rhiannon_black | Art snobs, can't shoot 'em

But laws do change sometimes. Until then, well, a girl can dream. My sister-out-law, who shall remain nameless (Martha), is just too special. Saw her this evening last and in a little snippet of conversation we had she made it very clear that what she and Bob do is "art." Apparently, what my people and I do is some form of glorified occupational therapy. Next thing you know, they'll be giving me a really big, really blunt needle and some plastic canvas--oh, look, a bookmark. And then, who knows, maybe the same really blunt needle, some really red yarn and really big, really blunt, really wooden beads which I can string together in a really random order. All this without her having a friggin clue as to what I make.

It's too damned bad I don't work with ferric metals because then I could build my own refrigerator magnets to put up the rest of my refrigerator art.

But I'm not bitter. No, never that. Really.

I say piffle! And feh!

It's so true what Wonder Pat says about the view of the "art" world towards jewelry. It is so clearly only craft and so very easily dismissed.

Maybe I should do what everyone is urging and take my metal pieces and put them on a thingy and call them sculpture. Then I might actually produce something worthy of showing in a gallery. And I still say eff that. See, I can talk nice and proper.

Damn, if I stay at these heights I will get a nosebleed. Hmmm, that's epistaxis. I didn't learn that from freerice.com, I knew it already, but I'll be damned if I actually ever used the word before.

Now on to more important things.

The mystery remains, that of the cautionary cows. Was there cow spillage? When did it happen? Where are they now? Where were they going? Where are they hiding? Why are they hiding? It's not like the Butler Plaza area is heavily wooded and rutted with deep ravines and blind canyons. That would be differently sighted canyons. Where are the cows?

Cows, hiding in plain sight.

We dress like students, we dress like housewives, or in a suit and a tie.

Okay, and two points define a line. I have not found a third, non-linear cow caution sign. Are these two-dimensional cows? And who could make a value judgement like that? Without even knowing the cows? Do we ever really know anyone though? Isn't it pretty speciesist? I can't spell tonight. But that word wasn't on freerice.com so I don't care.

Morien, a type of helmet. Well, duh. Who doesn't know that.

Dolmen! Oh, come on.

Helminth. Well, I never used that one in a sentence before either but boy howdy I know what antihelminthic means and have used that in a sentence. Although probably only whilst talking to myself. As I always pick the most intelligent person in the room to hold a conversation with, well, you know.

And oh my God what damage hath AOL wrought. I just went to freerice.com and they no longer remember my total of like a gazillion grains of rice and they're giving me words in the dummy range. I mean "treaty," what kind of sh*t is that (another example of refined language)? Despoil? Pinnate? Do you people think I need training wheels? And why? All because I oh so foolishly clicked on that thingy that said, hey kid, want some candy oh no wait I mean there's a nifty new version of AOL and all the cool kids are doing it. Nascent? Is that a joke? Trumpery? Debridement? Detritus? Is this a vision of hell?

Fettle? Cachet? Carom?

On a brighter note, I have a necklace mandrel in the back of the Cherry Red Roadster. And a quartz stirring rod. I know, I know. I can't believe it myself. But wait--an ingot mold. Oh my God! Is this so cool? It is, I know. Just need to buy me some fine silver casting grain and a pennyweight or two of 24K gold and I'm almost there. Houston, we have shibuichi. Houston, we have shakudo. And then, mokume gane.

Mokume gane. And then the world, Pinky, the world.

I am so squee.

And Aspeninthesunlight updated A Summer Like None Other. On Christmas Eve. I mean, is this not the most excellent woman in the world. And she came through. Another excellent chapter, not like that's a surprise because when has she ever done anything less. Yes, she came through, she delivered, she made Christmas Christmas. Unlike a certain jolly old elf, who shall remain nameless (Santa) who stills owes me at least one freakin horse.

And a maine coon cat named Monty. With a Y and not an E.

Oh, and I actually managed to get some work done on one of my stories. Some writing, or at least some writing about writing. And sometimes, that's almost as good.

All in all, not a bad day.

Really.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Next thing you know, they'll be giving me a really big, really blunt needle and some plastic canvas--oh, look, a bookmark. And then, who knows, maybe the same really blunt needle, some really red yarn and really big, really blunt, really wooden beads which I can string together in a really random order.

Hey! As a user of really big, really blunt needles I resemble that remark! As a needleworker I sympathize with your thoughts on the snobbish ones. When they get those laws changed, we'll organize ourselves a hunting party.

The mystery remains, that of the cautionary cows. Was there cow spillage? When did it happen? Where are they now?

This business of the mystery cows intrigues me. Cows are a wiley and clever lot, and I'm suspicious they are up to something. Perhaps they have a lead on the whereabouts of the key to their spacecraft (the one buried near Blacksburg, VA). This is whey they walk amongst you. Beware the ninja cows!

Or perhaps they have simply gone south for the winter, seeking warm sunny pastures. Snow cows, if you will.

These are thoughts to ponder over as I play with my needles and threads.

Off to bed now, so as to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for Friday! Have fun with the new jewelry thingies! ttfn

Hey! As a user of really big, really blunt needles I resemble that remark! As a needleworker I sympathize with your thoughts on the snobbish ones. When they get those laws changed, we'll organize ourselves a hunting party.

You know I have nothing but the greatest love and respect for the wielders of the needle, the practitioners of the fibre arts. I, myself, have wielded to great effect (or maybe not)a blunt needle pulled through canvas. But oy if you could have seen her, trying to look down her nose at me (and me with an easy five inches on her), boy howdy, you would have pulled out your needles then and there and skewered the broad. If smug were perfume, we'd have had to flung open all the doors and windows and turned on the exhaust fans.

This business of the mystery cows intrigues me. Cows are a wiley and clever lot, and I'm suspicious they are up to something. Perhaps they have a lead on the whereabouts of the key to their spacecraft (the one buried near Blacksburg, VA). This is whey they walk amongst you. Beware the ninja cows!

Or perhaps they have simply gone south for the winter, seeking warm sunny pastures. Snow cows, if you will.

Now you've got me worried. I'm seeing cows in nifty black outfits, grunting badly lip synced dialogue and pouncing on me all unawares. Or worse, little old blue-haired lady cows and their gentlemen friends (how does the bovine set pull their trousers up way high, cinched right beneath their oh I'm not going any further into that madness) looking for lunchtime deals at Morrisons Cafeteria.

Sad thing is, the other day I turned on a local talk radio program and someone was talking about the cows and I just caught the tail end of the comment. I am left to ponder if she would have cleared up the mystery for me for all time and will never know.

Souk aka Suze aka Rhiannon Black lo I have many names

Art snobs, can't shoot 'em

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blunt needles and wily cows