Chris the printer
Black marker on moleskin paper
5 x 9 inches
Barbara Muir © 2011
(This is a very, very fast sketch of Chris -- who noticed
on Friday that I was not looking well, although I thought
I was in fine health -- then Saturday -- whammo -- sick as
a dog. From this I've concluded that Chris (not fairly
represented here) is psychic, or sickic. Anyway he can
see an illness coming -- second career for Chris? If you
read this don't get angry Chris)
My problem with the graphic novel (if I have one) is that Ilike words too much. My friend Marcia suggested that I
write one while I was stuck in bed sick anyway.
I can appreciate the beauty of graphic
novels, and recognize them as a literary art/art form, but
I want all words, and lots of them in my novels. I make
an exception for the novels of Alexander McCall Smith,
all of which I have almost finished reading (I think there
are two I haven't finished -- one I'm reading
now, and one more.) Some of his novels have illustrations for each
chapter, and they are a delight of course.
Pansies make me happy
Black marker on moleskin paper
5 x 9 inches
Barbara Muir © 2011
Apologies to Marcia. Plus my life is fairly mundane as aan artist adviser guru once pointed out to me. So when Kim
Rempel asked us to submit paintings of the mundane in our
lives, I was hard pressed to choose, because what might be considered
mundane by others, I might think is sublime. And I did think
that was true of all of the paintings of the mundane that she posted on her
site. I have made it down to the kitchen table today. And I'm heading
back to my comfortable bed (still not better), but the kitchen table is
jam packed with small china cream pitchers -- some antique, crammed
with generous offerings of purple, yellow, and variegated plum and
white pansies. I feel like I'm in Nirvana looking at them.
Night time in New York (unfinished sketch)
Black marker on moleskin paper
5 x 9 inches
Barbara Muir © 2011
(Plus if I were going to do a Graphic novel, I might
set it in New York. Too obvious? Apologies.)
Back upstairs the sight of my sweet cat Fiona, curled up like
a feline sentry on my aunt's beautiful, fine, white, cotton, crocheted
blanket folded for a decoration at the end of my bed, gives
me a sublime feeling. Okay it could be the antibiotics, but I
know they're what's making me feel wretched too. Anyway I
do know this. After a frightening bout of illness starts to recede
the world looks pretty magical. Thank you for your kind
thoughts and for being major contributors to the magic in my
life.
Have curing-what-ails-you day