been feelin’ rough from the had enoughs until I found some abandoned chefs’ tiles that definitely needed some colour….
really gettin’ into the smaller picture fitting in with the overall theme like the birds in the top left. readin’ up and enjoyin’ de kooning again, funny thing is so many times I’ve wanted to round it (my art) all up and burn in a big pile.
I’ll hold off right now coz its raining pretty hard. love and peace…
Via Flickr:
by bird 2013
ink, paint, ceramic tile, framed
It’s my nephew’s birthday today. He’s very artistic. Come to think of it, we all are.
From a distance, I’ve watched my family grow. I moved to the US before Luke and Lucy were born.
If I remember correctly, my sister was carrying Luke on their first trip to Orlando, Florida.
It was a Disney from the womb tour and it was also the first of many many transatlantic journeys over the next few years. I went home to London. The family came to see me over here. We had a lot of fun. Always.
I don’t go back to the UK so much anymore, for no particular reason. Perhaps just the cost?
My work lately has gravitated me towards the decorative arts and as I squeezed glitter glue out of a tube this morning, I couldn’t help but remember watching my Mum ice birthday cakes. Or for christmas. She could turn a dollop of freshly mixed ‘icing’ – you know, the real stuff, like wedding cakes used to have - in to the most novel and imaginary places perched on top.
In fact, it was much more than a cake. Everything she touched, became more beautiful. More alive. More bright. In the garden. Sew and thread. A soft lacy christening blanket to knit.
I never viewed or saw my mother ‘as an artist’. Whatever that’s supposed to mean or should I say ‘well, what’s one’s supposed to look like?’
But she most certainly was!
And a natural at it.
My Mum, Barbara Ann Bird.
She was also an amazing grandmother to my niece, Lucy and nephew, Luke.
My sister’s family. The Swanns.
Lesley Bird, my older sister by three years, married a Swann.
And a couple of years ago, they flew to San Francisco to visit Auntie Helen.
At the time I was knee-deep in art and photography, ramblin’ all over The City lookin’ for street art and graffiti.
Experimenting with all kinds of stuff. Stencils. Big canvas and spray paint.
Anyway, one of my most favourite places to go was up under the Golden Gate Bridge.
City side.
I knew a path off Crissy Field that led you straight up there. There’s a pretty steep shimmy up a gutter and then you’re there.
‘Oh My God, Helen. where are you takin’ us?’ ‘hey, hang in there – you’ll see. the kids will love it!’
‘I don’t know, this is kinda scary.’ ‘oh, you can do it.’
We all clambered up and looked around at the totally rad sight in front of our eyes. Wall to wall graff on abandoned World War II bunkers. A crazy cool clear look under the bridge. And turnin’ back, an incredible view of The City by The Bay.
Glistening in the afternoon sun. Bathed in color. Lots of color.
Luke turned round and said to Lucy ‘Auntie Helen’s wayyyy cool’. Nah, kids.
You’re the cool ones. Love you both. God bless.
Happy Birthday Luke
an unseen force
they walk the streets by day
and by night.
their home upon the back
a pack to go.
ready to blow.
you don’t see them
but they’re always there.
their’s is to strike fear
in our hearts
for they no longer care
if they live or die.
why would they care about you?
the bumper to bumper traffic on Dickerson Pike is, at the best of times really rather bad.
it’s a long hot dusty road.
well traversed by the lost…
the lonely…the lookin’.
there is no sidewalk.
walk the tight rope.
only a treacherous semi dirt crumbled tarmac with an ankle bustin’ precipice.
its loud.
we’re almost up the hill.
our home on our backs splutters and dies.
what once would have freaked us out merely causes us to smile.
at each other.
now we prepare.
a caravan meant not for many a days journey.
a 420 big block with a twelve gallon tank.
“are you sure we are out?”
but block she does.
a full lane.
Port side.
cars pass by. furiously.
drivers rev engines, irritate and raw from the trouble we’re in.
not us.
their’s the inconvenience.
horn’s honk. few people smile.
one gallon proves too small. and flatter land is sought.
stoppin’ barely of gleamin’ used car lots
and bright yellow chain fence, short.
a red faced salesman stands hands on hip and disapproves.
more fuel is needed. fetched from a down the road.
five o’clock to wish they were home.
yell and groan. honk and squeal.
the light goes green to red. yet cars stand still.
now this should work. more fuel in the beast.
turn the engine quick.
lets get out of this fix.
oh no, one thing more….
the ignition goes click
hard times on dickerson pike
….reflections on a retro life on the roads of Nashville, in an antique motorhome with vernon rust folk-rockslinger
I found some old laminate samples and took to painting’ on them. They’re turning out rather nice and I give them out to folks I meet. Especially fellow travellers. You know, rubber tramps….For some of us, it takes a few years to realize the joy of passing time. Just being. By yourself or with company. And have no schedule. I took on a small job, more volunteer because it sure didn’t make enough to cover the stress involved. And I stopped painting and writing. Go figure. It reminded me, once again, that life doesn’t have to be like that. The mad hamster wheel. Runnin’ towards a finishing line…and that is? what death? the laminate samples are small, fit perfectly between your index finger and thumb. I use paint markers, ink, extra fine point metallics. Our friend Ehrlen designs these amazing colorful circles and fashions the loveliest of roses out of gum wrappers. We swap pens, check out new ideas and chin wag for a while. I photographed some of our new pieces yesterday…
by Ehrlen Romberg
by bird 2013
by Ehrlen Romberg
my graffiti hunting days have taken me far and wide. nowadays I have the time to unhurriedly sift through thousands of old files on flickr, find the best of the best, crack my knuckles and get down to the business of re-living and writing about such a ‘once odd and unique obsession’. from the simplest of stickers on a lamp post, to a freight train waiting on the tracks or, my favourite, the isolated or abandoned place so out of the way, only the artists know where to go…
this cool find was back in ’07 Weimar, Germany
my first apartment in San Francisco happened to be in the Marina and had rooftop access just in case there was the odd nice sunset or something. the Marina is built on a landfill in The Bay, sort of like cereal in a box, so you feel any and every earthquake activity…hmmm, reminds me of ‘contents will settle after shipping’. I had left hurricanes in Florida and enjoyed my first real rattler (a 4.8) at 0400 when my pictures fell off the walls…
the golden gate
thats fast. golden gate park
there’s always something going on in
Golden Gate Park
or on the streets
of San Francisco…
it’s a Love fest weekend
or a Peace party gathering
people getting together
to enjoy watching people
completely free,
life breathing creative spirits
celebrating being alive
and without my camera
I’d miss moments like this…
Emetophobia plagued me growing up. Then I became a nurse to overcome this irrational fear. Talk about facing s*** head on.
Then I got myself in to street art, namely graffiti where all references to doing so are vomit, barfing & throwing up related.
It’s kinda sick, really.
ok…so tryin’ to sell art on the streets of Nashville is like tryin’ to sell Jewish trinkets at a Baptist convention. Just kiddin’…whatever happened to a sense of humor folks? oh well…its been a long time since I’ve felt this wonderfully hopeful, optimistic and full of beans! Years, even. so I’m just not gonna let the malcontents bring me down but its definitely time for a change and I mean a big one. A Big Easy One like…Oh and if you get a chance please pop over to http://patron21.com/users/helenbird and support original artists…there’s a few of us tryin’ real hard to make a livin’ creating a more beautiful & colourful world. thanks
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