Although this isn’t the brand of golden syrup I know from my teen years in Australia, the tin is the same design. The rim is to stop drips similar to a paint can. Used as a receptacle to drink from, it needs a hole in the rim, or you’ll be spilling it both sides of your mouth.
This photo is not a double exposure, but a reflection looking into a kitchen window curtained with insect screening with the reflections of trees and shrubs behind the photographer. However I did it. An effective, if mysterious, image symbolizing Claire’s and Nalbo’s shed in their tea-tree forest. But lol, the vegetation nothing like tea-tree foliage.
The minute I painted a 25% strength hi gloss acrylic glaze over these stilt dancers, to see what would happen, this became my test painting.
The glossiness of the glaze was cut right back I was glad to discover. The suggestion to glaze came from johnlovett.com …. I may have said before that I’m not keen on framing pictures behind glass.
I have a couple of paintings on the go where I’m scared to touch the good stuff with more water, and so destroy them. though they bothneed more work. What to do?
Got the test painting out. Touched up cartain areas with acrylic paints. Let them dry overnight. Did it work? Did the acrylics rub off? Yes for the first question. No for the second.
The dark red fronds were overpainted with acrylics. The deep gold ditto. The greenish base, also. And none of it, upon scratching, comes off.
So, I’m good to go with sealing my Geriatric Aviatrix, and touching up her scarf with acrylics, because touching her up with water color over gouache might be a disaster …
This is me hiding from the old woman, it’s my playtime but a few minutes ago she made like she was a bird! Can you believe it, she puckered her lips and whistled!
At first I couldn’t believe she was making those noises. I’m shocked that she can. I hid so she couldn’t see me or more to the point that she can’t see me!
She’s been saying for a while that she’ll get me more catnip. The shop where she got the previous supply closed down. It’s no excuse. Times like these, with her whistling, I want to hide my head in the catip pillowcase.
We’ve got it growing too, but so disappointing only three of the seeds made plants. here I’m trying to take in the goodness of the single leaf she allowed me.
I ask you, one leaf! She said because all told there are only eight leaves. It’s not a viable plantation.
Trying to get into an organized frame of mind … we’ve been warned there is to be a Fire Drill this morning, and also I should/must get my new mobile phone SIM installed that I have already done the online stuff for.
Now just waiting for the old SIM to stop working … no that’s not right … they’ll first send me a code that I’ll need to put in somewhere. Then wait for the phone to stop working and THEN change the physical SIM card. Something which I will need help with.
My weak old fingers can’t even get the case off the mobile, let alone negotiate the teeny tiny fork to open the little draw, to then insert the minuscule card! None of this stuff was invented with old people in mind. And times like these, I really do feel like the geriatric aviatrix (IE the geriatrix negotiating the virtual skies of the web) I sometimes write about.
I stopped thinking of myself as any kind of surfer about the time I did the research about surfing I needed to be able to write knowledgeably about the process in MONGREL. I knew just ordinary body surfing was simply giving myself to the power of the water to take me, straightened in a torpedo shape, with itself to the shore. Surfing using a board was a whole other process.
As a child in the 1950s I was pretty sure that one day I would be a pilot. I collected cigarette cards of planes, identified planes going over (not nearly as many as these days) and imagined being a pilot by extrapolating from my father’s actions at the wheel, driving his first car.
Which was a share car, by the way. The two families owning the car used to take turns going on camping holidays.
This example from http://www.simoncars.co.uk/coachwork/woody.html
As near as I can recollect, the sides of our woody were all wood panel, that there no windows in the sides of the back. And of course it was old and decrepit. Traveling in it, if I wasn’t staring out the front at the horizon, between my father driving and my mother in the passenger seat, I’d be car-sick, the smell of petrol pervasive. As it was originally a tradesman’s van, there were no seats in the back, and we kids had pillows and an old mattress to sit on. And I do seem to remember that my mother and father sat in old arm chairs.
What happened to the dream of becoming a pilot? A girl, in the 1950s? It was kindly explained to me that girls did not become pilots, but that I could become an air hostess instead. I grew and grew. By 1960, even that dream went by the way. There was a height restriction of 167 cm, 5′ 6″ for air hostesses in the days of low cabin-ceiling prop planes. I was too tall!
And that was only the first fly-away this morning.
Reading my emails and posts, I side-tracked into Susan Cornelis website again this morning, this time about her Norwegian memories. She quoted the Garrison Keillor sign-off from A Prairie Home Companion,
“I couldn’t help but remember Garrison Keillor’s sign off on Lake Wobegon “where all the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average”.”
That was so familiar, I can practically hear Keillor say it, a radio show I used to listen to way back when. I clicked away from what I meant to do and to the website, and it’s all still there.
Not that I’m listening to anything right now other than the sounds of people in the corridor. Next, the announcements and the siren … the cat shot under the couch … and it’s time to gooooo!!!
While down on the podium, and after signing my name off, a kind person with strong hands helped me by getting my phone case off.
Now. Off across to the shops where I’ll get the SIM changed.
This, what I’m calling a partial of Nalbo’s mangled hand, began its life in a totally different kingdom of life. Have a look for something fungal. Its image, once I’d cut certain pieces away, sort of reminded me of a mangled hand I once did see … a shocking injury … I thought would illustrate Nalbo’s injury nicely.
Below is an example of a autostereogram. ‘Crossing your eyes’ (crossing the lines of sight from your eyes) you should be able to see a 3D version of this pic. This concept, invented by the Hungarian neuropsychologist Bela Julesz features in this chapter.
Forgot to get the reference, it’s from the Wikipedia article about autostereograms.
Rita de Heer 