The Alice in Wonderland Day

So, yesterday I was cleaning while I made supper. I defrosted the fridge and cleaned out the fridge, kettle and toaster. I got stuck into the mashed potato and for some asinine reason, put the milk back in the fridge and left the Handy Andy (amonia) on the counter next to the mashed potato. The next minute, I realise I'm putting Handy Andy in the mashed potato...

Sigh...

It's really time for the holidays...

Some New Work from Doodles

A friend recommended me to a blogspot calling longstockings (dedicated to writers of adolescent stories and celebrating pippi longstockings) and it's amazing how subliminal most inspiration is. Anyway - these are from some drawings I was fiddling with this week.

Thanks Denae!!

Comments like that help fuel the motivation!

New Work

Today I feel a little bit like the musicians on the Titanic. Or perhaps like Noah building a boat on a clear sunny day. I sent a message to a friend and said I must be completely insane to be painting away furiously until all hours at night with no indication whatsoever that this work will ever impress anyone other than Emma and Rebecca and maybe a couple of art appreciating family members. Imagine: an artist trying to make it in a major global economic crisis... It's sort of like trying to put Oprah and humility in the same context - it just doesn't seem very possible at all.

But here it is anyway!

The Ostrich

Yesterday on the news, our finance minister Trevor Manuel told us very convincingly (ha ha ha) that South Africa is not facing a financial crisis. I wonder how he would explain that to Ford workers who are working short weeks and the many companies who have closed 3 weeks early for Christmas... It sort of reminds me of our health minister telling us that HIV does not cause Aids.

Ages ago, the kids taped this movie from TV - Osmosis Jones. It's a combination of a real people and animation. The animation is what goes on inside the guy's body. He gets this really bad infection and there's this little president of the body - a short fat guy with william shatner's voice. The body temperature is really spiking and chaos is breaking loose as the body deteriorates at an alarming rate and the little president is walking around with a loud speaker telling everyone not to panic, that everything is fine.

So, I'm just wondering, how bad does it have to be before people pull their heads out the sand?

More Work

Some colonial history of Port Elizabeth. I did this painting from a black and white picture, so my colours are my own and not truly representational.

More Work

The nickname for this plant is "Bloukappies" - not being a botanist or avid gardener, I'm assuming my source of information is correct. However, since "blou" means blue I'm sort of thinking maybe the nickname doesn't really suit the plant afterall. Anyway, the point is, this is one of my favourite paintings. I really enjoyed doing this painting and I'm wondering how quickly I painted it because the plants are inclined to die on me before I get too far!

More work

This is the original Ruby Rednose. I did this drawing a few years back and she's always been hovering in the background - sometimes I do illustrations for the kids and she's in them.

The other drawing is of Danai Tembo. It was a really brilliant photograph - I love doing portraits from a good photo. The whole process of creating a flat textured background with African pattern was starting to germinate here.

More work

This was an illustration that originated from some drawings in my journal. I was playing with the idea of a character called wishing star and the first drawing was of wishing star taking a holiday.

The other character was greenfingers whose leaking watering can left a trail of growing plants.

Still Life

So, here it is - the still life that's almost done. I can't help myself getting stuck into the detail!

I spent almost the entire day watching movies with the kids and this obviously had some sort of subliminal effect since last night I dreamt about Seurat's Sunday Afternoon at La Grande Jatte. Seurat was an impressionist fundamentally, but his method gave rise to a movement called pointilism. He used dots of colour (like blue and yellow together) and when you stood back, it would create a different colour (green) with almost an animated form.
I was thinking in the dream why I'd never recognised the true genius of his abilities - being able to recognise which pure palette colours to put together in order to create even the most simplified form...
I suppose all those tiny dots on the TV screen were working on my subconscious! David Hockney enlarging photos to pixelated stage is one thing, but to do that without the advent of any technology and purely as an exploration of colour for art's sake was far more advanced than I'd ever given poor old Seurat credit for. Sorry, George!

Which reminds me - if you don't want a searing eye strain headache, stop watching Pixar after 4 hours!!!

The Still Life Continues

I was sitting listening to Beethoven and working on the still life (on a Friday night?? Yes, desperate times call for desperate measures!) and I started thinking about the Pre Raphaelite brotherhood. Oh my goodness I haven't thought about them in years. The movement was a result of Realism and was a romantic idealistic art movement that was short lived with very few followers. John Everett Millais was the artist I was thinking of. His painting called Ophelia captivated me from the moment I first saw the image. Of course, I've been told that when you see the works in real life your responses are completely different - but not having had that experience, I have to go with what I know and that is how I absolutely adored this movement and idolised Millais. Which is really rather ironic since my style bears no resemblance or slightest traces of influence. I remember seeing the whole process he undertook to complete this work. His model lay in a bath tub suspended above stacks of candles which were supposed to heat the water for the poor model. I can't imagine this job did much for her health! To model in a draughty artist's studio is one thing, to do so in 19thC clothing in icy water attempting to immitate tepid temperatures is quite another! In my first year of studies we had a model who arrived in a turqoise hoody. By the end of the painting, she swore blind that although the hoodie had been one of her favourites, she never wanted to see the thing ever again. I can only imagine Millais' model must have felt a million times more adamant about her outfit.
Another of my absolute favourites is Hans Holbein the Younger. Look at his painting The French Ambassadors and see if you can spot the skull. I was at school when I was first introduced to him. I was in awe of Holbein's ability to produce such richly textured paintings with fabric that was almost tactile.
Manet is also one of my favourites. I loved the way he mocked the snobbery of the Salon and their rules of what constituted acceptable art. As a student, I was fed up with seeing women draped on couches, in half naked subservient poses, so I produced a life size oil of a man in a pair of jeans lying on a couch in the same pose. It was my tongue in cheek response to what we were being subjected to. Sadly my entire portfolio from Technikon was turfed out by a very well meaning cleaning lady... I think I cried for 2 days over that.
So, enough procrastinating, let me finish the still life!

Still Life

I think I bought flowers that have been fed some sort of steroid! They've lasted beautifully for almost 2 weeks - I can't believe they're still in tact. At least it's given me an opportunity to complete the still life. I've come up with another idea so I'll block that in really quickly before they wilt on me.
I was thinking about Goya when I considered the whole political environment I spoke about previously. Activist art doesn't really appeal to me and I remember having to study Goya's work and finding it disturbing and hard to look at. I remember reading a quote years ago about being careful not to stare into an abyss for too long because of how it affects you (I'm paraphrasing horribly now - I've probably lost the impact of the quote, but that was the gist of it) and when I look at activist art - it's as though the artist becomes so overwhelmed and burdened by the horrors of war, political corruption or whatever it is, that they become disillusioned with humanity and begin to view the world through tainted cynism. Suddenly, every subject they tackle is plagued with all that is vile in humanity and society.
I suppose on the opposite end of the spectrum you have artists who only ever see the nobility and beauty of humanity.
Yin and yang!
Will post an update of the still life tonight.

Hectic Days

Living in South Africa is really interesting at the moment - there's so much going on, you can't possibly be bored, even if your life might be hitting a rutt or a bit slow, there's always something going on and not just in the country, but locally. The other day all the taxi drivers were striking in protest of the government's plan to improve transport for the world cup soccer. One of the labourers was telling me the taxi drivers were angry because the government was supplying them with these new vehicles which were supposed to be safer than some of the crocs they drive (Some of them are literally held together with wire and masking tape), but they're expensive to run and keep breaking down. So, anyway, the taxi drivers decide that it's not good enough to just strike, and they start shooting at and stoning buses. The local radio station gets a call from a guy in the police and they ask him what the public should do, so he says: "No, they must just be a little bit careful they don't get shot."
I kid you not...
Then a convoy of 6-7 taxi's hits Walmer and - how shall I put it? Harrasses motorists? They drove around wildly for a couple of hours shooting red traffic lights and stop streets and generally driving recklessly endangering lives.
The ANC is losing stacks of people to a new opposition party (As yet unnamed but in the making). And when I say people, I mean prominent members of the ANC. A spokesman for the ANC said this was not unusual, that it had happened before, but I honestly can't remember such prominent members of the party absconding in droves like this. While some people are cheerful and optimistic about the move (There's always been an underlying concern that there is no opposition party to challenge the ANC like Zimbabwe) others are seeing this as a potential disaster. There have been threats made - directed at those leaving the party and this makes a lot of South Africans nervous because it has the feel of a potential civil war. Let's face it - civil war in Africa is pretty damn rough. Anybody seen the movie Blood Diamonds? That's a pretty accurate portrayal of what happens when things go awry in Africa.
So, even if your own life isn't providing you with much to talk about or think about, the surroundings certainly are.

Painting Sizes

I should just mention that all the paintings with the ladies and their South African print clothing and pattern are in the region of 1.2m x 900cm - hence the Sabbatical with an A3 size still life. (A3 +- 60cm x 30cm)

Sabbatical Still Life

Before I continue with my series of large and intricate paintings, I'm fiddling with some floral still life subject matter on a smaller scale. I suppose my style could be either meticulous or obsessive, depending on which angle you take it from! I always make sure that when you look close enough, you see that the patterns aren't perfect. They're very handmade.

This painting came from an idea of making a series of paintings of flowers and material and putting them together on a larger surface to make a quilt out of the paintings - I might still pursue that, but for the time being, this is a little R & R for me.

It's decided!

Thanks to everyone for giving their votes. I'm completely biast in this instance which is why I needed more opinions. My favourite is the seagull painting and while it didn't fit the theme as well as the second painting, I'm going with the gulls! I spent the whole weekend deliberating and finally settled on the gulls. There are still a few elements I want to work on with the other painting - things that will bother me if I don't remedy them, but that others wouldn't notice at all. So, the painting will go off tomorrow, and I'll let you know how the judging goes!
Meanwhile, it's back to the grindstone. I'm planning on taking a break from the series I'm working on and playing around with a still life just for a breather. It's a little like reading "Three Men in a Boat" after reading Dostoyevsky.

Which one?

I touched this work up a little with some very dark pigment - I felt the tyres were too dark and there wasn't enough bits of really dark pigment in the rest of the painting.
This painting is almost done - I still want to work in some more colour and tighten up the figure and decoration on her clothing.

I'm sitting with a quandry. I'm entering one painting into an exhibition in America and I have to choose between these two. I've already made a tentative choice of the Seagull painting, but I'd love it if everyone could vote for their choice.

Character Destruction

Reality TV has never been a favourite for me, but something that's really getting up my nose at the moment is this pendemic of renovating people, their clothing and their houses.

What bothers me incessantly is all the colourful characters we grew up with being told what not to wear... You know the characters? The middle aged teacher with trousers pulled a little too high over the waist, the granny with purple hair and the most striking nylon floral number that makes you turn back and look twice...

I learnt a fair amount of tolerance while studying. I've never been able to embrace kitsch, but I've learnt that it is a style taken on by many to express their personalities. When you start messing with what people choose to be seen in and what they choose to surround themselves with, well - let me just say it's like using dirty water when you paint with watercolours. You just can't do it. Watercolour is a very sensitive medium and it's essential to have clean water to mix crisp colours. I really believe the same applies to people and what and who they are.

Sod the perfection! Embrace the kitsch and dowdy and unflattering styles. Not everybody is going to have an attractive facade that is permanently photogenic and the most homely and comfortable homes that people love to visit seldom look like the interior magazines or programmes we're regularly bombarded with.

To me the most amazing experience I have ever had is meeting a strange looking chap with very thick Clark Kent glasses. He was gawky and skinny and I would never have used any favourable words to describe his appearance. His mouth was slightly droopy from an accident or stroke, I can't really recall. The odd thing was when he spoke, it was as though his appearance completely transformed. He had the most amazing sense of humour with an intelligence that usually accompanies wit void of sarcasm and abuse. He had us all in stitches and it was a lesson for me to avoid passing judgement at the superficial level of appearance. I like people the way they are - warts and all... tee hee - I can say that now 'cos my wart is gone!

I want to see less attempts to fix what society has deemed as "wrong" and I want to see more bumpy noses, buck teeth, large ears and double chins on TV. I want to see people with frizzy hair and the occasional pimple. I love to go into South African homes with horrendous copies of Tretchikof - yes Professor Cull I WANT TO SEE TRETCHIKOF!!! So there! Let us laud Rubens and his voluptuous women and let's all make our own rules about beauty, fashion and interior decorating. Wouldn't that be amazing?

I had to laugh at an interview I saw on TV once. I can't remember what the programme was, but the interviewer was speaking to kids that dressed in the whole goth style. When the interviewer asked why they dressed like that, the kid said "Because it's different, unique." I had to chuckle as the camera swung to about 25 other "unique" kids.

Embrace the ski ramp nose! Celebrate the snake eyes or skinny snake lips! Rejoice in the wide hips that may well have come from a tribe of nomads travelling through the desert (There's a radio ad about that in case you're confused).

Let's keep characters alive in spite of media trying so hard to destroy them.

By the way - a word to the wise, if you're ever in South Africa and someone accosts you about having a make over, say no immediately. Even in my uneducated and biast opinion I recognise that our makeover teams would probably make a lot more money by doing make unders...

Saturday Morning

First of all, I just need to say a really big thank you to those comments I've received about the artwork. I really do appreciate it. I have an objective for my artwork and it's very hard to stay focused when it takes so long and when people around me keep trying to distract me by insisting I have exhibitions. I'm trying to build a portfolio of work to submit to publishing companies and have prints made. It's a long process because of how incredibly slowly I work. So I've sat down and thought about ways to improve the process. I decided to work on more than one painting at a time. This way, when I hit "the wall" with one work, I can work on another in the mean time and be more effecient. The best laid plans... I'll be sure to let you know how that works!

The next thing I wanted to say is I'm on dial-up, and I end up having very little time to actually work on the net. (Well, let me put it this way, I can do a load of laundry, wash the dishes and probably put make up on - except I don't wear the stuff... while I wait for the next page to load up!) So, I'm not exactly a pro at blogging and I want to link everyone's blog to mine, but um... er I haven't figured out how to do that yet. So be patient, I'll get there.

And now for the idle drivle or is that drivell?

I watched Iron Man against my better judgement... I love comics that have been converted into movies. I sit and watch while Richard points out all the legistical impossibilities of whatever happens. Ever heard of "suspend your disbelief" honey? Oh, my goodness I can't bare watching a movie when someone is yacking... Anyway, back to the movie. So, I really, REALLY don't like Robert Downey Jnr. This is the principal reason for me avoiding a movie I would normally rush out and see. Have you ever noticed how some men just cannot at any point in their lives wear a goatie? I would have to say that despite impeccable manicuring by a very talented make-up and hair stylist, RDJ cannot and will never be able to pull of a goatie. No sirree. So, that being one of the minor irritations, the major annoyance being RDJ's presence in the movie - I could think of a few people who would have pulled off a better performance. That being said, I really enjoyed the rest of the movie. Jeff Bridges is such a good bad guy and even Gwynnie Paltrow with all her faux freckles pulled off a convincing character portrayal.

The New Work

Well, you don't have a picture of the new painting, because I painted over it tonight! Last night I spent four hours painting and stood back and looked at the work. I knew immediately that it just didn't work and I needed to do something about it or it would bother me incessantly. So, I left it last night, thinking about the painting and what I could do to solve it. I came up with an epiphany today at work as I doodled in my book. I knew exactly how to resolve 2 of the compositional dilemma's with one blow. So tonight I fixed up an old painting and started work on the new one, covering up all my hard work from last night. You would think I would feel some remorse about that, but actually I don't.
Somebody once said that at times, you have to produce bad art to get to the good art. I suppose it's much the same as a sports person having a bad day. So, I'm really thrilled to be moving in a direction that seems to be veering toward completion. I'm already formulating designs and ideas for the next work. I think I'm going to invest in the really expensive cotton paper, since it is heavenly to work on.
This week I've been looking at the paintings and contemplating that saying: "A bad craftsman blames his tools". What a laugh! Whoever came up with that saying was quite clearly an accountant. Or a lawyer. Definitely not somebody who works with tools at all. I can quite honestly say that the difference between paper that costs R150/sheet and paper that costs R50/sheet is so enormous, you'd have to be blind and void of all sense of touch not to notice. I used the best quality acrylic paint for the first time 10 months ago, and I'm absolutely certain an orchestra appeared from nowhere and began a thundering chorus of Beethoven's 9th symphony in my ear. While the neighbours may find the occasional burst of the choral symphony rather annoying, I now completely expect it as I open the tube of gleaming white and mix it into the cheaper colours sprawled across my palette. I work meticulously in colour code - my palette looks like an acrylic rainbow apart from the ochres, umbers and siennas! And the effect when the magnificent and expensive acrylic hits the canvas is truly magical.
I'm inclined to be secretive about my response to art. I once revealed to someone that certain paint texture is so appealing that it makes my mouth water. Well, you'd think I told the person some hideously grotesque confession and they've not quite gotten over it - they still give me the scardey cat eyeball!
But there are most definitely tools that enhance an artists talents enormously. The art shop that I purchase my materials from is a really amazing little place. It belongs to an artist and her husband. She's a genial little lady with pale skin and short red hair. She wears glasses and has that marvelous flat eastern cape accent that makes everyone else shiver! She spends most of her time in baggy clothing with the occasional paint smattering. She's wonderful and freely dispenses advice and discounts to cash paying clients. She calls me the Paper Lady, since I've never really bought much else. I didn't think I had that much stock of paints, but evidently I do. Her husband is also a short middle aged man with a slight stoop. He is an American and is seldom in the shop. I surmise that he comes and takes over when she's busy or out. The shop is at the front of their house - to say that I could spend the day in there would really be a gross understatement of the truth. My point is (finally) I was chatting to the husband one day and asking him about better quality oils. He gave me the run down and then his countenance darkened as he lowered his voice.
"Now this is the good stuff," he seemed to transform magically before my eyes into a shady figure with a trench coat, "But you really don't wanna start using this," his American drawl continued, "It's like heroin, once you start you can't stop." Since I'm not on the drug scene, I have no idea what they go for, but R200/tube certainly sounded like a heck of an expensive habit for me start.

The New Painting

This is the middle stage of the new painting - I don't suppose it's a good idea to show it, since it'll probably change a lot before it's finished, but here it is.

Quick Exhibition - Just Checking 2 C if everyone's awake!

Quick Exhibition

Now that's a Fire

A funny thing happened a while back, and everytime I put oil on the stove, I smile to myself as I remember the incident.
richard has always been very safety conscious about hot oil. Apparently something happened in their home - the abbreviated version being: a pot of oil for chips, forgetting it on the stove and giant flames licking the ceiling.
So, every time there's a bottle of oil within a 50 mile radius - even a cold, sealed bottle - Richard gets a nervous twitch and blurts out: 'Watch the oil' almost like a censored turets outburst!
Ironically, Richard is the one who makes the most delicious chips in the family and one night he was just finishing up another batch of his amazing chips, when lo and behold a drop of oil messes on the stove plate and ignites a tiny little flame that dances around the plate for a minute. Emma walks into the kitchen, takes one look at the stove and asks happily,
'Are we braaing(barbecuing) tonight?'
I still crack up when I tell that story.
WATCH THE OIL!
Sorry, that was Richard.

More of the Same

More of the Same

More of the Same

More of the Same

Streamers and Red Juice Stains

It's amazing how differently children and parents see a birthday party! Emma had a birthday party on Saturday afternoon and I'm always amazed at how a meagre number like 12 can somehow magically increase to double that size once everyone has come through the door! Especially when they're all 11 and giggly and exciteable. I think every block of flats/apartments has at least one dragon lurking somewhere in the building... For us it's a lady we call exciteable. To say she's a little loony, would be the equivalent of saying that a hurricane Katrina is a strong wind... Way, way understated. She had this old car that caught alight and these guys ran out the building to help extinguish the fire (at great personal risk, I might add) and she came yelling down the driveway, screaming at them as though they'd actually started the fire instead of putting it out. She kept yelling "You're not my brother, you're not my brother," and then she frantically ran up and down the stairs yelling about somebody doing this on purpose and how she had no car. I think she even blamed her husband at one point! Anyway, so the party started off REALLY well, by the girls being confronted by this crazy woman yelling at them. They were all standing at the entrance waiting for everyone to arrive, eventually everyone gets here and the table is strewn with delicious goodies and balloons are everywhere and streamers are flying - it was really fantastic for Emma. I had to stay in another room... Not being a tidy person, I found the coldrink spillage, the sticky marshmallows in the carpet, the compressed biscuit and chip mush that was being smeared deep into the non existent carpet fibres, brought on an unfamiliar and overwhelming urge to run around the party with the vacuum cleaner strapped to my back and the carpet cleaner and cloth in my available hand! We took marshmallows and put them on wooden skewers, then dipped them in chocolate and put sprinkles on top. Note to self: BAD IDEA... Keep the skewers away from kids till they turn 21. Even then it's debatable as to whether or not they'll actually be responsible enough with them... One kid was walking around with them in her hair. I think she must have had 4 in her hair.
Do you know how you're told that you can only fold paper so many times? Well, I'd always assumed that the same was probably true about cutting paper. Well, you're never to old to learn. It was like they'd taken the streamer and put it lengthways through a shredder. There were bits and pieces EVERYWHERE.
So, it was an exciting day. Not one that I'd want to repeat in a hurry, which is such a pity because Rebecca's is in 54 days...

Old work to look at while I try and finish the new stuff!

Kidney Stones & Captivating Books

Richard is the only man that I know who can pass a kidney stone without having to be in hospital with some serious pain killers. In fact, I believe he would be one of those people (if men were to give birth) who walk around during contractions and do crossword puzzles - and then politely announce that the baby was coming and pop it out like magic!
I read a book last night - not one that I'd recommend, since it was laced with obscenities - that great writing crutch I love so much... But it had a really good story. A man wakes up in someone else's body. He's a really good man - sound character and morals... unlike the man he's swopped with. The man who has taken over his identity is a loathsome, unethical misogynist and sees the swop as a rescue from his miserable existence. So the main character is stuck to make the best of a very very bad situation. What I liked about the story was this: it posed the notion that who we are determines our lives, and not the other way around. The machievallian (I always get that spelling wrong) character thinks this is his opportunity to start over - but not having conquered his own destructive and selfish habits, he ends up destroying the second chance he was given. The main character Max makes lemons from lemonade and turns a prospective dire existence into what he had before - only with more friends and loved ones. There's a quote at the beginning of the book which I understand to mean this: everything that we need to solve our problems and deal with our specific lives lies within us, we just need to be brave enough to access it and recognise our ability to overcome. It was an interesting read.

More Advice on How to Deal with an Artist...

Some drawings I fiddle with between fetching and carrying kids, awaiting results from doctors who like to leave you on the edge of the knife before letting you know that it's ok, you don't have cancer, cleaning the holocaust we like to call a home, and wondering if SA really is going to get as expensive as Zim...

I like this one, but you can't see the detail.

Especially an untidy one...



When it comes to art in a confined space, there's always a debacle about the appearance of an art work space. Let's face it. It's not a pretty sight - and I'm neat - relatively speaking - when I work. When I was studying we had a couple of guys we had to share the studio space with... THEY WERE HORRENDOUS. I think it was their objective to defile a canvas as much as possible with every conceivable substance known to man including a couple of highly flammable toxins.

We would return to our spaces and find wax or any other mess smeared all over our tables and floors - I'm amazed to this day that they spared the roof and walls. Duncan in particular had some sort of unhealthy obsession with wax. I really expected him to end up creating wax furniture and accessories and selling it on ebay as installation art. He was a sculpture major and made an equally bizarre mess in the communal sculpture space with little artistically profitable outcome. Yes, that's my way of saying his work wasn't all that fantastic!

So, technically speaking, my portable artspace is actually a gleaming beam of cleanliness. Unfortunately, Richard likes neatness and order.

Can you imagine telling a radiologist to pack away her things when she's done for the day and make sure the kids can't play with the buttons?

Aside from how long it actually takes to unpack everything - by the time you've got everything out and are ready to start, the night shift is over, buddy and your eyelids are dragging you off to bed before your body even realises what's going on.

So the portable artspace still isn't completely resolved. And when you deal with an artist, maybe you should stick them in the garage - especially if their name is Duncan...

I have to chuckle when I think about a story my friend was reading. I can't remember the title or author, I just remember him telling me about this story of a frustrated artist and her husband picks up a brush and produces some work and becomes an instant success. He said the character reminded him of me. Hmm.

The Bug

This is Emma a few years ago.

On Tuesday night I made some muffins and a chicken, rocket and noodle salad that Nigella and Jamie wouldn't mind trying. I was soooo prepared for Wednesday. So, at tea time I scoffed a muffin and cup of rooibos. By one o'clock I had that sweaty pasty feeling where you've got to take large gulps of air to try and stabilise yourself... I still had to collect Rachel, the baby and an hour later Emma and Rebecca from school and then home... I've heard stories that out of necessity, you can control your body to a point, and I'd never quite believed that until I sat in the car for 45 minutes with Rachel climbing all over me and testing out the car's amusement centre (indicators, windscreen wipers, etc). By the time Emma and Rebecca got in the car I was positively beside myself! I screamed like OJ "Get in the car" and raced home as fast as I could without putting the family in jeapordy.

Now I'm too scared to go near the muffins...

And I didn't get to taste my amazing chicken rocket and noodle salad!!! Grr.

At this point I must say that in case you're looking for the perfect man/husband, the perfect sister-in-law and the perfect mother-in-law, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but they're all taken. Unless of course you're marrying into the family (Denae you lucky girl!). Richard not only does the washing and vacuuming and fixes all the sores, scratches and scrapes, his mom also washes the dishes while you're passed out in a coma on the bed. And Rich's sister who has 5 daughters - one vomiting and a husband who's away took all the girls to school and was willing to fetch as well!

Who Knew There Were So Many Cures for Warts?

I'm listening to Chopin - I haven't listened to this in ages. I heard someone playing a piece on a programme and it reminded me of the movie about George Sand and Chopin. I think it was one of Hugh Grant's earlier appearances. He did a really good job of acting scared and ducking and diving George.
Richard doesn't share my affection for Chopin. He calls him sticky fingers - but then he also calls Riverdance sticky feet... The kids have a movie called the Emperors New Groove and they do a little dance number akin to Riverdance... I can't take those Riverdancers seriously after seeing that animated number!
Ok, so about the warts... about a month ago I scratched what I thought was a spider bite... It turned out to be a wart in progress. The trouble is it's rather large and protrusive and seemed to be getting larger by the day - until I got the magic potion from the witch doctor - I mean the pharmacist... The amazing part is the number of weird and wonderful suggestions on how to take care of a wart. My personal favourite was: when you wake up in the morning, before you brush your teeth, lick the wart. YUCK! Needless to say, that wasn't an idea I was going to try in a hurry. You might be sitting wondering why the heck I didn't just go and have it burnt off. Well, aside from being a ridiculous wimp when it comes to pain - I have heard that they come back even after being burnt off.
Why now? Why on earth not when I was a kid hunting for tadpoles in Happy Valley?
I told the girls I was turning into a witch and that the transformation would be complete when the two warts appeared on my chin and my nose. Perhaps this might explain their impeccable behaviour the past couple of weeks. I should get a prosthesis nose and wear it for a day! That'll really get them. Emma, who is particularly sensitive about being embarrassed will positively die!
The wart is subsiding slowly much to my relief - not only is it ugly, I'm amazed at how in the way it is!

A Sneak Peak at Ruby Rednose

Rachel has damaged the printer/scanner, so this is a really bad image of the prelim drawing for Ruby Rednose. It'll come alive once the acrylic and watercolour is applied.