The reckless boys fervently embraced their debaucherous opportunities.

Sounds like Animal House, doesn’t it?

I kind of know these guys. These are my people.

Working on the campus of a small private university, I’m perfectly aware that these things still go down, but not nearly as brazenly as when I was in college when people counted campus streakers by smacking them on the butt as they ran by, which is kind of a shame.

College doesn’t appear to be as fun as it was when I was in college.

Of course, we had no computers or cell phones, so we had a great deal more time on our hands to plot amusements and colleges didn’t have surveillance cameras recording our every move so we got away with a lot more stuff.

Those were the days.

Exquisite Corpse 18 - The saucy wench zealously seized the forthcoming day.

I love this piece. It feels like Shakespeare would be proud to make her part of a future play.

The devilishly delightful smile on her face was supplied from a sketch by Rubens. I just know she’s up to something.

The body is a big metal urn which kind of reminds me of something you might put the ashes of your Great Aunt Ethel in. There are some sculpted marble wings, Michelangelo torso and Leonardo legs, and a large modern fashion eye. Finished with gold metallic Krink marker dots and halo.

This is so much fun!

Exquisite Corpse 17 - Her illuminating epiphany immediately transfigured her dolorous life.

When doing an analog collage, you have a couple of choices. You can photocopy/Photoshop a picture to be the correct scale for what you want, or you can “play the hand you’ve been dealt” and use what you’ve got in the size it came in.

I’m a “play the hand you’ve been dealt” person.

Things being out of scale or being lit from multiple angles by impossible light sources never bothered me, but I was pleasantly surprised by having this sculpted collar and the painted face lit by a comparable source, thus leading me to the aforementioned epiphany.

The head is Michelangelo, something Sistine perhaps? I don’t recall who did the sculpted collar and cape. The lower body is the layout of some floor mosaics from Italy, which has this stuff everywhere. The halo is from the same cathedral floor. The hands and feet are from Glamour or InStyle or some modern fashion magazine.

What’s not to love about denim platform shoes? If I had some, my life would, indeed, be far less dolorous.

Exquisite Corpse 16 - Her improvised wings greatly broadened her meager opportunities.

Now that I’ve gone down the rabbit hole of cutting up my old art books, I really feel the creative juices flowing again. So I started putting together a series of fun little pieces in this long, thin format.

If you are of “a certain age,” you may remember Sally Field as The Flying Nun, which was a little bit of the inspiration behind this piece. I found a painting of a nun in an impossibly cumbersome robe that made her look like she’d been attacked by silk worms, and decided to liberate her.

The halo is Michelangelo, the arms Leonardo. The body is an Egyptian sculpture below which we find a Ralph Lauren belt, a fashion mag skirt bottom, eye and mouth, and some delightful brocade shoes. It’s finished off with a bit of marker and a gold metallic Krink paint pen.

Exquisite Corpse 15 - Her generous proportions never encumbered her ambitious viewpoint.

I don’t exactly know what happened, but somewhere along the way I kind of went off the rails and decided that I should cut up a bunch of art books, and then this happened.

I needed to get out of the rut of the little 12” squares I was doing. They had started feeling stuffy, and I wanted something a little lighter. I don’t exactly remember how I came to this, but I think it was around looking for some sculptures and it morphed into something entirely different.

I feel like I crossed a line here, but it did yield a fun piece.

The generously proportioned body is a ceramic piece, African I believe, to which I added some legs and hands and an eye from an InStyle magazine. The head is an old Dutch painting, I think, but it’s hard to parse these things out once you cut them out and remove them from their captions.

Which is kind of the point, I suppose.

The halo is a mosaic floor piece from some European cathedral. They have so many. And the leaves about her head are a drawing by Leonardo.

Not DiCaprio, silly.

Exquisite Corpse 14 - The unconventional mermaid secretly suspected a questionable ancestry.

I have often wondered through the years if maybe I had somehow been switched at birth. I think my real parents are living in a yurt in the Pacific Northwest carving gourds for a living while their upwardly mobile Republican daughter wonders how she got there.

Yeah, I tend to exaggerate, but it sure would sure explain a lot.

My boss’s boss’s boss loves mermaids, and I mentioned that I had a mermaid in my upcoming show so she’s really excited. I hope that doesn’t wane when she sees this piece. I’m pretty excited about the show, too, although I have a huge number of friends and coworkers who have no idea what I do in my off hours.

It’ll be a revelation, no doubt.

A quiddity is a peculiarity. That’s pretty much my world.

I’ve never been too good at conforming, which is fine for me but not so great for my parents and siblings who love an orderly, conforming world. Surely the pandemic would have disrupted that, but apparently not as everyone seems to have slipped back into their old ways.

I have a big solo show coming up at the North Carolina A&T State University galleries. It’s my first big solo show, and I’ve been working like a fiend every night after work and weekends for the past few months to get ready. I mentioned it vaguely to my older brother, who seems to like me despite my quiddities, but I’m unsure what to do about my mother and younger siblings.

My mother won’t come to see the show primarily because she is physically unable, and that’s certainly for the best. She would only be confused.

My younger siblings, however, are likely to be embarrassed on some level - pick a reason, any reason - so I’m unsure how to deal with them. I suppose the thing to do is invite them and in the same breath say they are under no obligation to come. That should absolve me of the faux pas of not inviting them while giving them an out to say they are busy for the next two months. This way we can remain on speaking terms, sort of, and they don’t have to be exposed to stuff that will doubtless make them uncomfortable.

Everyone else I know or have ever met for more than two seconds is invited, which includes you. I hope you will be there too.

This is the seventh piece in my Mixed Breed series. I enjoy doing these with all the different parts, because we all are just a mixture of backgrounds, and that’s cool.

The small private university where I work is all about diversity and wokeness, to the point where I’m always walking on eggshells for fear of using the wrong pronoun and being ostracized for it. I’m trying to avoid pronouns altogether now.

My coworkers complain that no one understands all their identities. I get that, but it is a bit of a mine field. I try hard to respect all the ways they show up. They think they’re perfectly respectful, but at the same time they all seem to think that since I’m a Boomer that I must surely have been at Woodstock.

I was 8 when Woodstock happened. And we couldn’t ALL have been there.

I don’t get my panties in a wad over the error. My identity just wishes these fellow persons would not get the undergarments that these fellow persons may or may not wear in a condensed form when my identity misuses zir or perself.

Goodness knows I’m trying.

I have no doubt Mother 7 is what my own mother envisioned for her life. Not the orange halves for breasts mind you, but the two prim and proper daughters.

Where did it all go wrong?

My mother was pregnant with me at the same time Jackie Kennedy was pregnant with John Jr. She once told me she had dreamed that one day I would marry him.

Wow. Dodged a bullet there, huh?

I’m sure I would never have made that happen even if I’d lived next door. but when your kids are just babies, I guess it could be easy to attach your own dreams to them. I tried ardently to not do that to my children.

A quick internet search let me see that there wasn’t a single famous person born the same year as my daughter that I would wish upon her. Actually, the list was mostly actors I’d never even heard of.

Goodness, I’m getting old.

I enjoy most types of vegetation, but growing up we didn’t have a great variety because we only ate the things my mother liked and cooked. Mom is not a big veggie eater and she’s 91, so you can’t really rag on her about it. She’s gonna do what she’s gonna do, and since she’s lived this long on about 8 different vegetables, you can’t reasonably argue with that.

Breast augmentation began in earnest in the 1970s. It was around before, though, albeit not very successfully. It’s safety is still in question, but that doesn’t stop people from getting them. I think in the end, you should do you and if augmentation is your thing, by all means go for it.

This piece is #12 in the Exquisite Corpse series. It includes ephemera from cookbooks and seed catalogs, vintage wallpapers, an old yearbook, linocut, colored pencils and acrylic.

Exquisite Corpse 11 - Her bounteous self-love woefully quashed her amorous prospects

I have a young friend who would just love to be in a relationship if only she could find someone who would love her the way she deserves to be loved.

If only.

I’m not sure where compromise went. My dear friend, no one will love you exactly the way you want them to, and besides, are you going to be able to reciprocate? Or is this a one way street?

I can feel that I’m getting weary of cheering and making a fuss over every little thing someone I know does. Yes, that’s great when you’re two and learning to do stuff that really matters like actually get the Cheerio into your mouth on your own, but as an adult, you should be able to adjust to the ups and downs of life without a mental health day, a grande mocha latte and five hours of aroma therapy each week.

Just sayin.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for a good dose of wellbeing and healthy self esteem. Just please don’t make me have to jump up and down and cheer endlessly for you. I’ve got my own stuff to do.

Pregnancy is far back in my rear view mirror, although there are aspects I remember quite clearly. Like nausea. I was nauseated for the entire 9 months or my pregnancy. I dry heaved all day most days. Just one part of so many things that made me tie my tubes a mere 6 weeks after my daughter’s birth.

I was always in awe of the women who stated that they never felt better or more vital than when they were pregnant. They ate what they wanted, they slept well at night, their husbands were loving and supportive and everyone was happy.

Totally not my experience.

Still, it’s great to know that that experience is still out there, and I want to celebrate the women that love being pregnant. Good on you!

Exquisite Corpse 9 - The frightful concussion nevertheless buoyed her dodgeball fantasy.

I work at a small private university. It’s a vastly different world from the college experience I endured. When I went to college, you simply put on your big girl panties and did the work or you went and got a job at the mall. Simple as that. Today’s students are coddled and cajoled to the point that a student actually called and asked me if she really had to take her finals since she didn’t really feel like it.

Uh… yes.

She concluded I was a moron that had no idea what I was talking about. Maybe so, but at some point isn’t it appropriate to expect a student to do the work required? But I digress.

One thing I have noticed that’s on a steeply upward trajectory is the number of concussions these students seem to have. At first I assumed that they were still learning to walk and text at the same time, which is part of it, but I think it’s become a thing for doctors to say that the slightest head boo-boo is a concussion in these cover-your-ass times.

I can’t blame the doctors, but it really messes with the students who then assume they should not have to attend class for the next month and usually end up taking a medical withdrawal for the semester because, once again, no work got done.

So I made this chaotic collage around the notion that a concussion can be a bit disorienting, which was my experience. Points for you if you see the dodgeball humor.

Exquisite Corpse 8 - Her recalcitrant attitude inevitably beget an unloved station.

That’s an awful lot of red eye shadow, don’t you think? I personally rarely wear makeup. It seems like a lot of effort without a lot of reward, and besides, I lack the visual acuity to actually apply it correctly, which is another great hinderance.

On the rare occasion that I so wear makeup, it’s usually limited to mascara and lip gloss with some vague tint to it. I apply the mascara, put on my glasses, try to clean up all the spots I got all over my face then I was trying to put it on, and in the end usually edit most of it away.

Too much stress for me.

I think the red eye shadow is part of her recalcitrant charm. I would likely have been so labeled in my childhood if anyone had known the word recalcitrant, although it wasn’t entirely true. I wasn’t uncooperative, but I did add an annoyingly artistic flair to whatever I did that drove my family crazy.

Life is so much more fun now.

I don’t exactly remember when I started wearing pants more than dresses. When I started school way back in the 1960s, little girls usually wore dresses, even the ones with the built in crinolines, but I’m guessing somewhere around 7th grade I got my first jeans and never looked back. They rode low and had the classic bell bottom flair that made me feel almost like I fit in. Only for fleeting moments, but it was better than most of my childhood up to that point so I went with it.

I can’t say that I ever felt more powerful when I wore pants, possibly because I have never felt powerful, but I can imagine some women did have that sense, especially women of my mother’s and grandmothers’ ages.

This collage features some moments from old paintings, vintage wallpapers, print made elements, an old yearbook, modern ephemera, colored pencil, paint pens, and assorted memories.

I am an omnivore, although I tend to go for the veggies and fish. Nowadays, however, I get kind of worried about what’s on that buffet line. I know it’s not organic. I know it’s a lot of leftover stuff that’s being recycled into some other thing, so I tend to pass.

I take my mother to church on Sundays because I need a good dose of criticism and regret from which I can recover for the remainder of the week. The pandemic has pretty much put an end to the church pot luck, that and the fact that most people don’t know how to cook anymore, but I do miss especially the congealed salads.

The 1950s, 60s, and 70s were all about the congealed salads, and everyone had a salad that was their signature. My mother’s signature salad consisted of lime Jello with cabbage and Colby cheese in it.

Criticism and regret incarnate.

My son walked in the door, looked at this piece, and immediately said “That’s me and my sister!”

He’s a genius.

This is our little family. It wasn’t always like this, all happy and neck deep in laundry, but it does follow our black/white/Jewish/Christian existence.

I enjoy being a mother. Not every day, because it’s hard work even though they are both in their 20s and pretty much cooked, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This piece employs a lot of ephemera, and is actually one of the few pieces I’ve done that doesn’t contain any linocut. The items were gathered from old McCall’s magazines, Playboy magazine, a book about aprons and another about flowers, and a book about child photography. Add some markers, colored pencil, graphite, and paint pens.

And memories.

I’m trying to push this series a bit now, so as you see things are a little more disjointed. But in a good way, right? And with peas. What’s not to like?

I was kind of thinking about how being a mother, particularly a single mother or one that gets little to no help from their spouse, is not always a joyful experience. It’s hard. Like uncooked peas.

Eyes open and ears attuned to make sure everyone survives into adulthood. And that they eat their peas.

Children always demanding your time and attention, and the challenge of finding the energy when you feel like you have nothing left to give. Should have eaten your peas.

Been there - done that - got the t-shirt. The one covered in pea purée.

Fortunately, that’s only part of the big picture of parenting small kids. Sooner or later they grow up, and you find yourself wishing for a few more family dinners where no one wants to eat their peas.

I recently had a friend take me to task over this one. What was I saying? What was I implying? They were concerned I was making some sort of political statement about a woman’s right to choose.

Not even. That had not even entered my mind when I created this piece. What had entered my mind was that sometimes your kids drive you crazy.

And sometimes your spouse sees big juicy burgers where your breasts would normally be. My ex never gave them even so much as a second glance, but I don’t really care. They get the proper amount of attention now.

When it comes to choice, my feeling is pretty simple. If you don’t want a woman to have an abortion, you need to make her an offer she can’t refuse. Are you willing to support her without judgement? Help her pay the bills? Take her beautiful child that might look nothing like you and raise that child as your own? Hmmm?

If you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

I’m finding this series on mothers and motherhood to be a lot of fun to do. Not only is it intriguing to explore the experiences of both having and being a mother, it’s also challenging to push that a bit more with each piece.

A fellow Instagramer declared it “creepy and good.” I love that sort of comment! My neighbor said it was triggering, but not in a good way. Also an interesting take.

This piece features a background of Christian commentary from the late 1700s written in German (why not, right?), an apron from a book on aprons, a couple of anthuriums from a book on flowers, and lots of bits from old McCalls Magazines from the 1950s and 1960s.

I noticed that there were a whole lot of ads for flatware in these old magazines. Odd. Since I know they weren’t throwing knives and forks away in take out pizza boxes since there was no take out pizza back then, I can only surmise this was a seasonal purchase or something very hotly marketed to women with little else going on in their lives than to mull over the current trends in cutlery. Either way, it’s fascinating to consider.