreviate many things, like "sitch" for "situation" or "skedge" for "schedule," but you can't really abbreviate "Japanese" without sounding like a terrible person. 

Crowds. Of bison.

Whoops, took an abbreviated detour. Back to the hordes. The Lonely Planet guide to the park (which we thumbed and dog-eared throughout our stay) noted that the park was over-loved, but that only 10% of visitors step off the road or boardwalks (what I termed the "Waddle Zone") and only a half of those venture more than a mile.  We found this to be mercifully true, as my mood is precarious in large crowds. We took some great short hikes (Drew may quibble with the usage of the word "short"), and really got to see nature at its best. And didn't get mauled by bears once.

Bison each taking their turn annoying cars by standing in the road and pretending they don't get it in the Lamar Valley.

Our Recommendations on Yellowstone National Park enjoyment:  

• Waddle Zone: avoid it.
• West Yellowstone Museum: Lovely building with nothing inside worth the admission fee.  
• Lonely Planet: use it.  
• Xanterra: sucking money out of our national parks with a hose.
• Lamar Valley: park your car, walk in any direction, and sit down. The wildlife will ignore you and go about their business.
• Bison: hilarious.  

Lamar Valley at sunset

Yellowstone Diaries: I Love the Smell of Sulfur in the Morning

Steamy morning. It's the lava that makes it tasty.

Yellowstone National Park has received a lot of hype lately for being a scary supervolcano which could destroy us all with one honk of its giant nose onto the tissue that is America. And while it is true that the EARTH'S MOLTEN MAGMA is only three to five miles under your feet at any time in the ancient caldera that is the park, scientists are pretty sure that the next Great Molten Nose Blow is at lease 10,000 years away, so you should feel confident in waddling from car to geothermal feature and back again without the fear of becoming a volcano booger (more about the herds of park waddlers in a future post).

Nothing gets me more excited than the prospect of a day spent among bubbly pots of sulfurous goo, so the first day in the park was spent bouncing from one pool of boiling water to the next hole of steamy hiss, taking mostly awful photos as I went. Some were less awful than others, and some may end up on canvas eventually, as long as I can throw in an extra buffalo, or maybe an alien. On canvas, anything is possible.

We climbed straight up the side of a hill to get some excellent shots of the Grand Prismatic Spring, which kind of looks like an eyeball only less full of weird human jelly. I nearly broke my leg on the way down, but Drew saved me. However, I was left with a big, swollen melon on my shin that kept me supplied with sharp jabs of pain at random intervals during the rest of the week. 

In spite of the knockout scenery and being knee deep in volcano-nerd heaven, my mood during the week was not always the most conducive to achieving Peak Yellowstone Experience. The juxtaposition of navigating the crowds of people around the visitor centers and the incredible views out the car window of not only the steamy geothermal beauty, but the vistas of rivers, canyons and rolling evergreen hills where antelope actually roam, made me think that we were being shown a lovely slice of wild earth before being sent to the Soylent Green factory to become Human Chow.

As far as I know, that did not happen, and over the course of the week, I became so jaded by the beauty and power of it all that I just could not pull over for one last exhibit of Mother Nature. I was out of wonder. 

So try to wow me with your green hillsides, snowy mountains, and rocky coastlines, Pacific Northwest home, I have literally SEEN IT ALL.  I am standing, staring at nothing with a look of supercool ennui.

Blue Steel: Grand Prismatic Spring Edition

Chores

I washed a new load of ten tote bags this weekend to get them ready for painting. They come out of the dryer a big wrinkly jumble, so they all must be ironed with high heat and steam. THE WORST.  

I may possess two blouses total that require ironing, and which I, therefor, never wear. But I found myself happily ironing away, for upwards of FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, with no inner griping. What is this new sensation? Contentment at work? Avocation turning to vocation? PASSION that involves ironing?

I don't know. Sounds like bullshit. But new bags are coming soon.

Here goes nothing

I have no website expertise, less gallery experience, but I have art, a camera and a computer, so here goes nothing. 

If only friends visit and move on, that's okay. Hi, friend!  If you're a stranger, welcome! Feel free to look around and offer friendly, constructive feedback. I'm new at this.