Pop Art

These water bottle flowers, strung from ceiling to floor in a shop window, just stopped me in my tracks as Laura and I were running errands in Berkeley today. We watched a couple of women making them, their hands cut to smithereens by the sharp plastic. They were using spray paint and heat guns to create the final product, so technically it's not recycling, but still: you have to give them points for ingenuity and beauty.

Food Art Fun

I love what Claire does with the leavings of my stew...

L'Artiste

The weird warm weather we're having lets us (thankfully) move some after-school activities outdoors. Watching Claire work at the easel is fascinating to me. She's so sure of herself and so creative in her techniques (shortly after this photo, she abandoned the brush and used her thumb to print the leaves). I love how the balcony railings are making an appearance in all her recent paintings...

Going Green

No, this isn't Claire's latest work (hers is much better); it's a picture I found in the bottom of the last box in the deepest recesses of the closet I just spent a week cleaning out. On the back it says, "self portrait, Mona Helen" and there is a note from my Grandmother to my mother, commenting on the good weather and wishing good health.

I spent a long time sitting on the floor, contemplating the color choices I made when I was three. It's true, green is one of my favorite colors, but not generally a skin tone I admire. Maybe I'd just seen the Wizard of Oz and was feeling empathy for the Wicked Witch of the West (or maybe it was a portent of my future personality); who knows? Probably, there wasn't a large color selection and I lacked the imagination to mix my own.

Stranger than my funny painting, though, is the fact that my Grandmother decided to send it my mother, and my mother kept it all those years. I miss them both, and that makes me more blue than green.

Squeal of Fortune

Claire was so thrilled to get the easel she's been begging for on the occasion of her sixth birthday, she squealed with delight. Her presentation of the gifts she received would make Vanna White proud. I lamented to my friend Deb that Claire had already gone through an entire roll of paper, in less than 24 hours. She said, "What are materials in the face of creativity?" Claire obviously agrees with that sentiment: this morning when I suggested she go a little easier on the amount of paper she was using, she replied, "What do expect me to do, Mom? Art is my passion; it's my LIFE!" Sigh. Who am I to stand in the way of greatness?

Autumn Leaves

Claire, Jack and I paid a visit to see "Auntie" Laura in the East Bay today, spending about three hours at Tumble & Tea, a great cafe/playroom where adults can have a (relatively) undisturbed conversation while kids bounce off the padded walls. It's a little different from the triple espresso get-togethers Laura and I used to have at Cafe Roma 25 years ago (after French 101 classes at U.C. Berkeley), but we take what we can get. Claire, ever the prowling artist, found some woodgrain contact paper and some sponges and created this tribute to the colors of fall. I love it.

Arty Party

Claire's early birthday party happened over the weekend, and of all the partys we've thrown for all the kids, this one was probably the biggest hit. There were eight little girls who spent a couple of hours at Art Start doing fabulous art projects -- sculpting, painting, glitter and glue. They were so wrapped up in what they were doing, it was hard to get them to stop at the end of the afternoon to have a cupcake and head home! See the rest of the photos here.

Kooky Kunsthaus

When I first laid eyes on the Kunsthaus Graz from high above town, I must admit I had an allergic reaction to its quirky form. Seemingly so out of place in the historical center of town, it feels almost like an insult to the senses. But as the days pass, I begin to soften and my tolerance for its out-of-place appearance mounts. Once I actually go visit, I'm smitten.

Inside, the strange ventricles reveal themselves as windows -- portals to the sky. Moving walkways move visitors up an incline, and the exhibits are small enough to be digestible. At the moment, articles by the late Italian designer Joe Colombo are being showcased. Every graphic designer I know had one of his rolling plastic tabourets at one point or another. When I see his Total Furnishing Unit, I want to move in.

The Kunsthaus, nicknamed the "Friendly Alien", has grown on me to such an extent that when I leave, I'm tempted to blow my luggage weight limit with books about the place. I grudgingly control myself, remembering that the internet is weightless and infinitely accessible. A web visit won't be the same, but at least it won't break my back. I only hope the locals love it as much as I do...

Claire Makes Waves

We are completely out of room under the couch, in the closet (and the garage, and the basement), and on the walls, for all of Claire's artwork -- she churns out twenty or so pieces every day -- so I've decided to do a little creative archiving, since she usually specifies that "we have to save this one, Mom". Check out Claire's online gallery, Clear Star Art.

It's a Scream

Jack is usually the happy-go-lucky, laid-back one of the bunch, but everyone has his limits. For the last couple of days Claire has been home sick with a cough, so the quiet routine of Jack’s normal business hours with his Mama’s undivided attention have been decidedly disrupted.

When the rest of the clan gets home, the tension starts to mount and things can turn on a dime. The escalating high-decibel mirth of their rambunctious play suddenly screeches into high-pitched, bloodcurdling cries for help.

Jack is a little man of few words, but in this impromptu photo he’s clearly saying, “I can’t take it any more!” I can relate. His way of retaliating against all these daytime bombardments of noise is to get up at three a.m. and quietly practice his ABCs. As cute as this is, I have to say, it makes me want to scream.

(painting: The Scream by Edvard Munch, 1893)

Artist In Residence

We ended up having take-out burritos for dinner last night because Wynham had soccer practice, Chloe had choir rehearsal, and I bought everything but the chicken for the chicken stew I was planning to make. These things happen.

In the middle of eating, Claire leapt up from the table, and said, “I need tape! I’m making something!” She definitely gets points for creative use of plastic utensils. I can’t remember now whether this is an alien dude with tentacles or a ghost with a rad Mohawk, but I can assure you that dinner is never dull around here.

The preferred medium for most of our mealtime artists-in-residence is usually food, and there have been some real pièces de résistance, let me tell you. But I particularly like this masterpiece for its ingenuity, its simple lines, and best of all, no clean up required.