Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down

Almost three months into the baby adventure and I am definitely still developing parental sea legs. The ground possesses unreliable solidity at the same time it demands much more faith than I am used to giving out to anything or anyone; and then my scope eventually narrows down to our daughter's little face, either in repose, or delight, or a frightful wail. I know this shifting scope is good for me, and essential for the three of us; but a strange journey, even so.

A couple weeks ago, pain landed me in urgent care; after which I wasn't permitted to breast feed. This utterly confounded baby, who at one point licked the center of my chest before peering up at me intently. Why have you forgotten the rules?? More frequently, she slammed her forehead* against my shoulder, and shoved the bottle nipple around in her mouth before fitfully sucking on it. Meanwhile, the electric pump was giving me fits several times daily. Now, we are a few days past it and at an uneasy peace. Our former rhythm seems lost, but is hopefully only temporary.    

*hard! noggin!

This weekend's rain has been heavy enough to merit flash flood alerts; the backyard's a swamp, and water has snaked into the basement. Last night it was wonderful to fall asleep to, today a bit gloomier, though I looked out this afternoon just in time to see a rainbow moments before it shimmered away.

While I have yet to establish my new artwork groove, I have snuck in a bit of printmaking.

Here's the test print of Cakeasaurus, spying the cake-laden home of Quimby:

Pretty simple, not too much carving for the night scene, but I am pleased at its overall effect. I will do some "neatening" carving before I venture out to Maestra's studio to use her press, but it's 95% of the way there. I also pulled a handful of partial prints of the "floating" cake, for use in some woodblock cards. We'll see how those work with my current batch of decorative papers.

Also dropped off some more blank cards with Literati

Bookbound is also carrying a small selection of larger cards

Mammoth Baby: Attack!

Mammoth baby, silhouetted, lurches through the townscape, all the more dangerous for inconsistent muscle control. She startles: her arms shoot out and above, batting airplanes from the sky. The planes tailspin and nosedive; her fingers flutter, arms lower. Her gurgle poses a question, but one the townspeople have yet to decipher. Their answers are suggestions that go ignored. Mammoth baby peers around using her right eye while she gums a Fiat 500 meditatively, only to abandon it in favor of one juicy, dimpled hand. The smarter members of the populace seize the opportunity to flee to neighboring burbs. The escape attempt is shorter for some than for others, as low-riding cars stall out in pools of drool at freeway on-ramps. 

Those who remain witness classic infant magic at a grand scale: within moments, Mammoth Baby morphs between Gerber logo, Truman Capote, Chairman Mao, a kewpie doll, and Orson Welles. Baby scream-squeals, shaking the plate glass of storefronts, and vigorously shakes her head back and forth, sneering with full, drool-glossed lips. Her displeasure mounts like gathering storm clouds, until she is distracted by an inflated, beflagged elephant bobbing inexplicably by a thoroughfare. She woozily grasps the elephant's neck and wrenches it from its rope moorings, as the car dealership owner calculates another loss for the month.

She emits another squeal, this one heralding more pleasure; and with that she shrinks back to normal baby size. Ten pounds and counting, with "extremely impressive" neck muscles. People exclaim over her tiny-ness, but they do not realize she defies physics: she is denser, more substantial, than a being of her size ought to be. She has force. She sighs in her sleep, and then snores with the softest, tiniest wheeze; each exhalation sounds like a small, melancholy question mark.

On the Occasion of my First Mother's Day: Amnesia and Art Appreciation

Based on a one-house study, seven weeks of parenting marks brief periods of amnesia for both parenting partners:

• Early evening: I am sitting on the leather sofa (the material for which we have repeatedly congratulated each other on choosing, after bouts of milk spit up, less fortunate fluids, coffee spills), musing how nice it will be when Javier comes home in the evening. Possibly we will go to bed early! But whatever hour, it will be so nice to sleep the night next to him. Nice, indeed! Except that this picture currently defies reality with a newborn. I am holding a baby at the time these thoughts occur.
• Night: Javier comes into the bedroom where I am nursing. "Soooo, I was just deciding, 'I think I'll go to bed early,' but I had this strange feeling I was forgetting something. What, what, what could it be?" Javier has baby night shift.
• Afternoon: My esteemed sister has been here for a visit, developing strong Auntie muscles, and adding some flexibility and sanity to our lives by holding the baby for hour stretches. She exclaims, "She's SO sweet! SO. SWEET!" more frequently than we are capable of doing, since she lives far away and we live here. She IS so sweet, but we must alternate our bouts of enthusiasm with other reactions. In any case, due to Aunt presence, I am able to take a multiple hour nap. I think I will maybe jot a few notes down, or read a few more pages of The Winter People* ; my body vetoes that. "Falling asleep" is much closer to "passing out" than it used to be. I had very active, forgettable dreams, into which an aggressive sound eventually intruded. My brain muttered, "That's a baby~" as in: how *odd*. I had climbed pretty close to consciousness by the time I was able to make sense of this.    

*which is creeping me the hell out, btw. Also, I got it from Bookbound!... Finally checked them out, it's a lovely book store, when you're on the Plymouth Drive side of AA.

So, I expect we are typical new parents. Exhaustion battles with wonderment and frustration. We are learning the baby, who we of course think is potentially showing us how exceptional she is at any given moment. The baby's best friend is a mobile, silverware clinking against china should be banned, and all lights hold mesmerizing keys to the universe.

Baby in Communication with Favorite Painting 

(or super-strong, shiny magnets holding it up)

There's so much to tell you since yesterday!

The lights didn't know, so I've got a question for you.

Do you really think so? That's exactly the way I feel!

...Okay, so the post title was kind of a fake out. No real art talk. I'll try to be better about that -- to help the non-kid oriented avoid baby posts, and keep posts on creativity easy to find...

Gorgeous Weather + Sleeping Babies = Fine Weekend

A perfect Spring day in Michigan: warm enough to hint at the (inevitably short) Summer to come; perfect for those attending the U(niversity) of M(ichigan)'s commencement ceremony; perfect to avoid the snarled U of M traffic for the rest of us residents; perfect for driving down country roads in search of art open houses and friends who invite you to sit down to iced tea, while a cat slinks around the side wall and flops onto the heated asphalt of the driveway. The baby is off being doted on by her Dad, sister and grandparents; I am tempted to start an online series "Baby Asleep on People." I am also tempted to flop myself onto the grass in the backyard and not do a damn thing, but I will only be grumpy later if I do so, and really, the yard is probably closer to swamp than firm ground, with only a deceptive grass/weed covering.

So. I listed a few new Cakeasaurus prints in my Etsy shop and figured I'd re-share the introductory signs, since a long time has passed:

This is an inked woodblock from early in the tale, depicting how he stays below the radar:

How does Cakeasaurus best serve his dessert-thieving needs? By skirting around the edges…hiding in plain sight. This print is as close to “Where’s Waldo?” as a monstery story gets. Where, indeed! The bird is the holder of knowledge, as they often are. But who would he tell with his birdsong? And who would believe him? The townspeople, keen to apprehend the cake thief in their midst, rarely look to avian solutions. The same old conundrum: the one with key information has a credibility problem… Ahhh well, such is life.

"Crept quietly, quietly..." (for sale here) is a companion piece to “Cakeasaurus Roamed Under Cover of Night,” also found in the Cakeasaurus Lurking section of my Etsy shop.

   **********

Hopping forward slightly, this jaunty woodblock print follows on the heels of the chaos of “Cake Maelstrom” and the wreckage of “Nothing Was Left”. Here we have Cakeasaurus at his most buoyant: filled with his treat of choice, and triumphant in his thievery. Some even say he has jazz hands…

******

And Sunday even beats Saturday for the weather! Baby is fitfully snoozing in her swing in the living room, while residents throng the northwest corner of Ann Arbor for the annual Water Hill Music Fest -- anything from 10 y.o. violin players, ukelele bands, to jazz musicians who have played with the likes of Sarah Vaughn. Friends, tell me about it when we next meet! I aim to make it next year, along with many cool annual events that have occurred either during late pregnancy or early parenthood. 

Baby, the sights you will see! She did quite well at her first art opening on Friday evening (=slept, peppered with occasional mutterings, while people cooed over her); and the Yourist Gallery Drink (c)Up exhibit is small but well worth checking out. Today's mutterings are getting louder, so that spells the end of this post.

Till next time, a block I just transferred for carving -- nearing a pivotal confrontation between boy and monster:

Happy Sunday and have a great week, Everyone!