Tag Archives: art

Musings on Dusk and Art

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William Keith - Dusk near Monterey

William Keith – Dusk Near Monterey

I was in my dining room, one cat sitting on the table and one in a chair ready to take a swipe at the other’s tail. My eyes went to the painting on the wall and I allowed myself to be transported to the coast. It was dusk. The wind was in my hair, the cats were playing around my feet. The waves made what would turn into the music of the night.

My brother Max and Grandmama Lola still keep a cottage there, from their days hanging out with artists and other Bohemian types. I still love to spend time there in the cottage that now acts as a safe house of sorts.

Then I’m back in my house, transported back to another place in another century.

As I’ve often said – I can’t explain the wonder and awe and feeling of being so complete and one with the universe when I’m in the presence of art. It is time travel for the soul. It is the essence of being. It was something that transports. It is like a high that no drug can match. It is magic.

It has been too long since I’ve picked up a brush, pastels or put pen and ink on paper. I need to close my eyes and feel the passion again, then in a quiet space create without doubt or care of what anyone else will say or think. It is like the verse from Matthew 6.6:

When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full. But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you. 

When you create art it is like prayer. It is an extension of your soul. It is the ability to create a vision with your eyes and hands and heart. I don’t have the ego to show off, rather it is a gift for me to share.

So I go to my inner room, close the door, and create my fine art in secret.

I do a lot of things in secret, but then again, I’m a Vampire. That is what we do when we’re not waxing poetically about life, love, art and parenting.

Grandmama Lola dropped by and we shared a pot of tea and talked about art and life and what makes us really alive. It isn’t the blood in our veins but the wonder and visions in our souls that makes us real.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Quotes about Life, Love, Art and Vampires

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Quotes about Life, Love, Art and Vampires from Vampire Maman (things I’ve said)

Our old friends

 

The only thing a man should wax is his car.

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I was so angry I could have killed him… then I remembered he was a Vampire.

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The closest I get to a true religious experience is when I’m in the presence of art

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I can explain the wonder and awe and feeling of being so complete and one with the universe when I’m in the presence of art. It is time travel for the soul. It is the essence of being. It was something that transports.  It is like a high that no drug can match. It is magic.

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There is something romantic about most art as well, or at least the art I’m attracted to, be if figural, landscape, modern or ancient.

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When I pass him he always puts a hand on my waist or back. He takes my hand when we walk or sit anywhere. We don’t even have to talk, but we do talk. We talk a lot – all the time. We never run out of things to talk about. We’ve been together for a long time and have our banter down to an art. It delights most and some find it extremely annoying, but it is what we do. And a lot of that conversation/banter is about art.

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Val always says “love isn’t a physical thing. It is a meeting of souls. Be it friendship or romantic lovers, it is something we can write about and dream about, but we can never truly explain or define it.”

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Just shut up and give it a rest.

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“What are you?” I asked him that question surprising myself that I didn’t ask whobut what.

He laughed and I caught something different in his smile. His teeth. He looked like he had fangs. “I am a genetic wonder and mystery. I am the Velociraptor of the human subspecies.” Then he looked serious. “Shawna, don’t be afraid of what I tell you for I would never harm you. I am a Vampire.”

“Like in the movies?” I stupidly asked.

“No, like the guy standing next to you. Like the guy who came down to the ends of the earth to heal a broken heart and soul, to give up, to write songs and wallow in my misery only to find you.”

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I will be with you even when we fall apart and our body parts trail behind us…and there is nothing left except our love. ~ From a Zombie Love Letter

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You’re the warm summer breeze against my skin. You’re a warm embrace on a cold winter night. You’re the hot in my chocolate. You’re the key to my lock. You’re the one who knows the punch line.

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Eleora quietly got out a few plates. “I was 300 years old before I tasted cheese.”

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As a Vampire you are a born liar (like a cat.) That isn’t a good thing or a bad thing. It is just a thing. Just like being a writer – you tell a certain truth, even if it might be the truth, say in an alternate universe. You’re only a liar if you tag your work “non-fiction” or if you’re an asshole, but that is another story. Ask Oprah about it.

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Everybody loves to hate on people who write about Vampires.

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Most Vampire Hunters will be heard in hushed whispers or desperate cries “Don’t look into their eyes or they’ll have you.”

Most Vampire Hunters are idiots but it is true about the eyes. The mirror to the soul and the entrance to all of your wildest dreams and most dreaded nightmares.

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But I stayed. I held him close, because sometimes just something warm is nice. He turned me around to face a mirror. His image was clear. My own Vampire image was a shadow or like a ghost. It was like the image in a daguerreotype that vanishes when turned or shown in the sunlight.

“Look at my eyes, in the mirror and I’ll become clear.”

We stood there looking at each other in the glass, so different, yet connected in our weird way. My image became as crisp as his, as so did my nerves.

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People won’t admit they read poetry and are moved by it…but late at night they go on the internet and search it out. It is like pornography. I’m dead serious (no pun intended). It is a need that most people will not dare admit to.

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“I’m a realist. You aren’t a Vampire. You have no idea what we can do to people.”

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In big and little ways the ability to change directions and go from one extreme to another without missing a beat is what life is all about. Old and young and all of us in the middle – it is what we do. It is who we are.

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You never know who will be there to help. You never know but sometimes it might seem like a miracle or something you won’t be able to describe. But there are those who will help – more than you think.

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I don’t really believe in fate, not much. None the less, when good things happen or bad things are avoided treasure that. Most of all you should treasure those precious folks that make up your life.

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So what happens when she breaks up with you and you get all butt hurt and can’t stand to see her face but you know you’re going to keep running into her for the next 200 years?

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Lucy,
I’m tired of being pursued by sluts like you who cheat on their boyfriends. You took me to your bed when you knew another man was in love with you. Shame on you. Tell the same to that little trollop Mina.  And tell Jonathan that Mina isn’t as innocent as she acts.
Drop dead,
Dracula

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Three Vampires and the ghost driving into the night on our way to kill Rogue Vampires singing along with the soundtrack of Across the Universe.

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“Souls are cheap and keeping them is expensive,” he hissed in my ear with nasty wake-the-dead breath.

We all need our dogs.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Listen, and never discount a Vampire who wants to share art with you.

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Some people do things oh so frustratingly slow, or weird, or just make me feel like nobody is listening (and I know they aren’t.)

On Thanksgiving I showed my great great great great Grandmama Lola a book to look at. It was an art book. I wanted her to see the artwork. So what does she do? She opens the cover and looks at the first page. Then she slowly turns the next three pages of publisher information. The she gets to the preface – you know those long introductions to art books that NOBODY reads, especially when someone wants you to look at some PICTURES. After she was into the first 15 pages, slowly turning them and not really reading them, wondering why I’d given her this book with so much text, I took the book. Then I opened it up to the start of the 175 pages that were in FULL COLOR of magnificent artwork.

She then slowly turned the pages, looking at all of the art, then proclaimed there were too many religious paintings. Did I mention this book was about Italian Renaissance art? It was.

I said nothing and put the book back on the shelf. My moment sharing Raphael and Michelangelo fell flat.

The whole week seemed to go like that. I was all but invisible wherever I went. Even among friends I was just there. My husband was there, but I was just a shadow most of the time. A few times I managed to make myself known before I was unseen again. Until a few nights ago when I finally found myself around kindred spirits.

When I was a child I was the quiet one. I would sit in corners, or curled in a large chair, and watch, and listen, and remember, and think about what the adults said. I always knew what everyone had done. I knew things children were not supposed to understand.  I also spent a lot of time with books, looking at pictures. I never get tired of art, be it a painting in a museum, or an illustration in a book. It could be an angel, or a landscape, or a diagram the ocean currents. Every image has a story, or a feeling, or something that came out of the head, the hands, the eyes, and the heart of someone else.

Lola is ancient, born in the Middle Ages, but she isn’t feeble minded, or out of touch. She just does things in a different way than I do. It is still damned annoying.

I was out with her recently and she insisted on lingering over her prey, excuse me, a donor. I clenched my fists, then quietly told her that we needed to get in and then get out fast. Unless you’re in a safe situation where you can linger comfortably for hours, you need to get what you need and get out. But noooooo, not Lola. She never listens to me, or any of my concerns. I swear I’m surprised she has lasted as long as she has. And yes, this is a Vampire blog. Why else would I be talking about what Lola does.

Anyway, don’t get between me and my art. Don’t make me feel unsafe or unwanted. And if you don’t listen to me, that is fine. I hear everything, and remember everything. And I still love you, for the most part.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

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Mystery at the Museum (and a WTF moment)

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St. Stephen was said to have been stoned to death by a group of pissed off folks who didn’t like his brand of religion. Some say he spoke Greek and took care of Greek speaking widows stranded in a world of Romans. St. Anthony is the  Patron Saint of Lost things which would make him the patron saint of most busy moms and Vampires.

So this brings us to a mystery.

Aparrently Tony and Steve were bros and spent some quality time together before Stephen’s untimely and tragic death. Anthony died later of natural causes (not a lost cause, even thought he is the Saint of Lost Causes.)

In a painting by Italian artist Bicci di Lorenzo (1373–1452) Anthony and Stephen are hanging out together with somebody else. Look in the far left bottom corner. What is that? Seriously what is THAT? Is is a dog? A pig? A demon? A lost animal of unknown origin?

Anthony and Stephen hanging out together with a mysterious animal.

 

Seriously, WTF is that?

What is that animal? Is it friendly? Is it a pet? Is it Anthony’s or is it Stephen’s. Did Anthony adopt it in when Stephen died? Did they find it at the local shelter?

We looked around some more and found other interesting things. Oh, by the way, those are stones on Stephen’s head, apparently left over from when he died.

Around the same time another Saint was running around with his weird looking dog.

I’m not making fun. I’m always noticing odd looking dogs and cats in old paintings. Animals aren’t always easy to draw, but sometimes I really wonder about this sort of thing. Did artists draw certain styles because it was fashion, or did they draw that way because it was the only way they knew how to draw? This was way back right out of the dark ages, so maybe they just didn’t have the vision/skill/desire to make it look like a photograph. Yes, that was a joke I know they didn’t have photos back then – just like yesterday when I went to the store with my shirt on inside out and no less than four people informed me that my shirt was inside out.

We also saw this bit in the same painting, way up on the top corner. What was THAT ANGEL up to? Hmmmmm. No doubt he was up to no good.

My brother Val said we could just ask Tellias about it. He was around back then. He might know. But what fun would that be? Plus I know I’d get a long tale of BS and off the subject tales from Tellias.

As we roamed the museum I heard my daughter say to my husband, “Mom is having one of her religious experiences. Just let her look for a while longer.”

I look at the paintings and I can feel the breezes, hear the voices, see into the souls. I a room full of Rodins I can feel the touch, the kiss, the embraces, and the passion of the pieces. The rest of the world is lost and gone and doesn’t matter at that moment that I am with art.

We spent Monday at the Museum.

And we survived.

We more than survived. We came to life, again, and again, and again.

Thank you to Anthony and Stephen. Let us know what that critter is when you get a chance.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Sad Vampire: American Gothic

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Way back towards the first of the year I received the honor of being awarded FIRST PLACE in the 2017 Evil Squirrel’s Nest Contest of Whatever. My entry was the story of a horror adventure told by Vlad, King of the Vampires (yes, cute Vlad from Vampire Diary, click here to see it.)

As a prize I was able to pick out something from The Evil Squirrel’s Cafe Press shop. Oh I can’t tell you how delighted I was to receive my American Gothic Bag a few weeks later. I LOVE THIS. I’ll be taking it on my cross country trip from Orangevale, CA to Lincoln, NE this summer. I’ll be taking it to a coffee shop this morning. I’ll be taking it everywhere.

I love this version of “American Gothic.” Oh my goodness have you EVER seen anything so cute? Love love love this. Thank you ES.

To get your own Evil Squirrel’s Nest Bling click HERE.

The first time I saw the Grant Wood painting “American Gothic” at the Art Institute in Chicago I was surprised at how small it is.  It is only 30¾ in × 25¾ inches. I remember walking around a corner and seeing it sort of an afterthought. I thought it would have a larger presence. But in real life it is absolutely stunning. Thank you Grant Wood, for that and ALL of your art. Grant Wood Rocked. Check out the faces in “Daughter’s of the Revolution.” You can’t get better than that.

And more from Grand Wood…

So in my rush to attempt to be clever and creative I took out a pen and pencil and did a quick sketch of “Vampire Gothic.” It took me all of five minutes. I believe Mr. Wood spent more time on the original version than I did on my sad Vampire version.

 

Seriously, I can draw when I want to. No, really, I can. Well, um…

Now I’ll do some shameless promotion. You can get your own Vampire Maman shirts and other items on Red Bubble. Good quality and unique fashion is just a few clicks away. Click Here.

 

Sad Vampire is a semi-regular feature on vampiremaman.com featuring somewhat quick and somewhat sad sketches, but sketches non the less. 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman