Last Minute Shopping Idea!

EVERYONE has that one person in their life that is a little tricky to buy for when it comes to gift giving. Either because this person won't give you any ideas about the things that they like, they already have everything (i.e. rich person problems) so you don't know what to buy, or your proximity to them is one of a casual or unfamiliar aquaintance--like a coworker, mail carrier, or neighbor--so you don't want to give them something too personal but you want to give them something nice.

Well, my friend, you've come to the right place.

Give this person the power to create art via art supplies! If you're doing last minute shopping, and you're out of ideas a fantastic art kit is perfect.

It's elegant, without being too pricey, and is gender and age neutral. For the most buttoned up of adults coloring/sketching/painting is a WONDERFUL destresser . Once you start you'll be amazed at how enjoyable and relaxing it is.

You don't have to be a pro, in fact my favorite kit's are starter kits like this one from hobby lobby.

Get one for yourself too, you'll thank me later!

Artist Spotlight: Feice Varini, Illusionist

I think we're living in the most stylized free era of art there has ever been. Free, because, we don't have governmental or religious restraints on our very talents. Back in the day, baaabaaay, they would lock you away or just off you for believing you had the right to just make any old thing that sprang from your imagination. No, no--art had to conform. Michaelangelo wasn't just divinely inspired to paint the 16th chapel; he was also well paid by the state-church. So let's celebrate in this era of free thought!

Illusion art is by far the most exciting genre of free modern art. It challenges the viewer to step into a plain of thinking, grabs your perception of what you think you see, nudges you just a tad to the left and gives you new eyes and a fresh work without changing the canvas. Ten people can literally see 50 different images from the same installation just depending on where they are standing in the room. That's exactly what modern artist, Feice Varini does. If you don't know this amazing man, child where you been?

Do you see!?!?!? How amazing is he!?

Six weeks ago, i posted this to my instagram. I snapped it, looked at it and was like "Oh, wow!" Just by tilting my head, and playing around with the filter I created a double image illusion. Do you see it?

I'm so excited and feel so fortunate to be in this era of art. Museums aren't just for the elite anymore, and many are even free. Wake up your senses to what's going on today, because who knows what will be next.

Tut tut,
Grace :)
PS--please leave a comment or tweet me!

Us Introverts :)

I love these memes. I have no idea who the orginal artist is of the last, Ms. Lauryen Hill, so if you do please comment and let me know so i can give proper credit.
These all remind me to get out of my own head sometimes. See, I'm incredibly introverted. So much so, that i have to put alarm/reminders in my phone to call friends and family members to say hi or just check in and make sure they know i care and that i love them. I think it' the reason i'm so drawn in by art. It allows, encourages even, withdrawl. You can't get the message of a work if you don't quiet yourself and FEEL it, chew on it, sleep on it, breath it--and all that requires stillness.

However, we must remember to live life. If you are an introvert, like your's truly, remember to take a break from it every now and again. Put away the netflix, call up your loundest anxiety inducing EXtrovert in your phone book and go outside.

It's Golden If You Believe It Is

Beyond

What lies beyond my frozen path,
lost witih time?
Sitting and looking for
more than what's there
bleak traces of a past forgotten.

M vision has become deferred
with constant chattering noises.
The softness of the mid air out looking
the horizon sends confusion flustering
in the dark.

Which way do I go to meet destiny
be it good or bad; reluctantly following.
My onlooking path has crooked in site.
When will the maze end?:
Is there more than what's there?

It's 1997. I am approximately 15 years old. I'm moody, not having the greatest home life, angsty, and writing terrible poetry like the little jewel above. What do i do? Enter into a poetry contest at school, write 'Beyond' (which included a terrible orange/purple maze coloring), submit it, and...win! W.I.N. To this day, I can't believe I won because there were some much better poems submitted and I knew it. This is why, if you are a creative individual you must never stop creating. Because even in your worst, someone will love it. They will celebrate you and honor you 'Beyond' what you feel is warranted. Never stop making.

Oh To Be An Egg...The Perspective of Humpty Dumpty

I am a lost soul, drifting into an abyss of nothingness. Here I sit, and sit, and sit each day watching men, women, and children hustle about in their daily activities. Yet I have none, am nothing.
For I have no place in this world. I am a living breathing egg--personified--yet I am ignored.
I should be praised for my uniqueness, yet I am ignored?! So sit, and sit, and sit steadily here each day.

Perhaps one day I may grow wings as those flying creatures above me, and fly off with them. Then may I be apart of something? No, under no circumstances, for even they are restrained by the sky. Or, by chance, might I wear clothes and carry parcels to and fro like those below me..

(Sidenote: the original "Humpty Dumpty" poem never said he was an egg. We all assumed he was)

CONTROL.REVOLT.EVOLVE

CRISIS
(Revolution)
CHANGE
(Society. Evlution. A Nation. A race. A people)
Slavery--Control.
War--Revolt.
Death--Evolve.
A CYCLE; continuously, perpetually, spontaneously,

SURVIVING

INDIVIDUAL. CONNECTED.


i dreamed this one night, many years ago. After tossing and turning, running from the dogs in my nightmare, i bolted up from the bed as though it were made of the claws reaching out to me from my subconcious memories.
i grabbed a pen and paper from my nightstand and wrote these words down as i struggled to figure out whom i was running from while asleep. i wasn't in fear awake, or in my dream. i was just--alert--and in a hurry as though i was scrambling to make my gate before my plane left me in a town i had no more business in.

Years later i still wonder about this dream. It's the reason i make sure to have pen and paper on me always. if i'm sitting on the bus, in commute to work, i have a few post-its in my backpocket. If i'm in the bathroom, i'll scribble on toilet paper or use an app on my phone if i'm strolling through the grocer y aisle. You never know when inspiration will hit.

xo
Grace

My wild beautiful thing
wraps me up in silken dreams.
Coils me tightly between his skin
moves the red earth that lies within.
With no soudly exchange or soliloque,
he can thoroughly shuffle my soul you see?
and that silence makes me free.

Yet...

Venomously I hold this dreamer of dreams tightly abreast
Evoking vapor through the trilllion dewey pores that cover his copper armored chest
That blistering poson that my reason for inhilation,
it weakens my skin like the forrest morning floor of new clean rains annihilation.


It aches to be in love and it aches to be out of love. That's the tone of this poem. It's a reminder to be that even in the worst and best of situations there is always the yang to the yen. "Yet..." signals to the reader that WHAMO here comes the balance. As great as it is to always feel great, you need the terrible to appreciate the great. This poem revels in that. It grits it's teeth on that truth.

hope you enjoyed it. xo-Grace

Glory

GLORY

It's a glorious thing to stay up all night for the sole purpose of watching the sun rise.

A vulnerable, quiet peace overcomes its bearer, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The heart smiles.

When It's Done

When I die, lay my body at the bellows of the river. Take up a hand of crushed sand and toss it into it's vigorous rush.
Bring no bond made of words.
Carry in your soul those ties forged beyond the edges of this world.
Drop lilies of sunshined tears into babbling brooks.
Leave the stones where they fall. Make no memory of loss.

But
Do not forget the sunlight on your cheek as aI lay next to you
or the lightning rods we hopped over while clutching at each other.
And
I won't forget your steady hand pouring steaming cups of liquid chammomile as we sat on the porch remembering Jasmine, or the stick figures I drew clothes on from the book under your dusty bed.

Yes, when I close my eyes at last
i will only hear your voice
calling--
'Grace.'

Original poem by me, Grace K. Lewis

Jade, a Life In Photos! #GraceKenyata #Vlog

I OWN this iPad! Sept-Nov 2012, Family Vlog

This isn't exactly art related, BUT it's too cute to not share. Plus film is art, right??? Yes!

Please enjoy my family vlogs. I will be uploading them each week (Tuesday or Wednesday). I know VERY LITTLE about editing so this is an exciting learning experience for me, and I'm loving it!

Please donate to my gofund me: http://www.gofundme.com/gracek

Lewis Family Vlog

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Contact: croseford.grace@gmail.com

Intro: Conversations w/Roo, 2011, Vlog

Everything is Finite

 Just before her death, my mom shared some information with me about the father I never met.  She told me he had been a "troubled man" and was either bi-polar or a manic depressive--she couldn't quite remember which one--and that he'd had "some time" in an institution at one point.  These were things she had gathered from his mother.  As I sat at her bedside listening to this revelation I remember thinking "...that explains a lot."
I'm going to tell you a story, a short one, a confession of sorts.  I have a secret, and I've only ever told my husband.  I have depression.  Clinically diagnosed-by-four-different-doctors, full-on depression.  Don't worry, it's okay. I'm okay. Mostly.
When I was a teenager, my pediatrician wanted to start me on a stabilizing medication because of some stuff I would say to him (or to myself) when my mother would leave the room.  You see, I had one of those extremely religious parents whose motto was to 'pray away' everything. I knew that she thought pills were for crazy people, and I didn't want to face her judgement. She also had a terrible habit of over sharing, and I did not want a single soul to know that I have "issues". So I begged my doctor not to bring this up with my mother, or prescribe me anything.  Because Dr. Smith and my grandmother were childhood friends, and the fact that he had also been my doctor since birth he decided on a more gentle approach to my care.  It was a bit unorthodox, but we set up weekly telephone calls. I had to call his office every Thursday afternoon at 4:00 pm so he could see how I was doing. To me they were just silly conversations about my life, but I grew to depend on these talks.  This went on for years.
Dr. Smith would give me coping mechanisms and mental exercises to help me get through. I'm eternally grateful to him, and whenever I'm in my old home town I lay flowers on his grave and say a prayer and send a loving 'hello' to him.
In my 20s, I finally got on a medication that helped me. I could focus, be more coherent and process my thoughts one at a time, instead the swirling tornado that it was. My problem now is that I'm pregnant and these kinds of medications would have a negative impact on my growing baby. I've had to take a hiatus from them for most of this year, and rely on those old coping skills Dr. Smith taught me. Some days are manageable, some are not. Some days I avoid everyone, and dream of blood and death and feeling like I'm in a dark, cold cave and other days I feel like running through a rainbow meadow giggling wildly. Some nights I can rest just fine, and others I can't sleep and feel achy and stiff all over. When I have these bouts of insomnia I try to do something that will distract me, for even 5 minutes.

I've been working on this painting for a few weeks. It started as something floral, but that made me feel bad so I thought of something that makes me feel good. Water. I love hearing, feeling, smelling, and seeing water--even when it's not so pretty. Frozen, steam, falling, green, blue, loud, still--I just love water. So I thought of rain. I closed my eyes and pictured a soft rain falling onto my windshield, on a leisurely long drive home. The kind of rain that you barely hear, and doesn't threaten your trip. It's heavy enough to coat, and blur lamp post and night traffic all around. It makes oil spots seem twinkly, and twilight exciting. This is my finished piece.

This is "rain" in ambient lighting.

"Rain" at dusk, just as the sun is setting.

This is my favorite way to see this painting, mid-morning when everything is brighter and clearer.

It's the same painting, just at different points of the day. I look at it and try to remember that things change. Almost every part of life is temporary, including what I'm experiencing now. I know this, and my hope is that if you are experiencing something overwhelming and grueling to get through...please remember, there is an end in site.

Thanks for visiting.~Grace K.

The Pregnits

"Children are like grandfathers...they don't give a shit if their clothes match." from the book "Sh*tty Mom: The Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us"



I am pregnant. VERY Pregant.

I dunno if I should say that with an exclamation mark to let you know that "yes, I'm cool about it and happy" or a flat period as a matter of fact. I mean...this is my THIRD child. I have a boy, 4, and girl, 21 months so I'm not pressed to find out the gender of this child until d-day, nor have I made a big deal of it to the few friends and family members that I have. There's a reason for that.

You see, When I got married a couple of years ago, most of my friends dropped me. Like a cold dish rag. I got married (didn't know I was already pregnant) 8 or so months later I had a beautiful boy, went back to work, and regular life, and started to notice that my main hang out buddies were all of a sudden distant or busy...all the time. I got the "let's see" about having lunch from one friend so many times that my child was nearly a year old when I saw her again. I began to realize that some of their assumptions were "Oh, she's a married mother now so I have to get ghost. For years it made me really really sad, but I've had to realize that, indeed, as your life changes so do your relationships with people. Like it or not. Good things came from it too though. I've picked up a few new people and learned to let the old ones go. When I think of them here and there, I send thoughts of love because losing someone isn't always a loss.

...now back to this 'pregnits' situation. I know there will be questions, so here are some some things I'm willing to share:

1. I will not be announcing the arrival of my child via any social media platform. I may mention something months later (if at all) but I'm just not into this overly intimate notion of posting ALL my business on the interwebs. Call me old school...

2. ...if you are a complete stranger or someone I barely remember from who-knows-when, please don't ask me to share any details about my pregnancy. I don't know why, but it weirds me out to get "What are you having?/When are you due?/Can I touch your belly?" from people I don't know. The introvert in me is like "Whoa nosey!!!"

3. If I have your number, I'll send a text letting you know that I'm in delivery because I do so LOVE face-to-face interaction much more than I like this here screen stuff. However, if you live too far to come, just inbox/text/email me your physical address and I'll send you a traditional baby announcement with info. & photos later. Promise.

__________________________________________________________________________________

MOVING ON TO THE 'ART' PORTION OF THIS BLOG :
In thinking about buying baby clothes all over again, I had a hilarious idea.

RUDE BABY T'S!
Okay, hear me out...
I am already fatigued with these syrupy sweet, extra cutsie-spoopsie-toopsie baby clothes. Like seriously, who is making these clown clothes? Kids have all their likes to be ecentric, so I thought to myself 'hmmm...how about some graphic onsies that say what babies are really thinking when stared at by a stranger AND what some parents want to say but are too afraid of offending?"

So I sketched a few ideas of my "offensive" baby designs. Remember, these are meant to be tongue in cheek and (hopefully) witty.

The mock ups will have graphics that say stuff like...
"Shhhh...I'm pooping"
"DON'T TOUCH ME"
"Stranger Danger!"
#FightClub
Farty & Proud

And then, because I love physics, I'm thinking of puting huge mathematical equations on Onsies but not naming the equation. For example, picture "3.14159" in colored stripes on the front or back of a 6 month size onsie. Now, this idea might backfire because then people who aren't familiar with math would ask me what it means, but I think it'd be cool to watch the more informed realize "oh that's pi" and smile in their smarty pants delight at having such a keen memory. That just warms the cockles of my heart. :)

Please leave a comment, suggestion, or thought below and face-tweet-mail-pin-book this too!!! Grace K.

Leaves & Water

One afternoon I was sitting in my truck with my two kids, flipping through an old Michael Aram Designs catalog. Most of his stuff is outrageously expensive, but a few years ago I stripped, painted, and re-knobbed an old armour and LO and BEHOLD! I found the most exquisite Michael Aram Knobs at Lowes. They were polished nickel stone pull knobs, for a very reasonable $4-6 (Can you tell I like to shop?)

Anyway, we were waiting for my husband to come out of an office building. As I had these water/stone/leaf/nature metal designs swirling in my head, it suddenly started hailing. Really hard, really fast, and really short. It was one of those freak flash weather things that last a few minutes and then the sun breaks and the sky clears as if to say "'whoa, hommy! my bad, here you go."

Well instead of freaking out, my kids thought it was THE coolest thing ever so we sat back and enjoyed the roar of ice pellets hitting everything. Like I said, it was over in minutes, and evaporated before my husband returns to the truck. So as we're getting settled back down, my son reaches up and pulls back the inside slide to reveal the sunroof and this is what we see.
I thought it was gorgeous. These leaves were so delicate, and teeny tiny. I snapped a few pics, as we drove on (I wasn't driving). That night after I put my kiddos to bed, and had a glass of wine I wipped out my pencils & added a few mental images from this scene into my sketch pad. I like to just doodle sometimes. I think everyone to create something everyday. Written, drawn, choreographed and recorded, large or tiny--doesn't matter, make something. I try my best to follow this advise because it may not specifically flow into a manifestation of the original idea, but it most assuredly will spark some madd, cool, crazy, funky idea. So I sketched this...

...and I liked it. Like I said, it hasn't coalesced into a concrete painting yet, but I'm having so much fun turning over images of water and leaves in my mind.


Before you go, please leave a comment below and share on face-tweet-pin this! Thanks-Grace K.

I think it was the girl...One of my children has jammed a penny into the SD slot of my computer. The inner crazy woman in me, that I have to pacify with "ooooh, one of these days, boom bow straight to the moon!" rhetoric wants to go H.A.M. sammiches right now. But the inner inner INNER hippie is tucking sunflowers behind my ears singing "all we need is love." *sigh* In 2014 I didn't paint, draw, and barely barely wrote a thing (except the occasional crude tweet). I kept waiting on inspiration to strike, motivation to pull me outa bed, tenacity to kick me into gear. Nothing happened, until I realized that I just have to GO. Do it. Sketch anything. Pick up my brush and paint something, no matter if it was shitty just STOP procrastinating. Be like Francis Underwood without all the murdering. And so I did. I did a drip painting over a thin broadstroked painted background of acrylic cool tones. I spent two days and six hours on it. A drop in the bucket compare to the time I've put into other works. I really love it too, like it's the last thing I look at every night before bed and naps. Inspiration, tenacity, motivation...eh? I can't say I got a surge of artist adrenalin but I feel like going on, you know? I may never be the great artist, or a published writer, but that's not why I do it. I do it because it makes me feel more alive. It's like getting out of a stuffy party, filled with incessant talking and stepping around toward the back part of the building for a dose of quiet and clean air. -Grace K.

Forbidden Fruit

Billie Holiday was born 100 years ago today. Her rendition of 'Strange Fruit' was one I wrote about in college. It still inspires me. It's a haunting song that I've loved and revered for years. My grandmother used to whistle it sharply through the house as she swept the hall in the afternoon. She looked so much like Ms. Holiday that it used to creep me out, now it just makes me smile. In fact, her most famed song it inspired me to paint a serious of memorial like pieces in dedication and individual acknowledgement of our attempted genocide in American history. Geez, this sounds so serious and heavy (and it kinda is), but my intention within the artwork was to say "I see you." And isn't that what we all want? To just be seen. Acknowledged. Felt. Represented. Heard. Hear my art.

I Miss You, Sometimes...

Let me tell you how lazy I am. And how trifflin' I am. The 'c' key has been missing from my keyboard for 3 months now and I've yet to go buy another keyboard. I have three friends whom I've been meaning to call (Esti, Sabrina, & B.) since last fall, and I've yet to call not nan one of them. Since. LAST. YEAR. They probably hate my guts by now, who could blame them. I can't even hide behind my introversion, because I know that's just bullshit (not the introversion, but the excuses). In addition to that, it's been almost a year since I've blogged here and I'm not going to apologize or promise to do better. So let's just move on. Yesterday, I watched the documentary "Life Itself," a film chronicles the life and last days of famed film critic, Roger Ebert. I knew it was going to be sad, and I'm not normally one to cry...like it takes a lot to get me to that relm of emotional expression but when they spoke of Gene Siskel's death my heart got really heavy. I think it was what Roger said about how if he were to discover he had a serious illness, he wouldn't hesitate to tell those whom he loves and who love him about it. I thought that was profound. I felt compelled to share part of this poem I wrote about missing my mother, who also died of a fatal and debilitating disease. I miss you but then I don't. Mostly I do but it chokes out my voice. It clenches my stomach with longing for you. I swallow hard the nine-year-old scream I hold at the thought of you lying forever in a casket. I subdue my fingers from balling into fists to fight in your stead; you the mother who should have protected me from your molesting man. I shut my eyes tight at the tears that threaten to spill when I remember that we will never share anymore inside jokes or laughs over phone lines. Sometimes, on rainy cold afternoons,I sit by window blocking out the warm memory of those slouchy black boots you loved to wear... You see my mother died of Multiple Sclerosis. She died just a few days shy of Valentines Day, 2010. She told virtually no one, until the disease had progressed so much that she was experiencing memory loss, dementia, and a whole host of physical set-backs. If given a few years warning, because she knew for at least 10 years, I think we could have surely prepared better. People who knew her, that I didn't know knew her, could have said goodbye. I understand sparing your loved ones the sorry of watching you slip away, but remaining secretive is not the way to go. It's selfish. Yes, it's self-serving. You don't have the right to inflict your sudden departure (when you know it's immenent) on anyone...unless you're some supervillan...or my Uncle Rodney (same difference). Adieu, Grace K.