Tag Archives: Humor

On writers who are also artists, and live wedding painting

It’s a crazy world. I have somehow gotten myself involved in live wedding painting.

When my sister heard about it, she drafted me into it. To my endless surprise, I have spent the last year working on opening a business with her, and practicing watercolor portraits. The imposter syndrome is real. Aren’t I a writer? Why is art so hard? I don’t remember it being this hard before. I think now, if someone is going to be paying for it, I want to be really sure that they are happy. It adds an element of pressure, whereas before, the art could all be on post-its, of silly people with pants on their heads, or whatever.

What is live wedding painting, you ask? You are not alone in asking.

A live wedding painter is entertainment at the wedding. They will paint anything the couple hired them to paint: usually the venue, and the couple at the altar, or the first kiss, or the first dance. Often certain family members will be requested to be added in, like the grandparents, or someone who has recently passed. It’s really fun to watch the painting happen at the venue. My sister will be doing that part, in oils.

My specialty will be watercolors. I’ll be painting little guest portrait favors, as fast as I can, all night. It’s going to be fun to see and draw all the different faces at the weddings. If someone doesn’t like their own face, they could ask me to draw a picture of their dog, or any other photo in their phone, or their phone. I try to keep them all under six minutes, and I know I can do them faster with a little more practice. This is faster than a lot of wedding portrait favor painters, and a personal point of pride. The more people I can draw in a short amount of time, the more fun everyone will have.

I’m proud that my watercolor guest portraits don’t look like anyone else’s. On the other hand… my portraits don’t look like anyone else’s, lol. They have an edge. I’m wondering if it will even fly with the wedding crowd. The trend seems to be (admittedly) cute little faceless fashion portraits. Yeah. But I like people, and all their wonderful little faces! Not fashion. So there.

Speed portraits by me. These were done a while ago, at 8 minutes or less per face

One interesting thing is, if you practice two kinds of art, you can cross-apply the skills from one toward the other. Sometimes, when I get stuck writing, I’ll close my eyes and keep typing. This allows me to turn off my critic and just stream of consciousness. Staying in motion is the hardest part, and this greases the tracks.

I’ve applied similar strategies to art. No, I don’t close my eyes and draw, haha. Sometimes I wish I could, heh. However, I’ve found that if I work in dim lighting, interesting things happen. When I turn the lights back up, there’s always a fun surprise in the linework that I hadn’t noticed and probably would not have intentionally made.

Also, thanks to ADD, novelty keeps me going. A new brush, a new paper, a new medium, and new subject. Today, we practice writing poems about our toes. Tomorrow, we practice drawing toes. In the end, it all comes back around to toes.

Did you know that Victor Hugo, aside from being a great writer, also made excellent creepy art? All those hours he spent describing sewers and castle battlements? I thought it was just because he was paid by the word. As it turns out, he spent the rest of his free time drawing sewers and castle battlements. He was really, actually into sewers and castle battlements. A true creative, he would cobble together art from his spilled drink, the ashes from the fire, whatever was at hand.

NOT my art. Victor Hugo’s art.
More of Victor Hugo’s art.

Do you think there’s a common quality to art by writers? All I know is, their art, although not always beautiful, is almost always interesting. As for me, I’ve found that there’s still a little bit of storytelling quality to what I do.

Bright abstract watercolor and ink portraits. By me

So that’s why I haven’t been doing a whole lot of creative writing, except, you can bet we have the best-damn-written wedding painter website in the neighborhood: www.silveysistersfineart.com.

I’m so grateful to you, my safe little bubble of writers and readers. I wanted to tell you about this and post about it, but I didn’t want to spam you either.

That being said… I do take commissions 😀 Think about Christmas. Think about maybe if you like my art, or writing. If you mention Fresh Hell in your request, I would do something special for you. I would take a percentage off any of my part of the regular live wedding painting services or custom commissions from photos. Or, even though it’s not advertised, I could write out one of my poems for you, on fine paper… in shimmer ink. Oh my gosh shimmer ink. Please ask me to do anything in shimmer ink. I could pour it in my eyeballs, or drink it. I wouldn’t do that for you, though. I would do that for myself.

I also drew this Bassett Hound in shimmer ink, yassssssss

You are my special peoples and I love you forever.

Finding new support styles

 

I thought I wasn’t the type to lean on people, but I found myself reeling when that support was lifted.

We are not islands. Why rely on yourself when you can make other people responsible for your health and sanity? They are usually happy to help.

Here is how I’m regaining my balance.

 

 

Old habit: running with a friend

New habit: scheduling remote exercise with a friend

 

I am not especially reliable, especially where exercise is concerned. Having made a promise to a friend is one of the few things that get me out there and moving, and I’m always glad when I have done it.

When isolation began, I really foundered in this area. I was afraid to go outside, I was too depressed to get moving. Exercise videos on youtube were a lifesaver. Doing a video alone is painful and grating and you’re relieved to be done. Doing them with somebody else on videochat makes it hilarious, and you want to do more.

Now I’m pushing my friends to schedule exercise time with me. It’s good for them too, they love it, I’m sure they’re very grateful (heh). Even just going for a run while keeping the phone to my ear and talking to somebody else running, is oddly comforting and connecting. We could both enjoy the beautiful things we saw outside, and describe them to each other. Proximity being no object, I can now run with a friend who lives in Kansas City who I rarely get to see. I have a feeling I’m going to keep doing this even after lockdown is lifted. I have more workout companions than ever!

 

 

Old habit: making cookies with my sister

New habit: making cookies with my siblings over Facetime

 

It’s nice, because more of my siblings can get involved this way. It’s fun to just set your phone on the countertop and get out your ingredients, compare recipes, show off your freshly baked cookies, eat them together.

 

 

Old habit: walking to a cafe and getting a treat

New habit: making myself a special beverage

 

It’s just as gratifying to sit down with your own cold-brew coffee or iced chai latte. There’s a little work involved, but think of the preparation time as a luxury. You don’t get annoyed at the work involved in drawing a bath and lighting up candles, do you?

 

 

Old habit: brush then floss

New habit: floss then brush

 

Yeah, this has no bearing on the topic. It’s just something that I learned. Apparently, if you floss BEFORE you brush, then the gaps are opened up between your teeth, and the fluoride from the toothpaste can get in there and work its magic. This assertion is still being personally tested by me, but it makes sense. Once upon a time, I didn’t believe in fluoride, and my teeth rotted. Now I believe in fluoride. I pray to fluoride every night, I perform the fluoride ritual, and it answers my prayers. In fluoride there is strength.

 

 

Old habit: eat all the bananas as fast as possible

New habit: once they are at perfect ripeness, bananas can go in the fridge

 

Yes, 80% of my coping habits are food-centric. Hush.

 

 

Old habit: spending an entire Sunday with my sister and her family

New habit: calling somebody at least every other day

 

In order to get the same quantity of people-hours into my week, this is necessary. If I skip too many days in a row, I find myself drifting.

 

 

Old habit: when the walls are closing in on me, get out of the house

New habit: turn into the woman from “The Yellow Wallpaper”

 

There is a squirrel in the walls. I have been battling it for months but I’ve been driven to new levels of insanity by its scrabbling and nibbling right above my head. If you see a crazy lady in pajamas stalking her roof with a knife, look away.

Headphones help. Fantasizing squirrel murder helps. These are not healthy strategies. I’m still working on this one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Bitter Cow

 

There was a cow named Elderflower. She had too much to do. She had to get up at 4 am every day to give milk to the farmer and his family. She had to eat the encroaching weeds from the southeast corner of the field, but it always grew back fast. She had to go in and out of the barn, up and down the hill, back and forth across the field, day in day out. She was exhausted.

One day the dog came trotting up to her. “What’s wrong, Elderflower?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” the cow said. “I just have so much to do! I’m busy!”

“Busy!” the dog laughed and laughed, rolled on his back laughing until Elderflower felt quite affronted. “Busy!?” He said again when he could breathe. “You don’t have anything to do! The dog has to do everything around here. I have to keep you all and the sheep from wandering into the neighbor’s pasture. I have to come running whenever the farmer calls me. I have to keep the kids from getting hurt, I have to keep the animals from fighting, and I have to run off the coyotes.”

“Pft,” said the cow.

“Alright,” said the dog. “I challenge you then. We’ll swap jobs.”

“Oh, that’s a tired trope,” said the cow.

“Excuses,” the dog muttered, and walked away.

The next day she got up and saw that the night’s rain had made the weeds explode over a quarter of the pasture. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Dog,” she said, “Don’t you think you could help me?”

“Only if you help me,” the dog said.

So the dog dug up her weeds, she kept the cows in line. It was hard to pay that much attention to where they were going, but she managed alright. She saw something that might have been a coyote in the woods, took a run at it until it fled. She almost got lost on her way back, but the sunlight guided her back to the homestead. Then the chickens started fighting, and she had to go break that up.

She was so busy, she forgot to stop for her milking. By the time she realized the discomfort she was in, the farmer had already gone in. Her udders were fit to burst!

“Achh,” Elderflower said. “I missed the milking!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get the humans,” said the dog. “Lay down, be dramatic. You’re good at that.”

“I hate you,” the cow retorted, but she did as he asked, laid down and lowed like her life depended on it.

The dog went to the door of the little stone farmhouse and barked, barked, barked. Eventually the farmer came to the door and saw the cow. He shook his head, but he gave Elderflower her milking anyway. All the while the children pulled at her ears and poked her face.

“Never again,” Elderflower said as the family walked away with a bucket of milk.

“Did you learn a lesson about positive thinking?” the dog said. 

“No! My life is so terrible. Never again will I miss a milking. I can’t stand the cost. Everything is awful.”

The dog laughed and laughed, until Elderflower kicked a clod of mud on him. He stopped laughing to dodge the clod, but his tail kept wagging, which was just as annoying in its own way.

“I’m going to change your attitude one of these days,” he said as he went to his kennel. “I’ve got a new mission!”

“Never,” the ornery cow replied. “Come back tomorrow and try again. Do your worst!”

She went to the barn and curled up with the rest of the herd. The wind cut through the loose board in her stall, just like it did every night. Somehow, it didn’t feel as cold as it used to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Ancient Astrology

 

She handed me a holocopy of a fragmented newspaper from the 1990’s.

“Is that me?” I said, pointing at a sign: Virgo. 

“Yes,” she replied. “We haven’t determined how they came up with these facts, but they’re always correct. The ones written by Madam Zorastra are especially reliable.”

“That’s amazing,” I said. “So we just line up today’s date with the ancient American calendar?”

“Yes. I have the templates here. First, the fee.”

I leaned forward and she tapped my head with a data drawing wand. I blinked several times before regaining my equilibrium.

“So we just line up today’s date with the ancient American calendar?”

“Yes. First, though, the fee.”

“Go ahead,” I said, leaning forward. She tapped it with the data drawing wand. I blink. Red flashes through my eyes.

“Hang on… my defense software is detecting fraud. That can’t be right.”

“Of course not. You haven’t even paid yet.”

“Right, right… Virgo…”

“It says here: ‘your trusting nature makes you incredibly valuable to anyone around you.’”

“Wow! Do you think it’s true?”

“There’s no debating this science. The ancients had stringent scientific standards for anything published in a newspaper.”

“Amazing. I haven’t paid yet, have I?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

I know this merry go round

 

next comes
confidence caught on the updraft
losing gravity floats apart
scatters into madness, confusion
stress and self-hate
pull out all the coping mechanisms
plug the hole, wedge the door
battle my own brain
and wonder
can they see
what I won’t show
can they hear
what I won’t say
suppressing impulses
success is excess
I hate myself so much more
when I get what I want
when I reach a goal
when I outpace my peers
this is
the American Way
it would be easier
to subsume myself
into the crowd
I have to force ahead
be uncomfortable
accept who I am
in order to grow
accept who I can be
who I should be
or should I just live
a life of quiet desperation?

 

 


 

 

Remember how I started submitting prose and trying to get 100 rejections? I got two rejections… and one challenge win. WTF. I don’t deserve to win for my terrible writing! AAAAAA! But I’m also proud. I am amazing! I am too many things at once! AAAAAA! Pass the coffee!

I’ll post a link when it’s published! Wish me less crazy today!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

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