June 14, 2012

The Art of Driving Smart

I'm reading Why We Make Mistakes by Joseph T. Hallinan and keep tripping over information that I knew was right that's actually wrong. For instance, do you remember being told that when you take a test you're supposed to stick with your first answer because it's more likely to be correct than your second choice?  Well, it turns out to be wrong.  Go ahead and change the answer, and you'll probably get a better grade.

Of more critical importance is the information about driving.  If you ask drivers if an accident occurred because they were distracted at the wheel, they'll say yes about 25% of the time. If you put cameras in cars, though, you'll find that answer is a gross understatement.  Actually, according to a researcher for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, "'in about 78 percent of all crashes and 65 percent of near crashes, the drivers were either looking away or engaging in some secondary task."

Our cars are full of secondary tasks, most of them involving cell phones and GPS devices or, in my case, the GPS system on my cell phone. Between the need for information and the need for conversation, our streets, thoroughfares, interstates, and, for that matter, sidewalks, are far more dangerous than they were ten years ago.

We've all sat at a light and muttered at the driver ahead of us, "Hang up your stupid cell phone; the light's green," but it turns out the problem is more than just a minor annoyance.  78 percent?  That's crazy.  Maybe we should stop that foolishness now, before we kill somebody.

June 13, 2012

The Art of Thoughtful Giving

A friend came to visit us at the hospital and gave us the three best gifts ever.

First she handed me a roll of quarters.

A roll of quarters, for vending-machine or parking-meter moments.

Then she stuffed two five-dollar bills in my pocket, stepped waaaaay back, and waved off my objections.



Two five-dollar bills, because who can find an ATM in the midst of trauma?

The third gift:  showing up.

The three best gifts ever. Spread the word. 


June 11, 2012

The Art of the Epistle

Dearest, darling Universe,

You know that I love adventures. Going, doing, learning, experiencing the beauty of the world and its inhabitants -- yes, that's what I've wanted for my life, throughout my life, and you have provided it in abundance.

Now, however, times have changed. It's not that I'm opposed to adventure, but given recent events -- which included a bad dog, doctor visits, vet visits, interviews with Animal Control, a conversation with the city lab technician who has access to records regarding the sending and receipt of animal heads to and from Frankfort for rabies testing, not to mention my compadre's hospitalization, plastic surgery, and ongoing physical rehabilitation . . . .   As I was saying, given recent events I am asking, with all due respect, that we change our existing policy on adventures.

I'm not requesting a freeze.

Rather, might the adventures be a bit fewer?

Alternately, might they be farther apart?

Thank you for your consideration.

With warmest personal regards, Mary Jo

June 5, 2012

The Art of the Peony

I went to a peony festival and photographed 24 varieties of peony.  This one is Falcon.
Not one Falcon looked like any another Falcon.

Abalone Pink, the beginning

Abalone Pink, the middle


June 2, 2012

The Art of Healing

Healers are gathering in Louisville, Kentucky, today, at four o'clock.  We're gathering together in a healing session for the west end of the city, which has undergone terrible violence in recent weeks, including three deaths.

We're each being asked to play an active role: to read or sing or speak or play an instrument; to offer up whatever gift we may possess to these battered, grieving families and to this battered city.

I'm gathering myself prior to heading out for the gathering. I'm planting my feet firmly so that I can feel my the soles become roots traveling down toward the center of the earth, the way they talk about in yoga class.

I learned after my husband died in 2000 that the true bedrock in life is beauty, because beauty has power even in the midst of futility.  And so this afternoon, then, unless somebody requests otherwise, I'm going to read two of my poems:  "Not Paprika" and "You Walk in Beauty" (which I could and probably should have titled "Ode to Feet").

I'm also going to take along the seven iris paintings I did last week.  I'll put them where ever they may fit to lend some green and some air to the healing and to remind myself that at any moment the wind can blow and everything can be different.

Can beauty prevent violence?

Can healers heal a city?

Here's what I think. I have a friend named Sue.  Eleven years ago, her husband, Tim, was dying of the same cancer that killed my husband in 2000.  Tim underwent an autologous stem cell transplant conducted by doctors inexperienced in treating multiple myeloma.  He had a second transplant, an allogeneic one in which he received stem cells from his sister, overseen by a world-class oncologist.  Tim had chemotherapies before, during, and after both transplants, with some useless radiation thrown in as well.

Tim and Sue had two small children, the younger of whom was a toddler when his father was diagnosed.  Tim was ill, and he was ill, and he was ill; and everything that stood a chance of helping him was attempted. Eventually, he ran out of things that might work.

And then what did he do? He kept on. He kept on taking the thalidomide. He kept on taking the steroids. He kept on allowing chemotherapies that had never been shown to combat his disease. He kept on forcing himself to drink a little, to eat a little, to speak a little  in spite of the intense pain he endured for three years.

How does a person find that kind of determination?

I learned the answer one day while on the phone with Sue.  She was telling me about the latest thing that hadn't worked, and about the equally useless thing the doctors wanted to try next.  And then she said, "What Tim told me yesterday is 'I can't do nothing.'"

I can't do nothing.

At first, I thought Tim had used a double negative. Then I thought he was lamenting the loss of physical ability. Then I understood.

When Tim said "I can't do nothing," he meant "I can't stand here, or sit here, or lie here and allow this to happen while I do nothing."

And that's why the healers are gathering today. Because we, like Tim, can't do nothing. We can't stand  by while the bullets fly and people die in the street, on the sidewalk, in their homes, and do nothing.  We are doing what we can do, trusting that from within the gathering of our bodies, voices, spirits, gifts, and offerings, some green might flourish, some air be stirred, and a fresh wind blow, making everything new and possible.

The Art of Life

Now that my unanswered e-mail list is down to less than 10, I'm deleting old e-mails. I'm keeping this one, though, which I sent to my aunt in 2010: 
I was in immense distress over the weekend and went to see my psychiatrist immediately
on Monday.  After listening to me for several minutes he said I was having an existential
crisis.
 "Bloody hell," I replied. I thought such crises were Freudian inventions with no relevance to 
solid Midwestern Americans like me. I was annoyed at the suggestion that my energy was
being sapped by the stench of mortality.

 Half an hour into the conversation I ventured the obvious conclusion:  "So the problem is life."
He replied, "No, the problem is death."

I said, "There's no difference. They're Siamese twins."

"Conjoined twins -- yes," he replied. 
 In other words, same old stuff.  My earlier crisis was brought on by the death of my late 
husband. This crisis was triggered by a small case of cancer with low odds of recurrence. I was
so over the ordeal by the time the crisis slammed me against the wall that I was furious
to learn the source of my misery.  
But isn't that how life works? Emotional disasters, none very different from their predecessors,
repeat and repeat. 
You'd think I'd have figured it out by now. 
 Oh, wait.  I did figure it out. I have a network of physicians, plus appropriate medications, 
plus a kind compadre, a solid support system, loving friends, an interesting life, unceasing
curiosity, and the occasional cockamamie desire to pursue a third master's degree purely for
the fun of it.  I am on top of the situation, strong and able (we won't count the ongoing joint
pains from the medication that keeps the chance of recurrence low).
 The good life.  It's not about the absence of sadness. It's about the presence of people good and
true who stand beside you, silently or noisily, wishing you the best in every passing moment.
 There's an art to letting people care for you; and I'm still practicing how to live it.The result?
A life I live as artfully as I know how, life as tapestry, graffiti, oil painting, acrylic, water color, 
sketch, poem, line from a nearly forgotten movie.It's the only way I can find that works for me. 

May 26, 2012

The Art of Spotting Monsters


I've never claimed to see Bigfoot
And am sure I'll never see him,
But I can guarantee you now
If I should see, I'd flee him.

I saw a video (since lost in the din of interwebs) of an interview of a member of the American Bigfoot Society,* which I'm proud to know exists, given that I thought all of the Bigfoot sightings were in Canada.  If you want to join the Society, you must first fill out an application that requests name, address, phone number, email address, and an answer to the question "Have you ever been convicted of a felony?"  Within a day or two, a member of the Board of Directors will be in touch to discuss membership with you.

I don't know.  It all sounds a little bit untoward to me.  I prefer memberships where I can mail a check and never talk to anybody; and the whole felony question opens up all sorts of imaginings.

The Big Foot interviewee lives in South Carolina, which allows me to segue to an article in the October 18, 2010, copy of The New Yorker.  Sean Wilentz wrote the piece, titled "Confounding Fathers." :  "In June [2010], the [Fourth District] Congressman Bob Inglis, of South Carolina, a tough conservative who nonetheless backed Bush's financial bailout, lost a vicious** primary fight with a right-wing insurgent named Trey Gowdy. To his amazement, Inglis was confronted on the campaign trail by voters who were convinced that the numbers on their Social Security cards indicated that a secret bank had bought them at birth."

The moral of the story?  Never shade the truth for political gain, because some day those shadows might grow legs and come after you.

**Vicious has extra-special meaning in South Carolina, the state from which Lee Atwater emerged to pollute the political waters for a multitude of generations.

May 22, 2012

Belle Cartledge and the Big 9-0, Part 2

I forgot to mention in my earlier post that my mother is not thrilled at the prospect of turning 90.

 In fact, she sounds suspiciously like my daughter Jennifer, who is coming up on 40. Jennifer is not amused.  She sees nothing extraordinary about the event and basically wishes everybody would shut up about it.

Yep, that's pretty close to how Mom feels.

Don't you just love the way human beings are consistent across time? It's the same old aggravation, whether you're going to be 30 or 50 or 90, and the same old resentment at the thought of being THAT old.

When I mentioned to Mother that Jennifer will be forty on her birthday, Mother said, "Oh, my God.  I can't believe she's that old."
 Ahe said it three times.

Naturally I texted the conversation to Jenn three times.  She's still snarling.

And that's why it's so nice to have a goal for Mom's birthday greetings.  A snarl here, a grin there:  it's all good.

May 20, 2012

Belle Hits the Big Nine-Oh!

Joanna Belle Harkness (Cartledge), 6 months old
My mother is hitting The Big Nine-Oh!
(now called) Annabelle, 1923, 1 year old

We invite you to help set her day aglow
High school graduation (she had bright red hair)
by sending a Heigh-ho! a Hi-ho! Hello!
My dad shortened her first name to Belle. Photo ca. 1950
She doesn't need chickens, chapeaus, or Bordeaux,
Christmas card, 1981, with Mr. Punch peaking over her shoulder

nor escargot, stilettos, or a new backhoe;
but one thing about which she remains gung-ho
Summer 2003

is hearing from dear friends and loved ones, and sooo . . .

We ask that you send her a card or a note,
a letter, a missive, a poem, a joke,
a picture, a paper, a postcard, a quote,
a jingle, a phone call, a quick anecdote.
Mother, October 2011
No matter the method, she'll be happy you wrote.
*****
Mother, in true islander fashion, still loves getting mail.  And it's a gift that has lasting value, because every time I visit we re-read the cards she's received over the last few years.

Our goal is for her to get 90 birthday cards in the month of May! Please join in the fun! 

Mother remains strong, healthy, and clear on names and relationships. You could help her memory a jot, though, by mentioning if you're a friend of Amy's, or you painted pottery at Island Pottery, or that you own a beauty from Belle's Dolls, or that you're a member of my international fan club.

Here's the address:
Joanna Belle Cartledge
Meadowview, 83 High Street
Seville OH 44273   USA

May 19, 2012

The Art of the Snow Princess

 While wandering Whitehall with my camera, I was struck by how many different stages a flower goes through (all of them elegant in their own right) and also by the variegation possible within the same family.
 The Snow Princess, a bit disheveled.
 






May 18, 2012

The Art of Making New Varieties of Art

It's been a happening week around here, with three different art projects, one of them a new art form entirely, the other two new techniques in classes at Gilda's Club in Louisville.

Monday I made a stepping stone that includes glass globs (the blue bits around the outside), bits of detritus picked up while walking the dogs, three bullet casings, and what I think was originally a pendant.  I picked that piece up at a yard sale 10 or 15 years ago.
Tuesday I started a book art project in a 5-week workshop.  It's only just begun, but I brought it home lest it get lonely without me. I may glue some pages together before the next class session, because this book has -- oh, I don't know -- 50 pages?  100?

Turns out that after I did the cover, painted most of the inside right-hand pages, and wrote a few words here and there that I want to do a sustained narrative . . . but not 100 pages worth, stamping them one letter at a time.  Not even 50 pages.  I'll let you know what ends up feeling right.
Thursday I did this sunflower painting using thickened acrylics and a palette knife. Are you as crazy about the textured surface as I am?  I'm looking forward to painting an iris or forty using this technique.

Rounding out the week's lessons, I took my first Tai Chi class on Tuesday.  I enjoyed it more heartily than I do yoga, probably because movement is the task, rather than movement being the tool that allows you to reach a pose.  Joint flexibility and better balance are the benefits that convinced me to try; getting to be Phoenix and Dragon and the other creatures is what will keep me at it.

May 17, 2012

The Art of the Flower Garden

What do Pink Giggles, Bowl of Cream, Petite Elegance, and Sunburst have in common?  They're all varieties of peony.

I went a little overboard with the photos I took at the Peony Festival at Whitehall House & Gardens, which is part of the Historic Homes Foundation.  I took over 500 photos, which I've reduced now to a modest collection of 347, not counting the ones that I cropped. They aren't all peonies; I also have more iris and some hosta and a cat which seemed to live there and even the front of Whitehall and an outbuilding or two to show off.  This first group of photos is all peonies, though.

(Note:  The second set will have more flowers that are actually in bloom, the way we all like seeing them, but I was taken with the range of names and so wanted to share them.)
Petite Elegance

Pink Giggles

Coral and Gold

Coral and Gold close-up

Pink Kisses

Old Faithful

Sunburst

White Grace

Bowl of Cream


Stay tuned for updates in the coming days, or perhaps weeks, given the 347 photos, plus cropped photos . . .   You are going to love seeing these beauties as much as I did.

May 15, 2012

The Art of Destruction



A map/chart/tune showing every nuclear explosion between 1945 and 1998 by Japanese artist Isao Hashimoto.  The footage is both compelling and addictive and leaves me wondering why everyone on the west coast of the United States isn't dead.

May 14, 2012

The Art of the Sentence

"[Louie Zamperini's] ears leaned sidelong off his head like holstered pistols, and above them waved a calamity of black hair that mortified him."
Lauren Hillenbrand in Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption, page 8.

May 6, 2012

The Art of the Bicycle

 Business installation of bicycle art, Spartanburg, South Carolina

 The photos that follow are from Artcycle 2011- a combination of bicycle parts and art -  in downtown Spartanburg. The commissioned artists were Sterling Kenny & CarrĂ© Razzano (Woodruff
SC), Greg Leister (Asheville NC); Cody Roberts (Spartanburg), Jim Weitzel (Forest City NC), and Mark S. Woodward (Greenville SC).
And here's the link to Jim Weitzel's website, where you can see more outdoor sculpture as well as his indoor sculpture, furniture, and paintings.







Greg Leister's profile


May 4, 2012

Textile Arts (Notes to Myself)

Source of photo:  Paddling Experts blog
Silverfish love spray starch so if you want to prolong the life of any textiles, forego the spray starch.

Photo from Gadgetrivia
****
I took a class with internationally recognized quilt designer Kathleen Loomis a few years back. She taught us how to do free-hand cutting, saying she used a template twice and didn't like it.  Here are her two rules regarding textile art:
1.  Work on a design wall.
2.  Press well.  (If you can't get a seam to lie perfectly flat, rip it out and re-sew it, because otherwise you'll have permanent bubbles and bumps.)  An item can only stand one serious pressing, for which you must have a hard surface underneath.  The floor will do and has the advantage of being always available.
Incidentally, Kathleen Loomis has a website as well as a brilliant blog, which is always a pleasure to wander through.
Also incidentally, I have two irons, a Black & Decker Digital Evolution, which is weighty and works really well on seams, and a Panasonic NI-C78SR, which is my favorite iron ever.  It offers the technology irons have needed ever since steam was invented:  a removable water tank.  Rather than bringing the spouted cup to the iron and spilling water all over the ironing board, one pushes a button, lifts off the water tank, and takes it to the faucet to be filled.  Brilliant.  I don't know why every iron doesn't include this feature.
*****




April 29, 2012

Natural Art: Iris

 Rather than braving Thunder over Louisville, I chose to shiver my way around the neighborhood photographing iris
 after iris
 after iris.
 Finally I understand what motivated Georgia O'Keefe.