I don't mean to be catty, but . . .

"Playing Dress-Up" 16x20 oil on canvas (acrylic underpainting)

When I was a child, I loved cats. In good weather, I brought home every stray cat within walking distance. My mother was patient and supportive. She placed a litter box in a recessed nook on one side of our big kitchen and indulged my love for cats, at least for awhile. The only rule was: one cat at a time.

I enjoyed cat ownership. I dressed each furry friend in my doll's clothes and pushed it around in my doll buggy. The strays were so hungry for attention and fondling that they never complained, even when made to wear a bonnet tied under the chin.

I lavished each cat with affection, but there was something abhorrent about having a litter box in the kitchen. While I was eating my breakfast, the cat was always doing its business in the litter box. Maybe that's why every winter, without fail, the "cat-in-residence” managed to disappear. Mother would claim it wandered off or got lost, but I began to suspect that each cat I brought home was never going to stay for long.

I can't really blame my mother. We lived in a small upstairs apartment with no utility room and a teeny-tiny bathroom that caused grownups to lean inward with the eaves. The kitchen was the only room wide enough to accommodate the "box;" a name my mother said with disdain.

When I grew up and had a home of my own, a cat was given to our oldest son as first prize in a soap box derby for Cub Scouts. It was a wild little thing that scaled my draperies like Mt. Everest, leaving a trail of claw tracks and snags in its wake. He clawed his way up my sofas, my chairs, my bedspreads, and, as a last straw, up the kid's arms and legs. The product of a feral cat's litter we decided. We never knew for sure. We returned our wild kitty back to the giver of the gift (adequate punishment, don't you agree?).

"Madison Morgan" from "Madison Morgan, when Dogs Blog" by Pam Torres

After that we became dog owners. As the children grew up, we enjoyed several canine lifetimes. It was while we owned a white and tan Shih Tzu named Pooky that a beautiful black cat with white socks came to live with us. My daughter dubbed him Demetrius.

We had no sooner gotten attached to him when we discovered that her younger brother was terribly allergic to cats. “Deme's” fur caused our son's skin to break out in bright red patches, followed by bouts of hay fever and asthma. Needless to say, the cat had to go. I cried like a baby when we had go give him away, but I didn't miss those patty-paw footprints all over my kitchen counter tops; a habit I was never able to break him of, even when I sprayed him with water.

"Winston" 11x14 oil on canvas

Today I admire cats from afar. They're beautiful, they're soft, they're cuddly, and they belong to someone else. A friend's cat brought her a gift in my presence: a tiny gray mouse that he laid at her feet. As I watched the blood trickle out on the floor, I remembered those unsanitary patty-paws on my kitchen cupboards. I determined then and there that I was a dog person, and I've been one ever since. I don't mean to be catty, but...

(Repeat of a blog from 2009)

Halloween Fun may turn into Halloween Horror

 When my children were younger; we had a large, legal filing box filled with costumes. Each year new costumes were added after every holiday. There were Halloween costumes, wigs, noses, and masks; and there were school play costumes, patriotic costumes from neighborhood Fourth of July parades, and pilgrim’s costumes to celebrate our two son’s birthdays that fell during the Thanksgiving holiday.

This box grew more popular each year as the number of costumes grew. The neighborhood kids loved them as much as my own children. The costumes were used year round, even in the summer when the kids wanted to play “dress-up.” Photographs over the years have documented the fun they had.

Most of the costumes were homemade; and many of them were easy to make. We had Indian costumes complete with moccasins and feathers. Colonial costumes in red white and blue, and a British Beefeater complete with a fur-topped hat that was once worn when it was in style.

My favorite costume that every toddler in the family wore was an old white pillow case that draped over the child and fell to the ankles. Ears were tied with string to make floppy rabbit ears. A face was a round circle so the child’s face could smile through. A cotton tail was glued on the back in the appropriate spot.

This costume was harmless and funny back in the days when mom and dad took turns walking their children through friendly neighborhoods. I miss those days. Rarely do I see children in our neighborhood on Halloween. Most of them attend costume parties at their churches or schools, or the local shopping mall where store owners distribute candy. It’s a dangerous world we live in.

In today’s world, some of those imaginary goblins and monsters are real, preying on the innocent and unsuspecting. Every few weeks, a small child disappears from our neighborhoods, sometimes even plucked from their own beds while the family sleeps. We must find a way to stop this atrocity. Our children are not only the future of the world; they are our pride and joy. Each one is precious!

Evil is real. Satanic powers are real. If we are to protect the future and our children, we must find ways to eradicate evil, rather than celebrate it! 

Everyone loves being scared or pretending to be afraid of Horror shows and Haunted Houses. But does it really end there? Even here in Fort Myers there is a Zombie Festival this weekend where people dress up in gore, win prizes, and drag their half-dead bodies through the streets. Hundreds of people look forward to participating in it, but it’s not my “cup of tea.” I only hope the influence of that evening will not reap negative consequences.

Have a safe Halloween everyone.

The Final Details – Key to a Memorable Painting

"Americana" 16x20 mixed media

When I first started painting, I’d get so excited once the drawing and under painting were finished. Even more excited when the first real coat of paint; the sky, the background items filled the canvas. “Why, I’m almost done:” I foolishly replied.

What I’ve learned since is that after the canvas is covered, the “real work” begins. Artwork isn’t a flash in the pan. You don’t slather a few coats of paint on and call it a day. Professionalism appears near the end, at the point when a novice thinks his painting is finished. Most artists will attest: “It’s all in the details.”

The difficult part of any painting is the small and subtle brushwork that makes a canvas zing. It may be added coats of glaze that deepen color or thin films of paint to get smoothness. Chosen wisely, these areas create more depth, more value, and selected highlights. Like the polish on an apple, the final details add sheen and realism.

"Playing Dress Up" 16x20 mixed media

Sometimes artists have clever ways to accomplish some of these tasks. In researching how to paint fish scales, I found that many sculptors of decoy fish actually use wedding veil fabric and spray paint color through it to spot the fish. They use another piece of veil, moving it a fraction, to spray another area with silver or gold. The detailing is incredible.

Other fish painters may independently paint the scales, either dotting or using semi-circles of overlapping paint. An artist can gain knowledge by researching online or through practice, determination, and experimentation. 

Visiting a real fish market is a plus. Better yet, buying a real fish and studying it, painting it makes a remarkable difference. One artist did just that. When the fish she bought started to stink, she’d buy another until she had the effect and detail she wanted in her painting.

"Robin Hood" 16x20 acrylic / barnwood frame

Depending on the desire and style of the artist, the lighter the touch of the brush and the more spontaneous, the fresher and more energetic a painting appears. To achieve both detail and freshness requires forethought and practice.

The first water droplets I painted took me several tries to get them right. Luckily, I was using oil. Each time I made a mistake; I’d swipe off the droplet and start again. I soon learned to use less paint, outline the droplet first, shadow second, and then add the highlights as a final touch.

It is so much fun that the real skill comes in knowing when to stop. If you’re not careful, the whole canvas could be filled with droplets. The kicker is that a few well placed droplets make a stunning statement. Too many, and the painting shouts with noise and the droplets become distraction.

"Sandhill Cranes at Twilight" 24x30 mixed media

It’s the subtle additions that make all the difference: increased contrast to make the center of interest “pop;” a few well placed highlights; color intensity in areas to guide the eye through the painting. At the point when you think you may be finished, it just may be the beginning of a long and thoughtful process that in the end will make your artwork memorable.