out late
This little painting was so fun to do. I am so pleased with it (can I say that about my own work?- Um, I just did…) Every time I do comic stuff I wish I was going to a life drawing class. I LOVE life drawing. Maybe in the next few months I can make it work. It just so far hasn’t been possible, as life drawing, nude models, tippy-easles, and paint ,don’t really mix with walking, crawling bundles of energy like Emery. But I can feel it coming soon.
This little painting along with two more will be going into the comic show at Happy Harbour. (a comic book shop in Edmonton). I am looking farward to seeing the other work there, and reconnecting with the comic book scene.
This painting says (in case you cant read it) “Mom’s out late again”. It is meant to go with this text: (but sometimes too much text is just more than we need… Im thinking of presenting this one without any more text than the title…)
“There is a buzz. The edge of a free way, an overpass, where cars are pedestrians. Bugs on the windshield, feathers in the grille. I stand, miniature below a rotating advertisement, scale meant for Gods. And it turns. Periodic chugging of the mechanics. An immense beam of human ideals. A beacon, a light house, an ever changing mirage. This is how I am meant to transform. To fold out my arms and legs, to become a massive beast, of strength and metal.
But I feel like a paper doll, on a windy cold night, wearing a dress. I have goose bumps. The creaking billboard is speaking a mechanical language I do not understand. Like a massive whale groaning in the deeps of the dark ocean. I try to understand. Perhaps this monster of machine is in pain, and this is how it speaks. Maybe I am its last hope.
Hope? Like a seed planted in moist soil. An idea becomes concrete. A vision. Mid century, when a man sees my future. He has a vision and this vision blossoms. From above, a spray of steel, cloverleaf shaped asphalt, gears and rubber, oil fed tar erupts. It bursts forth from this man’s head like a creeping weed that seeds as it goes. Creates roots along the way. Nation after nation is engaged, in an expanding structure. An interchange of immense proportions.
How hope grows.
I see the scene in front of me. The lights of a city on a distant hill. The Deerfoot freeway below my feet. The vibration of the bridge as it shakes beneath the buzzing monsters rolling by. In the sky, the lights of airplanes. I am not meant to walk here. This is not my territory. There is garbage strewn, but no one ever sees it Like it, I am caught. A bug between universes. This is no man’s land. Most definitely a no- woman’s land. Or… God forbid, you would ever be caught here if you were a child, an animal, a bunny, a blade of grass or anything, soft, delicate … alive.
Welcome to a world. A world created.
I take in the scene …I hum the melody…”meet George Jetson”. I decide, it’s been long enough, and walk, in heels, back to my car. My night out, and I’m late.
But when there never is enough time, I feel like the world will have to wait.”
