Busting Through A Life in Art

"Dance Suite Monoprint, Oil Stick, Absorbent Ground, Graphite, 30"x110", 2004

The tired artist RISD undergraduate at off campus studio in Providence, RI

Me (in the middle), first oil painting of a map of US from imagination

Contact: Email me!     Art Web Site:   TEXT

Before I begin my post this week, I wish to acknowledge how my mothers death, on May1st, has given me an awareness of how the the life and loss of someone dear and close reorients one's thinking and motivations.  Reading through my mother's writings after her death, I discovered how her struggles and joys helped direct her navigation through her life.  As I move towards regaining my own  emotional equilibrium, I feel a solid kinship with my mothers efforts to balance her goals, family, and the world around her.   The experience of losing my mother has made me feel more fierce and empowered about living a full and honest life that fully encompasses; kindness, spirit, curiosity, artmaking, the wonder of nature, family and friends. 

Sifting through old photo albums looking for the photo of my first oil painting (a map of the US painted at age 8), taken at an old firehouse where classes were held for kids, began a journey backward that moved forward as I thought about the decisions I have made that have led me to this point in my life.  Art and animals were part of my environment growing up in and around New York City.  My aunt took me to Miss Effie's Riding Academy on Long Island when I was 3 or 4 years old for lessons, giving me a life long love of horses.  At home we had 13 turtles, iguanas, chameleons, frogs, seahorses, fish, and birds.  Early memories of my grandmother and I at the Metropolitan Museum are very vivid:  I remember looking up into a very large Jackson Pollack seeing immense worlds of swirling movement; feeling amazed viewing the intense colors of Van Gogh's Sunflowers; charmed by the Degas dancer cast in bronze with her lovely tutu; and in awe of Soleri's gold-threaded sun.   

My mother was a horticulturist, flower arranger, and judge for flower shows.  Our basement was full of fantastic objects and mediums such as driftwood, shells, odd shaped forms of wood, clay, paint, and various colored materials, to name a few.  I was always drawing, painting, taking photos or making some small sculptural object.  Later my parents built me a darkroom when I became interested in printing my own photographs.  An early drawing that I repeatedly recreated was a horse in a large corral backed by mountains or mesa land.  I made many versions of this vision.  When I moved to Hernandez, New Mexico years later, I realized that my drawing was a "blueprint" of my life there.  My corral faced west and was just below the mesa and my horse was a reddish brown color with a light mane and tail that emulated the drawing.   I had "drawn" myself into my life.

At Miss Effie's Riding Academy, at age 4

 My life from ages 8-16 also included intensive ballet training.  My teachers were the stars of The New York City Ballet and mainly Russian.  I was a member of The Andre Eglevsky Ballet Company by age 13. At the time I thought that dance would be my career, but my body could not handle the physical stress.  I turned my focus back to fine art and never looked back.  

After receiving my BFA in painting from Rhode Island School of Design in Italy, where I spent my senior year as a European Honors Student, I stayed another year, living and painting in Northern Italy.  I worked for an American family as an au pair in the tiny hamlet of Ortonovo, just above the port of   Carrara. Returning to the States, I moved to Philadelphia and then Boston.   Waitressing became my main occupation as I struggled with my art work making paintings, drawings, and mixed-media works.

My child drawing of my imagined home

The Lisa Series, Ink, Oil Stick, MM, 60"x40"

After briefly returning to RISD to earn my Masters in Art Teaching, I moved to Hoboken, NJ, across the river from Manhattan.  It was in Hoboken that my "art muscles" really kicked in after years of personal study, effort, time in the studio, and, perseverance.

For about 10 years I worked with abstraction on canvas and paper using oil paint and mixed media.  My interests began to move towards figurative structure and I became very  involved in the story of a 6 year old girl who was beaten to death by her illegally adopted father.  The girl's name was Lisa and her father was the lawyer, Joel Steinberg.  Lisa's face peering out at the viewer on the front page of "The New York Post" touched my heart with sadness.  I found the photographer who had taken Lisa's pictures and traded some art works for a number of photographs.  During the next 9 years I developed 3 series of work under the title "Children in Peril": The Lisa Series, The Nightmare Series, and The Throw-A-Ways. As I worked I began to incorporate stuffed animals, dolls, and various media that created what I call "fat paintings", that moved out into space towards the viewer.  At this time I do not have this work on my web site. If anyone is interested in viewing the work, I can send images through E-Mail or set it up on my website for limited viewing. 

Just about the time I concluded my "Children in Peril" body of work, I moved to New Mexico.  I was tired of the cut-throat New York life as an artist and wanted to live in a place of beauty, space, and quiet.  Moving to New Mexico has been wonderful for my soul and heart.  I did have to re-start my art career, but it was worth the price of living a life surrounded by my animals, land, and light. 

Losing Anita

My mother at 5 with flowers

Anita Appel marries David Rolnick

Contact: Email me!     Art Web Site:   TEXT

On May 1, 2012 I lost my mother to bone cancer.  As I write this sentence I am aware that my emotions have not yet caught up with the reality of my loss, as I reside in a cocooned zone that protects me from a deep inner knowledge that my mother no longer walks this earth.  I am not comfortable in this state because it is an all consuming feeling of disconnect.  As time moves me towards her memorial next week, I know living in this strange twilight space will progress toward the realization of her loss.  I am dedicating this week's post to my mother as I reflect about her life and the qualities that made her a unique and special individual to her two daughters, son-in-law, grandson, extended family of cousins, nephews,  nieces and the many people who met and admired her feistiness, intelligence, and sense of humor.  I especially want to thank Ray who cared for her with all his heart, and Ruth, Paul, Ann, and everyone at Avery Crossing who saw her through her last years and gave her comfort.

Anita Georgia Rolnick, born in 1920 in New York City, was a horticulturalist, botanist, avid gardener, and amateur photographer.  Her parents were Ottalie Popper Appel and George Appel.  She had a younger sister, Barbara, called Bobby, who she adored.  Anita went to Chapel Hill University and studied botany.  Plants, flowers, and flower arranging were her lifelong passions as she studied numerous varieties of all kinds of vegetation.  My mother liked digging in the garden better than any other activity except walking trails, discovering new or interesting plants, trees or flowers.   She was also a bit of a "firecracker" and told me often that she joined the army during WWII to "get away" from her mother.  She was a WAC and served Stateside, taking histories of the wounded soldiers at various bases. 

My mother met my father, David Rolnick, on a blind date set up by my Uncle Bernie, Dad's brother.
My father had also been in the war serving as a bombardier in the Air Force. He was shot down over Germany and survived a German POW camp.  My parents became engaged and planned their wedding.  During that era in the late 1940's, engaged couples had chaperones when they went away together.  My mother used to joke that the chaperones were more "naughty" than she and my father and were actually quite useless.  

The married couple settled on Long Island, outside of New York City, in the town of Valley Stream with an infant daughter - me.  My sister, Lynn, arrived 2 years later and we became the somewhat typical nuclear post WWII family.  Except my mother was not exactly the typical mother of that period.  Early on in their marriage, my mother had all her new in-laws over for a turkey dinner.  At this time she did not know much about cooking.  Unfortunately something "happened" to the turkey and everyone became violently ill.  The family story blames the fact that my mother covered the turkey with aluminum foil and that "poisoned" the turkey. My mother later became an excellent and inventive cook and baker.   I am sure this "incident" helped spur her beginning ventures into cooking.

 My mother was a small person, just under 5 feet.  One day I was looking out the window and noticed her working in the garden.  Something seemed familiar and then I noticed she was wearing my old green jeans and pink ski jacket.  My mom was wearing my hand-me-downs!  She coordinated the outfit with her green rubber garden boots.  A similar situation occurred with my little red wagon.  When I was very young, my parents brought me a bright red wagon to pull.  I used it for quite a while until it was time to learn how to ride a bicycle.  The little red wagon did not stay in the garage for long as my mother began using it to move her plants around the property.  She used that wagon until it gave out and then bought another more sturdy style.  

During the winter there were certain activities that the family enjoyed every year when my sister and I were young.  Our house was a block away from a park and small lake and we would have skating parties most weekends with my mothers's sister, Bobby, and her family and various friends.  Both sisters loved to skate. Years later when I was in high school, located across the lake, I sat day-dreaming in English class one day and turned my head to glance out the window.  A singular figure was gliding across the ice.  I looked closer and saw it was my mother in her special Dutch outfit, a blue wool fitted jacket and pants with her pointy hat on her head, moving in her own world by herself.  She seemed so contained and peaceful.   My mother also insisted we go to the beach every winter to collect the conch shells that only washed up during the colder months.  She bundled us all up and out we went to Jones Beach.  We were the only people on the beach since it was windy, damp, and freezing cold.  But we also had plenty of conch shells.  My mother used them in her flower arrangements and kept a "stash" in a box under her work table in the basement.

One of the main heartaches of my mother's life was the loss of her sister, Bobby, at age 34 from cancer.   She was devastated for a very long time.  Our very tight family was changed forever when my Aunt Bobbie died. 

After my college years I moved to Philadelphia and worked as an artist and waitressed in a variety of restaurants.  One morning I was woken up early by a phone call from my mother on Long Island.  She told me she needed to take a break from my father and sister (who was living at home at the time) and was coming right away to stay with me.  I was completely taken by surprise by this sudden act of flight by my mother who was not prone to rash acts. Two hours later she was at my door.  At this time I lived in a 4th floor walk-up in Center City.  I had a mattress on the floor and no real furniture.   Since I was working that evening, I took my mother to the restaurant and sat her at my station in a comfortable booth and had all my fellow workers stop by and say hello.  She loved the attention and the dinner.  I slept on the floor that night and gave her the bed.  The next morning she was out the door as fast as she had entered. 


Years later when my parents moved to Needham, MA to be near my sister's family, they began to spend four months of the year in Tuscon, AZ.  My mother loved the West and quickly learned where all the wonderful hiking trails were located.  She was especially fond of Sabino Canyon where my parents walked almost everyday.  My mother became very familiar with the vegetation and terrain of Sabino, noticing changes every year to her favorite Saguaro's.  She was always ready to head up the trail and keep walking and it was often hard to keep up with her.   My father and mother also became very interested in photography and showed their landscapes in many venues including the Audubon Society.  On the trip home from Tuscon to Needham, my parents would stop and visit me in New Mexico.  My mother loved my home here in Edgewood and was always amazed at the number of animals that lived on my land.  During one of their last visits here, my mother insisted on helping me muck up my horse arena.  It is a large pen-at least an acre.  I gave her one of my manure rakes and she gave it her all.  She was slightly awkward at the task and I found that very touching as she worked with me until the corral was clean. 

During her years in Needham, my mother began to design and plant my sister's garden.  The garden today is a testament to her skills and knowledge of plants, pattern, and color.  When she and my father moved to Avery Crossing Assisted Living near-by, she began a campaign to develop a raised garden on the property.  The garden club of Needham helped build the garden and my mother worked on that project until she was too frail to work outdoors.  Her design and garden can be seen today in a beautiful spot that stands as a tribute and dedication to a woman who loved digging in the earth to bring forth the beauty and science of nature.  Her mind, wit, and strength of character remained strong to the end of her life.  I will miss her everyday and I was fortunate to learn and be guided by her independent mind, love of nature, and strong sense of humanity and care of others.

David and Anita in Tuscon

Bobby and Anita

                                                                            

Clemitis taken by Anita

The Story of Ziggy Starman Part II: My Sorrel Finds a Name and Horse Training Begins

Ziggy goofing at Hernandez house, 2008

Pup Rooe and Zigs, "The Kiss"

Contact: Email me!     Art Web Site:   TEXT

Ziggy and Me at Mark Rashid Clinic Trailer Loading in Corrales, NM, 2004

The first few months of my early days with Ziggy were magical.  I could not believe I owned a horse and felt such great responsibility towards this beautiful being.  It was summertime and I used to get up at 12 midnight and go out and talk and touch him because he was the most mysterious of creatures to me.  I did not have a name for my boy because I wanted to know him well before naming him.

During my "down to earth moments", I knew we had to proceed with a training schedule.  I perused a local horse publication and found a list of trainers in the area.  I called up a woman who lived nearby and she came over to assess my boy and give us some guidance.  The session was a bit of a disaster because I was so "green" and so was my horse.  I understood her frustration as I had little understanding of the basics of training and could not relate to her instructions.  I felt very intimidated.  My horse was too young to ride but I knew there was "ground work" to be done before riding. For a while my instincts told me to hang out in the corral with my boy so we could become acquainted and familiar with each other.  At 2 1/2 years old my horse was powerful, full of himself, and could easily hurt me if I was not watchful.

When my courage returned I called upon another trainer to help us.  She was strict but more flexible and gave me information and books to study.  I started to understand the concepts of "Natural Horsemanship" that many clinicians were teaching.  These concepts revolved around how a horse thinks and responds naturally as a prey animal.  Humans are scary predators and need to learn how a horse reasons and behaves for communication and learning to happen. Understanding a horse's "language"  allows the human to demonstrate leadership and gain trust as one moves toward the goal of becoming partners.

For the first few years I was very clumsy and awkward as I struggled to learn the skill and art of moving a powerful animal with the most perfect and smallest of signals during ground work.    The  communication, motion, and positioning is a beautiful dance when done well and usually takes years of work to perfect.   As I started riding we would travel with my trainer to various riding sites.  My favorite was  called "Mustang Mountain" situated up on a large mesa near the town of Vallecitos, in Northern New Mexico.  Mustang Mountain is the home of a band of wild mustangs.  During our first trip when Zigs was almost 4 we came upon 2 beautiful wild horses that followed us for a while from a wooded glade.  I was amazed that that my young horse stood still long enough to allow me to take pictures while on horseback.   He and I were both so excited to see the mustangs and watch them as they watched us. 

As I became more and more intrigued with the training I began to take Ziggy to clinics taught by well-known horsemen.  Mark Rashid was one of my favorite trainers and I appreciated his quiet and skillful handling of my horse.  Mark is also writer whose horse stories are learning experiences for his reader as well as terrific stories.  

The one issue I had with taking Zigs to clinics was his dislike of loading and riding in a trailer.  My first trailer was a small 2 horse orange vehicle that my horse disliked on site.  He was very unhappy in small enclosed spaces and this trailer fit that bill.  Every clinician I worked with demonstrated how to load my horse.  Sometimes Zigs would go in right away and other times it took awhile.  At the end of each session I would be told I should not have any more trouble with my horse.  I wish they had told my horse that important information.  Most of the time I was also instructed that the fault was mine for not being clear or resolute or consistent and that was correct.  I worked and worked with Zigs to change my bad habits and trailer loading soon became an obsession.   To add to the mix, my trip to Corrales for Mark's clinic was more of an adventure than I anticipated because I came very close to backing the trailer into an arroyo while turning around on a small dirt road. This did not endear my horse to trailer riding at all.  That evening Zigs was boarded at a ranch near the clinic. When I picked him up in the morning, someone suggested that I untie him in the trailer and allow him to find his "comfort zone".  Well as I pulled away from the ranch my horse found his "zone" just fine,  kicking the crap out of the trailer door very loudly and horse-screaming at the top of his lungs. As I pulled into the clinic grounds this was everyone's first view of my horse.  The next year I traded in the old orange "shed on wheels" for a nice open 2 horse stock trailer.  I cannot say with a straight face that this change solved all our problems, but it was easier to handle. I only backed into an arroyo once while I was practicing my backing skills ( Zigs was not inside).  I greatly changed the shape of my truck bumper pulling the trailer out but I never did tell my horse. 

As I became more comfortable with my training and riding skills, I began to ride my horse out to the mesa behind my house in Hernandez with my dog Onee for company.  The area is a wonderful mix of juniper, pinon, sand, rocks, arroyos, and steep climbs up to mesa land.  Through the years as my courage grew, Zigs, Onee and I explored various trails, bushwacked up and down steep hills, and enjoyed our time together.  We were alone on the land with quiet and views.

Though the years Zigs and I worked with many different trainers and horsemen and women. I learned from everyone. We took dressage lessons for a few years when my horse was young for discipline and focus.  In exchange for mucking-up and feeding, I took riding lessons with a cowboy nearby.   In later years I trailered Ziggy down the road every week for riding lessons with a horsewoman and watched her work with many horses.  One year I could not afford a new saddle and rode Ziggy bareback for that time.  For 10 years I soaked up every bit of information I could about horses and focused on our training and riding until I felt I had some degree of, not exactly comfort, but fortitude with my boy.       

It took me 2 years to name my horse because he was (and is) such a goofball.  I could not seem to find an appropriate name.  One day I was hanging around the barn while my horse was feeding.  David Bowie's "Ziggy Stardust" came into my head and I began to hum and sing to my horse.  He looked up and stared me in the eye and that was it, Ziggy Stardust!  But Stardust seemed too delicate for my guy and I changed it ever so slightly to  Ziggy Starman .  It was perfect. 

Mustangs are very smart, savvy, and can be (not to diminish the pig) pig-headed.  Other mustang owners have had the same experiences with their animals. Ziggy will take any opening or loophole to test a command.  He has taught me to be a vigilant and careful horse person.  He can still be obstinate and once in a while I will have to back him down a trail if he decides he does not want to continue forward.   I have learned to always finish what I start with  horses or they will never let you lead them.  Years ago I once spent 4 hours trying to load Ziggy into his new stock trailer.  I finally called my cowboy friend frantic, exhausted, and teary because I knew I could not give into my horse.  He came over and moved Zigs right into that trailer.  I have been "dumped" many a time when riding and always get right back on and ride through my fears.  Owning a horse is very humbling.  I have truly had the most amazing experiences with Ziggy Starman. He has changed my outlook on so many human qualities such as patience, forgiveness, the art of listening, and discovering what is really important about living ones life.   

Ziggy in Spring in Edgewood

White Ziggy, Acrylic, MM, 18"x24"  Mustang Ziggy, Acrylic, 36"x26"

The Story of Ziggy Starman, Part I

Ziggy at 6 yrs with Doc by "the little house" in Hernandez, NM

Ziggy at 6 yrs, in Hernandez, NM

Contact: Email me!
Art Web Site:   TEXT
I apologize for the long gap between postings.  My knee surgery delayed my ability to focus my brain after the anesthesia.  I was living in "wonderland" for a while. Anyway to "The Story of Ziggy Starman" Part I

Ziggy in Hernandez against the mesa, summer 2006

               Edgewood
Photos by Bill Klienschmidt

Moving out in the round pen, Edgewood, NM, March 2012

Riding Ziggy, no saddle today, Edgewood, March 2012

One would think  accommodating a horse into one's life would take preparation and forethought.  My experience was  more "direct and immediate".   Ziggy Starman came into my life in a "flash" that would change the way I lived my life and thought about animals.   

13 years ago I was living in the historical Northern New Mexico town of Hernandez.  My property aligned to vast mesa land and was enclosed with various types of fence.  I had a small one room building called "the little house" and the rudiments of a barn on my back property. A friend needed a temporary living space and moved into my one room outbuilding.  He also brought along his 2 horses. I was enchanted to have these large creatures living on my property.  Feeding them, brushing them, spending time with them was a dream come true since I intended on having my own horse one day.  Little did I know how soon that adventure would be realized.                         
Standing around the corral one morning, my friend told me he had also recently bought another younger horse from one of the local Pueblos. Would I like to buy this horse?   My mind went into the stratosphere for a moment.  When I returned I said I would have to meet this horse to see if we would be a good team.  The next day I was staring at a 2 year old gelded red sorrel mustang, about 12 hands high, with rather small "dainty" feet standing in my yard.  We took a good look at each other and I offered him an apple. He sniffed and bit into the fruit. I was  enthralled!  My friend then explained that I had 5 minutes to decide if I wanted to buy the horse because he did not really want to sell him. Feeding 3 horses was expensive and on this particular day he was inclined to sell, but that could change.   My entire being pulled all my thoughts and energy together and I looked my friend straight in the eye and said, "YES".  At the same moment I was was thinking "do I have any understanding of what I'm doing?" The state of inner conflict was extremely intense but I could not pass up the opportunity to have such a creature live with me.  I ran to find my checkbook, wrote out the check and a bill of sale document and I had a horse.  We placed my horse on the back property with the other 2 equines and immediately the mare began to move and bite my youngster.  Eventually we moved him to a corral by himself so he could relax away from the mare.  When my friend departed with his 2 horses, I built more secure fencing, a walk-in shelter and a rudimentary tack room for my guy.  I now had a very "green" 2 year old horse who was living with a human being who hadn't a clue about horse training.  There was a very large learning curve ahead of me and if I been able to  glimpse the future in my  "magic globe" I would have "run for the hills".  The next 10 years of training myself to understand  horse "language", behavior,  bio mechanics, and the art of riding well were at times excruciating and very unrewarding.  I would work with some wonderful clinicians and some very strange horse folks.    At the time Ziggy came into my life, I was in ignorant bliss.    

Part II "My Sorrel Finds a Name and My Horse Training Begins" will appear next week.
                     

                                                                                 

Coming up next week, "The Story of Ziggy Starman"

Bending for Head Stretch

"Not moving Forward" Lesson

Contact: Email me!

Art Web Site:   TEXT

Ziggy, me, and Roddy, our farrier

I apologize for not posting the last 2 weeks but I was out of town visiting my parents who, as many seniors,  have medical problems.  I will have a new post up by next week called "The Story of Ziggy Starman" Part I.  Included are some preview pictures taken by my friend Bill Kleinschmidt.  Part I will begin the story of how Ziggy came to live with me unexpectedly and my beginning learning curve of how to train a 2 year old horse.  He is now 15 years old and we are good buddies and riding partners.

Toil, Struggle, Great Lovely Trouble, as I Find my Way With Marina

Contact: Email me!

Art Web Site:   TEXT

Left is beginning Marina Semyonova #2 progressing right

On left changing front figure and rt adding color and other form

Adding detail and close to finished on rt

The Teacher #2, Marina Semyonova  
Marina Semyonova was a Bolshoi dancer who I discovered while perusing the obituaries in the New York Times.  I find the obits introduce me to many interesting people I either knew little or nothing about during their life-time.  Marina was 102 when she died in June 2010 and was a well-known figure in Russia, a country that cherishes their dancers.  I grew up in the New York  world of ballet.  Many of my teachers at The School of American Ballet  were Russian.  I also studied with Andre Eglevsky on Long Island and was member of his company from ages 12-16.  I left the ballet at 16 because  my body could not take the rigors that a professional dancer has to endure. Throughout my work as an artist I have returned to the subject of dance many times.  Quoting from my good friend; dancer, choreographer, and artist, Ib Andersen, "The dancer never leaves the dance".  And so I find myself still very entranced with the art and movement of the ballet.  I googled Marina and found some amazing old  tapes of her dancing and teaching on U-Tube.  I downloaded them all and began a series of three 50"x38" mixed-media drawings.  When I started the Marina series, I was in a "media transition",
abandoning encaustic for acrylic grounds and mediums. I wanted to have more flexibility because my ideas were "flying" past what the properties of encaustic could handle.  My intention was to have 3 figures on each drawing of Marina moving through various combinations.  The old black and white tapes present her at various times in her life.  She is seen as a young dancer moving with strength and bravado; but what moved me was her role as the older middle-aged teacher in her frumpy black dress and pumps demonstrating how to fine tune the role of the Black Swan to a young member of the company.  Her expression and movements had so much passion, knowledge, and surety.  I felt that little tingle I sense when I am totally intrigued and inspired. Using the digital files I had downloaded, I stop-gapped the video at various movements  and worked from each pose to create a series of 9 figures on 3 drawings.  Through the last 2 years I evolved my layering techniques with Absorbent Ground, Acrylic Ground for Pastels,  pigment, spray paint, pastel, marker, and graphite.  There was a long learning curve as I used these materials together for the first time; experimenting, pushing limits, and often making a mess.  My decision to use strong color and pattern mimics the use of stage lighting and "other world" mood and atmosphere that enhances the magical world of dance to the audience.   The Teacher #'s 1 and 3 are completed, but Teacher # 2 (shown above in progressive states) is in the delicate state of almost done.  Each piece will be mounted on plexi-glass with a 2 inch boarder under glued with muted patterned material.  Teacher #1 is mounted on the plexi and showing at "The New Mexico Showcase" at the 516 Gallery in Albuquerque, NM until April 28th.  All the Marina work can be seen on my web site http://dianerolnick.com  Thanks for stopping by the blog.

Abbakiss and the Tiger, Teaching, and the Studio

Abbakiss Up at Play

Abbakiss and Cloud in Yurt

  I want to give credit to the artist Robert Longo for the tiger in my dream about Abbakiss.  Though I woke up in terror, the imagery was amazing.  In my dream I looked out the front window to the lower corral and saw, through some bushes, the curled up form of a tiger.  As I was watching, Abbakiss appeared at his usual trot.  I watched his little back end moving toward the tiger and could feel his curiosity.  Just as I was about to

Abbakiss and Cloud at Play

Teaching at The Albuquerque Museum (me, front right)

scream out, I woke up.  The images have been floating in my head all week as well as the abruptness of the ending of the dream.  So how did Robert Longo's tiger get into my horse pen??  Well I was teaching my weekly teen class at the Albuquerque Museum where our final 5 week project is in progress.  I googled Longo's site hoping to find his "Men in the City" work and found a series of very formidable tigers staring straight at the viewer.  The drawings are a rich dark charcoal, very detailed, and very "real". And that is how Robert Longo's tiger appeared in my dream.  Actually, I am very excited about the project my teens are executing for their final artwork which I named "A Visual Storyboard".  We are working on 4 ft square boards coated with gesso and Absorbent Ground that are the structure for unique self-portraits of each artist.  I took 86 photos as the group posed one by one with Robert Longo-like poses. The students were amazing as they struck their stances. We were very   excited as we examined the images. I am having the images printed out in black and white at an almost 3 foot size to be adhered to their boards as a starting point of the project.  The developing sense of the project comes from my own investigations and work with figurative elements, digital images, acrylic grounds and real people.  I often find my studio work seeping into my teaching projects and I love the migration of ideas from my studio to my student assignments.  My own work is progressing in my studio as I finish the last of my 3 Marina Semyonova pieces. Marina S. was a Bolshoi dancer who I discovered in the New York Times obituaries.  I often peruse the obits because I learn about great people who have left this world who I did not know existed.  I also googled her and found some amazing U-Tube videos that came from old films taken of her dancing and teaching.  I downloaded the videos and worked from stop-gap images.  These are the first large works (54"x 42") that I created working from acrylic grounds, pigment, pastel, marker,  pencil and spray paint.  As I experimented  with the grounds and media I began to find my way. These pieces began over a year ago and can be seen on my web site http://dianerolnick.com   The Teacher #2 is the last one I am finishing and an updated version will be on the site shortly.  This week has slipped away so fast and I hope to discuss more about my photography, digital integration of mixed-media and new ideas in the next posts.  Enjoy the weekend and watch out for scary tiger dreams.