In The Beginning There was Clive, The Mad Welshman.

I don't remember how I stumbled across Clive of Clive5Art but it was very early on in my art journey. I don't know why he it the spot so well. I liked his style of painting and I liked how he rambled on and I liked his accent and how he seemed like such a proper English gentleman who occasionally wore a thumb ring. Over the years his studio has grown and his production values have gotten better and he tries so very hard not to ramble and keep his videos short. I dunno, I love the ramblings. Here he is introducing himself:






Just as Angela Anderson showed me that I could paint pictures that weren't crap, Clive showed me I can paint pictures that I could be proud of. Not that I wasn't proud of some of my other stuff.  You know, stuff that didn't look like crap always made me happy. But look at this study of a cat's eye I painted following one of his tutorials.

 I could paint like this? Wow Clive, thanks for showing me I could.




Of course I have an Etsy!  Pinkslink's Fallen Face Studio

The Hours Continue to Need Filling

Back in January of 2015 my face fell. Did the hospital thing and the rehab thing and, after about two months, my job told me that they did not want my wobbly, drooly, funny talking ass around no more. Also, jewelry making became almost impossible. Now what was I going to do?

After week of sitting at home wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself now that all I could do was walk into walls and drop food out of my mouth, I decided I wanted to paint a picture. Not to paint a picture, mind you, but as a stencil of sorts for a mosaic. I got some acrylic paint from my craft room and the lid of a cigar box and painted a flower-eyed view of the sky. Look at this piece of shit:

Boy, you could tell I hadn't painted a damn thing since elementary school. But I still had paint and I still had cigar box lids and I still had 24 hours to fill-- minus the sleepy time, of course. So I pressed on. I painted about 3 very, very terrible paintings before realizing that there were teachers out there, willing to teach me for free. My very first painting teacher was Angela Anderson and she taught me how to paint trees with sponges.



I do not have a picture of the painting I did using this tutorial (my fourth ever) because someone liked it and I gave it to them. Yes, I--me!-- painted something nice enough for someone else to want. Well now. This meant I had to buy supplies!

The thing is, ever since I picked up that brush 2 and a little bit years ago I have not put it down. Every day I paint a little. Every day I learn more with teachers who just give away painting lessons! They just give them away. For free. I am forever grateful.



Of course I have an Etsy! Pinkslink's Fallen Face Studio.

TV Screen Endangering Commercials

I need to vent my spleen as it has filled up with whatever goes into spleens. I've seen that commercial again. The one that makes me want to strangle a teacher. It goes something like this:

Two couples playing Scrabble. One person puts down the word 'you'. The next person says, "I'll build on that word," and sets down the letters n e f c . Another alert Scrabble player says, "Hey, that's not a word-- and you're a teacher!"

Then, the worlds most retarded teacher says-- and I swear she says this-- "Yes it is a word. It's pronounced "nefque" and it STANDS FOR Nassau Educators Federal Credit Union."

That's when I start yelling at my TV. "THAT'S STILL NOT A WORD YOU STUPID FREAKIN' BITCH!!!! AND YOU'RE A TEACHER!!!!!"


This angers me more than the people who cannot do simple tasks like drain spaghetti or peel an egg. The worst offender in my opinion is the dumb bunny who needs a Snuggie because she doesn't know how to use a blanket. A blanket. She has a problem covering herself with a blanket. I need to repeat this: She cannot cover herself with a blanket without major frustration and failure. This is probably why she needs to buy a robe and put it on backwards.



You know who else needs a cockpunch? That stupid fucking hipster in the Sam Adams commercial. The one who never tasted Sam Adams before. Why he never tasted it before, I don't know. Probably because he's a stupid fucking hipster and it's not PBR in a can.

But that's all right. You can be a stupid fucking hipster in your plaid pork pie hat if you wanna. Just don't try to sound like a smart fucking hipster by saying, "I obviously was selling myself short by not even considering this as a possibility." No, you were not selling yourself short. You were selling Sam Adams short. You stupid fucking hipster.


How about the guy that the worst thing that ever happened to him was that he had to leave work and wait in line at the post office. If that's the worst thing that ever happened to you, you need to STFU and go buy some more stamps.  Although I don't find him half as rage inducing as the woman in that same postage scam commercial.

"Can you only get stamps? No, you stupid person. What a dumb question I just asked myself and ascribed to you so that I can talk down to you."

HELP

I Only Ever Leave The House To Eat These Days

A short while ago, me and hubby went to Smorgasburg in Prospect Park and had a very lovely time. Almost everything we ate was delicious. Almost.

First off, it was a great day and a great crowd. Not to thin so as too look sad but not so crowded that a streetsweeper is needed in order to take two steps.

We went hungry. Don't see a need to eat anything before going to a smorgasborg, erm, burg. When we got there, we made a beeline to Porchetta for a roast pork sandwich. This is NOT a picture of the roast pork sandwich. We were so hungry we scarfed down the delicious, delicious, oh so delicious pork sandwich which I didn't even think to take a picture of. I'm not sure what this is a picture of but it looks yummy, doesn't it?

I saw a sign for arepas. I LOVE arepas and had to have some. But instead of a delectable slice of fried cornbready and melted cheese heaven, I was given this . . . thing. Palenque claims to be Colombian, but they spell flavor with a "u". What self respecting American spells flavor with a "u"? These people ain't Colombian and that ain't no arepa. I took one bite and handed it to Dany. He was much more intrepid. I took two bites. We actually threw it away.

THIS is a corn and cheese arepa. A nummy, nummy corn and cheese arepa. Can you imagine throwing this beauty away?

Throwing food in the garbage made me hungry. Good thing there were a gazillion food stalls. Bombay Sandwich Co. made giant samosas and mango lassi that were gobbled up posthaste.

It was now time for dessert. If you have read this blog before, you may remember the last time me and Dany were out and I had to have some ice cream, things did not end well for me. In fact, it all came out in the end. Explosively. Luckily for me Alchemy Creamery makes non dairy ice cream. It was almost exactly like eating regular ice cream except for the creamy part. I'da had seconds if it wasn't for the fact that I was finally stuffed.

We didn't get a coconut but we did spend quite some time watching this man swing his machete around like a Baby Doc Duvalier supporter. From far back in the crowd. And keeping a close count of his fingers.

And lastly, we did not rent a bike. This is a family sized bike. There were all sizes and we thought about it but the line to rent was about an hour long. I, for one, plan to go back to Prospect Park just to rent on of these and look like a complete dork.

Feeling Old? Here Are Some Buildings As Old As Civilization

Seriously only barely making one blog post per week but that doesn't mean I can't bore you with shit I find endlessly fascinating. Another data point that may be of interest: The worst I feel, the more I fucking curse.

Barnenez:

Earliest carbon dating for this site is about 4800 BC, out-dating the oldest Egyptian pyramid by 2000 years. Just so you know, this is how we was living just shy of 5000 years ago.

Gobekli Tepe

The digging guys-- who I have a romance all about if only I can get the freaking 1980's romance OUT OF MY DAMNED HEAD AND ONTO THE PAGE-- have dated this dig to about  7550 BC or so. My hypothetical romance dig dates long before this Gobekli Tepe. Don't worry. I'm not trying to change pre-history. Just trying to get some boomchicka wow wow in with the fascinating history of prehistoric digs. Also, my make-believe dig is in Eastern United States. A long way away from where this real site is in Turkey.


The Tumulus of Bougon or, even better, The Necropolis of Bougon

The earliest of these buildings has been dated to about 4800 BC and was found stuffed full of skeletons. More excavations in the French town of Bougon revealed even more building filled with skeletons. And arrowheads, broken pottery and beads. Which leads me to believe that the prehistoric French built sturdier houses for bones and garbage than they did for the living.


Saint-Michel Tumulus

See? Another tumulus in France that survived from pre-history. Also filled with dead people. And don't be fooled like I was. This ancient burial mound is near Carnac, which is on the other side of France from Mont Saint-Michel in Normandy. Mound Saint Michel, Mont Saint Michel-- easy to get them confused. 

See? Easily confused!

Totally And Completely Blocked

Can't write. It's killing me. Gotta do it but words coming not at all. Imagine scene in head many times then words on paper go. But this not happening. Instead only pictures for paint. Romance and blog fall to wayside. I paint picture of  dinosaur.

"Rawr" say T-Rex, "Asteroid destroy whole world. Michele no can write few ten thousand word. Michele be destroyed my asteroid!"

Michele now go stare at blank screen. Write maybe one hundred word. No word come. Michele wait for asteroid.

In Which I Pay Tribute To 80's Romance Couple

It has been hot as balls stuck to thighs around here. Today is either the fourth or fifth day over 95 degrees. When it gets this hot, the tiny little electric fan on the computer table is very little use to me or my computer. What I end up doing is sitting down, sweating profusely after 5 minutes-- especially underboob, imagine I'm dying of heat stroke doing the strenuous exercise of moving my fingers across the keyboard and heading back upstairs to the only air conditioned room in the house. Trouble is, I can't write up there in the bedroom. The writing computer is the desktop downstairs. Upstairs is my Fire and my paints.

I hear that there are people who write novels on their Kindle Fire. To them I say, "How the fuck, dudes?" I can't even write a passable YouTube comment on my Fire.  What I can do upstair, however, is paint. Right on my bed. Drives my husband batty. Here's a painting called Help!:

Yesterday I was feeling specially guilty for not adding to the 2,000 words I've typed so far. That's out of about 15,000 I need to finish this thing off. But I was thinking about 80s Romance. Problem was, I wasn't thinking about the hard crap I'm trying to get down now. It's really boring, early character and situation set-up that's bogging me down. Instead I was thinking of the ending missing chapters with the homina-homina bowchickie-wow wow. So I painted this:

There was more wanted to impart to you all today but the sweat has dripped from my eyelash directly into my eye and now my eyeball is on fire like the rest of my sweltering body. I hear there is a cooler front making its way to us here in the Baked Apple. We should be getting some relief by Thursday night. I will be seeking relief right now by going upstairs where I won't die.