Holiday 3: expected and unexpected

I'm baaaacccck.  And what a time I had.  Expected. I promised you a painting, but what I didn't take into account was that after nearly five months working on two large art projects I wouldn't want to paint.  Lucky for my word of honour it took me four days to figure that out.  This is a slightly out of focus picture of a postcard I painted for my godmother in North Carolina.  It is my favourite of the ones I did.  The storm is not quite that threatening in the background, the blue actually goes up, up, up and over you from there.

Expected.  My friend and I went to the Great Sand Hills.  Bet ya didn't know the prairies could look like this.   At least any time other than the Great Depression.  Next day we drove further south and headed east to the petroglyphs at St. Victor's.  Bonus points if you can find the face in this shot.  The view beyond the small rock outcropping was .... I felt like I was at the top of the world. Neither the photos nor the pan video I took of it did justice to the sensation.

Unexpected.  I did not expect geese at the bed and breakfast we stayed at in Swift Current, nor the many roosters, the duck, the turkey chicks, and morning fresh eggs, green ones.  I did not expect to help my friend start building her new deck while at her place.  I certainly did not expect to get a ride on my brother's motor bike.  Didn't stop grinning the whole time.

Holiday 3

This is a holiday you don't get to come on today because I haven't gone on it yet.  I am leaving this weekend on an adventure to the Great Sand Hills of Saskatchewan and hopefully, if we can find them the petroglyphs of St. Vincent (Victor?...see what I mean about finding them), in the Badlands.  Then it is to the art table, unless my friend ropes me in to her move the dog pen, build the new front porch steps, finish painting the kitchen projects.  I shall remain strong, I shall paint. Right?  I will?  Of course.  I promise you a little painting.

Being a luddite at heart, when I leave on vacation, I go on vacation.  You shall not hear from me until the middle of August.  Have a great couple of weeks.

Holy Book Repair, Batman, part ll

 In wholing the book, returning the text block and the cover back to their unified state, I first lined up the new end paper (here secured by an ever handy brick) with the text block, then marked it with green painter tape.  I love green painter tape and use it often in my book repair work, and my art.  It holds, removes with ease and does not mark.  Once the green tape was in place to be sure the text block would be exact in its positioning I cleared the new end papers to a safe distance from whence they could observe, and proceeded to be liberal with the glue.  

It should be noted, just before you are liberal with the glue, that over the end of the spine, over the mull, I had placed a white strip of card stock, and when I spread the glue, it was from the end of the spine area on the cover out onto the boards where the mull would lie.  No glue is to go down the spine of the cover itself, or down the spine of the text block.  The mull is what is attached to the book's cover, not the spine.  Rather as though you glued your arms to the wall, but left your back free.  Why you would do this to yourself I am not sure, but the image should give you the right idea for what to do with the book.  With the book cover lying flat on the table, place a brick on either side of the text block to keep it in place and go away for a while.  A day.  A week if you want, it doesn't matter.  Go on a  holiday, go to Europe. 

When you get back your book will look rather like this.  

Holiday 2

Unexpected holidays are wonderful.  I went on one this morning.  I was walking along on my morningly morning walk and found myself suddenly in Paris, walking along the shaded streets with a view of the Eiffel Tower.  A lovely blue in the morning light.  As I sauntered along enjoying the sights and smells of Paris, I found I had moved across the channel and was now in London.  Oh, look, the bridge.  How marvellous.  And the underground.  Mind the Gap. 

 I remember the London underground.  I experienced it in the company of my sister-in-law's aunts and two wildly entertaining eleven year old twin cousins.  We were on our way to see the Queen:  which we duly did.  She didn't see us though.  Poor her.  We were having a hoot, but don't think she was.  After London I boarded a large dragon fly, one of the hundreds of big blue ones who have launched in the last twenty-four hours to eat the mosquitoes, and ended up in New York.  It's as close to the Statue of Liberty as I have been in may years.  I arrived home refreshed from my holiday.  As one should.

Holiday

Right now. Look at the picture.  See the orange red of the buildings.  Listen to the people in the cafe with the yellow and blue umbrellas.  They are laughing.  The sea is lapping against the boat.  It is rocking just a little.  The sun is on your back.  You can hear a young woman humming as she sits gazing out across the water.  She is drawing a picture of the buildings across the way.  A small dog sits next to her.  It looks up at you with its bright brown eyes.  Inhale, you can smell the coffee from the cafe.