I'm working on facial drawing/painting facial features. It's a challenge! Lately I've only been blocking in the eye socket(s) without drawing the eye in and winging it with painting only.
Something about my original drawing was bugging me. I applied some gesso to her forehead and nose and painted in the background...I think this is a bit better...she still looks rather stern - maybe she's unhappy with her nose job!
My third and final drawing in the series. I wrote my second short story to go along with it.
I think I was born tall! I have a twin brother and until we were about 16 years old I was taller than him. We went to a Catholic grammar school. At our 8th grade graduation the students had to process down the church aisle in pairs boys on the right, girls on the left. Myself and two other eighth grade girls marched in last, three abreast, because there were no boys as tall as we. I was the tallest, walking between the other two. At 14, that was embarrassing. I felt like a gawky giraffe.
I remember my mother constantly nagged me “to stand up straight - shoulders back - head up”. This annoyed me to no end. She threatened to make me wear a shoulder brace. Thankfully, that never happened. She just didn’t get it - I was too tall!
I remember going to the local pizza parlor when I was supposed to be at the library studying. This is where the cool kids hung out, drank cokes, joked with each other and danced to the music on the juke box. The few times I was asked to dance, I would take off my shoes and slouch so that I wouldn’t be taller than the unwitting boy who invited me onto the tiny dance floor. It’s a memory I wish I could forget.
Trying on dresses one day at a local department store in the mall - I had already graduated high school by that time - I looked at myself in the full length mirror. Really looked at myself and was appalled. In my head I could hear my mother telling me to “stand up straight - shoulders back - head up”. So I did. What an eye opener - the dress looked so much better. I actually felt pretty. I didn’t feel gawky at all.
Somewhere along the way, the men I dated grew up. No more reasons for me to slouch. My mother was so wise. I wished I had listened to her sooner.
Oddly, now that I’m approaching 70, I find that I’m not as tall as I once was. I’m not too happy about it either. I continue to try and stand up straight - shoulders back - head up AND hold my stomach in!
Now I preach this mantra to my granddaughters and they just roll their eyes...
2nd in the series of stories. I painted it first and was at a loss as to the story it might tell until I overheard a snippet of conversation between two ladies in the grocery store...and got an idea.
There sat Muriel feeling miserable in Dillard’s dressing room surrounded by an assortment of one-piece swimsuits. The overzealous salesclerk with the toothy grin and lipstick on her teeth was hovering around willing to tell her she looked fantastic in anything she tried on. Muriel was embarrassed to ask the clerk to bring suits in a larger size. She felt so alone and wished she had brought a friend to help her. She also hated the thought of getting dressed again to look for herself and go through the contortions of squeezing into another suit. Why oh why does clothes shopping have to be such a bother she thought. A size, no matter the number, should fit the same across brands - it would save so much time!
Still sitting there trying decide what to do, Muriel’s cell phone rang. It was American Express telling her that a $2100 charge had been made for an on-line purchase at a site she had never heard of. She was told to hang up and call the phone number on the back of her credit card to either confirm or deny the charge. Things weren’t bad enough - now this. Actually, it was a good thing. She explained to the credit card agent what she was doing at the time she received the call. They both had a good laugh. The credit card agent completely understood her angst.
Feeling better, Muriel again scoured through the racks of swimsuits and found a pretty one in blue which fit nicely she thought. After she made the purchase, Muriel was fairly certain this would be the last swimsuit she would ever buy.
I’m getting tired fussing with this one - I may come back to it…anyway it’s the first one of the three
Here's the story to go with the painting:
As usual she awakes early to the red glow of the digital clock - 4:45AM - time to rise and shine. Even though she took an early retirement from her day job over twenty-five years ago and could sleep in, she can’t break the habit. Mornings are the best time of day!
Tiptoeing so as not to waken her husband, she quickly pulls on clean but raggedy t-shirt and shorts and does her daily Classical Stretch workout. Twenty-five minutes of bending, stretching, and reaching loosen up her sore back muscles and hip joints. She then laces up the neon orange Asics walking shoes, grabs the i-Pod and ear buds and is out the door. Before setting out, she picks up the newspaper and places it inside the kitchen door. Her husband is always grateful to find the newspaper handy when he gets up. It’s a beautiful cool morning - no mosquitos yet. The sky is filled with stars. No one else is up yet except for a neighbor’s cat who is roaming around. Compulsively she sets the timer on her i-watch then it’s ready, set, go!
She power walks to the beat of the BeeGees, Neil Diamond and some rap. Her body is on autopilot - no thinking - just being. Sometimes she looks up and isn’t sure where she is. It’s wonderful to be out early walking in the dark. No one can see that she hasn’t combed her hair or that she is wearing clothes with holes in them. Four miles and an hour later, she’s home again ready for that first cup of coffee - heavenly!
Her morning exercise is complete. She has read the newspaper; eaten breakfast; showered, dressed and put on her “war paint.” Now she looks in the mirror and goes through a litany of daily reminders - be kind, gentle, understanding, polite, encouraging to herself and others. Slow down and be grateful for this day.
My first short story using my handmade card prompts. This story was swirling around in my head for days and I couldn't shake it. It seemed best to just paint it out. (I had originally thought I would write an amusing story - not a "grim" fairy tale!)
Cry of a Wounded Heart
She was once a beautiful woman open to love and happiness. Over time she had her heart broken more than once. She was never able to let go of the pain.
The betrayed woman no longer beautiful, her face ugly with hatred, fell down dead with a cry of a wounded heart.