What should crows and communion linens have in common? Hmmm.

thinking about crows

I have capped a fairly long stretch of holiday downtime by catching a bad cold. Consequently, there have been hours and hours spent at home, passing to and fro before the picture window, sometimes sitting down on the couch with a sigh to stare up through the glass. Snow. Bare branches. Little houses with thick white frosting on the roofs, steam issuing from chimney-tops. And crows, lots of crows.

We live one block from the purportedly highest point in the city of Minneapolis, a park called Demming Heights. It is thickly wooded with oaks and maples, and provides a wide vista view to the west, over the rail yard and the parkway, down to the Mississippi river. The block between us and the park is a steep hill to our south. Since there's another hill behind us, to the east, our cell phone reception stinks. But we see lots of urban-adapted wildlife around here -- foxes, raccoon, turkeys, etc -- and of course, the crows. The local flock roosts at night in the trees of Demming Heights, hundreds of them. They swirl through the air, calling loudly, swooping down in small groups to peck at the roadway and poke through the snowbanks. They undoubtedly know where all the local compost pits, bird feeders and restaurant dumpsters are located, omnivores that they are. Not to mention squirrel carcasses, and the fast-food litter that accumulates near parked cars.

Eight, ten, twelve birds appear to play tag from tree to tree, jeering at each other; another half dozen join them, and a few more, and so on, until they decide to forage in the street and so come down to earth, sharply contrasting against the white of the world. And I've become curious about them, finally, rather than distantly annoyed. They're like someone else's noisy kids, running through yards and raising heck.

My first attempt to draw one looked too seagull-ish. So I took out the bird books and did some careful looking. My second attempt (painted with Tsukineko inks, above) still looked a bit too friendly. According to Junebug the cat, also seen above. 

My second attempt wasn't an American Crow at all, which is what we see around here. Instead I painted the Fish Crow, a slightly smaller version, and a bird I've ticked down in south Georgia. 

Grabbed this collage off the interwebs. This is what grows on all the neighborhood trees, now it's January. 

And this is the American Crow, the dude in question. Cornell University is the website to visit when looking for comprehensive information on bird habits, and their page on crows does not disappoint. Everything you didn't know you should know. I tried to paint the feathers of just the wing, and gave it up as a bad job after several hours -- I'll try again later, but there's so much light in there. My ink was much too opaque. 

Is this crow fascination going anywhere? Or is it just a break from sewing? We'll see! 

Going to Seed

Finally finished! Copyright protected, no Pinterest or reposting please. 

"Going to Seed" 

16.625 x 22 inches

Jennifer A. Schultz, 2013

Well.
Without getting into it, the studio I thought I was moving into on the 1st has gone to someone else. I suspect, ironically, coincidentally, it's someone I met the night before I got the news. (And spent $85 with on a scarf she made.) I guess they wanted someone less fine-art and more wearables.

So, humorously enough, I've spent the last two weeks working on costumes for the Christmas Pageant at our church. No high couture, but a pretty good bit of improvisation -- 11 costumes, for kids aged kindergarten through 4th grade. No patterns, no shopping, just used stuff from the stash. Visit my facebook if you simply must see what I did. But, I am kinda proud.

Two different artists I know and respect said, about the studio, "Things happen for a reason. New opportunities are on their way." And I'll choose to believe it.

I need to finish stitching the backing on "Going to Seed", and then can start something new if I want -- I'll finish cleaning the sewing room first (organza and cotton sheeting and glittery trims everywhere) -- I have a few notions percolating, including a celebration of "winter whites!"

close to the border...

"Going to Seed" is pretty much done! Just needs a border. (black and white photo for now) 

16x20 inches. Funny how I can make anything that size w/o even trying. :/ 

another little experiment

red dirt, rust, tsukineko inks etc on cotton.

copyright Jennifer A Schultz 2013

an aside

I would have been a goth if I hadn't moved to Georgia in '97. I was primed -- all the music, and to some degree the art and fashion side of the scene. Even after I had the kid, I had punked-out black and orange hair (a move I did NOT make while living in GA), had garnered several tattoos, and had largely the same set of musical tastes. But at some point -- somewhere between giving birth and going to work for the church -- I thought it was time to "grow up." And I've been a fairly successful grownup. I have most of the trappings including marriage for 16 years and holding the same job for 8 years now; have made some of the mistakes. I take Zoloft, and have successfully reached 45 years of age, or "mid-life."

Which is probably why I've started dreaming I'm Lisbeth Salander in the Swedish film version of  GWtDT.

Noomi Rapace, whose character seems more mature and self-reliant than the anemic, childlike Rooney Mara's. 

Something about hearkening back to the almost-goth self is very comforting. I suppose I'm unsatisfied with the woman I've grown into. I've made a sincere effort to show the world a lot of love, but I'm feeling fairly drained now. Not super-cynical, but pissed off about the world and a bunch of the nonsense I've experienced lately. Weary of putting everyone first, and constantly being told I'm not doing enough for someone. While there's no excuse to go back on being a parent, and I can ungrudgingly do my best in that department, I do feel like letting a bunch of other things slide. That won't last, I suppose. But maybe there's a middle ground -- between the 25 year old Goth I wasn't, and the somewhat-too-martyr-like female I've become. This of course draws a bunch of positional conclusions about being goth that are I'm sure very personality-dependent, as everything must be. Tough and independent -- some people would already call me that. Some most assuredly would not. 

Self-expression. That's a question. And why it doesn't seem out of place to talk about this on what is ostensibly an "art blog."

Of course the fictional Lisbeth Salander wouldn't have been caught dead spilling her guts in public. But then I wasn't sexually abused as a child, and can be heartily grateful, since I know so very many women and men who were.   

It's just a point. It's a t-shirt: "Fuck you fucking fuckers," that Lisbeth wears in one of the American movies. 

It's the women my age and older who I know, who are mouthy, independent and controversial. It's the stereotypes about looks and dress and age. It's the musical preferences of the men I know, whose masculine frowns I take too much to heart. It's my desire to be liked by everyone. 

This isn't an anti-male rant, by the way. I like men just fine. But it has become apparent that I really CAN'T please everyone. Or sometimes, anyone. Except myself.