Tuesday, April 08, 2014

hermitage, microforest, minimeadow going on the market

I have loved on this space I call home, I call gift. But I will be going to do my PhD in Lubbock and don't know where I will land at its end so the hermitage in the woods must go. It is located on ten acres two miles from the NW corner of Sam Houston National Forest. A fifteen minute drive from Sam Houston State University and 76 miles from the heart of downtown Houston. It would make a fine weekend place.



Two bedroom, one bath, laundry room, two carport under house, kitchen, den, living room, dining room, firebox. Open concept (no hallways). Split level, laundry room on ground floor.





Freshly renovated since August 2011 over the course of two and a half years: 
entire interior painted, kitchen cabinets paints, new vanity in bathroom and updated exhaust vent, all new sinks and fixtures, all new lights and ceiling fans, Trane Heat Pump HAVAC system, all new duct work, LG washer and dryer front loading stacked, new front door, hot water heater, updated electrical switches, new beautiful to die for deck with planters, new landscaping with drought tolerant plants.

Both bedrooms are 10x11, each with 3 windows.
Both bedrooms are identical 
in layout, just mirrored. 

New kitchen sink.
Sink, faucets, lights and vanity updated.

New door to let even more light in.
Living room is continuous with dining room (open floor plan)
new flooring occurring right now. this is subfloor.

All new ceiling fans

One closet converted to office

Outlets and switches updated

New heat pump, Trane 15xl, 8/2011

New huge deck, 2012


Two outbuildings: one has finished interior and AC, the other is more like a shop




Interior finished out plus AC

Two porticos: one for large bus sized RV, one more for riding mower and such

The smaller portico

Ten wooded acres. Pines and hardwoods. Approximately one acre meadow. All images of property.









Great neigbhors.

National Forest two miles south of hermitage.


Am in the process of installing all new flooring (which is why not interior pics yet). I have a few more things to finish to have the fit and finished fully loved on, i.e. handrail onto deck, etc.


Monday, March 31, 2014

if I avoid the unsightly, the inappropriate, that negates the bulk of my living and leaves me straining in falsetto. damn the unseemly.

get stuck. the only way i know to unstick is to approach the very moment in which i reside. so i do. i drag myself down the aisle. pulling one more box from the shelf, the smallest yet, i trudge the cart-rolling trek back shamefacedly to the register. i am sure i still blush at purchase and think with each passing month it is my last.

but no. NOoo.

george is here again, sitting with me in my mom's chair. i rock wedged between the big open windows of the hermitage and its fireplace. his presence, not that comfy. with his added weight, the wicker bites ridiculous patterns into my rump as i wait his leave. i hate his visits.

i distract myself with the thumbing of my keypad and the muffled morning rain thrumming on the metal roof. from here, i see that the leaves are beginning to clump, cling and mat. i rock; it drizzles; i bemoan the visit. still, hunting for distraction, i damn yesterday's rotten log with its belt busting force decommissioning my tractor's mulching blade. now i will have to work up the words to ask mr. bushee for a lesson in belting my banged up red babe. i am hard on my tools and toys, haranguing them to work in irregular ways. as a she-child, i did not get the useful learned lessons in machined mechanisms or their care. frankly even now, the shop bought fixetties leave me wanting. the red babe, my bladed beast, has returned from the shop more broken than not. whaaat? i paid work earned money for these repairs. they alleviate her nonfunctionalness, but bang and break something new every fricking time--broken fender, dangling head light. grrrrr. superficial i suppose, but my hard wear exasperates their bangs and breaks -- front face plate recently gone as the broken fender caught hold and ripped free from a limb clutching branch. admittedly i only forked over a hundred bucks for her, a divorce trophy from some poor souls' split.

my mind wanders back to george. how can it not, as he asserts himself with a fierce, unforgiving force. bastard. try as i might to avoid his impinging, he arrives with foreseeable frequency. here but a few days then gone again for twenty six. his nature, damn cyclical. only now has he begun to slow, stutter, and wane with the wear of age. why must he come for these excavations with his little cutting, barbaric detissuing knives? i bleed each visit. damn bastard. a week early from his habit, he sits with me in this chair. sit still, rock, he cramps me. this fall he has toyed, failing, fluttering and fluctuating in his visits, as though to leave me. i am ready for him to be gone. i yearn for the flat lake calm that will settle with the absence of his hormonally driven storms. perhaps i will be less of a woman in his wake. i've premourned his leaving for sometime -- fretting my fading femininity. he has had his damn stay for near thirty nine and three quarter years! i am ready for him to be gone. bastard.

i suppose menopause will be his unseemly boxless bitch. perhaps she will linger longer.

Monday, March 17, 2014

memory is often far too big
not actual size and most certainly not to scale

stripped loveseat. who knew i could learn so much from its undoing. i did


extend back


new legs


reassembly


wing back


ottoman. plus Home Depot rubbermaid lawnchair for full sized humans as a measure of scale.

oh yes. it is modular. the gallery has a standard sized door. the original loveseat flipped on its side just barely slides through. so, needless to say, the back and legs slide off. always, always know the size of the gallery door, elevator, stairwell, and turns before fabricating your work. :) i once watch a semi grown woman cry as i finished my deinstall. she arrived only to discover her work could not pass through the doors! dang.


helpful side kick.


rebar for me to fold to construct skeleton of new chair cushions upon which i will sew with tie wire my trashy materials.


pipe clamps become my metal bender


waa-laa. even chica muscles could apply a little physics one O one via simply lever


apply a little metal hot glue (lincoln wire feed welder).


ottoman cushion.

in process for exhibition opening may 17, 2014 in houston. details forthcoming.

rarely do i purge but my big ass art footprint makes it necessary why i sketch at full size, i don't know

my life has never been a straight path and I've never backtracked vocationally--jr high science teacher, youth minister, graphic designer, director of communications, interactive media instructor, art foundations professor. no back tracking. surprisingly each has built on what came before. artist isn't a vocation, it is a way of functioning. that will not go away...it was there in the jr high classroom right up to the collegiate studio and lecture hall. it will take me into my future of making, writing and research. there is something I need to find and I am pretty sure I am in route and I will stand on the shoulders of what has already passed, not a single year unneeded.


Yet, my big ass art footprint reduction is needed. begun. it's got to go. how to decide is beyond me...all that is legal to burn, will. purging begun! though these are four feet and larger, they are more like sketches on board. dang heavy board. two D is not my primary format. drawing just sooths me. my primary format occupies far more than flat planar (ha pleasantly redundant) space and tools, they to take up real space. i cannot imaging hauling it all, 2d and 3d, to lubbock and storing it AND CERTAINLY NOT PAYING TO STORE. space occupation always cost money no matter how tamely and passively the materials lay there. 


most, admittedly, are from the before i even thought of myself as artist when i was just superficially reacting to a contemporary art history class--reacting to expressionism, bad painting, feminism. I didn't know prior to that that it was ok to make bad art. once I discovered it was ok to make bad art my inner world and making practice opened right up. bad art literally set me free. 



purge. tear. wipe. 


it is certainly freaking me out. but i just can't manage all the work i have. 

most is far more beautiful or at least interesting in the purge, in the mid burn process. kind of takes to a new level. so glad I documented the purging.