Artist of the Day: Don't Pet the Sweaty Things - Vivian Loulou

Don't Sweat the Petty Things Vivian Loulou joykeeper.etsy.com

This typography illstration is the perfect fit for my mood today. Pettiness is really, really hard not to sweat, especially when it's of the variety that hits that one nerve that's already frayed. Guess it's time to get a cool drink and moooove on!

I plan to spend my weekend painting. What are you going to do?

Check out the other pithy and whimsical illustrations at Loulou's etsy shop.

Artist bio:I am Vivian Loulou, the artist behind Joykeeper. All the items here are creation from my heart.I work in my own graphic studio, WhiteIsNotAColour Studio with my partners. (www.whiteisnotacolour.com )

I am specialize in paper goods, cards, miscellaneous fabric goods, children art prints and children book.

Joykeeper aims at producing unique, high quality art print with happy & positive quote.

Poem Therapy-September 22, 2011 at 7:21 P.M.: To be the thing - Dorothea Lasky

To be the thing
Dorothea Lasky

To be the name uttered, but not to have the burden to be
To be the name said, but not heard
To not breathe anymore, to be the thing
To be the thing being breathed
To not be about to die, to be already dead
To not have to disappoint
To not have the burden of being late
Or punctual
To not eat, to not have to eat
To not feel anything
To not be the one whose affect is criticized
To not pick up the fallen over boxes
To be everywhere but the boxes or plates
To not break the plates
To be beyond breaking
To have been broken
To not bear the burden of not being present
To not have to feel the pain of being hurt
To have transferred that pain over
So that hurt is only part of the imagination
And the imagination is everywhere, is every color
To not contain color, to be color
To not make sound, to be sound
To not have language, to echo, to plan language
To be the stream of words
To not be sad for
To not have those to be sad for
To not eat alone
To not fuck those who do not find your corpse attractive
To not fuck
Or stuff
To be ashes and non-placed
Not displaced, but to not be in any place
To enter the ocean on not a whim, but a physical force
Where there is no center
Where there is no safety
There never was
There was never any anger
There was never anything to look at
I never looked at anything
I just went and walked
I tried to love
But love is hopeless
And I have lost all hope, so bleak I am beyond
I am beyond what might be considered low
There is low nor high, space or time, I have
Gone away from that which is uttered
I have not burdened to be spoken of or spoken for
To croak everyday to the livelong bog
I do not speak a thing
I exist
No, no I don't
I never did
And you may have
But I never did
And you may have called out for me
But I was already gone
And I am already there
That which you speak of
I am already spoken for
In a world of light and ashes
They all call my name
They have waited for me
And now I know
I was always
Already there
With them

To just be, to be a being rather than a doing, feels me with an intensity of desire so vast the ocean, the universe, all the atoms and cells ever in existence, no, absolutely nothing is large enough to contain it.

Don't you ever just want to just be? If I were any part of this poem I would be either, "the stream of words" or "enter the ocean not on a whim, but a physical force" or perhaps "already there".

I've stopped asking people what they do. I don't care. No one does what they want, not really, in their working lives. The accountant really wanted to give his music a shot, but it wasn't practical, so he made numbers instead. The lawyer harbors a secret desire to paint botanical still-lifes, but argues for his client's right to this marital asset, and that marital asset, and that one too. The literature professor yearns to spend all her days guiding adventurous women through white water, yet fills her minutes lecturing about the ineluctable modality of...

You get the picture.

Thoreau said most "men live lives of quiet desperation". You know why? Because we're too afraid to just be who we are. Me included. It usually takes a major crisis to wake us up to a new possibility, and by then we have families, mortgages, bills, debt, etc. The stakes are always high, but feel so much higher than when we were younger, when so many doors of possibility were open, until we went about methodically slamming them and stepped through the door we allowed ourselves.

So how? How to get to where you want to be? And where is that?

I have no idea. Okay, actually, I have a glimmer of an idea.

Artist of the Day: Surrender - Pauline Stanley

Surrender Pauline Stanley raraavisstudio.blogspot.com

I don't know why I fight so hard, swim against the tide, soldier on, even when all I want to say is, I'm out, especially since I know that only when one surrenders, life flows in its truest course, like a river to the sea. Perhaps its because I like the struggle so much. Or maybe because I have a plan. Or that I think I know what's best for me, even if it goes against the little voice in my heart whispering otherwise. It's probably because I'm iron-steel-titanium stubborn. Once I've made a choice, I am sticking to it.

Well, so far, that hasn't worked out so well, so I've decided to do what much wiser people have done: surrender.

I found this photo by Pauline Stanely on etsy. Synchronicity at work! You'll have to click on page three to see it and other message photos since her shop features a variety of goods.

Artist bio:
My photography/design and hand crafted goods are inspired by color, shape, pattern, nature and just about everything vintage. All items are created from original designs or photographs and are handmade in Richmond, VA.

We use eco friendly water based ink for our screen prints and we try to use natural products as much as possible. All products are sweat shop free.

Custom orders maybe available upon request.
For wholesale questions, please contact me at paulinetstanley [!at] gmail.com.

Thanks for visiting my shop!

My blog: raraavisstudio.blogspot.com
My other shop: fashionhousevintage.etsy.com

From the Air: Salt Lake City, Utah to Oakland, California

I recently took a quick weekend trip to San Francisco, with an even quicker stop in Oakland, and on the flight over started taking photos with my Iphone. I love the picture of Lake Tahoe with its spiral cloud cover, and also The Great Salt Lake and Antelope Island.

This Moment: At Ten Thousand Feet September 19, 2011 - 11:03 A.M.

All water finds the surest course to the sea. Giant thalo blue snakes wend through a wildly stitched patch quilt of farm land. The river's greenish blue complements the black, green, rust, and bleached tan squares of earth. To the left of where we are flying over, an ant community humans build for themselves abuts another ant hill cluster of roads and dwellings that look like tunnels visible on the side of a child's glass-domed ant farm. Cars glint like glass as we pass overhead. And then suddenly there is a respite of undeveloped land, and then a scattering of cities interspersed with more arid land. Like the cars, water glints hotly from the surface. A stream, most likely a river is a molten finger tracing an outline through the ground. Homes cluster near roads and tentatively spread outwards. Acres of tree-laden mountains appear with their hidden cache of lakes. The silver reflection of the water hurts my eyes, and I turn and watch my husband sleep with his mouth open. A baby cries and is hushed. The flight attendant asks drink and snack preferences. I return to my small oval to the world. A large crater lake, the remains of some long ago volcano is a vibrant blue with a filmy cloud of silver swirled stitching, like a vintage Indian sari trimmed with turquoise at the edges. The Captain announces, "Lake Tahoe below" and for us to keep our seat belts secure. The mountains in the distance are misted in a haze of clouds, like mountains from ancient Chinese scroll paintings. Directly below where I am sitting, a lake is choking a slow death of dehydration. A stream as thin as a hair meanders through the length of its desolation. My thoughts quickly turn from the despair below to the wedding vows exchanged yesterday under the warm San Franciscan sun. The couple stood before a circle of hot pink and white flowers facing a windmill Queen Wilhelmina gifted to the City at the beginning of the twentieth century. The sound of the nearby ocean filled the silences. I wept from the moment the music sounded, even before I saw the bride, and again during the vows when the two promised the extraordinary: To love each other. Always.

This Moment: San Francisco, California - 8:25 A.M.

Eucalyptus trees stir in the cool breeze. The streets are perilously steep. I imagine snow on these streets, the car sliding backwards, plummeting, and my heart races. I open my eyes and am confronted with stark sunshine and a fuchsia blossomed tree contained in a large pot. The houses are abutted against each other like a large family in a too small bed. The light changes and we transition to a level winding road with terra-cotta roofs lining the road downward to the white city by it's bay. The blue water is speckled with sailboats. A giant green and blue tile caterpillar set in a yellow background covers a stairwell. A woman sits on a star themed mosaic blus bench, her old dog drooling beside her. She smiles a genuine greeting and for a moment the melancholia lifts. For a moment I think of the promise and hope this marriage offers. I return to my thoughts yesterday at ten thousand feet, flying through thin clouds: what gender is the heart? Today, we will stand witness as two hearts pledge to love each other for as long as they continue beating.

This Moment: Salt Lake International Airport, Utah 9:53

Waiting. White noise from all directions. It is easy to identify my fellow Utahans-we are dressed in shorts, capris, sandals, and heavy sweatshirts. Flight announcements. Time to board.