The lighter side of grunge

Another collage, will be available for sale at The Angel Store and More in October! This technique was quite challenging!

Wish!

Here's the latest in the Studio L3 Challenge! My hope is to sew this on an art tote. Just need to learn to sew first!

Day Old Cookies

I traveled alone
from Scottsdale, Arizona to Portland, Oregon.
I can still see the smiles of aunts and uncles greeting me at the airport.
All the hugs and “oh look how she’s grown“. All but one are gone now.
I walked up those four cement steps in front of the gray house with white shutters.
The grass was so green, the trees so tall. The neighborhood so quaint.
The counter tops in the kitchen were very short.
Grandpa’s typewriter, worn with years of use, sits in the corner of the tiny living room.
I was only 12.
I took bubble baths in an old style tub with four ornate feet.
For two weeks I stayed.
I slept in a big double bed with lots of soft pillows.
When I thought I could drift off to sleep, I pulled the chain over my bed to turn off the light.
I remember hearing the soft footsteps of my Grandpa’s slippers
walking down the wood floored hall.
Every night he would open the door ever so slightly to make sure I was resting.
I heard the house creak in the night.
I felt the rumble of trains in the distance.
I awoke to birds singing softly in the trees.
I explored the old house and found an old washer in the half basement.
There were carved trails in the dirt in the old basement.
My uncle drove cars on those tiny cliffs long ago.
I found the attic. It was small and warm.
There was something familiar about this place.
Something in my memory, just out of reach.
We drove to see the ocean cliffs
We ate ham and cheese sandwiches on salt rising bread.
We had broken cookies and a pear for dessert..
I can almost feel the delicious crunch of those day old cookies.
I wish I could remember the smell of dinner cooking on the stove at my Grandpa’s house.
I long to feel the damp gray sidewalks on my bare feet again.
I wish I could remember when it felt like home…

Poem by Judy Wood
Spring 2010

Grunge

For the latest challenge, I decided on grunge paper butterflies instead of flowers... Made another little 'treasure box' as a gift. ENJOY!

White Rose

Creativity Quote

A man is a fool not to put everything he has, at any given moment, into what he is creating. You're there now doing the thing on paper. You're not killing the goose, you're just producing an egg. So I don't worry about inspiration, or anything like that. It's a matter of just sitting down and working. I have never had the problem of a writing block. I've heard about it. I've felt reluctant to write on some days, for whole weeks, or sometimes even longer. I'd much rather go fishing, for example, or go sharpen pencils, or go swimming, or what not. But, later, coming back and reading what I have produced, I am unable to detect the difference between what came easily and when I had to sit down and say, "Well, now it's writing time and now I'll write." There's no difference on paper between the two. Frank Herbert Author of Dune

Love Notes

Here's the latest in the series of challenges. I must admit, I like my distress powder undisturbed. ENJOY!

Local Interest

I've decided to start a second blog to discuss some of my favorite hot spots in Arizona! I'm also doing a series of Trompe l'oeil (French for "fool the eye") paintings for local restaurants. Here are a few of my Trompe l'oeil paintings. The third painting is my bulletin board from my college days. To continue the series, the first and second paintings are of napkins I picked up a few weeks ago. ENJOY!

Check out my new blog at http://aztreasures.blogspot.com/

Compendium of Curiosities Continues

Pirate tag...

New Collage

I lost a nephew about a year ago, he was so young. His sister (my niece) asked me to make a collage for her to remember him. This is the result of that request.

Remember, EVERY DAY is precious, hold on to those you love...

Dragonfly

This is a page layout from the latest Compendium of Curiosities Challenge. The original poem was written by David Wood.

A painting is a poem without words...

I found this quote today on Facebook, and I started thinking... Why do we create? I'd love YOUR thoughts on the subject, and I may add a few of my own...