Greetings and Happy New Year.

I am participating in an exhibition with three other artists beginning January 27th.  Barbara Koerble saw a similar thread running through our work and brought us together by curating the show at Gallery 414.

Gallery 414 is a non-profit gallery made possible by the generosity of Razz Fiesler.  It is located at, this will shock you, 414 Templeton, Fort Worth, Texas in the museum district.    It is open weekends from 12 to 5 and by appointment. To make an appointment email adele@gallery414.org and we will try to accommodate your viewing pleasure.

Lael.  She gave birth Christmas Eve so she will not be making it to the opening reception, but we are tentatively planning a closing reception on February 25.  Much of Lael’s work for this show was accomplished during her pregnancy.  This is a huge accomplishment as growing a baby takes a great deal of strength and creativity.  I am so proud of Lael Burns.  Here is Lael’s Instagram

Sophia Ceballos and I are sometimes in the same spaces but we have yet to meet.  I do know that at one opening she had MARVELOUS blue hair.  Her work is intimate and intriguing.  I love the way she uses watercolor and drawing to weave together magical places.  Here is Sophia’s Facebook.  

In November Rachel Williams of the Dallas Observer wrote the article:
7 Dallas Artists to Watch in 2018
And here it is!
Adam Palmer’s unbridled Pixy stick of a solo exhibition, breezed through Ro2 last summer. We are thirsty for more. The Fort Worth high school teacher found his inspiration growing up in the dusty map dot Monahans in West Texas. His abstract paintings are kaleidoscopic bursts of color, something we could all use more of next year.

Adam and Lael will also have sculptures in the exhibition.  Adam’s Instagram.

Have fun following the links.  And while you are there, follow my artist collaborators, too.

 Yesterday David (husband) and I delivered nine (maybe ten) 

paintings to Gallery 414.  

Curator Barbara Koerble  and  Gallery Director John Hartley will winnow the art from four artists down to present spectacularness.   CENTERING ABSTRACTION exhibition runs January 27th through February 24 and includes Adam Palmer, Lael Burns, and Sophia Ceballos and myself.   

The opening reception is between 6 and 9 on Saturday, January 27th.   The show theme is hope.  This is represented through artists color selection and the incorporation of nontraditional uses of traditional drawing techniques in the paintings.

I sincerely hope to see you there.
Bring a friend or a passel of friends.  (I always wanted to use the word passel, but it just never came up before. )  Let the passels celebrate the New Year and art and hope and artists who have poured heart and soul into their work.

If celebrating with us is not doable, please invite your friends who live closer to join us.  We are a friendly group of artists and the more the merrier.  Tell them I would love to know how we are connected.

THERE WILL BE COOKIES thanks to up and coming bonus baby chef, Jubilee Lael.

(Trivia:  Lael is an unusual name and yet daughter and fellow artist share the same name.  Lael had a baby Christmas Eve so she might not be there, but we will take lots of photos for her.)

See you and/or your art supporting friends soon!  Love, Gwen

PS  Centering Abstraction runs through February 24th.  Gallery 414 is open weekends between 12 and 5.  If you are coming call me and I will meet you there for a private tour.  If you just drop in, one of the artists will be there to greet you and show you around.

a few little details to entice you.

BatShit CRAZY!

A few years back
-a lifetime ago-
a ceiling fan was being dusted
-an avalanche of dust bunnies
(too innocent- dust devils!)
cascaded to the floor
and my sister began to spin a tale… 

My sister lived in Austin, Texas.  Austinites consider themselves unique, SPECIAL,
consider themselves above common folk abiding beyond their borders.

You can’t actually BE an Austinite unless you have a “Keep Austin Weird” bumper sticker attached to your vehicle and your guitar case.  In the wee hours of the morning, just before the sun rises, fairies adhere “Keep Austin Weird” bumper stickers whether you want them or not.  (This is not true,

but- dang – it appears true.)

As a resident of Fort Worth  (Panther City, Cowtown, Where the West Begins, Queen City of the Prairie, Funky Town) I have exceedingly little room to talk about the branding of other cities, but talk I will. 

In all sincerity, if you have I do TELL everyone you are weird, the weird ship has sailed.  But I digress, and we have a tale to tell.

My sister purchased a kayak and was itching to take it for a spin.  She decided that as a TRUE Austinite and not just some lousy tourist, she would launch off the shores of Lady Bird Lake and paddle to the Congress Avenue Bridge to find the perfect spot to view of the nightly60 plus miles per hour exodus of the pregnant Mexico free-tailed bats.

The day had been beautiful.  The skies were clear the colors of the setting sun blazed overhead.  My sister boldly paddled beyond the “tourist boats” and positioned herself beneath the opening of the bat cave and waited.

She waited and mused, “Look at all those pitiful tourists watching from the bridge.  I, a TRUE Austinite, am here in the middle of the Colorado River with the best view.”

Basking in the superiority of it and chuckling to herself it started to rain.  Slowly and then it faster and faster until it was a deluge.

As Robin so aptly expressed to Batman, his faithful companion, HOLY BAT GUANO!

It was not raining!

My sister is batshit crazy.
At least she comes by it honestly.

Precedent.

Beauty is precedent.

Not so long ago a famous person (POTUS) misused the word.  Maybe it was the wee hours of the morning.  Maybe it was autocorrected.  Precedent and president DO sound similar.  But just to be safe here is the definition:

Precedent: an earlier event or action that is regarded as an example or guide to be considered in subsequent similar circumstances.

“Beautiful works survive sans virtue.
Virtuous works, sans beauty, do not.  ”

In my last blog, I mentioned a book I am reading, The Invisible Dragon, Essays on Beauty, by Dave Hickey.  The quote is from the book.

It is a slightly challenging read.   I am reading with the book in my right hand and a dictionary in my left.    I seldom need the dictionary to understand the meaning of words I don’t quite know.  But if Jubilee were to ASK ME what the word means, I could not give her a definition.

I am on a quest for clearer understanding and a broader vocabulary.

Here is an example of a sentence that would have been awesome in the ORIGINAL Pirates of the Caribbean.  (I adored the original.  The words were so beautiful.  The sequels-every last one of them- are shameful, – absolutely SHAMEFUL!)  There are probably better examples, but I came across this sentence first.  Here goes Dave Hickey, “The vivid, corporeal verisimilitude of these paintings, striving to beguile an unlettered audience, striving to change without changing, enlisted ravishing sensuality in aid of sacred circumstances and created the fulcrum upon which all future critiques of “truth besmirched by beauty” would turn.”

Honestly, folks, it has been a long time since I used verisimilitude in a sentence.     Using Google to double check the definition I pressed the little speaker button for pronunciation and OOPS!  Let us just say, I had the syllables in the wrong places.  (In case you are wondering, ver·i·si·mil·i·tude: the appearance of being real.)  Popular usage of the word peaked in the late 60s and has been on a steady decline since.  (I wonder if vocabulary itself has been declining since the late 60s along with reading?)

I don’t know if I have heard corporeal outside of science fiction – ever!
Beguile, yeah, I got that one!  I LOVE the use of fulcrum.  I am going to look for an opportunity to use fulcrum in a sentence.

OOOH! OOOH!  This blog is the fulcrum upon which I realized my vocabulary is sorely lacking and committed to using grown-up words.  (And the use of “grown-up” here exemplifies my dearth of vocabulary. )

1,009,614 words, give or take, in the English language.  Most adults English speakers range manage only 10-35,000 words in their vocabularies.  It is estimated that Shakespear had 66,534 words at his disposal.

I keep wondering if the extinction of words in our general vocabularies contributes to our lack of understanding what is going on in the world and understand not only others but also ourselves.

We train our young children in feeling words so they can express their feelings without throwing a tantrum.  I believe our limited vocabularies contribute to the tantrum-ic nature of politics.  (SEE! I don’t have a word to describe the whiny baby attitudes of our governmental figures.)

I wonder if declining vocabularies affects our ability to enjoy beauty.  Tony Saladino, one of my art heroes, says that until you can articulate what it is you love about a painting you will not be able to appropriate that aspect into your own work.

What if a limited vocabulary limits our ability to appropriate beauty into our lives?

Beauty is precedent.
Teach your children well.
Be kind to yourself,
the world,
expand your vocabulary.
See what you might not have seen.

Share your favorite words with me.  We can grow together.

PS  One of my favorite raconteurs, Dave Hickey.

What lasts?
I am asking what endures.?

Words swirl,  inviting new possibilities.

Lasts becomes an action verb and begs, “Who?”  Who lasts?
Who and what ends the queue?
Last because of tardiness or lack of skill?
Last because others are lifted up?
Last because of circumstance or
last because of choice.

She lasts.
Mother Teresa lasted.

Bible training kicks in,
“The last shall be first.”
Does this mean the least shall have their recompense?
But I am pretty sure some think it is a tactic to get to the front of the line. (Servant leaders! PSHAW!)

Back to art since, in theory, this is an art blog.  No, artist blog and circuitous thinking is my process. The dancing words feed the art which, in turn, I desperately hope feeds hearts.

I am reading “The Invisible Dragon, Essays on Beauty” by Dave Hickey.  If you have not met Dave Hickey and the opportunity presents itself, I highly recommend you make the effort.  If you care to expend less effort, check Youtube for a plethora of entertaining, snarky and informative interviews.  Dave HIckey is saucy so if your constitution is delicate, you might not want to listen.  If your constitution were delicate you probably would not be reading what I write-so never mind.

“Beautiful works survive sans virtue.  
Virtuous works, sans beauty, do not. ”
David Hickey’s essay, American Beauty.

Beauty lasts.
Beauty endures.

Beauty lasts.
Beauty serves the least of these.

Maybe art is simpler than we think.

Maybe art is more complicated than we know.

Have a beautiful day.

PS  Grammarly does not appreciate me playing with words.  So many red underlines! PSHAW!

Yesterday my credit card partied without me.  Salt Grass Steak House- $100.  Followed by purchases at a bookstore and an advertising agency.  This morning, Goodwill – $150.  

Good grief.  After a strong start of steak and booze in Kennedale, surely my card could do better than a morning $150 purchase at Goodwill.   Breakfast at The Pancake House, at least!?!?

One time a debit card of mine traveled to Cairo and St. Petersburg.  THAT card knew how to live.

I am thankful that Wells Fargo’s fraud department called today even if they did interrupt my flow.  I am thankful that the charges will be reversed and that a new credit card is coming tomorrow via Fed Ex.

I KNOW Wells Fargo cheated thousands of customers out of money.  I KNOW they back the pipeline.  I have been trying to transfer all my money over to a credit union, but it is hard not dropping bills.  I also KNOW that the folks in my branch are helpful and today I talked to two helpful phone guys.  
Here is to first world problems.

May you always have more fun than your cards.

Peace out!  Gwen

PS   If the fraud department sends you a new card it takes five to seven days.  IF you call the number on the back of the wayward card, they will offer to expedite it for you.

The automated message from the Benbrook Middle High School principal came Sunday evening announcing the death of one of Jubilee’s 7^th grade classmates.  No name. Details to be released later. Only the name was released.

I told Jubilee that when there are no details the death is often suicide.

Details were released concerning the Thursday night the viewing and Friday morning the funeral at the tv church in the old Food Lion grocery store.

Jubilee and I left Benbrook Middle High School (BMHS) at 10:45 Friday morning to attend the funeral.

(The school required the children turn in the bulletin from the funeral to have an excused absence.  Doesn’t it matter that the parent signed out and wrote FUNERAL on the form? There were too few bulletins so we collected a half-dozen signatures on a single bulletin and turned that into the office.)

Benbrook Middle High School is our local school.  It is one of the biggest, shiniest, newest schools in FWISD. I don’t know how it ranks on the bullying spectrum but, bullying is a problem. It used to be that the middle school years were cruel.  Cruelty is a k-12 game now.

I homeschooled my children for two decades.  It was hard.  It was really hard.

Having a child in public school is harder.

Jubilee and her friends practice maintaining low profiles. They don’t want to be noticed. They don’t want to become targets.

Invisibility is not a skill 7th-grade girls should have to practice.

The first week of school there was not room at the lunch tables for everyone. Children sat on the ground outside in the 100+ degree heat. The circumstances, ripe for hostility and bullying. The second day of school my daughter came home covered in chocolate milk spilled when boys fighting smashed into her while she was carrying her lunch tray. The school’s response?   I will paraphrase, “Meh.”

Two gymnasiums.  Not enough space to eat.

Last year Jubilee was bullied during PE. Male classmates tormented abused her for sport and for not knowing the intricacies of soccer. The teacher claims to have seen nothing. Everyday Jubilee was crying when I picked her up. How does a teacher not see that?  The teacher told me there was an imbalance of boys in the class and she asked the counselor for more girls. She knew there was a problem and STILL did not SEE anything?  My response, “Meh!”

She made it Jubilee’s fault that the abuse continued. She has to advocate for herself. She has to tell. She has to tattle. What does the teacher have to do? The young man who killed himself was in the same PE class. I doubt he faired any better.

Jubilee accessed her deceased classmate as one of maybe ten truly nice kids in the school. Smiling. Funny. NICE! Bullied.

Yesterday during lunch, a bully was teasing a heavy girl. The bully punched her in the stomach. She punched him in the nose-twice.  Good for her.

Bullying that was a problem the first week of school. Six weeks into the first semester and bullying remains a problem.

Homeschooling is hard.  Public school is harder.

Bullying picked up during the election cycle last year.  The vitriol escalated after the election.  Children yelling at the brown-skinned classmates, “Go back to Mexico.”  “This is our country,” “You don’t belong here.”

Waiting to pick Jubilee up after school I parked behind cars bearing enticement to vicious action against our current President’s running mates. Children read their parent’s bumper stickers and took the messages to heart.

Words matter.

The BMHS 7^th grade curriculum has not gotten to the unit on bullying this school year.

We don’t talk about suicide. A suicide is a failure of family, a failure of friends, a failure of school, a failure of church, and a failure of character.

Suicide is taboo because a discussion about suicide raises too many questions and inflicts too much pain and guilt amongst the survivors. Suicide is complicated.

My head hurts. My heart aches. I am frightened for my child. I am frightened for your child. I am frightened that one of these bullies might grow up to be the President of the United States of America.

PS.  This painting does not yet have a title.  I see it as uplifting.  A triumph over circumstances.  A statement both bold and gentle.  It is 48 x 36 inches and $2800.  I chose it to go with this blog because of the raw nature of the piece.  One color.  Once pass.  The rare moment when experience and chance conspire to defy the routine and everything comes together on the first pass.

Most of us get more than one chance in life.
None of us gets more than one pass through life.

Make today count.  Sincerely, Gwen

Where do you get your emotional support?
Today I found mine ruminating with the cows and in the Wall Street Journal.

This morning, walking Wesley, we stopped and watched the cattle ruminating.  And I realized I was ruminating.  RUMINATING on EVERYTHING I have done wrong as a mother over the past 28.5 years.  I look back and see what I could have done and I see that  I am too late in seeing.

Too late to do this and too late to have done that. I failed this child and this child and this child and this child and this child, and the other child. I could have been fun. I should have been patient.  I could have, I would have, I should have… The hammer of would have, should have and could have was doing a jig on my heart.

I KNEW IT!  And. I. Could. Not. Stop!

“Gwen, you are in a downward spiral and to no avail.  It will change nothing.  Spiral up, Gwen, spiral up!”
“But, oh, that time….”

Do you know where the word ruminate comes from?  It has to do with cattle and their crazy digestive process.   Check out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svw5KA8YlAA
Crazy awesome and exceedingly disgusting.

Basically, the cow swallows the grass whole and then after a few laps around the stomach (rumen) it comes back up a cud for the cow to chew again. So ruminate means (of a ruminant) chew the cud.

HECK YEAH!  I was so ruminating on the nature of existence! 

I get home and sit down with the WSJ while I am brewing my green tea.  What kind of green tea?
Wild BITTER!
Bitter tea to go with the state of my heart!

After reading about imaginary war games played by the US and NATO military (WOW!), the Casanova exhibit showing at the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth (now through December 31, 2017), Kushner and Russian stuff, some editorials from indignant GOP writers (I am trying to understand the other), I discover:  “A Survival Guide for Parents Now That Your Child Is Off to College.”    WAAAALAAAAA!!!!!

Unexpected emotions. CHECK! Happiness. CHECK!  Grief. CHECK!
And the coup d’etat  (and by that I do not mean a sudden and decisive action in politics, especially one resulting in a change of government, but a sudden and decisive change in my understanding.  Hmmm, maybe I need another French word here.)  I find a paragraph that exactly describes my morning rumination.
WSJ: What are some of the emotions that empty nesters typically feel?
Ms. Boykin: The empty nest kicks up much more than just sadness or loneliness. For many parents, there is also guilt about what they wish they had, or hadn’t, done while raising their child. This can range from specific negative interactions along the way to a broad sense of not having done enough to prepare them for the “real world.” And they can feel a great deal of anxiety and worry about how their child will fare in a new environment.  Parents can also feel excitement, pride, joy, and relief as they get a glimpse of a life that doesn’t center around kids and their goals all the time.

I am a bundle of guilt and grief. Oh, it is not all about the empty nest, there are other things going on that have set me up for the empty nest experience to be magnified, but the WSJ nailed it.  The exact discussion I had been having with myself.

There is more than empty nest going on.  I am also grieving other familial relationships, but the WSJ gave it a name.  

I was not instantly over it.  But the name helps.  I can separate these emotions from the other stuff and deal with it.   Misery loves company is how the old saying goes and I am relieved to know I am not alone in dealing with this insanity.

And my nest isn’t empty yet.
Poor Jubilee, I hope I don’t try to make up for 28 years of failure in the next six years with her.  Poor, poor Jubilee.

Here is to all of us dealing with emotions whose sources we maybe have not recognized yet.  Here is to finding healthy ways to process those emotions.

This afternoon, while I wait in the endless line of parents picking up middle schoolers, I will ruminate on the human beings my children are in spite of me.

I will ruminate on their resilience and varying degrees of grit.  I will forgive myself for 28 years of failure.  (It probably won’t stick, but I will start and start again.)  I will focus on getting through the ride home and finding swim gear without any drama from myself or Jubilee.  (PLEASE, GOD, PLEASE!  Wow, that was dramatic!)  I will exchange the fungicide at the feed store and see what the afternoon brings.
YEE HAW!  Gwen
PS  It was VERY good for me to go back through photos and remember that it was not all bad.  I love my little family.  I am so very thankful.  SPIRALING UP!