The obsession

I confess, I am obsessed. Artwork absorbs me to such an extent that I forget to eat; I mean it’s such a colossal annoyance to stop for a meal.  Seriously, I’d love to just strap on some intravenous, vitaminized gloop and carry on with my work.  Daily hygiene is also a necessary evil. I’d skip it altogether if not for the other people in the world (taking pity on their sense of smell, I occasionally sacrifice the time).
When I’m working, nothing is sacred…my kitchen egg-flipper still has chips of paint on it from some long-forgotten adventure in art. I gather household items around me like Pig-pen’s cloud, as I foment the latest creation. It’s an obsession. Fortunately, my obsession brings me joy not anxiety. And there’s no stigma attached to being an eccentric artist…my OCD is socially acceptable. Everyone knows artists are crazy.

For the last couple of years I’ve concentrated on photography and graphic art. These two hobbies shouldn’t generate much mess, right?  Ha! When I’m taking photos, I can’t just snap things in their current location and condition….that would be too neat and tidy. No, I have to decorate them with bits of lace, or outline them with light from sparklers or freeze them in ice. At the moment I have a piece of glass out on my patio(rescued from some old picture frame) where I’m taking advantage of the current cold snap to coat it with ice.  I’ll use it later, for better or worse, to create some new images under ice.
For as long as I can remember, one project or another has cluttered up my living space. The freaky thing is, disorder upsets my equilibrium so I compulsively clean today, and I’ll obsessively create a new mess tomorrow.

To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, art is undeniably a jealous mistress (or in my case, mister). Relationships definitely suffer neglect when you’re wrapped up in paper mache and tubes of glitter….(unless you’re using them in novel ways outside my normal methods). People become extraneous and just as much an inconvenience as eating a meal… or more so…at least the meal doesn’t expect conversation.

Here is one of the harvests from my obsession. This one required burning sparklers in the kitchen, dropping remnants of ash in the kitchen sink, as well as coating the top of the range with dripping candle wax. I never notice the mess I’m making until I come out of the zone…..and then it’s back to compulsive tidying.

Photography Prints

and if I happen to scatter a little broken glass here and there, who’s to notice?

Art Prints

When I was younger, I tried to fit into society’s standard of a “normal” life…..someone else’s vision of normal. Now I’m old enough to understand that my life is normal….for me.

And it’s damn good.

Links to header images:

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/explosive-ideas-barbara-white.html

http://fineartamerica.com/featured/dreamscape-barbara-white.html

Are you a Dr. Dolittle…do the animals talk to you?

Do animals talk to you? I don’t mean the totally-whacked-out-voices-in-your-head kind of talk to you, but do you project human emotions and speech onto the animals you run into? I do. Because I can. It’s my blog and I can do whatever freakydeaky thing I want and hey, why not, it’s fun!

This gull for instance, in my feverish little brain, sounds just like my brother Neale, except with a sort of upperclass, English accent…slightly snooty and unfailingly polite.

And this handsome guy speaks to me in a Humphrey Bogartish kinda tone, oozing smooth and self-confidence…and he has an excellent pickup line.

But apparently, animals have a different mindset than us, because they say things that you just don’t hear in everyday conversation:

And are you like me? do you hover like a hungry lion over the card section in the drugstore …waiting to pounce on that perfect card? I could (and have) spent hours reading all the goofy animal cards. Mostly, I’m left feeling hungry. I end up looking at their cute little faces and have to write new lines for them because the cardwriters humour is just a little too bland for my tastes…I like something that packs a punch…maybe with a smidge of weirdness thrown in there for flavor.
Finally though, I have the perfect solution, I’m using my own photos and adding my own text…that means no more saccherine-sweet cards for Auntie Mable; no more lovey-dovey-googoo-gaga stuff for my sons’ birthdays. It’ll be nothing but poop and crunching birdbones from now on….now that I can talk to the animals and they are talking back.

For a visual treat, visit http://barbara-white.artistwebsites.com
and other fun gifts and stuff at iiphotoArt