La Terrarium Trema

These are just the windowsill residents. The nightstand colony is awaiting a new arrival, and therefore asked to not be photographed.

To a Certain Way of Thinking...

...I had a very productive weekend. Sure, the laundry never made it past the sorted piles stage, but I managed to dip my fingers into a plethora of project pies - framing, reframing, painting, writing. Considering the fact that my little family spent the vast majority of Saturday and Sunday out in the rare April sun, I'm really quite impressed with myself.
In addition to all these pleasant distractions, I moved some wall art around, worked on my sweater, dismantled a stellar antique clock and finally suitably arranged my terrariums, but that'll have to wait till tomorrow. My mosses deserve a post of their very own.

PS Pardon the Moth-heaviness of my examples, but have you noticed the title of the blog which you are currently reading?

Sign of the Times

Yesterday when my beautiful 2 year old woke up from his little 2 year old nap, he dazedly snuggled his little 2 year old body into my arms and uttered 2 words that have no business escaping a 2 year old's mouth. He said, "da 'conomy, Mama, da 'conomy." If Marcel Dzama's video hadn't already broken my heart for the day, that certainly would have.

No One Does It Like You

I've long been a fan of Marcel Dzama's "watercolors" and have caught a snippet here and there of his video collage works. Being familiar with his often dark subject matter, and being a junkie for the visceral response his work stirs, I fancied myself well prepared for his new music video for Department of Eagles - No One Does it Like You. I was wrong. The vehemence of feeling is almost unbearable.
I've watched it 5 times now, hoping to dispel some of the lingering sensitivity. But each time I view it, I seem to drop a few more tears than the time before. Recommend falls so far short of what I'd like to convey. But I'm grasping at air for a better word. This video has left my stomach tight, my chest swollen and laden. I think viewing this should be mandatory, but should come with a Surgeon General's warning.

The April Fool

On a few occasions I misplace sentimental attachments to holidays. Halloween, to me, is a night for unabashed Valentine-esque romance. Valentine's day I treat like Easter with spring planting and morning baskets of chocolates and cuteness.

April Fool's day is my father's day. On no other day of the year do I miss being at my parents house like I do on this day. Growing up, my dad would appear on this most sacred of mornings, with socks stuffed down the front of his backwards jeans, calling himself "The Man with Two Butts." Despite the second rear, The Man with Two Butts was surprisingly inconspicuous and got away with pulling all manner of pranks on his unobservant daughters.

Here's to you Dad. Happy Foolish Father's Day! I'm hoping that some clerical error leads to April 1st falling on an unexpected number of weekends during Beckett's childhood. No child of mine will be deprived of salt on his corn flakes! Thanks for teaching me the value of a good black pen, that long distance driving is an experience in space-time and that the wonder of childhood has no age limit. Not to mention all the other things you've taught/been for me that can't be put into any concise language. I love you, Buddy!

Jayme McGowan

Okay, this was going to be a whole post about my thwarted and comical first foray into the world of professional massages (after plans had to be severely altered, Zion and I found ourselves at a dark, becurtained reflexology spa that had all the requisite ambiance of an opium den, plus a little Chopin. Does that make it a Chopium den?) but I find myself just wanting to talk art.

It's been a long time since I had any interest in working with the human figure, but lately I've been catching glimpses of 2 future art pieces, or maybe 2 series, with people. The first is of acrobats and bareback artists. The second is of flying people, in relation to birds, to flying machines and to flying dreams. Recently I happened upon this artist, Jayme McGowan, her etsy shop, and her blog, Roadside ProjectsShe's making me want to not only get back into using figures, but back into paper cutting as well. She has some wonderfully inspired circus folk pieces, and some lovely flying girls. Plus, she's my age which, when combined with her work and resume, is formidable. Check her out, I dare you not to be inspired.

The Merry Band of Revelers

Here's our little family portrait. Next time we'll go fully Victorian with pocket watches and corsets. It really was an awesome party, with the best folks around.

Please note that the heart on my shirt is replaced with the word "am."

Sticky Notes, Succulents and One Very Happy Spidermonkey

I'm a pretty weird bird, and never more so than on my birthday - I love the attention, but hate to be the center of it, if that makes any sense. Every March 25th I walk a fine line between laughter and tears. But my friends make throwing a birthday party for me look easy. Check out some of my loot!
I thought I was attending a simple birthday dinner, but instead I was treated to a bunch of my favorite things, a donut cake, french dips, a smörgåsbord of potato chips. Not to mention sweet mix tapes and a houseful of some of my favorite people all wearing "I heart Claire" t shirts. Except instead of the word "Claire" insert a ridiculous windblown picture of my face. I'll post more pictures when I get my hands on them. For now, I'll just say I had a very happy birthday. So happy in fact, that I feel like I'm still having a happy birthday. Check out Amelia's post about it, it's quite a bit more eloquent than mine.

Thank you, Heidi. Thank you, Amelia. I love you. No, I lurve you.

Side note - How cool is it that spell check speaks Swedish? It's correction of "smorgasbord" kinda felt like a tardy b-day gift! I guess if I have any readers that aren't already aware, I just outed myself as the huge nerd that I am.

Spring has Sprung a Leak

So, it's been raining steadily since I posted about my ranunculus. I still haven't sketched a thing. I now have a small legion of sprouted snap peas that need transplanting, sweet pea sprouts starting to pop and therefore 2 trellises to construct. But I'm not in the mood for cold, soggy gardening. Instead I'm planting some small indoor terrariums.

The planting is just the beginning of this tangential project, it's just setting up the landscape. I have plans for some unnatural residents to move into these containers too. I'll post the results soon, but hopefully that'll be sometime after my peas are planted.

P.S. On our long drive home Sunday night Zion and I decided that someone needs to make a Twilight parody with Zombies. Groaning, gaping head wounds, torn pants and the student body just thinks they're emo.

Let the Right One In

If Ingmar Bergman had made Suspiria, or if Alfred Hitchcock had made Twilight, the results may have come close to this. It's implicit, subtle, hopeful and horrifying. The romance is lovely. The violence is as lovely as the romance.

Everyone who touched this film deserves applause. In particular I'd like to treat the entire sound department to a round of drinks. The silence and noise are exquisite. "Let the Right One In" has a few appropriately timed giggle-worthy genre moments, but the overall sense is not of fear or terror, but horror. And beauty.

It's probably not for everyone. Even Zion, who in the end thoroughly dug it, turned to me midway and asked, "Claire Bean, what the hell is this?" It's bloody, it's dark, it's uncomfortable. But it's also graceful and haunting. It gives me hope that the future of horror movies lies away from bloodied breast implants, that my son will grow up in a world with both excellent hysterical "B" movies and atmospheric character-driven "A" movies.

Thanks Amelia, for launching me on this journey many months ago, and thanks Ryan for finally providing the destination.