Ghosts in the studio

 

 Ping! Ping! Ping-ping-ping! Ping!  A strange  noise to hear as I worked in the studio one early August morning.  Faintly metallic, or like fine gravel thrown against a window.  Well, it's just the time the street is stirring, and people are going off to work.  Who knows?

But the next morning, when the street and house were completely silent, I heard again Ping-ping-ping!  Ping!  Ping!  With some trepidation, I decided to check out the whole basement, floor to ceiling.

Oh, silly me.   I'd scarcely begun my rounds when more pinging sounds led me to --incredibly -- a vase of gorgeous seedheads I'd gathered from my friend G's alstroemeria plants. 

 

I'd thought these flowers were pricey florist exotics but in a home garden, they're practically invasive.  When I noticed their sculptural seedheads this year, I had to have some.

  

I'd hoped to preserve some for my new friend P, who does meticulous and carefully considered linocuts of the botanical subjects that are one of her enchantments, and one of mine.  But alas, the drying pods were literally exploding -- shooting small  pellet-like seeds three to five feet across the room, pinging as they hit the floor.

To enjoy the fun, I moved the vase into the studio and had another week or so of unpredictable pings.  One day, to use up some paint on my palette, I did what I call a "splash" -- just a quick putting-down of impressions.

  

 But really, the fine detail of stems and pods would better suit one of P's exquisite linocuts -- or the pen-and-ink drawings that I used to do so enthusiastically (and time-consumedly)(is that a word?).

Now, six weeks later, the ghost has become a virtual skeleton.

But remarkably, two pods remain -- and they are indestructible.  I've tried again and again to crush them between my fingers, and it's like squeezing a glass marble. 

I've often marvelled at the sheer physics of nature -- the way, for example, the branches of a chestnut tree are articulated and reinforced to hold the weight of the chestnuts.  For their toughness and projectile force, these seed pods should be studied by NASA!  (alstroe-nauts, get it?)

What marvels and mysteries grow in the dark ------------ !

Heard on the grapevine

Something we need to talk about.  Right now.  And the topic is:  The absurdity of some of today's common expressions that have found parallel lives as titles for paintings in the "Flash Mob" series.

Consider this one that always sets my teeth on edge:  "That's a conversation that we need to have."

Think about it.  This pretentious statement is so different from the ordinary, "Yeah, let's talk about it."  Even if this traditional phrase suggests a future time-frame, it also indicates an invitation, a commitment, an active process of two (or more) people talking!!  But "a conversation that we need to have"?   This seems to suggest something floating in the ether -- a cloud passing by -- something optional perhaps, even if "needed," and certainly not anything that anyone in listening distance has any responsibility for scheduling.

Think about the possible meanings this expression conveys when Person B uses it to respond to a point made by Person A.

"I was hoping you wouldn't bring this up, and I'll need time to cook up an answer."
 

"I'm utterly bored by this, and I'm not going to waste any more time on it."

 "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about,  but later I'll figure it out."

"Maybe you'll forget that you ever brought this up, and I'll just stay in denial."

"Oh, I don't think so.  I will be the one to decide when we get around to talking about this."

 Put 'em all together, and what's it spell?  "A Conversation That We Need to Have" -- #9 in the Flash Mob series.   (View the unfolding sequence here)