Hey!
NO MORE BLOGGER.COM for me, my loves!
I spent the ENTIRE day transferring files.
You can now find me at http://www.sarahscottpainting.com - please change your bookmarks accordingly! (at the time I'm posting this the site is still uploading but she will be ready soon)
And, as an aside, I'm so sorry I have been absent of late.
I owe many blog visits.
Life has been carrying me away...I shall ask the breeze to bring me back.
Love and sparkles,
xxxS.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Reading The Writing
I am reading the writing that started it all.
The birthing of birth, the death of death.
The words that told him my name.
In the bathroom.
In a dusty box.
Up high.
In a folder.
Long forgotten.
The birds chirping in my brain.
When I was a poet.
When I was a writer.
And today is the day.
I open the cage.
Sit down with a coffee and suck up my heart.
The words.
I want to visit their cousins, their sisters, their brothers, their wives...I want to visit them all and get to know the family a little.
Like I once knew it.
Especially the demonic children.
Because the words are creeping in.
Oh, the poetry is coming to visit.
But is she coming to stay?
Who can say.
Roaches and birds in a dusty,
filthy,
d e l i c i o u s box.
I make her a bed of nails and lavender.
And lick the invitation.
One drop of blood or two, you say?
I kick off my shoes and wait.
The birthing of birth, the death of death.
The words that told him my name.
In the bathroom.
In a dusty box.
Up high.
In a folder.
Long forgotten.
The birds chirping in my brain.
When I was a poet.
When I was a writer.
And today is the day.
I open the cage.
Sit down with a coffee and suck up my heart.
The words.
I want to visit their cousins, their sisters, their brothers, their wives...I want to visit them all and get to know the family a little.
Like I once knew it.
Especially the demonic children.
Because the words are creeping in.
Oh, the poetry is coming to visit.
But is she coming to stay?
Who can say.
Roaches and birds in a dusty,
filthy,
d e l i c i o u s box.
I make her a bed of nails and lavender.
And lick the invitation.
One drop of blood or two, you say?
I kick off my shoes and wait.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Blinding White
Making love in the storm.
Almost as beautiful as making love on vacation, finding those deep, dark, forbidden locations. Socks and grins and rhythms washed out to sea and pulled back again. Like my heart, ripped apart by the awe of you.
And today in the hot, humid, Alabama heat, thunder crashing down around us, lightning demanding glimpses of unknown worlds. And we find ourselves fevered, pale, smooth. Silken. Amazed at how we fit and how we don't, after so many years. Amazed at the new discoveries.
And afterward, lying in your arms, staring at the kudzu busting through the window and raping the ceiling, one tendril...thumping, thumping...
And finding constellations with the fly spots on flaky, falling white...gliding through the air...the spark in your eyes as we weave new tales and relive old stories.
I don't think we could ever get bored of this.
But then why would we want to?
You are the painting I'll spend a lifetime trying to capture.
And I am the song you want to know how to sing.
Almost as beautiful as making love on vacation, finding those deep, dark, forbidden locations. Socks and grins and rhythms washed out to sea and pulled back again. Like my heart, ripped apart by the awe of you.
And today in the hot, humid, Alabama heat, thunder crashing down around us, lightning demanding glimpses of unknown worlds. And we find ourselves fevered, pale, smooth. Silken. Amazed at how we fit and how we don't, after so many years. Amazed at the new discoveries.
And afterward, lying in your arms, staring at the kudzu busting through the window and raping the ceiling, one tendril...thumping, thumping...
And finding constellations with the fly spots on flaky, falling white...gliding through the air...the spark in your eyes as we weave new tales and relive old stories.
I don't think we could ever get bored of this.
But then why would we want to?
You are the painting I'll spend a lifetime trying to capture.
And I am the song you want to know how to sing.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Magical Box
I found one.
At the thrift store.
For $3.99.
Most girls would laden it with make-up.
I choose magic instead.
And with a summer dress, flowers in my hair, a goofy grin and my magical box (don't even say it)....
I skip off to the beach. :)
More when I'm back from heaven.
xxxS.
At the thrift store.
For $3.99.
Most girls would laden it with make-up.
I choose magic instead.
And with a summer dress, flowers in my hair, a goofy grin and my magical box (don't even say it)....
I skip off to the beach. :)
More when I'm back from heaven.
xxxS.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
It's Jareth!
OH MY GOODNESS!
*freaks out*
LOOK WHAT BOY BOUGHT HOME FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He's like...the best boy EVER!
*pees panties*
*freaks out*
LOOK WHAT BOY BOUGHT HOME FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He's like...the best boy EVER!
*pees panties*
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Lists
My beautiful man is a big fan of lists so I'm going to try and do this Brennen style.
LIST.
For the weekend.
1. Load up MP3 player with music, make sure it's charged
2. Make mini-canvases and assemble art travel box, compose pieces
3. Take book to read
4. Get shorts/wrap from Sara
5. Camera. Charge batteries. Bring cards
6. Bring tripod
7. Bring veil
8. Bring headdress
9. Find movies for B's laptop
10. Get Rockstars for the road
11. Bring snacks
LIST
Before the weekend.
1. Continue with gift shopping
2. Get as MUCH done on Atlanta commission as possible
3. Get as MUCH done on WW commission as possible
4. Reassemble wedding headdress
5. Tidy house a bit
6. Stock up on cat stuff
7. Buy razors
8. Follow up on lost package at post office
9. Watch Dr. Who
10. Make some sweet, sweet love
LIST.
For the weekend.
1. Load up MP3 player with music, make sure it's charged
2. Make mini-canvases and assemble art travel box, compose pieces
3. Take book to read
4. Get shorts/wrap from Sara
5. Camera. Charge batteries. Bring cards
6. Bring tripod
7. Bring veil
8. Bring headdress
9. Find movies for B's laptop
10. Get Rockstars for the road
11. Bring snacks
LIST
Before the weekend.
1. Continue with gift shopping
2. Get as MUCH done on Atlanta commission as possible
3. Get as MUCH done on WW commission as possible
4. Reassemble wedding headdress
5. Tidy house a bit
6. Stock up on cat stuff
7. Buy razors
8. Follow up on lost package at post office
9. Watch Dr. Who
10. Make some sweet, sweet love
Monday, June 16, 2008
Next Series
I'm researching my next series.
Whoa.
It's hard to be burdened by research when it is all about beauty.
I'm tip-toeing on the rim of far more beautiful things than I can ever grasp.
But it is not foolish to reach out.
I can't really start any of the works right now though.
I am instead working on a commission for a wonderful woman in Atlanta, GA. (I am excited about this piece)
And I am thinking/composing a replacement piece for the Dorthy hanging in starbucks (I need to get that down so I can send it to it's new owner)
And there are a couple of gifts I would like to create.
And I am possibly painting another commission, providing the boy calls me back.
And I have to - at some point this week - update all of my online sites (something fierce)
And I need to paint some SYTs.
And I will be going on a trip to the ocean this weekend.
So!
So.
So.
So when I say I am researching my next series really I am dreaming.
But oh!
The dreams are so sweet.
And the research is grand.
And I sway and smile appropriately.
And grin - just a little - at the state of things.
For surely life is wonderful.
Shhhhh! Listen! Listen to the research, swirling around my brain. Listen to the art that is shaping by itself.
When did life get so freaking beautiful?
It's like I cut out the Cancer and now it's gone.
Chemo is paint tubes and tongue.
Whoa.
It's hard to be burdened by research when it is all about beauty.
I'm tip-toeing on the rim of far more beautiful things than I can ever grasp.
But it is not foolish to reach out.
I can't really start any of the works right now though.
I am instead working on a commission for a wonderful woman in Atlanta, GA. (I am excited about this piece)
And I am thinking/composing a replacement piece for the Dorthy hanging in starbucks (I need to get that down so I can send it to it's new owner)
And there are a couple of gifts I would like to create.
And I am possibly painting another commission, providing the boy calls me back.
And I have to - at some point this week - update all of my online sites (something fierce)
And I need to paint some SYTs.
And I will be going on a trip to the ocean this weekend.
So!
So.
So.
So when I say I am researching my next series really I am dreaming.
But oh!
The dreams are so sweet.
And the research is grand.
And I sway and smile appropriately.
And grin - just a little - at the state of things.
For surely life is wonderful.
Shhhhh! Listen! Listen to the research, swirling around my brain. Listen to the art that is shaping by itself.
When did life get so freaking beautiful?
It's like I cut out the Cancer and now it's gone.
Chemo is paint tubes and tongue.
New Love - Michael Shapcott
New love.
Oh my goodness.
Michael Shapcott.
p.s: I skinned my knee making my frames. I hope you're allllllllllll happy now! (soni excluded from snarky remark)
Oh my goodness.
Michael Shapcott.
p.s: I skinned my knee making my frames. I hope you're allllllllllll happy now! (soni excluded from snarky remark)
Um...Somebody?
Um...somebody come and saw this wood?
And make these frames?
And prime them?
And undercoat?
OhPleaseOhPleaseOhPLEASE do it!
I just wanna paint.
And make these frames?
And prime them?
And undercoat?
OhPleaseOhPleaseOhPLEASE do it!
I just wanna paint.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
A Real Unicorn
ROME (AP) — A deer with a single horn in the center of its head — much like the fabled, mythical unicorn — has been spotted in a nature preserve in Italy, park officials said Wednesday.
"This is fantasy becoming reality," Gilberto Tozzi, director of the Center of Natural Sciences in Prato, told The Associated Press. "The unicorn has always been a mythological animal."
The 1-year-old Roe Deer — nicknamed "Unicorn" — was born in captivity in the research center's park in the Tuscan town of Prato, near Florence, Tozzi said.
He is believed to have been born with a genetic flaw; his twin has two horns.
Calling it the first time he has seen such a case, Tozzi said such anomalies among deer may have inspired the myth of the unicorn.
The unicorn, a horse-like creature with magical healing powers, has appeared in legends and stories throughout history, from ancient and medieval texts to the adventures of Harry Potter.
"This shows that even in past times, there could have been animals with this anomaly," he said by telephone. "It's not like they dreamed it up."
Single-horned deer are rare but not unheard of — but even more unusual is the central positioning of the horn, experts said.
"Generally, the horn is on one side (of the head) rather than being at the center. This looks like a complex case," said Fulvio Fraticelli, scientific director of Rome's zoo. He said the position of the horn could also be the result of a trauma early in the animal's life.
Other mammals are believed to contribute to the myth of the unicorn, including the narwhal, a whale with a long, spiraling tusk.
Squee of all squees....
Submission
Submitted late for the online magazine that contacted me.
And I'm not sure I submitted correctly.
Gah!
I'm such a shit.
And I'm not sure I submitted correctly.
Gah!
I'm such a shit.
Yesterday, Death
Yesterday was death.
Awful.
Suffering from both exhaustion and dehydration I spent almost the whole day passed out, only waking long enough to realise how badly I felt before going back to sleep again.
Today I have more energy but I'm still pretty dehydrated.
This is no fun, no fun.
Oh, and I am not happy with what I did to Little Red Riding Hood. Somewhere in the mess of yesterday I mucked that up, too.
I hope today goes better.
I'm downing gatorade and forcing a smile.
*grimace*
(the smile thing needs work)
Awful.
Suffering from both exhaustion and dehydration I spent almost the whole day passed out, only waking long enough to realise how badly I felt before going back to sleep again.
Today I have more energy but I'm still pretty dehydrated.
This is no fun, no fun.
Oh, and I am not happy with what I did to Little Red Riding Hood. Somewhere in the mess of yesterday I mucked that up, too.
I hope today goes better.
I'm downing gatorade and forcing a smile.
*grimace*
(the smile thing needs work)
Monday, June 9, 2008
97F
This is what 97 degrees looks like.
The fountain is the before-the-fact Sarah Marie Scott memorial fountain.
I swear it's mine.
It's a five minute walk from our house.
We skip there barefooted at 2&3am, also at 2&3pm.
Our friends congregate there also.
We miss them usually by minutes and then we run down to the train tracks and look at the graffittied box cars as they go by.
Summer 2008.
It's not even here yet and it's awesome.
The fountain is the before-the-fact Sarah Marie Scott memorial fountain.
I swear it's mine.
It's a five minute walk from our house.
We skip there barefooted at 2&3am, also at 2&3pm.
Our friends congregate there also.
We miss them usually by minutes and then we run down to the train tracks and look at the graffittied box cars as they go by.
Summer 2008.
It's not even here yet and it's awesome.
Sprinkler Fun
Just in from a BLISTERING 10 miles at the park.
My partner and I made a mad dash through the baseball fields and splashed around in the sprinklers.
So much fun until our sunscreen got into our eyes and we started screaming.
Okay....that was fun too and amused our friendly park workers.
Think this will be a daily routine.
It saved us at about 8 miles.
Fun in lycra and water without a swimming pool.
HoofreakingRAH.
My partner and I made a mad dash through the baseball fields and splashed around in the sprinklers.
So much fun until our sunscreen got into our eyes and we started screaming.
Okay....that was fun too and amused our friendly park workers.
Think this will be a daily routine.
It saved us at about 8 miles.
Fun in lycra and water without a swimming pool.
HoofreakingRAH.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Dear Lover
Dear Love.
I unearthed a CD tonight.
One I carried with me over the oceans.
I thought for some reason 'Dry' was the first song you ever sent to me.
It wasn't.
Do you remember how rapidly we wrote? Fingers fumbling to keep up with thought, thought fumbling to keep up with heart, heart fumbling to keep up with our inner beasts.
How amazing to be consumed by you without ever knowing your name.
Without knowing your touch.
To spend nights by other men but consumed by a far away stranger.
Twisting and turning.
To drive over mountains and race home, to see if you had sent word.
Of life.
Of breath.
Of you.
Do you remember how frantic love was for us?
I remember one summer calling you from my parents front yard. Laying on the trampoline in the hot New Zealand sun, adoring your accent, the way you said your 'g's.
And the first phonecall, much earlier, when I still lived in the South. When you knew that I knew and you demanded I call. I didn't want to. Anyone would think we were speaking about love but it was more than that. Do you remember? The gap in the trees? Existentialism is why you demanded I call. Didn't we want to be more than gaps in the trees?
And don't we still.
And do you remember when we met?
You called me an Ice Queen, inwardly. And for months after you called me closed off, demanded my eyes said so much more than my mouth. I think they did but I think they always will. It's the potential in that that's amazing. You wake up next to a new woman every day. Now you know it's not cold or distant. Now you know it's hunger and lust.
And Jason and Brett's flat...art and movement. I remember the smell of it.
I remember the filthy Philadelphian streets.
And once, once when I could stand the city and the people no longer, you led me into town blindfolded. We walked from our apartment at night, through the masses of people, and all I could hear was your words in my ear, all I could feel was the pull of your hands. "Forget the people" you had said "there is only you and I, this is our world"
Turns out that you were right.
And orange.
Orange.
Orange should be my favourite colour.
The first time we kissed, deeply, passionately, pushed up against a bright orange wall in a dirty bus station. As if it were the beginning of our life.
Yes.
Yes I thought 'Dry' was the first song you sent to me but it wasn't.
And I'm playing it now, the first glimpse of you, and I remember everything.
I am still in New Zealand.
You are still in America.
We are still in Philadelphia.
We are both in Alabama.
But mainly, mainly...I am still blindfolded, night air nipping my cheeks, city smells teasing my nose, and you...you...
You are still showing me how the world is ours.
And I see we are still taking it, as we do.
Biting it all as the juices run down.
Licking each others chin.
I unearthed a CD tonight.
One I carried with me over the oceans.
I thought for some reason 'Dry' was the first song you ever sent to me.
It wasn't.
Do you remember how rapidly we wrote? Fingers fumbling to keep up with thought, thought fumbling to keep up with heart, heart fumbling to keep up with our inner beasts.
How amazing to be consumed by you without ever knowing your name.
Without knowing your touch.
To spend nights by other men but consumed by a far away stranger.
Twisting and turning.
To drive over mountains and race home, to see if you had sent word.
Of life.
Of breath.
Of you.
Do you remember how frantic love was for us?
I remember one summer calling you from my parents front yard. Laying on the trampoline in the hot New Zealand sun, adoring your accent, the way you said your 'g's.
And the first phonecall, much earlier, when I still lived in the South. When you knew that I knew and you demanded I call. I didn't want to. Anyone would think we were speaking about love but it was more than that. Do you remember? The gap in the trees? Existentialism is why you demanded I call. Didn't we want to be more than gaps in the trees?
And don't we still.
And do you remember when we met?
You called me an Ice Queen, inwardly. And for months after you called me closed off, demanded my eyes said so much more than my mouth. I think they did but I think they always will. It's the potential in that that's amazing. You wake up next to a new woman every day. Now you know it's not cold or distant. Now you know it's hunger and lust.
And Jason and Brett's flat...art and movement. I remember the smell of it.
I remember the filthy Philadelphian streets.
And once, once when I could stand the city and the people no longer, you led me into town blindfolded. We walked from our apartment at night, through the masses of people, and all I could hear was your words in my ear, all I could feel was the pull of your hands. "Forget the people" you had said "there is only you and I, this is our world"
Turns out that you were right.
And orange.
Orange.
Orange should be my favourite colour.
The first time we kissed, deeply, passionately, pushed up against a bright orange wall in a dirty bus station. As if it were the beginning of our life.
Yes.
Yes I thought 'Dry' was the first song you sent to me but it wasn't.
And I'm playing it now, the first glimpse of you, and I remember everything.
I am still in New Zealand.
You are still in America.
We are still in Philadelphia.
We are both in Alabama.
But mainly, mainly...I am still blindfolded, night air nipping my cheeks, city smells teasing my nose, and you...you...
You are still showing me how the world is ours.
And I see we are still taking it, as we do.
Biting it all as the juices run down.
Licking each others chin.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Their World
A lot of the time when I stop to look at the people outside of my world it makes me want to peel my skin off and pull my bones out.
*shudder*
And somewhere in the outskirts, Emeril farts.
*shudder*
And somewhere in the outskirts, Emeril farts.
June 6th Google
Today Google are honouring Diego Velázquez.
I don't know who the google people are, but I sure do like 'em.
I don't know who the google people are, but I sure do like 'em.
Frisket
My frisket keeps leaking all over my work which is incredibly annoying.
However.
When it leaks all over the floor, it's kinda pretty.
I lost my phone for two days.
I finally found it when I remembered I was sawing 1x when I was talking to Lisa.
Blow the sawdust off and she's good to go.
*grin*
Apologies for those who called, the battery died.
However.
When it leaks all over the floor, it's kinda pretty.
I lost my phone for two days.
I finally found it when I remembered I was sawing 1x when I was talking to Lisa.
Blow the sawdust off and she's good to go.
*grin*
Apologies for those who called, the battery died.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Pink Lace
Today I bought a pink, lace bra.
Whoa.
I don't think I've ever had a pink bra before.
I've had similar soft pastels, like lavender and peach.
In fact I think I've had every other colour under the sun.
No...wait...LIES.
I haven't had lime green.
Ick.
Well...ick in lace, lime green in a playful microfibre may be fun.
I love the flavour well enough.
But I digress...mainly I'm a black or red type of gal but today I bought a soft pink lace bra.
And - freakishly - it did a number on me psychologically.
It's like...the epitome of feminine.
The embodiment of woman.
The quintessence of soft.
Put on a black metallica shirt? Nope. Still feel soft and pretty.
Put on baggy cargos, a muscle shirt and work boots? Nope. STILL feel soft and pretty.
Walk like a cowboy and scratch your groin? DOESN'T MATTER. With a pink lace bra on, you're still the softest, prettiest thing that God ever saw fit to put on this earth.
Who knew?
And I wonder why none of the other soft pastels had the same effect?
There's just something about this bra...the colour, the fit, the way it looks underneath the clothes....
It's tripping me out, man.
I always thought when I grew up I'd be a fat jolly policeman overdosing on doughnuts.
No way did I think I'd be a painter, wafting around in summer dresses with painted toes and jewelled feet and feeling so....feminine.
I'm not complaining.
I'm just surprised.
Like thunk-on-the-head surprised.
Is it growth to grow into yourself or simply just life?
For surely this is me because this is who I am.
And I love it.
Me.
I love this gypsy woman who twists and turns.
And interestingly enough, as I type this, I am blowing a soft pink bubble out of my pretty pink mouth.
Today is shades of girl pastel.
I'm waiting for a unicorn to stroll in.
Whoa.
I don't think I've ever had a pink bra before.
I've had similar soft pastels, like lavender and peach.
In fact I think I've had every other colour under the sun.
No...wait...LIES.
I haven't had lime green.
Ick.
Well...ick in lace, lime green in a playful microfibre may be fun.
I love the flavour well enough.
But I digress...mainly I'm a black or red type of gal but today I bought a soft pink lace bra.
And - freakishly - it did a number on me psychologically.
It's like...the epitome of feminine.
The embodiment of woman.
The quintessence of soft.
Put on a black metallica shirt? Nope. Still feel soft and pretty.
Put on baggy cargos, a muscle shirt and work boots? Nope. STILL feel soft and pretty.
Walk like a cowboy and scratch your groin? DOESN'T MATTER. With a pink lace bra on, you're still the softest, prettiest thing that God ever saw fit to put on this earth.
Who knew?
And I wonder why none of the other soft pastels had the same effect?
There's just something about this bra...the colour, the fit, the way it looks underneath the clothes....
It's tripping me out, man.
I always thought when I grew up I'd be a fat jolly policeman overdosing on doughnuts.
No way did I think I'd be a painter, wafting around in summer dresses with painted toes and jewelled feet and feeling so....feminine.
I'm not complaining.
I'm just surprised.
Like thunk-on-the-head surprised.
Is it growth to grow into yourself or simply just life?
For surely this is me because this is who I am.
And I love it.
Me.
I love this gypsy woman who twists and turns.
And interestingly enough, as I type this, I am blowing a soft pink bubble out of my pretty pink mouth.
Today is shades of girl pastel.
I'm waiting for a unicorn to stroll in.
Work
Still going strong.
Hope to have three large works completed by the end of the day.
Hope to rearrange the things I've hung in Starbucks tomorrow.
Wish meh luck!
A wooo wooo.
Hope to have three large works completed by the end of the day.
Hope to rearrange the things I've hung in Starbucks tomorrow.
Wish meh luck!
A wooo wooo.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Yummy Yummy Yummy I've Got Love In Meh Tummy
I have a somewhat large and often dangerous obsession with eating colourful things.
It makes sense when you think about mankind's urge to consume the things he loves the most (yes, I bite when I'm being affectionate)
Froot Loops.
They make me so happy.
I sit and sigh contentedly and look at them in my bowl before I eat them.
They're so mah-vell-ous. It's like magic in a box. And they taste a damn site better than our soap. (which I also look at and sigh over)
DON'T EAT THE SOAP, SARAH.
At least not until you've said a few more swears.
It makes sense when you think about mankind's urge to consume the things he loves the most (yes, I bite when I'm being affectionate)
Froot Loops.
They make me so happy.
I sit and sigh contentedly and look at them in my bowl before I eat them.
They're so mah-vell-ous. It's like magic in a box. And they taste a damn site better than our soap. (which I also look at and sigh over)
DON'T EAT THE SOAP, SARAH.
At least not until you've said a few more swears.
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