Snow is falling on the small town of Oakland, I'm packing working and looking for another place. Meanwhile with the weather being it's blustery self, I've discovered a well known show called Supernatural. I'm well aware that it's been on for sometime. but I've been surprised by the humor and the far out plot lines.

Of course Castiel the emotionally deficient angel has grabbed my heart. His struggle to understand human nature is truly a comedic labor of love. Looking up the talented actor, I found his normal voice was much higher then that of his character, and instantly felt sorry for him. It must be murder on the voice box to constantly speak as if your angelic character has been smoking for a millennia.

More or less it's the human connection I look for, and I continually find it in art forms I never expected. And swearing I wouldn't do it, I inevitably have become a fan of Supernatural.

Perhaps working for a professional haunted house has me desensitized. The bloody bits at times have me turning my head in horror, but most of the time I find myself looking at the fake blood, which at best is a mixture of fruit dyes and corn syrup, as one colossal sticky mess for the set crew. And I pity them.


Funny how the show never runs out of cheap motels, and really old abandoned houses, and no one ever stays dead for long.


I was a kid who grew up on the original Star Trek series and Star Wars films, a person who knows the difference between a Vulcan Mind Meld, and Jedi Mind Trick. Something apparently our president became too flustered with our semi useless congress to remember.

What is more humorous and frighting then anything fictional we could ever put on television is that people seem to be more interested in Beyonce lip-syncing at the presidential  inauguration, or focusing on the inaccuracy of our president's reference to science fictional stories, rather then the true issues.

At school an idea I had for a thesis was that people greatly depend on the arts during times of national hardship. Art in all it's forms, gives us poor creatures on this lonely road to the grave ways to connect. Through art we further express who we are, where we come from, and what we have done to be there.

They say things are getting better, this is something I can't accept, because all around me I see so many who suffer without hope for a better future. Without jobs so many feel forgotten, and while I know this isn't entirely true, I have to have faith that we can step back and look at ourselves for a better realization of were we are going.

Common people are the blood of a country, and we have a history here of never being silent in the way we have been governed. I have hope in the future, because I have hope for people.  In time I hope we realize that a governmental who governs best, is one that forces itself to either make tough decisions or suffer unimaginably horrible consequences.  

Come on people it's only one world, how hard can it be to change it? The Winchesters do it all the time.

Live long and prosper.

I can only imagine what a giant would sound like crashing through trees. Hurricane Sandy came and brought our little Maryland town more snow then the trees could handle and it gave me a preview of the experience. Trees crashed to the ground around the house, and after that the lights went out. No power no heat and things have become pretty desperate. But in times of hardship I see more and more of the best of humanity.  It is the one of the many things that I love about fellow human beings is our ability to have such deep compassion for our fellow man in times of crisis.

    I keep thinking about Dickens's quote in A Christmas Carol,   "...a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on their journeys."

   So often I've sadly watched people come and go with a silent plea, that sooner or later we will realize that we are in this life together, that we share the gift of it and are truly fellow passengers to the grave.

Somehow we can pick up the pieces, and many of us consider ourselves lucky compared to some. And then we move on. It's beautiful here, with endless woods and streams, but life here in winter can be harsh. For hundreds of years people have called Oakland home, and the beauty of who we are is the strength we achieve by living here empowers us to do so.

   My uncle is an artist, so was my great-grandfather, and my grandmother. While they used oils and charcoal, my uncle's canvas is the earth itself. He takes natural leaves twigs moss ext, and makes pictures from them. Houses, nature scenes, and pressed herbs framed underclass. He then makes a frame from old barn wood.

  My uncle is an interesting man, at first glance one would never expect such a person to create such intricate, beautiful artwork. An older man he knows more about this land then I do, and I soak it up when he teaches me about it. The trees always have something to say, telling us when to plant, and when to expect a change in the air.

   Yesterday he handed me piece of cotton he picked in Georgia. He finds something everywhere he goes to use for his work, and it's great fun to help him. He showed me a map of the U.S. with pins on all the states but five. He pointed at it with wistful pride. He said he had pictures in all the states with pins, and his goal before he died was to get the other five. The rest of the family thought him odd, but I looked at him with awe. It's every artist's dream to leave a little of ourselves behind, to have the world share a little of who we were. I can only hope he gets his art to the other five.

   Ironically he has never seen any of my art, nor has the rest of the family excluding my aunt, who thinks my art is odd. Oh well I can't win them all.
 
  So even with a week without heat or power, I've somehow been able to find some humbling inspiration. Our human need to create, to communicate, to be helped, to be seen, and most recently our will to survive.

What is an artist?


     I think it sounds like a simple question, but it's difficult to answer, because many people may have differing opinions of what an artist or art is, and what it takes to create it.

     Many times I have wondered if I should even call what I do art. I do not often create something new,   drawing and such. Sometimes I feel I should blush to be so presumptuous to call what I do art, or a manipulation a "piece".  Too often have I looked at a finished product to see that it has not turned out as I thought it would. There was something over done or underdone about it.

     I find that  the details I care about in my work, others might not even see. Further more, there are so many who create incredible artwork, digital and otherwise out there, and a nasty little voice asks who I am next to them?

    That nasty voice is the dark side to the creative mind. The voice that doubts creativity and how original you are, and asks the question is what you do good enough to be considered a piece of art?

    One thing I have noticed though, is that in these  hard economic times, we appreciate all art in all it's forms more then ever. We hunger for human connection to allow us to feel not so alone. We seek the fantastic tales that continue to inspire and entertain us, listen to the music that moves us, and pen the stories of tomorrow.

    In whatever way it draws me in, art is in my blood, and "art in the blood is liable to take the strangest of forms," penned the wise and wonderful Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. True art in your soul may  very well manifest itself in ways you never even realized.

    Someday I may be able to call myself an artist, maybe an amateur one at best, but one that has a never ending thirst to create, explore and tell the unknown stories.  In many ways  I hope to remain a student of the world, always looking for another way to learn from the world, and hopefully, someday I might leave my mark on it, and people will know who I am.

The trees are changing again, and here that is cause for celebration, a full week of it in fact. People cram our little town to the brim. The little streets that originally created for vehicles of transportation of a slower pace in another time, horses and the like, are jammed worse then New York on a Saturday.

It's  with mixed feelings that I welcome the Autumn Glory festival. On one hand, it's my favorite season, but it does feel a little hollow this year, and I'm trying to figure out how to fill the void. I hope not to have to spend it alone, but most likely I will be working. The store in which I work has all hands on deck during the festival.

It's a funny place at which I am employed. For one, it sells produce, country primitives,  and candy...lots and lots it. More the 300 kinds, enough to make Willy Wonka and his entourage go into sugar shock. The other half of the store is devoted to all things vegetable, so one half of the store will kill you, and the other will extend your life.

It is an experience unto itself working there. With a small town with a roughly growing population, you do tend to have everyone from your regulars, to the vacationers and globetrotters that find their way to our small corner.

On a good day, I have thanked people and wished them a good day in French, German, Russian, Spanish, and American Sign Language. In two hours over 100 people may tromp through those doors. During the festival that doubles, as we are on the parade route.

I wish my couch were tall enough to hide under it. But alas.


Getting back to my artwork had been good for me. It had me wondering how long I had been doing this, and while looking at profile I realized I opened up a DA account after my gram passed away. She was an oil painter, her father was an animator  for Disney, and also a plummer.  Not sure how he would feel about my digital art though. He was my great-grandfather, therefore computers weren't a household item in his time.

I do know I've been at this 6 years. With literally a few hundred pieces, it's physical proof to myself how obsessed I was, and continue to be, with art and learning to be better. My mouth dropped open however when I realized 330 people watch my art account. Strange how I never looked at it before, it could possibly be that I was under the perception that I was playing to a smaller audience, so to speak. It may not sound like much, and it probably isn't the scheme of things, but to me it's 330 is a big number.

From a theatre folk's point of  view, it's very much like walking out on stage, to look past the glare of the lights, only to realize there are a lot more people in those seats then you realized.  

The feeling afterward it is humble...fear and gratitude.

For months I have been officially M.I.A. Off the grid and at times out of mind too. My mother on March 5th had a heart-attack and stroke. It's felt like a terrible lie that I have lived there after. One moment she sat in our living room, and  before I was about to leave for work she gasped stared out the window, and has never looked at me the same way again.

I remember giving her CPR, crying out-loud for her to stay with me, hot tears blinding me, hopeless fear that overwhelmed me. Finally she had a heartbeat, there was life. She stayed in a coma for about a month after that.

My will to do art, to do anything but breathe was sapped away. There was a decision to take her off of life support, and then the day I arrived at the hospital to say goodbye, she awoke. I called it off giving her more time. She improved and now has severe permanent brain damage, caused by lack of oxygen to the brain during cardiac arrest.

Myself being the one administering CPR I feel like the damage could be my fault, but the blame does me no good now.

All I know is that even though my mother is now in a nursing home in my town, I miss her more then I can ever express. She was my best-friend, my confidant, and my home. The woman who knew every line of me,  every scar, every memory, now has trouble placing my face.

Now the farm I've called home for 13 years is being torn apart to sell, medicaid will not accept anything less. All the dreams I felt slipping away feel almost completely out of reach.

The question is....what now? I'm tired. It's all I can do from throwing in the towel and giving up on it all. It's like the weight of a tidal wave being held aloft on a cliff. I dare anyone else to do better. I'm completely alone now. No father or mother, while she is still here, she has lost so much of who she was. I will always love her, but it's painful to see how much of history has been simply erased.

So it's now everything is up to me. The farm sale, the house, the animals and work. It's mine to lose. I just have to keep some kind of feeling of hope. To allow a broken heart, a broken person to dream again.

Being gone so long, I'm sure that anyone who watched me thought I moved on from DA, and have cut me out from their watch lists.

Well it's like starting out here again anew...as with my life. Staring over. I taught myself how to draw, how to make digital art. I can teach myself how to learn to live again.

The rest of your life begins now.....ok, here we go.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

It feels as if all I do now is work. Mind you, it pays the bills and puts food on the table, but it is exhausting. I find myself late night, or rather early morning, finding time to myself without disruption.

I've been away so long I'm sure anyone who looked at my art has forgotten me, time never stays still for me I'm afraid and I never have enough of it.


Meanwhile the weather here is playing tricks on us all. Being the warmest winter we mountain people have ever had in the last ten years, it's safe to say the weather has tried to put up some arguments about it.  One evening I walked out on my porch to see it lighting, thunder, and snow all at once.

If the weather can reflect people, then I can sympathize with it.  I too have found myself angry because I have had no direction or decision.
  
I can only hold out for spring, the relaxed feeling from the hardship of winter. People in general here become happier with the relief.


So here's to the sunlight I love and miss, I dream of soaking up a little goodness when I can.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

The snowy season has finally hit the mountains, a fluffy blanket covers everything and quiets all. I find myself wishing I had nothing to worry about other then Christmas, but somehow a little magic has left me this year.

My mother was diagnosed with cancer, and while it's treatable, I have taken a darker journey that alone I had to face. A place of fear and doubt, were prayers may or may not be heard. So now it's taking one frighting step after another. For a while, I've felt barefoot on cracking glass, ready to fall through.  Now I have to remain strong for us both, and believe she will become well.

I have an incredible source of inspiration, and that is inevitably my mother. She has accepted me fully as I am, and has fed my need  for creativity in all ways.


I have faith that we will conquer this, I have faith in her doctors.

Christmas has always been a magical time for me, a little sad at times, but mostly a warm image I keep in my heart.
Home, pure and simple, and with those I love, I'm home.

So the snow has finally fallen, the world a little colder, a little darker. In the midst of the coldest winters, comes the warmth of love and faith of seasons that celebrate the good and peace in the world.

Somewhere I'll find my peace,  try to remind my heart to start beating again and open my eyes to a better vision.


I'm grateful for my ability to express myself through art, to let out a little of who I am in to the world. And even if I never got another DD or award for any of my pieces, I am grateful to have them seen by the world.

Every piece is made because I was never told to think small, to want less. I'm able to dream because of my mother. Of all the things I have, she is my Christmas miracle, my ultimate gift. She has taught me to love with reckless abandon, and to share myself with the world.


I will forever be grateful.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

Wow got attacked by the DA police today when I accidentally posted a forum thread on the wrong...um thread I think. I was greeted with some rather nasty words and then the abrupt deletion of the thread.

Well I never.

Who knew there was a Deviantart Forum Gestapo?


Well to be safe rather then sorry, I'll just post the results here, which I should have done in the first place!

As I have said before I'm very sorry about the extreme lateness of the results we've have some freak snow storms here, so needless to save my internet was not accessible.





Here are the winners of the Season of the Witch Contest

In first place
by

In second place
by

In third place
:thumb264520288: by  

Thank you for entering! Please note me on my main account here to claim your prizes!

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

I blamed the lamp and the fan falling down in my living room on my cats they other day. The house banged about as if someone was trying to get in. Blaming the loud noises on the cats was easier to believe at the time, then an earthquake. After all, living where I do, we don't have them period. But the small town I live in is now buzzing with personal stories about how the earth shook.

Now a hurricane Irene is looming in on the east coast. I fear for my home, the beaches I love, and the people who live near them. We haven't had a hurricane on the east coast for about 20 years, and an earthquake felt here since 1912.  

What is it about conservation that sets people's teeth on edge? Why can't we ever have a real step forward to saving this planet, our home? It's not trendy to live green, it's a necessity, but living in general has become so hard to do. With all the severe finical problems we are having, global defense is not high on the agenda.

Last time I checked we only have one home, one beautiful blue planet that we truly can save and preserve.

Recently I made a page on Facebook called Picture This, encouraging artists to post their artwork there and to participate in conversations like these. It's small and it needs fans in a bad way, so I hope it gets a little support.

I firmly believe that artists see the world for all it can be, and with that kind of incredible thinking, we may yet be able to affect change.

[link]

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

Just as summer comes to a close I find myself lamenting it. Without a computer for weeks, I cringed to think about what was living in my messages box.
,
Found a new job, and I feel blessed I even have it. I work most days as a produce and candy clerk, in a store that has been around longer then I have. That's Oakland for you, most old small businesses here have deep roots here. And while it's not the most glamorous of occupations, I bring home a check, and wonder how the heck minimum wage will stretch to pay the bills. The quintessential working American.

So many heat-broken people come through my line, with food-stamps like myself, it's a mixture of embarrassment and lack of caring. The sad look in people's eyes that they have to use a food stamp card to buy food.

So many say that it will get worse before it gets better, and I honestly hope they are wrong. We put that out into the world, we might as well give up all hope. That I refuse to do. I am far from stupid, I know our problems are great, but we do have the tools to fix them.

I firmly believe that a society is defined by what we preserve, and chose not to destroy, and that goes for finical crises as well.  

I know I've come home only to break into tears, wondering if I will ever make it to film school, knowing a son of a friend can afford to go. Often I feel as if everyone I knew has gone on to pursue their dreams and I'm stuck back on the shore.  

My success is the journey, I keep hope more then ever. Pandora's box may have let horrors into the world, but hope is with us always. With me always.

So with three weeks without my art that I have severely missed, and with days ahead, I'll go there and back again.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

The lighting flashed around my house like I was the target of a first-class smiting. For an eerie moment, the world outside was lit so that it felt like day in the night.
It was pure grace and power; I could feel the thunder under my feet, a scary and exhilarating feeling. The illusions that we are cut off from nature, but in truth are completely and utterly surrounded by it.  

The rains have cooled off the horrible humidness, the type of dry that makes everything and it's uncle stick together. I've often thought of pulling a Joan of Arc and simply chopping off my hair that has gotten almost waist length.
I'm not sure how the women of the past have dealt with heat, and the horrid problem of long hair. Rapunzel must have been suicidal.

I find myself half-wishing that the summer was already over. Funny, as summer used to be a favorite season. I'm just ready to move on, in more then one since of the word. It's more then wishing for good luck, I have to go and seek it.  

Have recently been hounded for a manuscript for The Tenth Hour or Andrais, two non-real books that I have written in my head, but my hand refuses to pen them. It feels like all the good stories have already been told, and I would give anything to have people's opinion of what stories I have that I should write first.

Someone once told me to write the book I wanted to read. I once thought that I could do that once I found myself, once I understood who I was and would be able to write in my own style without fear.  It hasn't been that simple.

I could write the whole thing, and it never see the light of day at the publishers.

If I could, I would write about worlds re-discovered, the power of perseverance through the darkness, and ties that bind, be it good or evil. The human condition is one theme that shows itself in all works.

Currently I have a "book" called The Tenth Hour, about a writer/printer in 1888 London who unwillingly becomes a part of an elite and powerful group called the Committee. Later in modern day he falls in-love with a woman who he must kill.
Long story short, a vampire book.

Andrais is a book I have held close to my heart since high school. About three siblings who find that they are really from a land that no one knows exists except in myth. One brother will be doomed to tear it apart, another to save it.
Fantasy book.

One, that I have recently come to think of, is about Merlin. That he fell in-love with Morgan even though it was forbidden for their order, resulting in a child. Once again re-visiting the classic Arthurian tales with hopefully some new twists.
Fantasy book.

I have the horrible sneaking feeling that I have unknowingly taken something from somewhere, and I can't stand not to be original.

I feel like pleading with the muses to send me inspiration and courage. Goodness knows that if I sold something I could afford to live. But more then that it's so much of who I am, as a soul needing to tell a story to live.


There is some beautiful unknown power to being able to publish a book, the feeling that your voice is out there telling your story.
I only hope that someday I'll have something worth telling, and an audience to hear it.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

Recently I had to put my horse down, and I thought it was going to tear out my soul. He had cancer and he was in pain, so I couldn't be selfish. Often when these things happen I wonder how I will ever be able to breathe again. As these things go, I have to remind myself to breathe, until I no longer have to do so.


Often I wonder when my life will finally start to make sense, how much of it is me and my faults that bring on the horrors, or simply dumb luck. All I know how to do is just continue one painful breath at a time.

I've always said that horseback riding was different from any other sport in the world. For one, a soccer ball rarely tries to misbehave, try to throw you to the ground, or simply try to kill you. I'm sure a baseball to the head at high speed hurts like a *&^% but  a good toss from a horse can leave you with some serious injuries, just ask my kidney, or Christopher Reeves I'm saddened to say.  

Regardless, it's the one sport that largely depends on the communication from horse to rider no matter if your man or woman the contest is against each other with no regard of sex. It's very much a partnership, a friendship. So now I feel like half of me missing. I don't think I'll ride again, but we can never say never can we?


What doesn't break you makes you stronger, so here's to the life that brought so much joy into mine, a beautiful soul. I'm grateful for the beautiful moments when I found freedom on a horse.

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My Cell Phone Art [link]

Here is the feature for the latest best work of Make My World.
:thumb210441582: :thumb205553857:



A nod to my wonderful friends whom have supported me so fully. I'm in awe of your creative spirits and wonderful outlook on everything.  If left anyone out please let me know and I'll feature you too.

WhisperShe said to me, softly,

"Whisper me a symphony.

A breathy overture

Before the trembling of vocal chords

And the shy crackle of a tuning throat.

An aria of syllables

Gliding down the scales of a sentence

And singing to the rhythm of my eardrum.

A whisper learning to crescendo

Until it erupts into a chorus

Of similes and metaphors

Before finally diminishing to pianissimo

And fading into silence."

The weekend was hot, everything seemed to stick to each other. The rain drizzled on and off, and I found myself battling Mother Nature for the right to have a yard sale.
I felt like the little emote that shakes his fist in the air, only I was cursing the storm clouds.
But summer feels like it's here, and I hope that will bring good things.
Meanwhile, I've come to a love/hate relationship with DA, or rather some of it's members, because the website itself is my favorite place to be.  
What has become of the artist community that I have come to love and respect?
I held a contest, and offered prizes I was able to give out. Goodness knows I'm a poor as a church mouse, and by the grace of God, my incredible watchers donating subs, and sheer dumb luck, I have a substitution here.
So guess what? I can't afford points, heck I can't afford my electric bill. So when I donate points to someone, even it's just twenty, it would be nice for the gesture to be appreciated.

Instead the other prizes were "shoved in my face" so to speak, considered undesirable, unwanted. They got angry I couldn't donate more points instead of the journal skin or other things I donated.
Fine, I never have anyone donating prizes for a contest, so usually I'm on my own.

Why do people have to be that way, why? The only prize worth winning now days is something paid for. The whole world is either so poor they have become greedy, or it's been there all along and it only got worse.

Often I feel like the Little Red Hen, where I do so much work and all anyone does is submit their work to my group enjoying the benefits of it all, yet no one wants to help. I am extremely tempted to close my group and opt out of helping with the other groups all together.

I began this journey of self-discovery, and now I'm just starting to see what I can do. I'm no longer ashamed with not having the expensive tools, or the education as others do.

I'm here, so good or bad, wanted or unwanted, I'm here.

I need a laugh, nothing makes me happier when it causes me to laugh out loud. So, if you happen to know of any other funny work let me know.

:thumb176370572: :thumb123741737:

Omg! Talk about a surprised, I got a DD! I know right? Me of all people! I’ve been on DA for quite some time and I honestly never thought I’d get one. Funny thing is it was for a tutorial I made on windows rather then one of my pieces. When I made it I hoped it wasn’t too juvenile, or stupid.

[link]

Well thank you, thank you thank you thank you. I feel like I won a DA academy award, which makes me feel too darn happy to think about how much I need to get out more.

Oh and by the way, congratulations to the winners of the True Feelings Contest. Thank you to all whom has participated.

1st  Place

Winner of  Points donation, custom journal, feature, and news article and commission.


2nd Place

Winner of LLama donation, feature, custom ID and news article


3rd Place

Winner of Stamp, and feature.



Thank you to all who submitted such wonderful work. Keep creating!