I became interested in art when I was around four years old. I was lucky enough to learn from a local artist and it quickly became a dream to be one. I was encouraged by my mother throughout my childhood. There was always an art area with unlimited access in our house. I never thought I’d be able to be successful financially doing art of any kind, but I have always been passionate about the craft. As an eighth grader, I submitted a painting to the Kentucky State Fair and won. My award was a scholarship to NASA for Space Camp. At the same time, my father lost his job, filed bankruptcy and we were forced to leave my hometown. I never got to take my trip to Space Camp. Life got in the way.
I took every art class available in High School. Frequently placed in art shows and competitions. I rebuilt my esteem and worked on my craft in a variety of mediums. I couldn’t get my hands into enough! I did calligraphy, drawing, painting and ceramics. I even printed my own graduation announcements, using The Kiss reproductive painting and an old printer press. This was when I wrote and illustrated my first children’s book, The Dragon in Jeremy’s Basement. I wanted to write and illustrate from my beach house when I grew up! I wasn’t able to graduate early, the school board changed the number of credits my senior year. Again, life changed course. The art teachers created projects for me to do and I spent nearly my entire senior year in the art department. At graduation, we had to move again. I went through a wild spell of rebellion and I had no knowledge of how to make art school or any college happen for me. No one in my family ever went to school. The part of my dream to live at the beach was a reality, but it wasn’t the time to pursue being a writer/illustrator.
When I was twenty-one, I had my first child. I put my dreams on hold again. Life kind of got in the way of my dreams, where I thought I would be. It was never the “right time”. As an adult, we learn to meet our responsibilities before we do frivolous things. My father was one to constantly be in competition with himself and money was the priority for him art was a frivolous thing in his opinion.
To attempt to make him proud, I worked and raised my children. Was unhappily married, soon divorced and a single mom of three. Working was a priority and necessary for survival. I am now happily married to a good man, who supports my dream of drawing and writing. I am at a different place in my life. I am allowed to take a breath and live my dream. It is time, for me to take this path. I am terrified. I am self conscious that I won’t be talented enough or successful financially. It is intimidating. However, I am willing to try with the support of a good man who, as a carpenter, appreciates what your hands can create. My goals are to fulfill my dream of being a true artist. Successful in my own skin, using my talents and cultivating my skill. My goals are to expand in print with my words, with my art and, simply, myself. I want to be as good at this as I can. I want the reality to be attainable. I want to make children smile, help them learn and expand their dreams. I want to help them realize it isn’t frivolous and to use your gifts before life gets in the way.
10/16/16
Descriptive
The wind whipped around my ankles and the sand stung my skin. I was so miserable without being able to come here the stinging sensation going on around my ankles in a whirlwind didn't faze me in the least. I had waited too long and ached to be back. It's like I couldn't run anymore, couldn't hide, couldn't bear to be away from it. I needed the beach like some people need to breathe, like lovers need to be in each others' arms. I needed the beach like some people need a drug or crave chocolates.
I need to know that I am small in a life that seems immensely full of big issues, strong pressures, huge problems and overwhelming stress. I need to sense, feel and see the powers that are stronger than I am. Sand being even smaller than I, but having the power of the wind behind it causing my ankles to sting as the grains of sand whipped across them.
I walked up the dock toward the ocean and in addition to the sand, now, I had sweet grasses, sharp as razors making it a bittersweet sensation by pulling my skirt and rustling like wheat in a field back home in Indiana. This was home to me now, and was at peace within myself now that I was close to my biggest reason for coming here. I longed to live by the water.
I could hear the waves crashing on the surf now. I could smell the salt water and almost taste it in my lips as I got closer to the crest of the dunes. I kicked off my shoes and ran. The urge had taken over my legs and I just tumbled out onto the island. My secret place, my hideaway, my haven, MY place and the waves slammed on the shore as I raced toward them.
Regardless of how cold the water was, regardless of the time of day, this was home to my heart. All my life I had grown up and wanted the comfort of this place to fill my heart with peace in some way and it had always done so for me. It hadn't failed me yet, today included.
It didn't matter where I resided, what "place" I was in my life. The beach and the ocean of Sullivan's Island, near station 19, would always be home for me and was the only constant I had ever had. Through deaths, births, and regular issues in my daily life, I could always come here. Sometimes it took months or days or weeks or many hours, but I could always come and just BE in the same spot. Now that I lived nearby, it took less effort in some ways and I ached for it.
I could put my feet in the water. I could simply sit on the side and breathe deep breaths until the tears came or stopped. I was smaller than the rest of the world here and it overwhelmed me instead of whatever was on my mind. I spread out my arms, I heard the seagulls, and I felt the water taste my toes and sighed. This is where I belonged today, and a part of me would for the rest of my life.
10/07/2008
I need to know that I am small in a life that seems immensely full of big issues, strong pressures, huge problems and overwhelming stress. I need to sense, feel and see the powers that are stronger than I am. Sand being even smaller than I, but having the power of the wind behind it causing my ankles to sting as the grains of sand whipped across them.
I walked up the dock toward the ocean and in addition to the sand, now, I had sweet grasses, sharp as razors making it a bittersweet sensation by pulling my skirt and rustling like wheat in a field back home in Indiana. This was home to me now, and was at peace within myself now that I was close to my biggest reason for coming here. I longed to live by the water.
I could hear the waves crashing on the surf now. I could smell the salt water and almost taste it in my lips as I got closer to the crest of the dunes. I kicked off my shoes and ran. The urge had taken over my legs and I just tumbled out onto the island. My secret place, my hideaway, my haven, MY place and the waves slammed on the shore as I raced toward them.
Regardless of how cold the water was, regardless of the time of day, this was home to my heart. All my life I had grown up and wanted the comfort of this place to fill my heart with peace in some way and it had always done so for me. It hadn't failed me yet, today included.
It didn't matter where I resided, what "place" I was in my life. The beach and the ocean of Sullivan's Island, near station 19, would always be home for me and was the only constant I had ever had. Through deaths, births, and regular issues in my daily life, I could always come here. Sometimes it took months or days or weeks or many hours, but I could always come and just BE in the same spot. Now that I lived nearby, it took less effort in some ways and I ached for it.
I could put my feet in the water. I could simply sit on the side and breathe deep breaths until the tears came or stopped. I was smaller than the rest of the world here and it overwhelmed me instead of whatever was on my mind. I spread out my arms, I heard the seagulls, and I felt the water taste my toes and sighed. This is where I belonged today, and a part of me would for the rest of my life.
10/07/2008
11/6/14
Artists Cultivating Change: An Initiative
After completing the readings for this week, “The Interventionists", compose your own discussion question that critically engages your classmates. Here's what I came up with. It's over the limit of words, by a few but I did reign myself in and avoid going too terribly long.
Artists Cultivating Change: An Initiative
Being an artist is more than just being able to draw pretty pictures. I am a believer in it having a huge impact on social change. Art is necessary for the creative mind to endure beyond the arts we are taking out of our schools and cultivate a positive change for al life on earth.
Gregory Kloehn is doing a perfect example of this cultivation toward a positive change. Kloehn is an artist living in California who creates his art to represent “social irony” [1]. Currently, he is generating a movement to create tiny houses for the homeless out of discarded materials. This is indirectly related to the “Tiny House Movement” but these houses for the homeless are built in an effort to provide them a shelter while they battle poverty in America.[2] They are shelters made out of other’s trash, changing the adage “one man’s trash is another’s treasure” and using old pallets, discarded plastic, metal and wood in an effort to provide a safe place for the homeless to sleep.
He states “Stuff people just throw away on the street can give someone a viable home. Does it have merit as a solution to homelessness? As far as giving people a shelter, yeah, definitely. Is it a solution to homelessness? It’s an answer. An attempt.” [3]
Kloehn is diving into dumpsters and using what people have discarded to create the prospect of change for homeless people. The same people who have been discarded are being saved by the trash they have tossed because Kloehn is putting it to work. The rejected materials are being used to try and save rejected people.
This is giving American’s a new perspective on what can be done by anyone. An artist has created a unique idea in an effort to make change within our society.
http://www.gregorykloehn.com/gallery/
Are you of the mindset that all homeless people are degenerate drug addicts? People who are lazy, don’t want to work and just use food stamps and take welfare? Do you know what it’s like to be homeless? Do you know someone who is or was? What are your ideas on helping fight homelessness in America? Do you agree with Kloehn that this is an attempt and an answer? Why or why not? What would you be willing to do to help those less fortunate than yourself? What could you do with your art to create change? #HHP
[1] Katherine Brooks, “Artist Converts Trash Into Compact Mobile Homes For The Homeless”, Huffington Post, (May 13, 2014)
[2] Ibid
[3] Ibid
10/19/14
Bittersweet & Hollow
I was transplanted at a young age and grew up in the hollows of South Eastern Kentucky. Immersed into the heart of coal country and surrounded by living, breathing hillbillies my childhood was chock full of experiences that would forever leave a mark, make a funny story or vividly tell a painful truth. We were so far into the depths of the dry county buried in the Appalachian Mountains; the nearest mall was hours away and modern civilization seemed surreal at times.
My father traveled all week long to financially support his three girls meaning, my sister, my mama and me. With very limited entertainment options my sister and I were in gymnastics and dance at a local academy. I was able to take art classes from a local artist. We lived in an affluent neighborhood but it was far away from any schoolmates. I learned to fend for myself and created countless imaginary friends, usually finding the inspiration for them within the hundreds of books I read. I was an avid reader. I had read the entire library of fiction books in the library at my school before the end of my third grade year. I had a wild imagination to go with that thirst for books so I don’t remember being lonely when I was alone.
Us girls would watch our father play softball, volleyball and bowling when he managed to be at home. My sister and me, all the while, being sweet, well-mannered, little daughters that he could show off like cattle at the 4-H. Occasionally, we would get to go roller-skating at Sweet Hollow.
My mom was, and still is, an avid Winter Olympic supporter. Even after many years that memory is crisp and clear where some become faded, like an old Polaroid photograph. Blurry in the mind, as the memory fades further away, we forget who was there or where we were but the smell or sounds we hear may trigger a part of the memory to brighten and the “edges” become less faded somehow. As girls, we watched the ice-skating on the winter Olympics. We knew their names and would pretend to score the men, women and couples.
I wondered if I would be able to merge my love of dance with ice-skating. I was confident I could use the frozen pond behind our house. A cow farmer owned the acreage and woods. His property also included the pond to the right of our yard. This pond appeared to be frozen every winter, according to my young, blue, eager and naïve eyes. When I got an idea into my head, regardless of how far-fetched or ridiculous or impossible to achieve, I would obsess about it, making myself nearly crazy at times. That is still true about me, even thirty years later. I wanted to dance on water.
I began to merge my talent for drawing and painting to create something amazing. I read even more books. I researched inventions and possible patents for young inventors. I wondered about grants and copy write laws. I believed I would make it possible to combine my love of dance with skating on that cow pond. I could dance on water. I could be an Olympian.
When our father had come home after a long business trip, we were leaving church (another requirement for Southern pass times) and we passed by Sweet Hollow. I asked if we could go skating and was quickly denied. They were closed for the season, my dad told us. I took this as the opportunity I needed to explain my invention.
I proudly told my parents about my drawings and research in detail. I explained that the skates, would be just like my roller-skates in basic design but the wheels were thinner and lined up on the center of the sole of the “skate”, similar to the blade on ice skates. Then, I explained, it would be possible to “ice-skate” any time of year! It didn’t depend on weather, or seasonal anything to be used. Brilliant, I thought! Didn’t they agree? I could make millions and my dad wouldn’t have to travel anymore. This would be a physical activity or at least a more “sporty” one, than I had ever shown any interest in. My invention was something that could propel athletes from the Winter Olympics into the Summer Olympics, too. I was even appealing to the interest of both my parents in one invention. I explained my invention and marketing ideas quickly and with minimal interruption.
I was practically strangling on the flow of words coming out of my mouth in anticipation of being interrupted or shut down before I could even catch my breath. As we rode closer to our house I remember the snow melting on my window and making droplets that were sliding down as if it were raining outside. I was ecstatic, nearly manic mode at this point. I held my breath in anticipation of my dad’s response. Eagerly praying and hoping for his approval and support of my brilliant idea! I had invented something that was amazing and he could even financially support this endeavor, easily. I was going to put this hillbilly town on the map and be a famous inventor.
As the sign for Sweet Hollow sign faded in the rear window and the droplets of melted snow streamed down the side of our truck, an elated little girl waited for her daddy’s approval and commendations. He used his left hand to turn the wheel of his truck into our neighborhood. In the silence, I remember hearing my dad’s laughter getting louder and louder. At first, he covered his mouth with his right hand and tried to silence his laughter, probably due to a dirty look from my mother since she was always the encourager of dreams. My dad said my skates were “the stupidest idea” he’d ever heard of. “Ice-skates with wheels? Just stupid,” he said.
We rode past the neighbor’s houses and I remember focusing on the streams of melted snowdrops on my window while the tears streamed down my cheeks. He was really laughing at me. My invention was a joke. Like I was a joke. I felt like a fool. As we rode past Sweet Hollow I’d never felt so bitter and disappointed. My heart felt hollow inside and my dreams had just been shot out of the sky right in front of me. In a matter of seconds I was crushed by the very person I thought believed in me most.
Us girls would watch our father play softball, volleyball and bowling when he managed to be at home. My sister and me, all the while, being sweet, well-mannered, little daughters that he could show off like cattle at the 4-H. Occasionally, we would get to go roller-skating at Sweet Hollow.
My mom was, and still is, an avid Winter Olympic supporter. Even after many years that memory is crisp and clear where some become faded, like an old Polaroid photograph. Blurry in the mind, as the memory fades further away, we forget who was there or where we were but the smell or sounds we hear may trigger a part of the memory to brighten and the “edges” become less faded somehow. As girls, we watched the ice-skating on the winter Olympics. We knew their names and would pretend to score the men, women and couples.
I wondered if I would be able to merge my love of dance with ice-skating. I was confident I could use the frozen pond behind our house. A cow farmer owned the acreage and woods. His property also included the pond to the right of our yard. This pond appeared to be frozen every winter, according to my young, blue, eager and naïve eyes. When I got an idea into my head, regardless of how far-fetched or ridiculous or impossible to achieve, I would obsess about it, making myself nearly crazy at times. That is still true about me, even thirty years later. I wanted to dance on water. I began to merge my talent for drawing and painting to create something amazing. I read even more books. I researched inventions and possible patents for young inventors. I wondered about grants and copy write laws. I believed I would make it possible to combine my love of dance with skating on that cow pond. I could dance on water. I could be an Olympian.
When our father had come home after a long business trip, we were leaving church (another requirement for Southern pass times) and we passed by Sweet Hollow. I asked if we could go skating and was quickly denied. They were closed for the season, my dad told us. I took this as the opportunity I needed to explain my invention.
I proudly told my parents about my drawings and research in detail. I explained that the skates, would be just like my roller-skates in basic design but the wheels were thinner and lined up on the center of the sole of the “skate”, similar to the blade on ice skates. Then, I explained, it would be possible to “ice-skate” any time of year! It didn’t depend on weather, or seasonal anything to be used. Brilliant, I thought! Didn’t they agree? I could make millions and my dad wouldn’t have to travel anymore. This would be a physical activity or at least a more “sporty” one, than I had ever shown any interest in. My invention was something that could propel athletes from the Winter Olympics into the Summer Olympics, too. I was even appealing to the interest of both my parents in one invention. I explained my invention and marketing ideas quickly and with minimal interruption.
I was practically strangling on the flow of words coming out of my mouth in anticipation of being interrupted or shut down before I could even catch my breath. As we rode closer to our house I remember the snow melting on my window and making droplets that were sliding down as if it were raining outside. I was ecstatic, nearly manic mode at this point. I held my breath in anticipation of my dad’s response. Eagerly praying and hoping for his approval and support of my brilliant idea! I had invented something that was amazing and he could even financially support this endeavor, easily. I was going to put this hillbilly town on the map and be a famous inventor.
As the sign for Sweet Hollow sign faded in the rear window and the droplets of melted snow streamed down the side of our truck, an elated little girl waited for her daddy’s approval and commendations. He used his left hand to turn the wheel of his truck into our neighborhood. In the silence, I remember hearing my dad’s laughter getting louder and louder. At first, he covered his mouth with his right hand and tried to silence his laughter, probably due to a dirty look from my mother since she was always the encourager of dreams. My dad said my skates were “the stupidest idea” he’d ever heard of. “Ice-skates with wheels? Just stupid,” he said.
We rode past the neighbor’s houses and I remember focusing on the streams of melted snowdrops on my window while the tears streamed down my cheeks. He was really laughing at me. My invention was a joke. Like I was a joke. I felt like a fool. As we rode past Sweet Hollow I’d never felt so bitter and disappointed. My heart felt hollow inside and my dreams had just been shot out of the sky right in front of me. In a matter of seconds I was crushed by the very person I thought believed in me most.
Today, we have in-line skates and participants use them on the X-Games. No one will ever know they were my idea. Yes, that is quite a stretch of the truth but as a child I had no way of fully realizing the impact of acting on a dream, until the craze of rollerblading began a few years later. This was also a harsh lesson in the way that men would laugh at women and the whole concept of the “Glass Ceiling”. Today, women still make eighty cents on the dollar that a man earns. “For example, a woman engineer in her mid-fifties, has an average annual base salary that peaks at about $62,000, about 20 percent less than the 875,000 earned, on average, by her male colleagues, according to the study by the Society of Women Engineers. The 1991 18 median annual salary for women scientists and engineers was 19 percent less than that of male scientists and engineers, according to the National Science Foundation.” [1] According to The National Research Council Staff, “Traditionally, scientists and engineers in the United States have been white males; and we know that, during the next decade in particular, the percentage of white males reflected in the net new entrants to the work force will be decidedly smaller than in the past. Thus, there is an important opportunity to meet the nation's needs for scientists and engineers by increasing the numbers of women and minorities receiving advanced preparation in those fields.” [2]
To this day, I have yet to dance on water or be involved in any sport. I have bitter memories of ice-skating and sharing any kind of dream with my father. I never became an engineer. I never invented anything else. I tried really hard to never let any man, even my father, make me feel that hollow again. I also try to push the limits of the glass ceiling when I think it’s necessary, but I am cautious. My dad hurt my feelings but I guess there’s always a way to keep everything “in line” after all.
[1] Gabor, Andrea. 1994. "Cracking the glass ceiling in
R&D." Research Technology Management 37, no. 5: 14. MasterFILE
Premier, EBSCOhost (accessed October 22, 2014).
[2] National
Research Council Staff. 1992. Science and engineering programs: On target for
women?National Academies Press.
10/29/13
Harvest Apple Cake Bake ~~ Happy Fall!
Fall is a fun time for baking and making the house smell fantastic. It is a great time to try new recipes and new combinations with seasonal fall flavors - pumpkins, apples, and ... just YUM! :) I love persimmon pudding, pumpkin bread, and the warm, wholesomeness that IS SIMPLY FALL!
One of my biggest adjustments to moving further south, was the length of the seasons... this is the first place I've lived where you blink and Fall is gone! People can still go out on the water here... and it's nearly November!
Anyway, finding a good, fall recipe doesn't hurt my feelings. I found a recipe this week and decided to do a bit of experimenting. I recommend THIS FIRST - use a large enough pan. I made a huge mess in the oven today! OOPS!
The batter is thick and not the creamy, nearly runny, kind of batter that you get out of those cake mixes (or Cheat Mixes).
It's also optional to add nuts - walnuts or pecans. I sprinkled mine with powdered sugar. Most of you know I am allergic to nuts - so I omit to avoid complications. However, I remember how walnut's taste and really like them - they just don't like me back. This is in NO WAY low fat - I used good ol' fashioned shortening, just like my grandma. You could replace with applesauce rather than shortening/oil. Let me know if you try that and how it does!
Ingredients:
- 1/2 Vegetable shortening
1 Cup Sugar - 1 Large Egg
- 1 1/2 cups All Purpose flour (sifted!)
- 1 tsp baking soda
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1 tsp ground nutmeg
- 1 tsp vanilla extract
- 3/4 tsp salt
- 2 1/2 cups finely chopped, tart apples
- Optional - Chopped nuts &/or Brown Sugar
 |
| I used veggie peeler for thin slices of fresh apples! |
 |
| I added remaining apple shavings to top |
 |
| Then Sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon on top |
Directions!
- Heat oven to 350 degrees
- Beat shortening, and sugar in bowl with electric mixer until blended well. Beat in egg.
- Combine sifted flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt.
- Add to shortening mix.
- Stir in apple - I used a veggie peeler to keep the pieces thin
- Spread in pan (8x8!!)see this picture>>>>>>>
- Sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon on top of shredded apple slices
- Bake 35-45 Minutes - or do the options THEN BAKE!
 | |||||
| This pie pan was too small & spilled over! | Use 8x8 |
 |
| Lifted and redeposited the batter during overflow - looks dark in pic |
Serve warm with ice cream or whipped topping!
I sprinkled powdered sugar on top.... YUM~
Thanks for stopping by - hope you get to make and try this tasty treat~
Happy Fall Everyone!
Heather
OLD FASHIONED CINNAMON APPLE CRUMBLE @ Chef Ron Lock + Amazing!
OLD FASHIONED CINNAMON APPLE CRUMBLE @ Chef Ron Lock -
Ingredients:
4 cups peeled, cored, sliced apples, any variety
1/4 cup water
3/4 cup all purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup softened butter
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
Lightly butter a baking pan, 9x9, and evenly distribute the apples in the bottom of the pan. Add the water to the pan.
In a mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt. Cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Sprinkle crumb mixture over the apples. Bake at 350 for 35 to 45 minutes, or until apples are tender.
Yummy with vanilla ice cream.
Serves 6
11/21/12
Cranberry Jello Salad
Ingredients
2 (3 oz) packages raspberry or strawberry jello (or 1 of each)
1 1/4 cup boiling water
1 (8 oz) can crushed pineapple
1 (8 oz) can of peach slices (chopped)
1 (16 oz) can whole berry cranberry sauce
1 cup chopped nuts
1 (8 oz) package cream cheese, softened
1 cup sour cream
3 orange slices for garnish (optional)
Directions
- Dissolve jello in boiling water in medium bowl. Add crushed pineapple, peaches and cranberry sauce.
- Stir until well mixed. Chill in refrigerator until slightly thickened. Stir in chopped nuts.
- Pour into oblong dish and chill until firm.
Topping
Combine cream cheese and sour cream until smooth. Spread evenly over jello mixture and chill until firm. Sprinkle with remaining nuts. Cut into squares and serve!
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