But wait! You also get…
February 21, 2004
Because today..I also found out I have ten paintings that are going to be in a museum exhibit with Terry Allen, Joe Ely, Ethan Ezarian, Bale Allen, Bob Schneider…it’s called MUSICANS MAKING ART.
I was sooooo nervous all week. The curator from the New Braunfels Museum of Art was coming today. I cleaned. I prepped the paintings (which means I kept moving them around the house and staring at them.) I put on mascara.
The doorbell rang. There he was. I was a mess! I offered coffee, tea, water, soy, juice, blueberries, fruitcake…I couldn’t stop. He just stood in the doorway as I finished with, “Oh! Come in, please come right on in! Anything to drink?”
Thank God he was accustomed to NUTCASES like ME.
Anyway, after a wonderful hour or more of talking about art, paintings, his life, my life, kids, he chose ten of my works. I hugged him. He asked, “Were you doubting I would take some of your work?” I said, “I had no idea! I don’t have a studio or tons of paintings…or I didn’t know if they would be up to everyone else’s level…” He just smiled again. Then he handed me some prozac and said everything was lovely!!! And then I was smiling, too!!!
Ah.
I also talked about my dad, who is an AMAZING painter, and he knew who my dad was and he said he thinks my dad would be great for a show in the fall so as soon as he walks out the door I am on the phone yapping excitedly to my dad about HIS SHOW HE WILL HAVE and I am a puppy I tell you jumping up and down in my kitchen and just ALIVE with JOY!!!
whew.
april 8 is the opening. come on out and see texas musicians and their art. terry allen (and his son, bale) are both fantastic. i am so honored to be in their company! and ethan is humorous, bright, whimsical…very colorful art. bob is prolific and very, very awesome…i haven’t seen it in person, but i can’t wait…
and joe ely will have his prison drawings…these are cool, computer generated photo collages with funny thoughts/comments.
charlie, the curator, and i talked about having more women artists. i told him about terri lord (great drummer…plays with Lord Douglas Phillips…super nice person, too) and arlene polite (i don’t think she’s a musician, but, gosh! her stuff is astounding….)
oh. and then we talked about what music to have at the opening so I said, “Oh, you ‘ve got to have Brave Combo or Will Taylor/Strings Attached” and gave him their numbers…this is going to be such a party!
posted by Sara Hickman at 06:18 am
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Radiation Man #1
I remember my old friend, Jeff Wicker, who once said, “That song will be a hit on the radio…!” And he is in commercial radio! That blew my mind!!! I need to send him a free trip to Bali with a free snorkel for his enthusiasm!!! Jeff! The guru!
How did he know? Now, of course, the trick would be to get RM on commercial
radio…that would be funny:
“That was J-Lo followed by the odd little hit, “Radiation Man”…next up, Justin Timberlake’s new single, “Nipple Star”…
RADIATION MAN has been number 1 for two weeks in a row! And it has been on the charts for fourteen weeks…how can this be? ! Pinch me! No. Wait. Stop.
Now my dream is that Lily’s song, LOOK AT ME, moves up to number one. Could you imagine? Over pancakes?
“Lily…” I say.
“Yes, mom?” she responds.
“Well, you know that song you sang, “Look at me”?” as I pour the syrup onto her chocolate chip pansnakes.
“Uh-huh…” she answers with a mouth full of said pancakes.
“Well, honey…Your song is #1 on the radio…all over the country!” I burst into tears. Tears of joy and pride, mind you!
“Oh, cool,” she says as she devours a side of bacon, slurping on her juice.
“Isn’t it cool?! It IS cool!” I blather as I take empty dishes from the table to the sink. “I’m so proud of you…”
“Mom?” she asks.
“Yes, honey?” I respond.
“I love you,” she says. “Can I have more syrup, please?”
“Yes, ” I say, “But….I loved you first, ” I smile.
“No, I loved YOU first…” she smiles back.
Big hug. Life goes on. My seven year old picks up her back pack and we head to school. Later, she talks about a song on the playground, everyone says “Cool” because no one really understands what it means and then they break into “Let’s play bakery” or “Who wants to swing?” and Lily is a happy child in the midst of
childhood.
Except that her mom is at home with her heart the size of Wisconsin…beaming
with love. Happy that good things can come to those who wait.
THANKYOUIAMHUGGINGTHEWORLDWITHGRATITUDE!!!!
posted by Sara Hickman at 06:06 am
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Thrilled Beyond Words
February 18, 2004
I’m starting to understand the enormity of growing old. It’s not just about
creaking joints or regrets. It’s about friendship, memories, understanding more about how life ticks, better orgasms, laughing in church when the spirit moves you (even if the spirit is only moving you), collecting leaves on a walk just BECAUSE THEY ARE THERE, leaves everywhere, lying in the road, all these fabulous colors and damn it! They deserve to be laminated, turned into postcards and mailed out to old lovers.
posted by Sara Hickman at 05:18 pm
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Then They Woke Up To The Fact That Every Choice We Make Affects Someone On This Planet
February 10, 2004
The phone rang. Nicole’s assistant informed her who was calling, and Nicole said she’d take the call.
“Nicole?” asked the voice.
“Angelina?” asked Nicole.
“Listen, I know you’re on set, but I want you to check out an address that’s close by. I think you should go today, if possible,” said the fellow actor.
Nicole, her assistant and two crew members flagged down a taxi, and headed east, towards the river. It was a muggy, overcast day. Even in the gray, Thailand was busy: streets crowded with vendors, scraggly dogs and barefoot children. The car edged along, occassionally honking, the driver yelling out his window for someone to move.
When they reached the warehouse, a stranger approached. He could speak Thai and English. He had been patiently awaiting Nicole’s arrival. Sensing her apprehension, he informed her they would be safe, but what they would see might be upsetting. They needed to go in now, before the manager returned.
Inside, it was hot and crowded. Women of all ages, some young girls, were hunched over small machines, steam rising. Dusty, dirty children were playing
at their feet; some had scraps of cloth, or dishpans, and they were quietly playing games while the women worked away. The windows were filthy, and what little light could seep in was choked by coughing and swirling steam.
“How long will they be here?” Nicole asked the stranger.
“All their lives, miss,” said the man. “But as for today, they come in at 5:30 in the morning. Then they walk home at night.”
The four heard about the long hours, the little pay (some women received only fifty cents a day); the long walks in the dark, alone, while carrying sleeping children on an empty stomach, or, if they were lucky, a bowl of rice. And the oppression of slavery, day after day, that lead to depression, sickness and, ultimately, a lonely death.
Children in other countries would play with their Happy Meal toys, or wear a
two piece outfit from Wal-Mart. They would never know that these items were
mass-produced at the expense of human lives.
“It is time to go, miss…”
Nicole took one last look around. None of the women raised their heads to look at the newcomers. None of the children were smiling. She felt completely sick and overwhelmed.
It was three months later, in a New York townhome, where the group of women met. Angelina was there with Nicole, Julianne, Susan and Scarlet. They talked about what they had experienced in various parts of the world, and Susan
was angry. She was angry at what little was being done. She was angry
with herself and with others, even others who, like herself, had been speaking out on behalf of human rights for year after year. An idea was born out of sheer frustration and hope.
The idea was to take acting jobs that would pay ridiculous sums of money. And the women would pool their money. And they would take that money and invest it in people. Their plan was to turn around the thinking of the ultra-elite: why buy a $565,000 Porsche when you could save a village of children in the Sudan?
Why waste $8 million on a haute couture dress and diamonds, when a school could be built in Iraq? Or Alabama, for that matter…
Before long, this small idea had grown into a well-spring of compassion. George and Brad and others who were making millions upon millions of dollars were
digging wells and tearing down shacks alongside crews they had hired. Oprah was spear-heading medical facitlites and working with researchers on how to end
diseases that here-to-for had been ignored. Beck was teaching songwriting to
children in South America who had never seen a pencil before. Blind children in Romania were soothed and comforted with music from Jewel and Bono.
It became the norm on Wall Street to hear someone celebrate the turnaround of the percentage of still-births in Croatia. “Great job, Ted, on helping those women in Brazil fight domestic violence!” People formerly afraid of poverty were rising up to do something to end it. People’s hands were getting dirty with
love.
Then they woke up to the fact that every choice we make affects someone on this planet. No us and them. No rich or poor. No less or more. Each face deserved a name; each man, woman and child an essential part of a plan we can never truly understand. Each person a part of a global family.
You may say I’m a dreamer. But I’m not the only one.
It just takes one voice to start the choir. One. If you take my hand, I can hear the singing.
PS…Nicole went back to that factory. She bought it with cash. She tore down the site and built a new brick building, complete with restrooms and water fountains, air conditioning and great, big beautiful picture windows. There was a clinic, with a staff, and the women and children could have lunch in the landscaped courtyard, which they had planted themselves. There were herbs, and flowers, and picnic tables.
In the middle of the courtyard was a tree that smelled of honey-suckle year round. The women ran the factory, and Nicole wore their clothes, joyfully, every where she went.
posted by Sara Hickman at 01:58 am
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Perfectly Perfect Food Day
February 07, 2004
Sara’s appearance on “Food 911” will be broadcast on the Food Network, September 21 at 3:00pm ET and September 25 at 7:30am. See you there!
At 8:15 a.m., the lighting guy, John, arrives. We are in the midst of french toast and gathering homework, lunches, the day. John asks, “Am I the first one?” Yep, I say, yep, you are. Come on it. Coffee? No, thanks, he says. He’s holding a cup in his hand. I’m a wee bit excited, the kids are curious, stay at the table, I say. Finish your breakfast, sweetie. Are you part of the show, asks Lily. Lance is washing dishes. Yes, says John. I do the lights.
Kids are being driven off to school. When I get back home, there is a house full of wires, cameras, lights, light stands, monitors, twenty people. Everyone is on a tiny cell phone or their lap top. A low buzz of communication is filling every nook and cranny. Coats are piled high. Trucks full of food, props, dishes, who knows what have invaded our driveway.
Annie and Tim, the director and producer:
Annie is a tall, lovely 28ish (maybe younger?) soft spoken brunette with a slight flip at the end of her thick, shoulder length hair. She has a cream colored
Mohair sweater. It makes me trust her instantly. She looks like a cup of cream. How do people have skin like that? Ooh, it’s pretty.
Tim is wearing a “Wonka Factory” tee shirt. I call him Willy. I tell him he doesn’t look anything like he does in the movie. He is 5’ 5”, my height, glasses, dark curly hair, olive skin. Everyone calls him PIEMAN. Inside joke. We had spoken on the phone, months back. He, too, is very friendly, laid back.
ABBEY:
She is the prop stylist. As far as I’m concerned, she has the dream job. She has
her own portable collection of E-Bay. Antique cookwear, fabrics, photographs, tiny toys, plates, teapots, platters, you name it: and she is digging around, looking through all my cabinets, finding things I forgot I had that, suddenly, when she places it in JUST THE RIGHT SPOT, I think, “Hey, that’s cool! I like that thing!”
My kitchen is transformed into a quaint, funky spot. It has a “new” counter top…They create one out of a wood block and imagination.
KIRSTIE:
She is the food prop stylist. My kitchen counter becomes the Garden of Eden.
Everything is suddenly living green stuff. There are mounds of dill, bowls of parsley, chevral, basil…A water bottle appears every thirty seconds: splish, splish..everything is constantly kept wet so as not to dry out under the lights.
There are twenty six thousand different kinds of bread—-cocktail breads, rye breads, supper breads, italian and wheat. Baby carrots with their fine spray of
greenery next to strawberries the size of fists and clumps of radishes and
fresh salmon, turkey, wheels of Brie and Camembert; grapes and onions and tons of fresh, uncut garlic…even an uncut stalk of brussel sprouts, the stalk thick as your wrist, buds of sprouts up and down the entire thing.
She is constantly arranging colorful bowls of salt, moving the pepper mill,
placing a array of kitchen implements here, a bowl of thick butter there.
Prepping what Tyler, the chef, will need, just within his reach.
TYLER
In walks the boy. I say “boy” only because he reminds me of a man that will always be freshly-scrubbed, just in from a night of drinking, happy go lucky,
chooses a red cotton jacket that says “CUBA” over a dinner jacket or
Ivy League vest. He comes in with no fanfare, just part of the clan. There are
twenty people strewn on sofas, prepping food, finding the right camera angle, and Tyler flows through out to the patio, chatting quietly on his cell phone.
He never puts on any tv makeup. In my 16 years of television experience, this is a first. He’s so cool! Just down to earth, doing his job, loving every minute of the
creation. Excited about the food: the smells, the mixtures, the folding of the dough. He wants to get started but is never too eager. Asks after every shot,
“How’d that look? Did it look good? Was the food good looking?” It ‘s as if every
food item is a child he’s determined to celebrate. He really cares about how the food is presented, how it tastes, are we happy? You happy? Did you like it?
Are you having a good time? He asks me over and over. Very nice man.
ME
Well, here it is…the big day of adventure. And I have this sinus infection. I sound
like Bullwinkle. I keep running to the bathroom, blowing my nose, shooting warm salt water up into my swollen membranes. Sometimes this helps. Sometimes my face just gets wet. But, I’m having an EXCELLENT time. No one is bothered by my nose. We are laughing. We are making yummy things to eat. We are prepping for a MAD HATTER tea party!
Suddenly, I think, “WASABI!!!” I ask Kirstie if she has any. She has a powder. We mix it with water. I shove a giant spoonful in my mouth. WHAMMO! My head hits the ceiling, my eyes explode, but YES! My nose is clear. Every ten minutes, I am hitting the wasabi.
THE SHOW
It’s time. I’m asked if I have a blue shirt. I find one, and get approval. The girls are in school. I think maybe I should have let them stay home to see all this exciting stuff. I know in my mind I did the right thing, keeping their routine, keeping them out of the tangle of people and cords, but you know…it’s exciting!
I’m worried about my breath. With the sinus infection comes bad breath. I tell Tyler IHAVEBADBREATHIAMSORRYWORKINGONTHIS pop in a breath mint. He shrugs it off—-no biggie. He’s my brother. This is gonna rock!
Tyler gets so into what he is doing. He knows his food. I am told I will need to jump in/interrrupt/no problem or Tyler will forget to let me in. So, I jump in. I ask dumb questions. I mix and stir and flip and butter and joke around about flaming the baba cakes. We are swinging! It was such an easy day. We’re done?
Get out! You’re kidding? We never do re-takes. Maybe four, at the most. The crew likes the spontaneity of our flow. There is laughter, one more shot of me placing the Baba Cakes in the oven.
THE TEA PARTY
The girls are both home from school. Lance has picked them up; they get out at different times. They want the tea party. Almost, I say. What do you want to dress up as? Lily becomes a Pink Silk Chinese Princess with star sparkles by her eyes. io is a blue fairy is a miniature ball gown. Lance is SERPICO, baby, YEA!
I am exchanging my ‘day” clothes for a giant sea green with tulle southern belle
gown. I wear my grandmother’s flowered hat and crystal necklace. Todd and his Mickey are dressed as 70’s funksters, and the Mermaid has arrived. I place a flower in her hair. Tyler puts on 70’s SHAFT style sunglasses and a cowboy hat. He is still wearing his five star Cuban jacket, jeans and a cowboy shirt.
Abbey has transformed my orange office into a play to relax for tea. A bowl of limes are behind me on a side table. We have baba cakes, three different kids of open face sandwiches (complete with brie, turkey, pears, salmon, special spreads)…Tea is served! I spill tea from my Astro Boy teapot all over my lap.
We are laughing some more, the camera is rolling, we all start to sing as I play
Lily’s toy guitar.
It’s a perfect day. Perfectly perfect. Thank you, Food 911. It was a wrap!
posted by Sara Hickman at 10:19 am
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Booties, Surfing, Ruminations
I just finished surfing, looking at other people’s websites. I hardly get to do that,
and it’s a surreal way to find out what other musicians/friends/heroes are doing.
Stina Nordenstam is such an unknown singer, which is sad… she is
a rare voice in a noisy world. Her site is like getting to visit the voice in her brain…a quiet entry, slow flashes of memory and color.
I thought I’d peek in on Terri Hendrix, Trish Murphy, Nanci Griffith (not a lot of thought put into the one I saw), Lucinda Williams, Eels, Bjork, Billy Bragg and Jana Stanfield. I also tried to go to visit Bob Schneider…what came up was either a list of odds and ends Bob endorses, or a real estate site. Not sure what that was.
My site is about to undergo some changes. Sort of like rearranging the house, you might say. It must be because I’m turning 41. And I keep cleaning out the closets. Cleaning out the clothes. Throwing out/recycling/re-gifting things that once seemed so important. Moving away from this and leaning towards that. Whittling away at what doesn’t fit my soul to finding what feels comfy and real, loose and soft.
I’ve never really been big into birthdays, but this year I feel a tad melancholy about being closer to 50. Not like I’m dreading it, mind you. 50 sounds fine.
I’m sure when I look down at my hands at 50 I’ll like them more than I do now, they’ll just be even more wrinkly, beat up, historical documents of what I’ve been choosing to do with my time.
It’s just…where did the time go? At 13, I remember I this big, chunky metal necklace on a disco-like gold chain that was yelling, “1-3-!” The numbers were
HUGE! with yellow enamel paint. I don’t think I actually ever wore this ridiculous gift except at the moment it was placed around my neck (with someone smiling down at me as if to say, “Aren’t I clever?”) I will never forget the feeling of actually FEELING the weight of 13 because of that moment. The weight of it all.
The world seemed vast and unexplored. My ship was something I hadn’t gotten a ticket to, yet. Maybe time stopped for me and I’m really still 13, only now I’m out to sea, commanding the mateys and swabbing the poop deck, seeing shore in sight, just not wanting to end the slapping of the waves, the smell of the salt, the
joy of adventure.
My God, what’s going to happen next?! I need some Visine. My eyes are all dried up.
posted by Sara Hickman at 09:40 am
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Food 911
February 02, 2004
posted by Sara Hickman at 03:00 pm
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What a Week
The week was busy, busy, busy. Let’s see..after playgroup with the girls on Tuesday, I had volunteer training with Interfaith Care Alliance, a group that brings Care Teams to people living and dying with HIV/AIDs, cancer, or any serious incapacitating illness. Care Teams run errands, clean house, walk pets, give spouses time to rejuvenate or simply just listen to the Care Partner. It’s a one year committment with a required one hour a week visit per Care Team volunteer. So, a group of us will be hand selected and matched up with a person with specific needs that our group can meet.
I’ve decided the amount of time I’ve volunteered over the last 14 years will be slowing down from benefit concerts to personal one on one time. I grew up with two grandmothers that volunteered, so it must be an integral part of my DNA. But, now with children and family and career and church, I’m finding I miss the part of volunteering that was hands on, and I’d like my personal time to be spiritually rewarding, nourishing and quieter. I also know that spending time with people who are dying is astounding. It brings gifts that no one can really talk about; gifts for the dying and the living.
Wednesday night—-got on the Asleep at the Wheel Tour bus with a buncha folks from NARAS (National Association of Recording Arts and Sciences…you know, the Grammy people)…we drove to San Antonio to be a part of the public’s voice
in conjunction with the FCC’s panel. Ray Benson was a guest panelist, and spoke convincingly about the FCC’s recent ruling, in which they will be allowing greater acquisition by large corporations of radio/tv/newspapers. Scary stuff. In other words, it used to be a newspaper was owned by one company (or individual), a tv station by another, radio stations by others still. Nowadays, groups like Belo (in Dallas) or Clear Channel are buying up newspapers/radio/tv and owning
all three outlets in one city. The end result is that your news/programming/music/entertainment can all be owned by one group, so there is no local diversity…no diversity whatsoever. You are being spoonfed as to what to like/believe without the choice of adversity/varying opinions and facts.
My question was: Why is the U.S. fighting oppression in other countries when our liberties here at home are being threatened in the same manner? Sadly, I didn’t get to ask that question, nor did any other audience member. Folks were given two minutes to voice their concerns, and there were hundreds and hundreds of people who had lined up at 4 a.m. that morning to speak their minds. It was astounding.
Afterwards, we were all in a variety of moods…got back on the bus and headed home to Austin. The festivities were in the back of the bus, were Reuben Ramos, Ray, me, Matt the Electrician, Deb & Bo Yeager and I were singing away.
Thursday: Girl Scouts! We went to Central Market for a tour of how a grocery store runs. Best part: Watching girls poke their fingers into bread dough until the bread looked like a flattened, lifeless martian from outer space. No. They didn’t cook it and no…we didn’t eat it. But we did get to make candy badges and stick them on a chocolate cake sash…which we gobbled down with fresh, cold milk.
Mmm.
Then on to more volunteer training. We have a Care Partner come and speak about what having a Care Team has meant for him. We have someone speak on drug/alcohol addiction, and what it is like for people in recovery. We role play, to learn more of what we, as volunteers, would do in different scenarios. The evening comes to a close. We are all bonded. We are excited to get started; ready to serve.
Friday a.m.: While the girls are in school, I have a rehearsal with Austin, a young pianist I will be doing a duet with in church on Sunday. Then, a meeting at my office with a yoga instructor who has just released her first cd and needs advice.
Friday afternoon: Lily and I head over to Pauline’s after school. Pauline has lived in Clarksville (Austin) all her life; she says it used to be prarie, and her parents would drive her down 6th street in their Model T Ford. She is a gospel singer,
and we are practicing for Margaret’s birthday party…
Friday night: Took the family to the DIFFA (Design Industries Foundation for AIDS) jacket viewing here in Austin. The Dallas headquarters had called and asked if I would mind performing at the satellite function…I also got to play auctioneer and auction off one of the hand made jackets. DIFFA has different designers/celebrities from around the world decorate blue jean jackets, and they auction them off at a huge gala once a year. Proceeds go towards AIDS research.
I think I’ve created a jacket every year but maybe three over the last 14 years.
Anyhoo, so it came down to auction time, so I was silly, I was fun, I was trying to get the small group of wealthy, dressed up folks to pay attention to the tulle and the lace and the silk of the jacket by Jocelyn White, when I got fed up. The bid was only at $350 (which was, by my account, really ridiculously low)…so, I stood up on top of a chair, mic in hand, and said, “Hey. Put your drinks down. Listen to me. Just for a moment.” And I proceeded to talk about AIDS. I proceeded to talk about the death of my friend, David Drane, and how alone he was at the end of his life. How the stigma of AIDS still causes people to suffer emotionally because of the fears and prejudice within our society. I got choked up. I talked about how this jacket wasn’t just fabric and thread, but that it represented someone’s life.
How each jacket was a chance to raise more money for more research to find a cure. What if your friend or your daughter or your lover caught this disease? I asked. Would this jacket mean more to you? I demanded $1000 for the jacket.
I warned everyone that by the time I reached 30, someone had please please
donated the money. I closed my eyes. I was weepy and tired and I wanted people to realize that this function wasn’t just about free wine and fancy food.
All the schmoozing, popping of camera bulbs, loud talking…what were my children seeing? I knew that at least they would see that speaking up is something we should all do…even when our voice is shaking.
Well, the jacket went for $1000 at number 28. I opened my eyes. I had specifically told all the DIFFA volunteers it could NOT be one of them…and, yet,
Gretchen, who is on the DIFFA staff, had bought the jacket. I was bummed.
The jacket had also included a free night’s stay at the Adolphus in Dallas, and two free tickets (worth $500) to the DIFFA show. I was so sure someone would buy this lovely one-of-a-kind jacket…and someone had. But not a new face to DIFFA, an Austin face.
Friday night—-later—-Aunt Kevina comes to stay, and we play KERPLUNK with the girls!!
Saturday a.m.—-I get up to make homemade waffles for all. Walnuts, bananas, strawberries, whip cream, melted butter and syrup…cherry noses and chocolate chip eyes on the girls’, sausage for all.
Saturday night——My friend, Margaret, is turning 62. My oldest daughter has made her a seashell necklace and sweet lace card. We head to Margaret’s peaceful domain; candles light the path. I am singing in honor of Margaret, and also performing with her friend, Pauline…We sing “Just a Closer Walk With Thee”
and Pauline’s lilting voice brings the room to a hush. We also do “This Little Light of Mine” and “Thank You, Lord”. Then, I am singing…and surprise! Lily joins in…on “Look At It This Way”, she is singing the chorus with me! And mouthing all the words to the other songs…now she is hand signing and swaying, and Margaret’s friends are smiling and nodding their heads to her movements. I am saddened in that Lily is seated behind me on a giant, thronelike chair, so I miss all of her additions to the music. Afterwards, everyone is telling me how wonderful both my children are…and I can only agree. They surprise me with their sweetness and their intelligence beyond anything I could ever have dreamed.
Sunday: Sing in church, sinus infection is starting to set in. I just go for those high notes and hang on!
Sunday afternoon: Hang out with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law. We go to see “Mystic River”, but the film’s sound is not working, so we go to the Cheesecake Factory and have fine conversation instead. Then, home to
be with my baby girl while her dad goes out for the evening.
Create a hand-decorated flower pot for the annual Umlauf Sculpture Garden Party. While io is glueing things on her tiny pot, I, too, cram a zillion beads, ornaments, coins, toys, plastic frogs, tiny unicorns, broken bits of mosaic,
stickers, lace, and antique dance cards I took from a deserted, and haunted!, house I once visited. I glue everything down and laugh at my creation. I almost don’t want to turn it in…it’s so fantastically fun. It’s great to be able to make art/music and know that I don’t know where it will end up. That it is all temporary and the letting go is the best part. It gets easier and easier with age…or is that just my sinus infection talking?
posted by Sara Hickman at 02:59 pm
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