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In Context—Something to Think About

Stephen Colbert is always saying things that make sense to me, and calm me.

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Protected: Roz’s Preoccupation with Villainy

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My Friend Tom Won’t Stand Next to Me in an Electrical Storm…

It’s official, after Sunday’s event my friend Tom said “You have the most awful luck! Remind me not to stand next to you when lightning is threatening!” I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t stand next to me in that situation either. And recommend that you don’t as well. Sunday Dick and I went house hunting. […]

Protected: Moods and Momentum in Your Daily Drawing Practice

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Page from a test booklet made with 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico Hot Press Watercolor paper. As people come and go I keep layering sketches on the page. It's a very small waiting room.

Protected: Update on Richard’s Eye

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I Have a Goat!

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Above: a goat sketch from my 2007 State Fair Journal. This is not my goat, but I bet my goat is a Nubian as they are a North African breed and will do well in that climate; and they are prized for their rich milk. (Staedtler Pigment liner on a 5 x 7 inch pre-painted 140 lb. hot press watercolor paper.)

I have a goat! I have a goat! I say it over and over and smile ear to ear until I think I might actually explode. Actually the facts are these: my mother gave a goat to a family in Africa in my name.

So I don't really have the goat. But she exists because my mom gave her in my name. The logic of her existence by this route is clear to me: I have a goat! (I know she is female because my mother paid more for a female who could produce offspring and give milk for dairy products.)

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Road Trip in Town

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Above: Inside SR Harris Fabrics, the bolts of fabric sitting at one end of one row in this immense warehouse of fabric. My journal was left in the car to avoid loosing it in the store (I only had a small purse with me). I worked in a small soft-covered pamphlet stitched Moleskine. (I carry these for notes like car mileage or prices, or simply to have paper to sketch on and hand to someone else while explaining something to them.) Later these pages were ripped out and glued into me journal with other notes.

There are certain things I’m not allowed to do, all my friends know this. For instance I am not allowed to go to Las Vegas. I don’t have a gambling problem, in fact I don’t even gamble, I don’t get the appeal. (I watch poker games on TV and wonder what all the fuss is about because everyone’s tells make it so uninteresting to me.) I can’t go to Vegas because of the noise, lights, and general commotion. Friends have been, and reported back, that it would be impossible for me to survive there because of the distractions, both bright and sparkly and just plain “normal”—one friend reported back that she was convinced I would be captivated by the door knobs in one casino she visited and never get out of the stairwell.

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