Molly Goatwax

steps

I submitted a collection of blog entries, edited, to the Smile Hon, You're in Baltimore zine and was pleased to recieve an e mail notifying me of its inclusion in that publication. I feel acknowledged. Also, I have been assigned to lead a mural class in a few weeks. This is also exciting. Meanwhile, I have been performing well in my adult vocational education, even though I find it so stressfull that at times my head feels as though it will pop. Sensitive Head. May Pop. Must place it on pillow in darkened room.

Dilemma

Just as I put the finishing touches on a large watercolor/collage of the old American Brewery, my camera decides to go wiggy. The viewer and captured image have horizontal static, like an old T.V. and the color's too green. Except when it flashes magenta. Wiggy is the last stage before Kablooey. And I wanted the piece for the postcard invitations for my show. I noticed that a change of batteries and keeping the camera still as opposed to carting it about in my purse improved its condition a bit, but not much. I may need to borrow a camera, or soldier ahead and fix the image on the computer, 'cause I need to get that design to the printers soon.

Another use for cheap vodka

The best way to ensure clear prints from your woodblocks is to clean your equipment. The lines on the block must be cleared of ink dried between them and ink applied to the printing surface should be delivered in a smooth, even film from a clean roller. Excessive or goopy ink will blur those fine lines carved with such eye searing care. This afternoon I noticed  a roller left in a pool of clear gel (I forgot 'cause I didn't see it) and the raised pattern of dried gel rendered this roller all but useless. I use polymers rather than oils now, so I figured a good soak in alcohol would loosen the build-up. I keep a leftover bottle of Zelco under the sink with the rest of the cleaning supplies. As a publican, I used to buy this stuff at 1.80  for three quarters of a litre.

 

The layers of polymer peeled off the pink rubber after a bit, and the roller delivered crisper prints. I've had my eye glasses cleaned with cheap vodka by a kindly bartender, I've seen it used to clean car battery contacts, some people have used it to disinfect wounds but this is the first time I've actually used it to peel paint. Think about that before you order that rail drink tonight, folks and have a happy weekend!

Schadenfreude

I sniffed the air in the kitchen and asked Mr. Beetz what he was burning in the oven, which was set to a high temperature. He assured me he was following the instructions on the packet of cod fillets he was cooking. Feeling quite warm after a while, I asked from the next room that he open a window. He told me he was cold and the eleven year old said she felt indifferent. I kept folding towels until the explosion. The tempered oven glass he had been baking in shattered, with force, when it touched the counter. He said he got it when I came into the room to offer help and advice. I decided to just shut up as I gave him an empty paper bag and the dust pan n brush, to blog about it instead. I am feeling a lot more chipper, thank you. snirk. Let us all join in the dirision at Mr. Beetz's expense. It's O.K. He knows it was all Hasbro's fault.

Some things never change

Have we really made any progress? I thought Gloria Steinem had kicked our Easy-Bake ovens to the curb, but what do I see advertised on the child's television programming but this insult!

Another generation of males being taught, nay, brain washed with aversion therapy, that cooking is for girls. The truely sad part is, is that this would be a good toy to teach the math skills of measuring and adding as well as basic principles of physics and mechanics. Those are for everyone and all small children like to help out in a real kitchen. And have you ever checked out the color schemes for half sized brooms and dust pans? Yah. Pink and purple. Oh right. No wonder we can't teach boys to clean up after themselves.

Another Day

I had all kinds of plans for the last day of summer, but had an all day lie-in, instead. It would have been nice except for being inconvenienced by vomiting, shivering and aching. Today should be better,

Nose Honkin' Fun

Oh! OH! Miss Joolie sent a box of nose flutes in the mail! It took a couple of minutes to figure out how to work the humanatone, but once I did, I gave one to the eleven year old and another to her friend down the street and taught them how to use them, too. We was all slide tootin' and honking away, much to the annoyance of the neighbor whose windchimes keep me up! I say turn about is fair play. Now I can advertise the entertainment for my art opening as The Goatwax Chorus, performing on kazoos, nose flutes and armpits...SPLORT! Just you wait, Art World! Thank you, Miss Joolie!

On our sixteenth

I LOVE YOU BINKY HEAD! ( Insert wet, smacking noises here. Continue for the next hour. Wipe clean and disinfect.) mmmmm....

A poem

This was generated from my writing by the link at the side two years ago, but honed into a real poem, today. This makes me feel that I have accomplished something, however insignificant.

  

 

 Pondering while Eating

 

    Imagine four goats
  inside a hundred dollars worth
      of cupcakes
    not a hundred dollars
       worth of gravy
  And
    Other than trying to go
  sling drinks in her Bentley

   ( with the steering imprecise ) 

 

  New Yorkers are
                 eating trees
          as I 
  was so spying this morning.

 

more on goatwear

It has been a busy week. The routine of being a full time student, if only for the coming month, has thrown my other systems out of whack. Family members who need to have laundry or lunches done have gotten verbal instruction, instead. I did get to spend some time in my studio today and the stress headache melted away. What do I want to wear tomorrow? I painted a few shirts. It is both Talk Like A Pirate Day and the anniversary of my wedding with hubby. So...everyone gets mildew wear, imprinted with goats. Create your own rituals and infuse them with the ones with which you were raised. Pass the beer.