"Home"

Acrylic on canvas 16 x 20" $400 (www.pollyjackson.com)


BIG BIRD

Thanksgiving at my house in 1975 in Santa Fe was a big event. It was the first holiday I entertained after moving there in January of 1974.

I invited a friend and her boyfriend for Thanksgiving dinner. My two small children were also present. I wanted to do everything just right. I mentioned to my “mother” that I would like to get an organic or wild turkey rather than the store bought type. She immediately made fun of me for wanting something “organic” and as her track record was always trying to one-up me, I figured she might do something untoward.

Several days later my “mother” called and told me she had located a fresh turkey for me on a farm in Espanola and I would have to drive the thirty plus miles to pick it up. I was delighted! I drove the distance in no time and waited in the kitchen of the house while the farmer brought the turkey to me.

Without warning, the farmer struggled around the corner, almost dropping the enormous bird and heaved it on the table. I gasped and stared at the fresh turkey! I asked how much it weighed. He told me it was a fifty pounder! I asked for a smaller turkey but he had none. The turkey was already paid for so I had no choice but to take the Goliath with me. I somehow held the turkey on my thighs and bent over, ran to my car, opened the door and threw the bird into the back seat, leftover blood spilling everywhere. I groaned. Then, I began to laugh. I just couldn’t imagine what my husband was going to say! I hoped he’d be home to help me get the turkey out of the car!

After my husband laughed for several moments, he struggled to get a handle on that big bird so he could at least get it out of the Chevy. It’s naked, pink, slippery enormous body was a match for the two of us. Together we plopped the turkey into the utility sink and sat down for a rest. I rinsed the bird as much as I could lift him and needed help when we turned the bird around. I asked my husband to stick his hand in the gaping hole to retrieve the liver, gizzard, heart and neck. He refused. I put on yard gloves to get the guts out. It was awful.

I realized we didn’t have a pan big enough to cook him! We put everything on hold while I went to the grocery store. I asked a clerk for help to find a pan for a 50 lb. turkey. The grocery clerk asked how many people I was going to have and when I replied, “two”, she said, “You should be ashamed of yourself for being such a glutton!” I tried to explain that someone had gotten the turkey for me as a gift, yada, yada, yada. She suggested I use two large sized aluminum pans and put a cookie sheet underneath to catch any residue. She was shaking her head.

When I finally got the turkey stuffed and onto the baking pans, we realized it’s legs were too big and he wouldn’t fit into my large oven! We finally had to break his legs to get him nicely situated. Right away we had grease fires....

Because of the turkey’s weight, it took about seven hours to cook him. One of us had to sit in a chair next to the oven, holding a turkey baster to suck the grease out of the bottom of the oven so it wouldn’t catch fire. We took turns. We worked non-stop, right up until my friends arrived from Dallas.

I had just taken the turkey out of the oven to cool when the doorbell rang. My friend and her boyfriend came inside and we hugged and poured wine and talked for half an hour until they all sat down at the table and I began to bring the food, I very non-chalantly, brought in the turkey, with my husband’s help and set him in the middle of the table. It was worth the entire turkey trouble to see the looks on their faces when they saw our behemoth bird! Ha! After several seconds of complete silence, we all started to laugh.

Strangely enough, that bird wasn’t tough, either, as some thought it would be. I gave turkey away, cooked casseroles, froze pounds and pounds of turkey for cooking and still had some left! Because even the carcass was enormous, my husband begged to keep it just for a month or so, so he could place it in his beer refrigerator so his buddies could laugh at it each time they went for beer. I often think of that Thanksgiving as one of my favorites.

"Sunflowers", acrylic on paper, 5 x 7

THOUGHTFULNESS

I was reminded recently of a greeting card I once got for my grandmother. This was years ago in Santa Fe, NM. They had the most wonderful card shop, back then. I bought cards from them every week. It was my one indulgence.

Their cards were so fresh; not gooey with sentiment, but hilarious and unusual. They even had a “Black Book” that one had to ask for because it was so racy and indecent! I loved it.

On this particular day, I just wanted a nice, grandmother-type card without a message in order to write my own message inside. I looked and searched and it took quite a while before I found what I thought was the perfect card for my little old grandmother.

On the outside of the card was a lovely silhouette of a beach scene. The palm trees were black as was most of the beach on a very low horizon line. Then a small amount of ocean behind with a wonderful large sunset in the background with many clouds in oranges and reds and pinks and clouds at the top of the card fading into dark blue.

I looked at the card and looked at the card and just loved it. I showed it to several of the nearby customers and they all agreed it was a lovely card. Happily I left the card shop to go home and write my message to my ailing grandmother.

Seated at my little desk, at home, I took out the card for one more look before I wrote my message inside it. It was so beautiful. But, I felt I had seen something, for a split second; something unusual. I held up the card and investigated it further....I wondered what had caught my eye and made me uneasy?

And there it was, written with clouds at the top of the sunset and very, very obvious, yet very subliminal, too. I had not seen it before. The clouds clearly spelled out, “Sit on my face”.

I did not send that card to my grandmother. I kept it and showed it to people for years until I lost it. No one saw the message in the clouds until I pointed it out to them. Chances are, my grandmother would not have seen it either, but I was unwilling to take that chance.

"Here Kitty, Kitty"

THE MEETING

My longtime friend who now lives in New York City asked, as a favor for a friend of hers, that I meet with a woman who had just moved to Albuquerque. The newcomer’s name was Suzy. My friend had never met Suzy but was told she was very interesting and spoke five languages and needed a friend. I was more than willing. You can never have too many friends!

After several emails from Suzy’s friend (who told me how to meet Suzy, saying that meeting in person would be best because Suzy had a heavy French accent and wasn’t always easy to understand) and my friend, who thanked me profusely, I awaited the phone call from Suzy, to plan the meeting in person so I would be able to understand her thick accent...

A few days later, Suzy called. She wanted to meet close to the university but I wanted to fix her lunch so I suggested she come to my house and gave her my address. I didn’t think her accent was so heavy as to cause any lack of understanding, either.

On the appointed day, I shopped for groceries for the vegetable lentil soup I was going to serve. I bought all organic veggies and organic chicken stock. I cooked the lentils per instructions on the package. (I had never cooked lentils before so I didn’t want them to turn into mush as the label indicated, IF cooked too long). When they were done, I added the vegetables and stock and simmered it so the veggies wouldn’t overcook. The meal was ready to be served when Suzy was about to arrive.

I got a phone call from Suzy asking directions soon after I set the utensils out. She was lost. It was then that she told me she was walking, having lived in New York City, she did not have a car. I lived about two miles from the university. I offered to drive to find her but she assured me the walk was fine because she was used to walking. I suggested that when she came to the crossroads of my street and Central Avenue, she should call me on her cell phone so I could go outside and look for her.

When I asked how I would recognize her, she told me she was 6’7” tall and laughed.

About that time, a veritable giant black woman in a wool pancho appeared on the corner. There was Suzy. No doubt about it.

I went out to greet her and walk her to my front door. She was so incredibly graceful and beautiful and tall, very, very tall. I had to strain my neck to look up at her!

I ushered her inside trying to placate my dog that was afraid of tall men. My dog howled with fear and I suggested Suzy sit on my sofa, not be afraid of my dog and my dog would then calm down.

I jokingly said, “I hope you are not allergic to cats, because I have two of them!” She was allergic, she said. She turned her nose up when I said cats so I figured she had the allergy called, “I hate cats” so I told her they were outside and wouldn’t be coming in while she was visiting. Little did Suzy know she was sitting on the very sofa that my cats slept on, night and day. The upholstery showed cat fur, too, if you looked really closely.

We sat in silence. I thought she might comment on my art because it is everywhere but she never said a word.

We sat in silence some more until I asked what she had been doing in New York. She said she had been modeling in NYC but preferred the designing of clothes to the actual wearing of the garments for show. She was from South Africa and came to the USA on a basketball scholarship. The modeling agencies loved her right away. She wanted to move right back to NYC, having moved to Albuquerque to “find herself” but realized it wasn’t her town, at all. Our conversation last about a minute until silence set in again.

I asked if she was hungry and if she would like me to hang up her pancho. She said she was very hungry and very cold. It was 88 degrees that day. Thank goodness I was serving her hot soup, I thought.

I brought out the filled soup bowls and proudly announced how everything was organic and freshly bought for the soup. I didn’t have a dining room table so we had to sit on the sofa and eat on the coffee table causing Suzy’s long legs to be about even with her shoulders. She didn’t complain; bless her heart. She didn’t sneeze from her “cat allergies” either.

To my horror, her first spoonful of soup sounded as if she was eating it. I heard loud crunching. I tasted it and yes, it was like eating small, hard pebbles in a bland, bland water base. I asked if she wanted salt and pepper and she declined. We both sat and munched our soup out loud. I wanted to laugh until I cried. When she finished I actually asked if she wanted more. She said, “no”. I couldn‘t believe that I served this vibrant twenty-something woman an old woman’s soup. I knew she wouldn’t understand my explanation so I didn’t give her one.

After more silence, I suggested we take my dog to the park. I told her I would give her a ride home so she wouldn’t have to walk. We got into my little Honda Civic and her legs filled the entire front part of the car. I tried to make small talk all the long drive (about 5 blocks) to the park. She kept her window rolled up and the car temperature was about 110 degrees. I was sweating.

We walked around the park and then sat in the sun on a park bench and I noticed Suzy was shivering in her wool pancho. I was wearing a short-sleeved tee shirt and jeans.

“Well, time to go” I announced and into my small car we went, windows rolled up.

I dropped Suzy off at a small, tiny apartment complex on a very busy street and waved goodbye as she lumbered out of my Honda. She never looked back at me.

I went home and cooked that lentil soup another hour and added some canned tomatoes to it and lots and lots of salt. I had enough lentil soup for twelve people.

I never heard from Suzy again.

A Moment in Time

What a picture of a little girl who didn't want her Daddy to go off to war and wouldn't let go............

"Geraniums"

Chalk pastel on sandpaper $350








BURIED

I began watching All My Children in 1968 and continued until 2008 when the story line just flat-out bored me to death.

I liked the actors and thought for the most part that they were very good. Susan Lucci continues to be the worst actress I’ve ever seen but I watched her because of that! Oh, and she looks almost the same as she did 40 years ago! Her face is smooth and plasticized (I do wish they’d do something about her turkey-neck, just so it all matches). She is in really good shape, if you like anorexic slenderness. It is macabre to see a 60-something woman wearing a size 2, but that’s just my take on it.

I think they have Susan Lucci on the show just to show off evening gowns and fancy country club type dresses. I know no one who wears this attire except in the high-fashion magazines so it’s interesting to see what occasions one would wear these costumes. But I digress...

Susan Lucci plays Erica Kane, nine-time divorcee, cat o’ nine lives, catty..meowwww! She is over-dramatic when she doesn’t need to be and not dramatic when the scenes demands it. She acts the polar-opposite of what she should. I find that part fascinating.

One of my favorite episodes happened many years ago. Erica’s mother Mona died unexpectedly (I think the actress who played her mother really did die in real life). For all the times Erica fought with her mother (I could definitely relate to that), she DID love her and depended on her for right answers because Erica had no idea about life, in general (and apparently still doesn’t).

Oh the grief Erica experienced!!! I thought she’d never get on with her own life! To keep Mona fresh in her memory she visited the grave many, many times and ranted and raved and wailed and screamed and pulled her hair out, etc., over that grave.

It was the first visit to her mother’s grave that stuck in my memory and still makes me laugh out loud when I think about it. Erica stood over the grave (we could only see the headstone) and wept, and after several minutes got down on her knees and put her hands down on the new burial mound. It looked like a freshly dug grave, too, with dark brown dirt. On closer inspection I noticed that dark brown dirt was laced with vermiculite! Mona was apparently buried in potting soil, and a lot of it, too! How I loved it. Potting soil!

At some point the burial mound was changed (because it needed to be in a LOT of scenes) to regular dirt. I preferred the potting soil....it certainly grabbed my attention.

"Steve's View"

chalk pastel on paper, 21 x 29" $750




GIVE THE DOG A BONE

I found your business card in my wallet today. Without even looking at it, I tossed it aside to the compost container on the kitchen counter. It got buried in the coffee grounds. The paper was so cheap that it soaked up the tobacco-brown stain until I had to squint to see your name.

See, it was when I was driving and you grabbed my arm, hard, and told me to slow down. I wondered WHY I was driving in the first place. Oh yeah, your delivery vans are all too big to drive around town like that, now I remember. My little car was easier and gas didn’t cost so much.

I’d gotten invited to a soiree of the most interesting kind. I knew it would be so much fun because I knew the hostess. I was so excited to attend. I asked you to go with me. It was Halloween and I didn’t want to dress up but you did so I agreed to go as some sort of a Vampira; dark eyes, dark clothes, to match your Zombie man with Bird on the Shoulder.

And of course you were late to my house and THEN had to put on your make-up. That black stuff got all over my kitchen sink and counter-top and you just left it for me to clean! The black polish that you used in your hair also caused a huge mess and it got in my car, too.

You called and told me the afternoon of the soiree that we were going to another party afterward. I asked where it was located and you said, “Lake Travis”. That was an hour drive away. WTF? You said we didn’t have to stay long, just make an appearance. Oh, and I’d be driving, of course.

So, when we got to the party that I wanted to attend, you got stupid. I introduced you to the hostess and she asked who your bird was and you pretended not to hear her or answer her until she just walked away. I didn’t know what to say. You were in your “persona”, that being Zombie Man with Bird on your Shoulder but I didn’t understand where you were coming from. I had a glass of wine and then realized I couldn’t drink anymore because I had to drive, dammit!

Since we were the ONLY people at her party in costume, no one made that giant effort to talk to us or look at us, for that matter. I small-talked you to death and you were in your fucking “persona” the whole time.

After twenty minutes or so, you suggested we go to your party and possibly another after that. We left after I told the hostess a strained, guilty “goodbye”, with you standing next to me, still not speaking.

The drive out there only had a few anxious moments, mainly because you put your brake on in the passenger side and it scared shit out of me. Oh, and you nervously chewed your fingers as I drove on the winding road to get there.

We found the address right away. I made a sharp turn right into the beginning of their driveway and you angrily grabbed my arm. It hurt. I wished I could have another glass of wine.

I guess your party was more interesting in the long run because of the large number of guests, mostly. I really liked some of the costumes, especially “Beth” from the “Dog, the Bounty Hunter”...ha, ha.

You kept up your “persona”; yawn. Everyone laughed at you and pointed and then wondered why they thought it was funny in the first place. They seriously wondered who you thought you were. I personally had no idea.

I wasn’t in the mood for you. My arm still hurt. I was ready to go after a short while. You weren’t.

After what like seemed 10 hours, we finally left. I had been drinking root beer and eating pigs-in-a-blanket and potato chips and chatting up a storm with the waiter. You came over, broke “persona” and announced we were leaving.

You talked me into going down Bee Caves Road when the highway was so much faster! You said the “party is that way” and almost grabbed my arm again, pointing down the road. As we went through West Lake I asked you to be sure and give me some notice on where the party was and you then told me the party was on the other side of town. You just wanted me to drive that route because that’s the route you followed on your bicycle. Oh god.

The last “party” required a cover charge! Apparently a live band was playing and the money was to pay them. You reluctantly gave them the money. I wasn’t about to give anything.

After we walked into the backyard, we noticed that only 4 people were there. The band was playing and we made six. By this time I wanted something to drink. I asked if you would get me a glass of wine. You brought back a light beer, reluctantly again.

After what seemed like a lifetime, we left and only because I announced “my bus was leaving the scene”! You watched my driving with hawk eyes the whole way back.

I didn’t want to go out with you anymore after that.

You gave it some time and then called to ask if I wanted to have a dinner at my house but you would bring all the ingredients. I agreed. I wound up fixing most of it, though you did help with the chopping. You never offered to wash the dishes, but then, you never offered to wash the dishes.

Was it then that you took a swipe at my dog?

It was that night sometime because she was all of a sudden terrified to come near you. When I called her into the kitchen after I suggested you give her a MilkBone, she crawled on her belly to get it from your hand and then slunk away. I apologized to YOU saying “Id never seen her act that way, for any reason”. I didn’t know what was wrong with her.

The next time you came over at my invitation for dinner (I already had it prepared), my dog vanished when you walked in the door. You went to the cookie jar the way I showed you and I called her in and again she crawled on her belly to you, shaking and scared.

And then I knew you’d taken a swipe at her. You sure had.

I fed you and then told you I was not interested in you in any capacity other than occasional friend. I asked you to leave and didn’t say one word to you about my dog. I didn’t have to.

"New Plant and Open Screen Door"

acrylic/canvas 20 x 24" $500


ALBUQUERQUE ARTS 2009

I have not had a minute to post anything or write anything or to even think about anything.

It’s amazing how motivated one can become when one hasn’t a job. I’ve signed up to teach one class a week at an alternative high school (volunteer of course). I’ve been accepted to teach one class (of the eight proposals I sent) of Painting with Acrylics at another place in the SPRING.....oh my. And, I am giving free Painting with Acrylics at yet another location for all of October and all of November on Saturday mornings in order to get my name out and bring in prospective students.

I went to a gallery (one of the things I most hate to do) to introduce myself and to see their guidelines for entry and was greeted with a most hostile woman, who, threw a card at me with guidelines and turned and walked away from me as I was introducing myself! I did not send an impersonal email or letter. I dressed nicely for the occasion. I was polite and went in early so as not to disturb any potential buyers and yet I was treated as if I were filth. And, this is not unusual in the gallery world. I wonder how many artists turn away from even showing in any gallery with this kind of treatment. A small amount of politeness to someone is always more appreciated than blatant rudeness. Maybe selling online is the best bet, after all. With galleries taking 50% these days you’d think the initial meeting of an artist would be as a client, and to be respected.

One potential location for teaching students is run by an anarchist (he told me so, himself) who hates Obama and the entire government. Oh my. I must not discuss politics in this location.

Another possible location for teaching is an art league (I swore I would never join anything like it). The artists there are friendly and very capable instructors. They are all mostly realists so my funky paintings looked a little out of place on the wall at the open house we had this weekend. I have to remind myself continuously that I am what I am and I paint in my own style, regardless. It’s what I tell my students. It applies to me, as well.

I left Albuquerque yesterday morning before 8:00am for a quick drive to Santa Fe to go to my favorite restaurant, Tia Sophia’s for a red chile breakfast burrito. I then drove to Madrid to see my friend Suzanne and her cute gallery there and then a mountainous drive on the back road to connect with I40 and back home to Albuquerque by 12:30pm.

I spent over an hour yesterday afternoon making a video about how to tackle a painting that has become an, er, challenge and it is posted above this writing. It was fun and I really enjoyed doing it. Then I realized my tiny computer cannot necessarily handle the large files it requires, so possibly “back to the drawing board”, as they say and it certainly applies here.

Meanwhile I am jobless (and sleeping anyway) and happy in Albuquerque, 2009.