Try a Little Tenderness

For this portrait, I wanted to capture the vulnerability of a woman in love, the sweetness and femininity. Doesn't my subject look as if she were about to speak? 

Her hand, moving towards her lips...not sure what to say?

 She seems thoughtful and perhaps a bit sad. 

What she needs is assurance and some tender loving care. 

With props to Otis Redding:

Oh, she may be weary
Young girls they do get weary
Wearing that same old shaggy dress, 

But when she gets weary,
Try a little tenderness
You know she's waiting
Just anticipating
For things that she'll never, never, never, never possess,
But while she's there waiting, without them,
Try a little tenderness
It's not just sentimental, no,
She has her grief and care,
But the soft words, they are spoken so gentle,
It makes it easier, easier to bear
You won't regret it,
Some girls they don't forget it
Love is their only happiness,
But it's all so easy
All you gotta do is try, try a little tenderness
All you gotta do is, man, hold her where you want her
Squeeze her, don't tease her, never leave her
Get to her, try, try,
Just try a little tenderness
You got to know how to love her, man, you'll be surprised, man,
You've got to squeeze her, don't tease her, never leave her
You've got to hold her and rub her softly,
Try a little tenderness and watch her groove,
You've gotta to know what to do, man,
Take this advice...

 
Try a Little Tenderness

 

I used white paper with lavender and purple designs for the majority of the face, irridescent tissues for highlight, and my usual - junk mail paper source - for the rest.  

I hate to pick out frames. I always pick out the wrong ones, so I found a creative framer who can come up with interesting combinations of color and texture.

I trust my friend Mary

who put this unusual composition in a silver wood frame, and then in a seafoam textured frame.

It's amazing.

Here's my "gallery on the go" at an art festival in Virginia last year.

An article I wrote for...

...another publication.
I was just submitting a story, and who knows if it will be published?!
So, since I already wrote it, I'll post it here.
Yeah, it's a little long.

How grateful am I!

It took time, it was a struggle, I still have a long way to go, but what I have learned is “it’s never too late to be what you might have been” - George Sand.

I was the quiet kid, drawing in my room...the weird teen-ager hanging out in the art room. But when it was time for college, my girlhood dreams did not find footing in the real world. Maybe it was my insecurity, the lack of encouragement, or the times...just prior to the women’s movement. And, the endless loop of “no one makes it as an artist.” My parents expected me to be a wife and mother - not a professional, certainly not an artist.

I thought I had talent, but I was a shy and quiet kid -actually pretty shy until 30.

So, I did a million other things instead. I worked my way up in retail, all the way to the buying offices and management, and then chucked it to be a display artist. Dressing mannequins and making beds and doing window displays was incredible. I opened a business doing displays, creating props, designing stores...but my partner and I were not always watching the bottom line, became exhausted and closed after 6 years.

I got married and put husband #1 through law school. So, “someone” had to have the “real” job. The one with a steady paycheck and benefits. I had a baby. So, now I am breadwinner, parent, housekeeper, cook... No time for art, no support from husband.

I ended up in nonprofit. But, always, I had room in my home for artsy stuff. Husband one moved my art room into a closet, then into the laundry room, then the car port. I moved my self out of the house.

I created a new life for myself. Single parent with an art filled house. I made funky lampshades, I painted murals, I broke tiles and made a mosaic countertop, I made my own shutters, I put together a chandelier. Those “itches” were fun, but never really scratched...in a way that made me feel fulfilled.

Then, many years later, I met and married my dream husband. Adores me, supported my artistic dreams - built me a studio - gave me time and space to work and grow as an artist. A year into our marriage he said - the only way you’re going to make it is to put everything into it - quit your job!

I held my breathe and took the leap. No golden parachute. No trust fund. No MFA. We sacrificed a lot. No vacations, went from Kiehl’s to Oil of Olay. Ditched the suits and go to work in pajamas. Work, work work. Make art, find shows, galleries, sell, market, create a web site, pack, ship, file...oh yeah, and make dinner, do the laundry and help a kid through school.

I spend time every day in my studio. I spend time every day exploring every possibility - from researching galleries to looking for opportunities for pr, writing a blog, sending out emails, networking and planning art festivals [which includes filling out forms, applications - and then booking travel].

Today, my work is in several galleries in Los Angeles, Phoenix, Chicago and more... In museums, and in private and corporate collections throughout the world.

I had to accept the fact that I AM AN ARTIST. I didn’t need someone outside myself to tell me that. I appreciate my husband’s love and support. I put in the time, every day: dedication and focus to make this happen on my own terms, in my own way.

 What I have achieved is not an accident. And I am always excited about what’s next. I have more goals for myself, and am looking forward to more adventures!

I accepted: I didn’t need a professor, a degree or a family member to tell me what I knew inside...I am an artist. I am an artist because I say I am.

I love my life. I get to be who I am on a soul level every day. I have the love and support of my family. I love my family. I love my art. I love it when other people love my art.

I appreciate the opportunities. The opportunity love: to be a parent to the greatest kid and wife to greatest husband. The opportunity to make art, show art and sell art. The opportunity to help others.
My most rewarding achievements are: parenting, being a wife that loves and is loved, and finally having a career that I designed, doing what I love to do.

I am not perfect in this way - I don’t follow the rules. I am not sure I even know what the rules are. I do what I want, when I want, the way I want. Do you like what I do? Great. I didn’t get a formal education in my [now] chosen career. I know there are prescribed steps. I don’t have time to suffer in silence for my craft. I want to be happy, I want to be successful. There, I said it.

The Ties That Bind

During the past year or so, I've been exploring the nature of family relationships - the ties that bind. Discovering that within a family unit, there are some who step forward and some who step back, and some are forced back, and some cannot get their glow on...hidden in the shadow of a blazing star.
Is the quiet one less special?
Can someone really be too sensitive?
Does the loudest voice always win?
What happens when one person values justice over attention?
Does letting another take the spotlight diminish one's own importance?
Can one family handle more than one narcissist, more than one diva, more than one enormous talent? Who's turn is it on the stage?
Ah...The ties that bind.
This year, more than any other, we learned about duty, about love, about illness, about death. About fear & bravery, about humor & pain, about nobility and adversity. The roles we play within our families change - dutiful child becomes dutiful parent, caring sibling becomes care-giver, we must stretch, do things we never dreamed of doing, suffer horrendous loss, look to the future and find ways to lean upon each other.
We learned about each other and what meaning, what values rule our lives. We surprised each other.

Today I finished a portrait of two women. Sisters, perhaps. Together for a portrait, yet very removed from one another.

Is one stepping forward? Is one stepping back? Is the one in the background really duller? Or is she allowing her sister her moment in the spotlight. Are they posing? Are they happy in their roles? You'll need to discover the answer.
Ribbons of color weave in front, through and behind them. They hold them together, and keep them apart. In their moment, they don't even notice them.

Like all of us, we have ties that bind, ties that hold us beyond our control - through all of life's experiences. Like it or not, the ribbons flow around and between us - through our pasts, the present and the future.

Where do your ribbons go? Do they flow freely or hold too tight? What have you learned about your family this year? No matter your feelings about your family members, the ties that bind will last your lifetime.

Ever Fallen in Love with Someone...

With someone you shouldn't've?

There are two songs that inspired this new piece, "Ever" - 

one is Queen Bitch by David Bowie, the other is  Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've) by the Buzzcocks...I like this version by Billy Talent.

You know the feeling - you're pissed - you're heart's in the basement your weekend's at an all time low... you're up on the 11th floor...gazing at your hotel walls...and you're phoning a cab, and you're stomach feels small...

You've fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with.

Love doesn't always end well. Sometimes it just STINKS. If you haven't been there yet, you will be someday. It's good to have a great song to blast and sing along with during those moments of fury. These two worked for me [oh, a long time ago, kiddies... I'm happily married].

So, here's a hot red-head. Naming her "Ever" just 'cause it's pretty. What YOU need to figure out is whether she's the mean one, or if she's the angry one because her lover is fooling around somewhere else [perhaps with someone in a bippity-boppity hat?]. 

"Ever" is a lovely mosaic created entirely from junk mail - 24x36" on canvas...like all my other art.

Have you seen my slideshow on Planet Green? 

Did you know I am teaching art classes in Phoenix?

Hope to hear from you - let me know what you think!

Sandhi