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Big Sky, Little Hideaway, 2004It shouldn't surprise me that now that I've finally got time to work (baby sleeping, Topi at school), I'm indisposed. The snails in our neighborhood have more energy than me right now, using it to bravely cross trecherous sidewalks, of which there are plenty (snails and trecherous sidewalks). The same snails that I adore and point out excitedly to my husband or kids or to passers-by and then accidentally step on with a horrible crunch, usually at night, after a rainfall. If I've mentioned this before, I'm sorry. I still swear I can hear the tiny snail scream as it suffers below my hoof. My husband, when he really wants to touch a nerve, calls me affectionately, "Snail Killer."
I suppose that if I have enough energy to muse about dying snails, I should have enough to work on one of many things that make my desk look like mini-pilgrimages up the Pyramids. Neatly stacked things does not mean organization, though. It means orderly disfunction, in my world. It means that in the process of trying to arrange my life and control it that I make little piles of things, group things together in platonic relationships so that I feel better.
The lack of energy does come from something legit, though. It started with a few unhappy grumbles of my stomach three days ago (could have been the excessive amount of chocolate milk I was drinking with my children, just like Topi likes it: milk in a glass with two scoops of chocolate milk power on top, not mixed, so he can scoop out the chocolate and ask for more. I protested this until I tried it out myself, realizing it was delicious.) and has turned into my late-summer-early-fall stomach flu. Without fail this time of year for the last three years I have to eat salted potatoes and rice with yogurt (and butter, because I can't live without the butter) and wave goodbye to my family as I cloister myself in the bathroom for a week. Sorry.
I chalk it up to the seasons changing, or that my life tends to change in some way in the fall, mimicking the start of the school year like it used to. Either way, despite the unpleasantness, forced rest is usually just what I need because most of the time I am either really excited about something or panicking about it. Both can happen in the same five minutes.
I'm reading a book that everyone else is reading right now about another 30-year old who's personal experiment (this time, in the kitchen) turned into literary fame while I rest, and waiting for feedback on some work I've done so I can do revision #210. The calm right now, the illusion of calm, I should say, is only because I've gone through my Gmail and labeled everything so they are in neat little subcategories. Look, no mail! But my TO DO label in bright red still haunts me from the left-hand side of the screen and I meekly look at it and hope it doesn't start flashing.
Does anybody really listen to their body when they are worn down, tired, anxious and overdoing it? If you do, pray tell. I have lost count of the number of times I've cut back, made changes, etc, to slow down the pace, and I pretty much always end up right where I started. In the most pleasant way, I am grateful for this because I always find things that captivate me that I want to do, make, learn about. On the other hand, over-committment and exhaustion go hand in hand. Even reading becomes a sporting event, hurtling through pages so I can start another one because I just don't know when I'll have the time again. But regardless, this time I'm listening to the clanging bell of my body telling me to take a break and only moving my fingers about the keyboard because the idea struck me that you, too, might relate to that. And if so, I'd like to know about it.
There you have it. The yellow trench, made to match the other painting of mine in the show, Icy Climb. It wasn't really planned, but I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe a couple glasses of complementary wine helped me feel less self-conscious about it, too. I love the expression on Devrim's face. Part proud, part smarty-pants. He was the only guy wearing a suit, besides the old fellow below. I loved Devrim's suit.
Check out this fellow in the suit and hat in the back. He's great, so much personality in one outfit. He walked in so authoritatively and made his way around the gallery without paying attention to anybody. My kind of viewer.
And here he is again. You might think he is peering thoughtfully at a painting, but really he is standing in front of the wine bar, talking to the bartender. Look at the beautiful tile below his feet. I love the rough worn wood and the inlaid tile next to each other.
My painting, 'Izmitli', from another angle. I'm not sure how many people got the title. It was a bit of an inside joke. I live in Izmit, which is an hour and a half away from Istanbul to the European side. To the Asian side, it takes no more than an hour, even in traffic. However, to Istanbullus, Izmit is the New Jersey of New York. Izmit is considered industrial, vile, and sad (because of the 1999 earthquake). I can't tell you the number of times I've been looked at in disbelief in Istanbul when I say I live in Izmit. The stereotypes are plentiful, and while Izmit has it's flaws, it is my home, and I've grown to love it. It is strangely always a relief to me to be home after a whirlwind day or weekend in Istanbul. Anyway, I didn't mean to digress. The point is, I titled the painting 'Izmitli', meaning, 'from Izmit'. And there's a nice happy factory in there. And everything's pink. You can decide the meaning. It makes me chuckle. I think I'm the only one.
These photos are in backwards order, because here is the Bosphorus Bridge on our way into Istanbul. I'm always trying to catch the bridge and water and coastline while moving on the bridge. On this day, at 4:30pm, traffic was slow and crowded enough that I could get a few pictures.
The graceful arms of the bridge. Slow traffic.
Can you see the Aya Sophia and Blue Mosque in the background?
And the crowd in front of the gallery. It's in a beautiful multi-storied building, the first two floors are a gallery, and the ones above house studio space and figure drawing. Thanks to everyone who stopped by to say hello!
I'm pleased to announce the inclusion of my paintings in my first ever exhibition in Istanbul. "Mixed Show" will be open for viewing from April 16-May 17, 2009 at the Beyoglu Akademililer Sanat Merkezi (Beyoglu Academy Art Center). Please come join me at the opening on Thursday, April 16 from 5pm-9pm. Open daily from 10-7pm except Sunday. Contact me for directions!
Gorgeous watercolors from Maquette for Der Bilderklub.
Lately, I've been working my way down my blog reader and sometimes it just feels rather strenuous. I avoid the blogs with a huge number of posts I haven't read, and just take sips from the others because I can only handle so much visual at one time. I really wish people would post just a little bit less so I could absorb more, sometimes. And I've been in Twitter land so 140 characters is sometimes enough for me!
A stunning illustration makes the digging through blog posts worth it, however.
Two new paintings to start off the New Year. They are quite small 12" x 12" but this fits the intimate scale of the lace off of which I was working. They are titled, respectively, Lace 1 and Lace 2. If they make it by the 28th via PTT Turkish post, they'll be in APW Gallery's WOI Vol. 2 exhibition, along with 200 other people making up to 5 - 12" paintings.
