Original woodcut print which displays how a person feels when ostracized or pushed aside by others, particularly by family members.  Giclee prints of this woodcut print can be had for $50.  There is but one original!  All prints of any particular piece of artwork on this blog are guaranteed to be first quality and the editions are limited to 100 prints, all signed and dated.

Art for July 4th

In honor of the Fourth of July, I am offering this pencil drawing for sale. This is an abstraction of our American flag, and the original measures 26" x 20". The original is priced at $200, and Giclee prints can be purchased for $50. Please always remember this work holds a USA copyright and may not be duplicated.

Art

Being an artist with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, as well as one who has created art most of my life, I have accumulated a large amount of artwork. Because I am becoming ancient, I need to find homes for my work. In today's world of social media and internet sales, the pursuit of a representing gallery seems too slow and very "iffy" for an aging artist. As I search for the right outlet for my work, I am going to begin to post it on this blog and would appreciate your feedback. If you see something you like, but you don't like the price, I can have a quality print made for you. I will even entertain the notion of printing my work onto t-shirts. If you are interested in purchasing the original, a print, or a t-shirt, email me at: smccollim@gmail.com and I will respond quickly. Please note, my work holds a USA copyright (meaning no one except me can copy or print the work). That being said, here is my first offering, a pencil drawing measuring about 22" x 29". As a print, it can be done smaller. Original is priced at $200. Original size print is $45, smaller sizes at varying lower prices. Tshirts coming soon.

Just a short post today, posing the following question: Where the heck is John Kerry? No photo-ops, follow-up stories, nothing. Main stream media silence. Administration mum on the subject. Sorry, but I think there is a concerted effort at hiding the real story. Some news opinions have come out of Europe, but nothing here in the USA. That along with the various bomb threats here in the homeland, and even at The White House, makes me think things are much worse than the government is admitting.

Sammy

Several years ago, I blogged about my brother's dog, Sammy, and an adventure we had. Sadly, Sammy passed away today and he will be sorely missed. He spent a vacation week with me last week, and seemed fine while he was here. I am reposting my piece from 2008 in memory of Sammy. Personal Commentary My Friend Sammy Since I've been holed up in my house writing for two days, I was determined to be outdoors today. The weather was perfect - low 70's and sunny - and I was missing it all. I called my sister-in-law to see if I could borrow Sammy, their elder dog. She said yes and added that Sammy loves to go in the car. I went to pick him up (I swear the dog is psychic - how did he know I was coming to take him somewhere? He ran right to my car and stood there til I opened the door) and off we went to Northmoreland Park. This is where I normally fish, though I haven't done any fishing lately, either. As soon as we arrived, Sammy was more than anxious to get out. My niece told me before we left to be careful because as soon as the door opened, he would jump out and take off. Sure enough, he pushed between me and the steering wheel before I could get the leash on. I pulled the door shut just in time, got the leash on, opened the door again, and out Sammy went. The leash wasn't too long, so out I went, as well, onto the concrete parking lot. The door shut with my car keys and cell phone inside! Although it wasn't completely shut, I couldn't open it, either. A half-locked door. I could see the darn keys hanging in the ignition, so near yet so far. I thought that we'd take our walk first and figure it all out afterwards. This is my Scarlett O'Hara persona. The brick paver path is 1.1 miles long, and is a lovely and fairly easy walk. Sammy was a happy little dog, smiling at everyone and wagging his tail. One lady said, "What a happy little mutt that is!" Sammy just smiled and looked back at me to see if I heard that. He was very obedient, didn't chase any other dogs, geese or ducks. Didn't growl or bark at anyone. When we finished and went back to my car, he stood there facing the door and looked back over his shoulder at me, as if to say, "Come o-n-n-n-n-n already!". Now I had to find a way to get the car open. I saw some fishermen nearby so we walked over to them and I asked if anyone had a coat hanger I could borrow? No one did, but they all came to my car to check it out. Another guy in the vehicle parked next to mine offered a pipe wrench to break the window. (*Gee, thanks, but no thanks!") Pretty soon, there were about twelve guys standing around my car! I asked, "Where are all the car thieves when you need them?" Everyone laughed, especially the teens. One of the guys divulged the info that he owns a used car dealership and has to get into cars almost every day. He just happened to have a broken fishing pole (I have one, too -- in the trunk of the car, along with a coat hanger). While one teenager held a tree branch between the door and roof of the car, the used car guy was able to hook the car keys, but they fell off the rod onto the floor before he could bring them out. He kept trying, and finally pushed the manual lock open and voila! The door opened. Sammy couldn't have jumped into the car any faster. He sat there looking at me as if he was saying, "What are you waiting for?" I thanked everyone and off we went. Sammy was happy when we reached his home! I may ask to take him out again one day, but he may refuse. He is good company, though. My niece told me before we left that walking with a dog is a good way to meet men. Yup, it sure was! But they were all teens or married. Just my luck! Previously published on Google Blogspot by Suellen McCollim, August 10, 2008

Right Brain Drawing

When I drew the accompanying artwork (pencil on paper, about 19" x 28"), I had been thinking about how nature always attempts to take back what man and time and progress have altered. As always, I start by making a mark on the paper, usually somewhere left of center, and make the magical switch from the logical left brain to the subconscious right. When drawing this way, I never begin by thinking about what I am drawing. It is only after the drawing is finished that I can back off and view it for what it is. Frequently, I can see the influence of something I have been pondering or something I have read. Studying a lot of art history helps to inform my drawings, I am sure. The bottom line, however, is the interpretation of its subsequent viewers. Once the artist creates the art and shows it to another person, the intention of the artist no longer has much importance (unless the artist is a master and studied intensively by art historians and critics).

My Grandmother and the Orangutan

My grandmother, a very petite and attractive lady, was in her sixties when I came into the world. She was born on a farm in Armstrong County, PA, in 1880 into a very large and poor family. She managed to attend school through the eighth grade, and because she was a bright and excellent student, was permitted to teach in that one-room school house after she "graduated". I recall her telling me that she wrote poetry, though unfortunately, I never found any examples after she passed. What I distinctly recall was her penchant for correct spelling and grammar, and had computers existed when she was alive, she would have been one of the original "grammar police" so many detest. I can say as I went through school, my grandmother's determination that I should speak and write properly, not only was a great help but also set me up as a future "grammar cop", too. She also taught me that ladies do not raise their voices, but maintain a ladylike decorum at all times, and that probably wasn't a good thing for me. Mimmi, as everyone called her, was a woman who led an interesting life. She was married twice, and the first marriage ended in divorce-a rare occurrence at the beginning of the twentieth century. Her first husband worked in the oil fields in Vincennes, Indiana, and earned a lot of money which he spent lavishly on his beautiful wife. He gave her jewelry and fur coats, as well as two sons. Unfortunately, he also had a weakness for alcohol, and periodically would go on a "bender". When he ran out of money during his drunken binges, he would gather those expensive gifts and sell them for the cash he needed to purchase booze. My grandmother soon tired of his behavior, and after he came home drunk one night and passed out on the bed, my tiny grandmother tied his hands and legs to the bed. She waited until he awakened the next morning and literally beat him with a broom, took her two sons and the few belongings she could carry, and returned to Pennsylvania. For a time, she lived with and worked for a sister who owned a boarding house in West Virginia. The story goes that she eventually also operated a boarding house in Pennsylvania, and that is where she met and married my grandfather. Together, they had one son, my father. My grandfather was a plasterer, just like his Irish father and grandfather before him, and he built a very nice Craftsman-style home for them. Eventually, he joined the police department, and that is how I remember him. He was a good man and a good provider, though I often wondered how my grandmother was able to dress as fashionably as she did. I will never know. Perhaps because she was an avid canner of fruits and vegetables and was able to save the family a lot of money. You are probably wondering about the title of this piece, so I will end with the story of my grandmother and the orangutan. My grandparents often traveled with us to various venues around the greater Pittsburgh area. One summer, we all went to the Pittsburgh Zoo, and were having a grand time visiting all the exotic animals. My grandmother, dressed to the nines, had been making fun of all the primates. When we approached the outdoor pen of the zoo's only orangutan, she approached the bars and began to make faces at him. As she pointed at him, giving him the raspberries and laughing, he suddenly retaliated, with a remarkably accurate aim, by spitting at her. The spittle struck her directly in the face. It was one of those moments I have never forgotten. My grandfather pulled his hankerchief from his pocket and wiped her face with it while the rest of us struggled with conflicting emotions: wanting to cheer for the orangutan, trying to keep from laughing at the surprise and pure comedic nature of the moment, and feeling acutely embarrassed at the entire episode. I have attached a pencil portrait I drew from an old photograph of my grandmother with her sisters. She was about forty years old in the 1920 photo, and this would have been the year she first was permitted to vote.