tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69617032948494226182024-02-20T08:21:17.005-05:00Bohemian Artist: Painting & Thoughtart & thought for the mind Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-77650651899389605932023-01-13T14:49:00.004-05:002023-01-14T11:01:36.231-05:00France: An Artist's Dream<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DVt7U_5iiKROQ-O4Pw2wh7rrSwMqt6z-v4gZVg-DLklZsUiJIBzXqz0II-PM900_1keLSVjGoO6n_FKslvAqjkzxgqff04gEK8q-p0Kx1WKfYmZPI34cGoSWn9-PaKZ4eRjwXJvGJB_ktp1xjvrAOCkuJHndt7efV3pGC9KCCsuEfPtusktOwXNx/s3913/PXL_20220927_070500504~2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3913" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3DVt7U_5iiKROQ-O4Pw2wh7rrSwMqt6z-v4gZVg-DLklZsUiJIBzXqz0II-PM900_1keLSVjGoO6n_FKslvAqjkzxgqff04gEK8q-p0Kx1WKfYmZPI34cGoSWn9-PaKZ4eRjwXJvGJB_ktp1xjvrAOCkuJHndt7efV3pGC9KCCsuEfPtusktOwXNx/s320/PXL_20220927_070500504~2.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Once again, I've been slow at posting...winter makes me feel like I'm just swimming in molasses. Preferably <i>warm</i> molasses, not cold. The more I want to get something done, the longer it takes! </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Today's promise of snow on the wind led me to pull up a few pictures of last fall's trip to France, which my friend Donna made possible. It was everything and more than I could have dreamed! </span></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I'd live there in a heartbeat. The way the French live, eat, drink, and enjoy the day...ahhhhh. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9LVkIjxsgyxOR6NOa6IpVq8LyhgThr_hepdZvCoc2N7a3Aq4iEPM6sxZvr74zUoJgaRFn8rIy6tY3JucrFDug3LF3P-jUhxHqL-f0l_wMfnWac_bl22YZVZNZe0Y91LPzl97VW4MHAEC0AxUUnuXuj5JXjkz2WlU4KoGlWOs6-vwhXCwtbp0JwfA/s3020/PXL_20220928_093347438~3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2787" data-original-width="3020" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA9LVkIjxsgyxOR6NOa6IpVq8LyhgThr_hepdZvCoc2N7a3Aq4iEPM6sxZvr74zUoJgaRFn8rIy6tY3JucrFDug3LF3P-jUhxHqL-f0l_wMfnWac_bl22YZVZNZe0Y91LPzl97VW4MHAEC0AxUUnuXuj5JXjkz2WlU4KoGlWOs6-vwhXCwtbp0JwfA/s320/PXL_20220928_093347438~3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczQd_ZN3Z_FKr-C31fNK6rZKzn6fUUobCCTVsC5i8rsbv7fSEMprzzQbK7AdIEy-ubo0GD0Gr7ymclnYdY-WQM-0vmU1rHbyQWqZdEn6JNdV3r0RgSX-m1t6J2YbF2Rb4nzlRCU3cxVUa239gg_ksmoGa1Czt2WKlnoWjg-8KCHncUxi7_leGZvj6/s4032/PXL_20221002_101317043.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjczQd_ZN3Z_FKr-C31fNK6rZKzn6fUUobCCTVsC5i8rsbv7fSEMprzzQbK7AdIEy-ubo0GD0Gr7ymclnYdY-WQM-0vmU1rHbyQWqZdEn6JNdV3r0RgSX-m1t6J2YbF2Rb4nzlRCU3cxVUa239gg_ksmoGa1Czt2WKlnoWjg-8KCHncUxi7_leGZvj6/s320/PXL_20221002_101317043.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /> Since returning home, although France did its best to keep me, and I agreed, I have painted the memory of looking out over Provence toward Italy; worked steadily on a memoir of the trip and all that happened to and fro, the nightmare travel mishaps with the deliciousness sandwiched in between! Definitely sticking a few travel tips in there as I type away. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbe8nbpA3Txo3kfQP-0R92ob0kz-fG2m-vmvvRDG8VJw34aPHEL-yyBSH-GKaHoCysqd7dYp-g-BF8nfIG_bhhy7SStNwIb2jnagVRgmpNijdNMa4oE-7E7qL6SMQVqhIeHNfrnQdh_aPOdo_fgFYr-Droy7q2FaNw3TV7g-vpfi0828sGm-j9BJm/s4032/PXL_20221126_135057322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbe8nbpA3Txo3kfQP-0R92ob0kz-fG2m-vmvvRDG8VJw34aPHEL-yyBSH-GKaHoCysqd7dYp-g-BF8nfIG_bhhy7SStNwIb2jnagVRgmpNijdNMa4oE-7E7qL6SMQVqhIeHNfrnQdh_aPOdo_fgFYr-Droy7q2FaNw3TV7g-vpfi0828sGm-j9BJm/s320/PXL_20221126_135057322.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjM7slpTiLD5wMwvUn1OBG0MYiZ9Uyu5fiXdSQh0vQrMxSBSNUz4WuXyFCd252CioFcniT6buAUwh44mlM5a2i4HiFjM_IYj572J3sEZaEsNASNxmWqI6t8Fc7hpc81RHXN9syUaIMDCQQrkPsmuPPrrye0YWITiOlpHyTOSL8CgB2qyj1ySUwg7y/s4032/PXL_20221119_181456553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMjM7slpTiLD5wMwvUn1OBG0MYiZ9Uyu5fiXdSQh0vQrMxSBSNUz4WuXyFCd252CioFcniT6buAUwh44mlM5a2i4HiFjM_IYj572J3sEZaEsNASNxmWqI6t8Fc7hpc81RHXN9syUaIMDCQQrkPsmuPPrrye0YWITiOlpHyTOSL8CgB2qyj1ySUwg7y/s320/PXL_20221119_181456553.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-85157167003728661272022-03-23T12:22:00.002-04:002022-03-24T16:07:29.509-04:00Spring <p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eoFZ-fPTsrdiQLRwmf3k0iuXt3USY760e-BapNg663_4rN63tJ5qDbYKJ-G73ePTmqBeno6GZCfuoeVH9NYe9PKOvwZxkwiCY042S6r-60ZgS43CO3liGQcyXrp_XzjGr1PwC_Rkn0jc0y_nWf1QPOPuqwjbMrDYPSiNr7eqgyTaC5Ii-UI5U7me/s2575/PXL_20220313_211854079.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2575" data-original-width="2567" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2eoFZ-fPTsrdiQLRwmf3k0iuXt3USY760e-BapNg663_4rN63tJ5qDbYKJ-G73ePTmqBeno6GZCfuoeVH9NYe9PKOvwZxkwiCY042S6r-60ZgS43CO3liGQcyXrp_XzjGr1PwC_Rkn0jc0y_nWf1QPOPuqwjbMrDYPSiNr7eqgyTaC5Ii-UI5U7me/w638-h640/PXL_20220313_211854079.jpg" width="638" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTk08GgJzvW8i9aEv5dreLFxJPHfVjI2y9g1iu4QYf00Lh2iE63rynBnq7WrBcqVhwdoVTl8jEuULiQkSyLKX8171TvyD873X94AwGRsnfiOwVN2-c-6-1XIai_t_lmYZT1SdDmOqazr3KkXCYej2yC-188fsfK75dHI46ioObuIGwswz2UZEzx0Y5/s2130/PXL_20220313_212057182.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2107" data-original-width="2130" height="634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTk08GgJzvW8i9aEv5dreLFxJPHfVjI2y9g1iu4QYf00Lh2iE63rynBnq7WrBcqVhwdoVTl8jEuULiQkSyLKX8171TvyD873X94AwGRsnfiOwVN2-c-6-1XIai_t_lmYZT1SdDmOqazr3KkXCYej2yC-188fsfK75dHI46ioObuIGwswz2UZEzx0Y5/w640-h634/PXL_20220313_212057182.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjrFAU9WQ9LnXelkTuyMMbHV4WFJPVm7Ik7Mo9a4wgo9VIsAby7bPqUCg5gZCBvPLf82aIlG9CvtnlrstKagOHVeENB0v3nbn7W6_5WH__YhWydhgFwmeDHDK1EjyGROT51MsVlgUU7_HQ2tKMU6I4yjrwrsSBNYGeRVWUOsNJ3g21Ny3n3GA0xpB/s4032/PXL_20220103_194440898.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAjrFAU9WQ9LnXelkTuyMMbHV4WFJPVm7Ik7Mo9a4wgo9VIsAby7bPqUCg5gZCBvPLf82aIlG9CvtnlrstKagOHVeENB0v3nbn7W6_5WH__YhWydhgFwmeDHDK1EjyGROT51MsVlgUU7_HQ2tKMU6I4yjrwrsSBNYGeRVWUOsNJ3g21Ny3n3GA0xpB/s320/PXL_20220103_194440898.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPghKAF09JTye7RfxDk2Q60vSuiJDwG965YWxkWNwGyw8z3059vadu0QOba1hUhKuPq94bUHQT1MXcWLD7J0OcTaE6bby2T_C61duXIOmkyGg3oyYNbkJ7f-n_OBsue9o_KO019D11lepdemAraNjj-42BAMGUEffutgj40RL5IfjsKxNa9adPV2k7/s4032/PXL_20220313_211517169.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPghKAF09JTye7RfxDk2Q60vSuiJDwG965YWxkWNwGyw8z3059vadu0QOba1hUhKuPq94bUHQT1MXcWLD7J0OcTaE6bby2T_C61duXIOmkyGg3oyYNbkJ7f-n_OBsue9o_KO019D11lepdemAraNjj-42BAMGUEffutgj40RL5IfjsKxNa9adPV2k7/w200-h150/PXL_20220313_211517169.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Spring, spring....how grateful I am to see one more unfurling of tender green, pink blossoms, blue wing. These days, that's something not taken for granted. Above, I've put two of my newest paintings (of spring, what else?!) just finished. There's a piece of art glass that inspires me, and a small photo of one painting in progress in the kitchen area. I managed to knock off the sugar bowl along with a few other things as I struggled to find space to paint. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">There are days I miss my old house with all the room inside and out to fling paint and work! However, life teaches us to either cope and do the best we can until something else happens, or just give up. <br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">A weekend of snow showers and bitter cold didn't stop me, perhaps slowed me down a bit, but the promise of spring kept the paint brushes going. In making work, there's hope and salvation...even in the most difficult of times. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I've been outside working on garden projects, even with a for sale sign on the current place I live. Nothing is for certain, that's the one thing that IS for certain. But....in grounding self with life-long things that bring balm to the soul (art, writing, reading, gardening, thinking, friends, cooking, etc.) there is solace found amid the chaos. </span><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><br />Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-52001969921297753412021-07-22T22:25:00.002-04:002022-03-24T16:07:54.055-04:00July...July....<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R4JGCFTwLuPcPE7EnnJhsALkl73pFhSEjHDboHhhmno6GnZqNBg4xu5n_55m0mvUgLiw5iITu5-pYSXrXNIIXacwfJ5wNXlImKVZbk_RBqdARYHcYOb9ZehgPQAywqlLOY-Ch5zny_U/s2362/PXL_20210518_130757341.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2362" data-original-width="2357" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R4JGCFTwLuPcPE7EnnJhsALkl73pFhSEjHDboHhhmno6GnZqNBg4xu5n_55m0mvUgLiw5iITu5-pYSXrXNIIXacwfJ5wNXlImKVZbk_RBqdARYHcYOb9ZehgPQAywqlLOY-Ch5zny_U/w399-h400/PXL_20210518_130757341.jpg" width="399" /></a></div><br />It's been a year since I made a blog post, so here we are...again. In time, maybe the world will be half-way back to normal after a global pandemic, upheaval, climate change, and so on....but I'm not sure anything has ever been 'normal'. Hopefully, there's been some waking up going on...about how others are treated, about doing the right thing for ourselves, others, and this fragile planet we live on. For this past year, I've continued working on making a garden, where there was not one. Now that's not been an easy task...but has become an art project and labor of love. A garden says that something in the world will bloom on, endure. Folks pass by and notice with delight. Some don't look, but more and more do. There's hope. <p></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-6ZHmddeG2646vC6AHj3SmK4i2kAOIAoOMv0MBvDMMH75hNrokZUmTSZxt5CBDQMHA4_mZQCwa46GkjEEuWOSB3KBNPOtxkFjMR7kwaVqcWKxa7zDZGuDLvTt9VsVCQobKq9QrwS0so/s2034/PXL_20210630_185123777.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1836" data-original-width="2034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-6ZHmddeG2646vC6AHj3SmK4i2kAOIAoOMv0MBvDMMH75hNrokZUmTSZxt5CBDQMHA4_mZQCwa46GkjEEuWOSB3KBNPOtxkFjMR7kwaVqcWKxa7zDZGuDLvTt9VsVCQobKq9QrwS0so/s320/PXL_20210630_185123777.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcqfg7F2IFpAua8j_RIwm8y-9eCuxlbSkO8g0vUYPZrqw1UtWO2ODcrUQ-NqRP5282c7OMUAkcU7re5RLflrsn0-G2K_Qw4HICBbCD2uhTPXapo_LXti7vW3DIejjutS2KEjqNs_F9K0/s2763/PXL_20210207_195519123.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2292" data-original-width="2763" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcqfg7F2IFpAua8j_RIwm8y-9eCuxlbSkO8g0vUYPZrqw1UtWO2ODcrUQ-NqRP5282c7OMUAkcU7re5RLflrsn0-G2K_Qw4HICBbCD2uhTPXapo_LXti7vW3DIejjutS2KEjqNs_F9K0/w640-h530/PXL_20210207_195519123.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Today I picked up a few paints for a small project, painted....then headed outside to the compost bin--picking a few tomatoes, fresh basil and parsley, greens, yellow sun-filled flowers on the way back. There was a visit to the goldfish pond where a lily blooms; a stop at the bog garden. Inside, I chopped cilantro, parsley, basil, tomatoes and avocado, with a squeeze of zesty lime juice, a sprinkle of ground pepper and sea salt. A bit of this, a bit of that. Intuitive motions for an easy supper later on. That's art. A little bit of this, of that, mixing until it's just right. A knowing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxhETQ_qei_rQuQzcnWfYvhry0fBu2_XiHIieUcVij65I8f8orNUbf_by2DVCa3lU7ouHXepSrIS143T0vSR09-dLC_l_X0_M7Ws69dAhuCUFqbR_Pxu3H02Y2_w2zitQMbAkYW7KDkg/s4032/PXL_20210505_212940955.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxhETQ_qei_rQuQzcnWfYvhry0fBu2_XiHIieUcVij65I8f8orNUbf_by2DVCa3lU7ouHXepSrIS143T0vSR09-dLC_l_X0_M7Ws69dAhuCUFqbR_Pxu3H02Y2_w2zitQMbAkYW7KDkg/w400-h300/PXL_20210505_212940955.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>These are things we learn along life--when something's right. Or not. It takes time, patience, and willingness to make mistakes. That's OK. At some point, it all converges into what works. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-91406470465951083532020-07-26T15:20:00.001-04:002020-07-28T12:42:36.286-04:00Summer Window<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You can call me a lazy blogger these days...it's been since winter that I last wrote a post here. Times of Corona, perhaps. Or perhaps it's times of floating out there on a ship at sea, watching for dry land, yet hoping the ship just keeps going to an island named Garden of Eden. No crazy news, just peaceful breeze, gentle days, a pile of good books....art, music, food.<br />
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I've been painting, gardening, reading, cooking....which is nothing new around here: just lots more of it. The stay at home months haven't been that bad, other than the knowledge the world will not be the same: art and galleries, like many other things, have taken a beating. So does an artist quit making art? Of course not. We just pick up the brush, the pen, the guitar, the tools of our labor and deal. We go on. As with a garden, art is hope.<br />
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I painted "Summer Window" with the thoughts of looking in (or out) the window of thought: to floating lush images, abstracted in the mystery of Nature. You'll see where I set up the old wood easel outside in the courtyard area I created all spring. Why, I even dug out a small fish pond! Plus a frog pond in the front yard area. And planted, pruned, planted, dug, planted, dug. Putting in a garden IS art. As long as I do something creative, I can get by. Everything changes, but that doesn't.<br />
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This morning, I packed the car with paintings, and drove down the mountain to Tryon Painters & Sculptors in their beautiful gallery: which has re-opened with safe social-distancing and cleaning. There was Grace and Kam, ready to help me: and behind our face masks, we all were smiling to see one another again. The show will open early August and run til September. It felt good to load paintings, haul, and know art goes on. Yes it does!<br />
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<br />Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-66179766086999461232020-02-01T12:51:00.000-05:002020-02-01T13:20:34.860-05:00Art & Life<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“For life is the best thing we have in this existence. And if we
should desire to believe in something, it should be a beacon within.
This beacon being the sun, sea, and sky, our children, our work, our
companions and, most simply put, the embodiment of love.” </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> ~ <span class="authorOrTitle">
Patti Smith</span></span></i></div>
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> (painting: Bonnie Joy Bardos, oil, 36" x 48")</span></span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Finally, finally. A new blog post for the New Year, even if it's now the first of February. Some of us just roll a bit slower in winter (anything for an excuse, right?). Snow came yesterday, large flakes drifting quickly to earth, covering all in a blanket of white. Pine branches glisten, sky a gray pearl.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Today, most of the icing melted away. A little bit here, there, lacing white through dark leaves.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">A blue French pot bubbles with soup on the old stove.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">A pile of books rests close by, a wood bowl of white shells gleams.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">A little Norfolk Island pine I saved from glitter and a lonely grocery store shelf spreads dark-green feathery branches. I swear it's stretching in gratitude.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Wind chimes sing, clear of note and sweet.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Birds flit, a hawk rises high overhead.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Inside, an oil painting dries slowly. Everything is slower in winter. Even paint drying. </span></i><br />
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<i><span class="authorOrTitle">Life goes on, a new decade ahead. Time ticks, for it is the one thing that isn't slower in winter. </span></i><br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-47185516993244240502019-12-07T17:02:00.001-05:002019-12-08T12:31:53.543-05:00Changes Along The Road of Life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a while since my last blog post--let's face it, maybe the months of heaving, schlepping and cleaning took a toll. Well, to be honest, it has! Selling a long-time home is NOT easy, especially if you have to divest yourself of many belongings in order to fit into another smaller spot. It's akin to stuffing a watermelon in a bag meant for a grape, perhaps! <br />
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Getting rid of 'stuff' is not a bad thing. Just overwhelming. Symbolic of life, these sortings and siftings. I've let go many things. The house has been relisted, and I'm hopeful someone who loves old houses with a past will find it. Surely not <i>everyone</i> wants new, shiny, perfect? It's worse than a dating site if you ask me. These days I'd rather scroll through the animal rescue sites. Mercy, I miss my River Dog. Driving last month to Florida in the coastal rain, I found my own self raining, thinking about him in the passenger seat on past trips.<br />
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There's something comforting about a warm furry snout pointed toward the lone highways ahead. Yes, I need another dog. One of these days. Right now, I continue to work on adjusting to life in new digs--sort of a period of limbo and change this year. Losing River was the toughest thing; and two best friends died. I'd loved them both as long as I'd loved the old house, which has been a friend too. Things change, we face loss. In that, we keep on going, finding our way on different paths. <br />
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Finding space to create has been tough, but I rolled-pushed-shoved a balking cart of oil paints and supplies out to the front porch this week on a sunny day. Let me tell you, it's work...there's a bit more involved than just rolling a cumbersome balky cart. Set up French easel. You do NOT want to see a right-brained artist setting up a French easel with 20000000 parts and screws. Then...rags and paper towels. Hunting more paint from packed boxes. Well, here's one of the paintings from that afternoon (above). I'm trying. I'm trying.<br />
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Florida fed my spirit. Just getting away for a while helps.<br />
After walking the beach, searching for shells and a few answers, I got up one dark morning before dawn, skipped morning coffee and headed out to the sea. Waiting on the sand was a damp dollar bill. Then brilliant red, scarlet, and every shade of glorious you could ever imagine sweeping up over the ocean. Maybe there were a few answers in that solitary walk. Thank you, thank you, universe.<br />
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It was hard to leave sunshine in Fernandina Beach, driving back to rain and chill. I returned with resolve to keep painting, to be kinder, to do better on making ends meet. I changed hair color. Looked at more rescue sites. And a dating site. The rescue site seemed a safer bet.<br />
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<br />Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-19995169162785987862019-08-22T16:35:00.000-04:002019-08-26T11:26:46.279-04:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouorSwgez7iXF7qaZRI-Vjhgr14RWj3ZFtSfkFqqE6TPJcPrA5RVw3okNo2MWfQsMR2W1UCEBk1m6j51n2whD64pgkAAfH1nVB7ibZG-Wspk2IcVrSsbswkMlhp7BJjusFJtFxsyZMEc/s1600/IMG_20190727_101141.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1471" data-original-width="1600" height="587" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjouorSwgez7iXF7qaZRI-Vjhgr14RWj3ZFtSfkFqqE6TPJcPrA5RVw3okNo2MWfQsMR2W1UCEBk1m6j51n2whD64pgkAAfH1nVB7ibZG-Wspk2IcVrSsbswkMlhp7BJjusFJtFxsyZMEc/s640/IMG_20190727_101141.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Petals float: pink bowl filled with joy</i></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Every day do something that won't compute....Give your approval to all you cannot understand ....Ask the questions which have no answers.
Put your faith in two inches of humus that will
build under the trees every thousand years.....
Laugh. Be joyful though you have considered all
the facts....Practice resurrection." ~ Wendell Berry (Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Practice resurrection, laugh, be joyful Wendell Berry says. I've been a bit remiss over posting to this blog over the past few months. My excuses are thin, but my heart is full, sad, torn. Over that time, my house came under contract. Which involved sorting/sifting/boxing/giving/selling stuff. More stuff. One person doing all that wears on the bones. And my River died, the first of July. He was my constant star, companion, one-eyed guard dog and best friend. </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Oh, the excuses are thin....but here I am again. The contract fell through last week. River rests out in the front garden where sun and birds keep him company. Sort and sift continues, a little slower this week without a looming deadline of moving out. I read May Sarton, Lisa See books, spend extra time with friends. It's comforting. Life changes, goes on. Practice resurrection. </i></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2019 Bring Us Your Best Exhibit</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goddess winged torso with paint brushes and painting</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“...Wish for nothing larger</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Than your own small heart</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or greater than a star;</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tame wild disappointment</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With caress unmoved and cold.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Make of it a parka</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For your soul.</span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 6pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Discover the reason why</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So tiny human midget</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Exists at all</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So scared unwise.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But expect nothing. Live frugally</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #00000a; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On surprise.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> ~ Alice Walker, excerpt from “Expect Nothing”</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lavender-peach sunsets paint Saluda evenings as trickles of summer folk talk on old-house porches, kids playing, cricket songs floating over the seven hills of town. Creeks sing over smooth rocks, yellow-papery leaves float to earth, time slows like golden honey. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A ghost of overall-clad old-timer with red cotton bandanna and pocket knife, a sweating-cold green bottle of Coke in hand, sits on Main Street benches outside Thompson’s, wondering where the train whistle blows long and lonesome up the Grade once again. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On sultry August afternoons, my nose longs to be stuck in a good book...which serves to restore the spirit under ceiling fan breezes. The hard dusty work at boxing and sorting needs a break time, although the deadline of late August disappeared in a POUF! when the house contract suddenly fell through last week. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Am I upset? No. Could be worse. Life 101, Murphy’s Law always kicks in. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All I could think was that it’d be OK. I got a lot cleaned up (pat on back), although I was wee bit disappointed not to be picking out a low-mileage used Prius for road trips, renewing passport, or paying for a (hopefully far-away) “pre-need” green burial. Those are things I had lined up to do once the house closed. Such for those best laid plans of mice and men. We know that one, Dear Reader!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #202020; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Me, I just get back up on the horse—back in the saddle again, relist the house a little longer before winter and I become at odds with one another, figure I have a reprieve for porch swinging, picking garden flowers, and taking a little longer to weed through more stuff, living frugally on surprise, expecting nothing, wishing upon small stars. (Bonnie Bardos, Tryon Daily Bulletin, 8/2019)</span></span></span></div>
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-47396910492496031232019-06-10T20:20:00.000-04:002019-06-10T20:30:14.587-04:00The Month of June & Butterflies<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.” ~ Pablo Neruda</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2o1B_XpS5tFUcsKvHXQtyp2h4OOqlf_pMryXDEUAPeXfdBuBqc6abbyrNIpVCwwlkIBmw2_b6ClrVLkju15d0_4yvBxNpiSnMvKoQV6py57qD0Wu36hBulvWcXf9AdiLPqXmQYnTYeYM/s1600/IMG_20190609_135955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1600" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2o1B_XpS5tFUcsKvHXQtyp2h4OOqlf_pMryXDEUAPeXfdBuBqc6abbyrNIpVCwwlkIBmw2_b6ClrVLkju15d0_4yvBxNpiSnMvKoQV6py57qD0Wu36hBulvWcXf9AdiLPqXmQYnTYeYM/s640/IMG_20190609_135955.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here it is the month of June, and I wonder where o where this year has
fleeted to already. I've been remiss on blog posts, that's for certain. The older one gets, the faster time flies. When I
was 8, time never went fast enough! It remains the most precious gift we
have, if we only stop and think about it. For an artist, time often
melds into <i>'no time'</i>, a timelessness to the day, a zone where hours
don't count, only the act of creation. Sometimes I've been working on a
project, and almost shake myself awake from that 'zone'...coming back to
this world from the other. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX620rcPPsJtx7_peeRH8Xan3Ptil646_YDrWEQsPaWqkbUiuhgHeucH4S8NUS6rojzjwiPaCprr6wATItmZR9BPcocAwAth6wQjJjqrmq7Ho_-GosU-4sIdRKxESPp15KNIjY2UTHbS4/s1600/IMG_20190607_183811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX620rcPPsJtx7_peeRH8Xan3Ptil646_YDrWEQsPaWqkbUiuhgHeucH4S8NUS6rojzjwiPaCprr6wATItmZR9BPcocAwAth6wQjJjqrmq7Ho_-GosU-4sIdRKxESPp15KNIjY2UTHbS4/s320/IMG_20190607_183811.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The front porch swing and wicker chairs filled with deliciously fat comfy cushions are favorite spots to sip morning coffee, even on rainy days. The past week has been soaking wet, so it's hard to get in painting mode when rain lashes windows, pours from gutters, and all is dark. Summer's like that.<br />
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I stick my nose in a book every afternoon: "The Untethered Soul" by Michael Singer made delving deep into the soul and thought on order. Then Elizabeth Berg's book on George Sand's life is halfway read. Reading and art hold hands in this life: those feed our spirits. Wicker chairs, dogs, books--and sometimes a really good doughnut make things brighten. Rain or not.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOHVMMbxkUgM_ziM-PHOjahjFxtQRtus9jdRZGot2kkQUyHsMPI61i6ysU7JFsXibqsd8M22ZAe2TPQzfbdJrAx5i5Mhax5VKSY9YLb6wdTdHX2l1lvodayxmX71_N8b7X8lZN5lIgq4/s1600/IMG_20180826_133000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1462" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOHVMMbxkUgM_ziM-PHOjahjFxtQRtus9jdRZGot2kkQUyHsMPI61i6ysU7JFsXibqsd8M22ZAe2TPQzfbdJrAx5i5Mhax5VKSY9YLb6wdTdHX2l1lvodayxmX71_N8b7X8lZN5lIgq4/s640/IMG_20180826_133000.jpg" width="584" /></a></div>
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The old Subaru beater came home finally after months of not running. The realtor's 'for sale' sign still is planted out front of the house. Roses and daylilies bloom in the garden. The graceful pond fish love the rain: dancing up to the surface, bright orange ribbons unfurling from shadowed green. Pink lemonade honeysuckle twines over porch rains and hydrangeas. Cicadas sing. Changes always come. I just observe it all: grateful to have a pink porch swing, clean cotton sheets, River Dog, a cup of coffee and a lot of paint. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_kW97ObmRTVGSdyO07gQiTnacMnrrLzQSW5pdI-2gswXNVJ8RLd1LV3icNvfw1kG_XJ4SiuD9deoAlIZPuzOpwgiCV5Fgysh__XVrohlP66a2M9p_xrNwf-WS8ZjciCrYuHu1rSzdX4/s1600/IMG_20190322_181444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_kW97ObmRTVGSdyO07gQiTnacMnrrLzQSW5pdI-2gswXNVJ8RLd1LV3icNvfw1kG_XJ4SiuD9deoAlIZPuzOpwgiCV5Fgysh__XVrohlP66a2M9p_xrNwf-WS8ZjciCrYuHu1rSzdX4/s320/IMG_20190322_181444.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2oJhGVArtouYjqGEg21QREC0fLup8VXjvgsnScviX7pXJqJ2b4Ca98zPzunpS_Za6_7SnNzfVV91chdUMvI_rDpJxZM51Rt-ElOVFecAAZ2vJEYQCcJm7fvuLrOXMaHlYbe-FaClIB0/s1600/IMG_20190322_181509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil2oJhGVArtouYjqGEg21QREC0fLup8VXjvgsnScviX7pXJqJ2b4Ca98zPzunpS_Za6_7SnNzfVV91chdUMvI_rDpJxZM51Rt-ElOVFecAAZ2vJEYQCcJm7fvuLrOXMaHlYbe-FaClIB0/s320/IMG_20190322_181509.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
These photos are from a workshop I gave at Upstairs Artspace: to encourage<br />
women to paint, make art, and have FUN without copying a painting. Everyone did their own thing and had a ball! The flowers and bright things came from my place, as encouragement to MAKE ART!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">When you buy art from a living artist, you keep that artist living
and surviving! Another thing that helps raise those much-needed pennies
is to click those pesky ads on this blog--every few cents adds up over time. Thank you!) </span></i>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-46920062285197656682019-02-23T17:12:00.000-05:002019-05-17T07:25:37.459-04:00Bonnie's World<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCndUDQIH3NVb369048-ROkJV8o62rqK0haXmi7UJ881DuVbr8VbwqvFO6tHPt2LzKp0wrG00oHpJ-RvmB6Ql8ZJRCyUA98BxdgbJlLB7T2AfMdUeFaqxuGXjgcfEtkMRP1bF6NRS5Wvc/s1600/journeyhome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1359" data-original-width="1600" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCndUDQIH3NVb369048-ROkJV8o62rqK0haXmi7UJ881DuVbr8VbwqvFO6tHPt2LzKp0wrG00oHpJ-RvmB6Ql8ZJRCyUA98BxdgbJlLB7T2AfMdUeFaqxuGXjgcfEtkMRP1bF6NRS5Wvc/s640/journeyhome.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>(Painting detail: "Journey Home", Bonnie Joy Bardos, 36" x 48" sold ) </i></div>
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<i>"The great lesson from the true mystics is that the sacred<br />
is in the ordinary, that it is to be found in one's daily life,<br />
in one's neighbors, friends, and family, in one's backyard." </i></div>
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<i>~ Abraham H. Maslow</i></div>
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<i><a href="https://issuu.com/tryondailybulletin/docs/liof_feb2019-final_2?fbclid=IwAR2HQpTH18zhC1g-UK2IW5AeM7hqVzbfZy0dYH_wtZmWp0cM84nOy-mbQPc">Bonnie's World: Life In Our Foothills Magazine</a> </i></div>
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-kBlIhtpxPRSZriVrwPLnrC-44curnaoi-lj3o3FfGMvrml-lfs4CIcEP_zK5LhwzoaMrgSdfkdT8cB5MOOE98chFn_nTHUt_ZPe5RFzacHbzco3XBvEebMuv-xE-npgS8FBY82s3Zk/s1600/IMG_20190214_130146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1231" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-kBlIhtpxPRSZriVrwPLnrC-44curnaoi-lj3o3FfGMvrml-lfs4CIcEP_zK5LhwzoaMrgSdfkdT8cB5MOOE98chFn_nTHUt_ZPe5RFzacHbzco3XBvEebMuv-xE-npgS8FBY82s3Zk/s640/IMG_20190214_130146.jpg" width="492" /></a></i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIXhuLO-mmk32D8LQOQxm4bVhGxrgIAnVA9zKPVejGTmRI3aoeOnjc2cRg1WB16l4S981olkk99mgEPh3RPdpwlY5IZBDjro9Oawv8ohGW4mpkKy-5MWsHi0ZMtCyk1HGaubwbfFFpck/s1600/Bonnie+Bardos_2021-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIXhuLO-mmk32D8LQOQxm4bVhGxrgIAnVA9zKPVejGTmRI3aoeOnjc2cRg1WB16l4S981olkk99mgEPh3RPdpwlY5IZBDjro9Oawv8ohGW4mpkKy-5MWsHi0ZMtCyk1HGaubwbfFFpck/s640/Bonnie+Bardos_2021-1.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: small;"> <i>Bonnie & River</i></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: Mark Levin, photographer for Tryon Daily Bulletin, Life In Our Foothills)</td></tr>
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<i>It's getting toward the end of February, and I'm slow at getting this blog updated, so here it is, finally. Of course, there are excuses...don't you hate those? However, I do have some fairly credible ones. As usual, winter is a hard time for the art life and just surviving cold, winter bills, and the whole nine yards. I just had hand surgery (and lived to tell about it!)....after nine months of 24/7 pain. After a De Quervain's disease diagnosis back in June, I went to an orthopedic doctor for a shot and further help. That didn't last long-- finally it just was unbearable...whatever was going on. </i><br />
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<i>Naturally, a vivid imagination doesn't stop at the canvas or written word. I pictured having to paint and sculpt with different means than hands. Others have done it. Over the months, I could do less and less, although I still painted (I call those the one-handed marvels), typed, and hauled art to shows. Creating sculpture pieces was much harder, so that fell by the wayside over fall and winter. To make a long story short, the hand surgery was last week, and I'm hoping for good recovery: maybe no more hauling heavy rocks for fire rings, no? </i><br />
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<i>This gray soggy winter afternoon, I picked a few valiant daffodils on the walk with River, brought them home to brighten the days ahead. Sunshine in a vase! It's those little tender things that get us through. </i><br />
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<i>I hope you'll enjoy reading the February issue of "Life In Our Foothills" feature on "Bonnie's World" written by Steve Wong, photographed by Mark Levin. Just click the link above. </i><br />
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<i>Things may be slow-handed around the Art House, but I've got lots of art to look at, for sale, and out at shows. "Journey Home" is at the ubiquitous Purple Onion here in Saluda, and the Artist of the Year/Red Carpet exhibit lasts until mid-March at Tryon Arts and Crafts. Whimsical World Gallery in Landrum, SC also has a number of pieces. </i><br />
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<i>When you buy art from a living artist, you keep that artist living and surviving! Another thing that helps raise those much-needed pennies is to click those pesky ads on this blog. I get a few cents for each click. Sorry about that, I despise ads! But, in this case, it helps my ends meet. Thank you! </i><br />
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<i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">"Songs of the Earth: The Pond Frog" goes home with Danielle</span></i>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-23881700143262422262019-01-17T19:32:00.001-05:002019-12-28T18:33:35.085-05:00Life Happens: An Artist in Winter <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(Esto Perpetua series, 30" x 30", Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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<i>“Our individuality is all, all, that we have. There are those who barter it for security, those who repress it for what they believe is the betterment of the whole society, but blessed in the twinkle of the morning star is the one who nurtures it and rides it in, in grace and love and wit, from peculiar station to peculiar station along life's bittersweet route.”<br />
~ Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume </i><br />
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Bittersweet route, indeed, as Tom Robbins writes. Mid-January is upon us, and here in the mountains it's been rain, ice, snow. Rain, ice, snow. Repeat. Repeat. Almost 24" of snow in December, and nearly 100 inches of rain for 2018. Last weekend was an ice storm, leaving 1/2" of the glistening stuff on trees, shrubs, and earth. Branches fell, trees crashed all night long: River Dog and I were up patrolling the cold house, worry-warting over the unseen dark bringing a Monster Tree crashing through our roof. It HAS happened to us in the past. Maybe that just instills a sense of paranoia! We did have large pine branches torpedo down alongside the house, and some damage out back on the back porch gutter. Pines are notorious for breaking in the frozen stuff. Like me, they just don't like it!<br />
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This week, the car died, so River and I are stuck until we can: get it fixed. Sold off to someone who will fix it. Or start hoofing it to parts unknown. It turns out the old Subaru I bought to take us to Florida has a bad transmission, and needs pad/rotor replacement, and no-telling-what-else. I did call the small-time dealer I bought it from and reminded him of his promise he would willingly let his wife drive it anytime, to Florida, and so forth. However, being it's an older car and such, it was a pig-in-the-poke deal, and that's, as Walter Cronkite used to say, the way it is.<br />
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It's hard times for so many of us, a broken-down car seems almost small potatoes. To me, it's a nightmare, but others are in even worse straits. Artists are usually conditioned to the trials of life. We tend to live hand to mouth anyway, and know it could be worse. We just get up and make art. Even if it's freezing in the house, outside, or the car implodes. We're gonna make art about it. That, my friend, is how we survive. Making art. <br />
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Mary Oliver, the poet of my life and days, died today. Oh Mary. You will live on, and on...in your words that are tender, true, observant of nature. You continue to spark and glow. Thank you, thank you for bringing your gentle kind soul to word and life. You just will keep glowing every time those words are read. <br />
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<i>“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”<br />
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― Mary Oliver </i><br />
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(photo credit: Mark Levin) Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-58153045882206018762018-12-10T11:33:00.000-05:002018-12-10T12:11:21.069-05:00Winter Musings & Remembering Fernandina<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD6anZB895aZ1MWUs2Nk3DylfYGDATBl8aXMl6Uag9Lv1pGmjGW63lwmFgLNw_IcGuwSmKNNeA4TqRPFiCa6uDtIdCh1f51hzvyDzyePhfhWDrDDkwvPGgd2w1_T1p6P7z6mGugccVoA/s1600/IMG_20181124_164926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD6anZB895aZ1MWUs2Nk3DylfYGDATBl8aXMl6Uag9Lv1pGmjGW63lwmFgLNw_IcGuwSmKNNeA4TqRPFiCa6uDtIdCh1f51hzvyDzyePhfhWDrDDkwvPGgd2w1_T1p6P7z6mGugccVoA/s640/IMG_20181124_164926.jpg" width="552" height="640" data-original-width="1381" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
Winter is upon us in my small town here in the Western North Carolina mountains...at least 18+ of winter knocking on the door, with even bigger piles of winter white blanketing the world outside. The stuff is heavy and dense, weighing roofs down, blocking roads, challenging power company crews out fixing downed lines. Oh yes, winter is upon us. Inside, River Dog and Pikachu Cat find the warmest spots they can: River in front of the living room gas stove. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MJGqE3xhSgU8V-1sUD8lkdPhw3Qre2a4t_Ezq7i9LERUk-T_InYUGiqWw2xN2zsehOetjcWAdefJ7kFTkt132VtpA6a8V5EnG12EgsJaA-gBVS_PKCxrN6Wx0BiybPMT3R5oFW9kfC4/s1600/IMG_20181209_080513.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7MJGqE3xhSgU8V-1sUD8lkdPhw3Qre2a4t_Ezq7i9LERUk-T_InYUGiqWw2xN2zsehOetjcWAdefJ7kFTkt132VtpA6a8V5EnG12EgsJaA-gBVS_PKCxrN6Wx0BiybPMT3R5oFW9kfC4/s320/IMG_20181209_080513.jpg" width="284" height="320" data-original-width="1419" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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I perch at my desk chair, wishing for heated seats or at least spring. Speaking of heat and spring, back in November I drove down to Florida over to Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island, not far from the Georgia line. A friend lets me borrow his historical charming-sweet little cottage "Fernandina Cottage". All I have to do is find my way there from here, River tucked beside me in the passenger seat, a load of art supplies and various bags tucked in the rear.<br />
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It takes us a good seven hours or so to get to the cottage, since we hit about every rest stop in between. We packed up before rain hit and got away to Florida just in time: driving in to sun and warm temperatures, palm fronds swaying. This trip, I was lucky to know where things already were: Nana Theresa's Bake Shop downtown. Thrift shops. Rhonda's house a couple blocks back from Wade's house. Who the neighbors and dogs are. The quickest way to the beach. Townie's Pizza. How to walk to the Green Turtle. Y'know. Important stuff. <br />
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This trip I expanded my exploring to American Beach. Then, neighbor Rhonda took a day off and introduced me to parts unknown: the little chapel in American Beach. Roads with Spanish moss dripping, live oaks. A ferry ride. Fresh shrimp at her favorite dive, painted orange, beside the river. Places she'd been where if you get out, you get toted off by mosquitoes. We just drove by that day, neither one of us wanted to duel with skeeters! She pointed out a quaint church tucked in Florida woodlands, a tabby house ruin, probably built by slaves. Little bits and pieces of the past. Small winding roads where new Florida still doesn't exist. Oh, I was hungry to find Old Florida still left. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeO_X36FSQnQe452x8FHD22G-YqCrPp82B1TrnAxmquqN7Z7lI_RSzNJdZnvCCYc1H4ShGu8Y-njfU6iU3i_2GwUA3e_Ae8ta1ozNi2lYq01X3VZuUx12r-TqgL7GVy5-UokiXP-O9Kg/s1600/IMG_20181107_121736.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeO_X36FSQnQe452x8FHD22G-YqCrPp82B1TrnAxmquqN7Z7lI_RSzNJdZnvCCYc1H4ShGu8Y-njfU6iU3i_2GwUA3e_Ae8ta1ozNi2lYq01X3VZuUx12r-TqgL7GVy5-UokiXP-O9Kg/s320/IMG_20181107_121736.jpg" width="320" height="303" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1513" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XGib4rryKfj6X6bOe6aJZ-WnJSM5bQQL43RuaBA74GH9EtFWxJXR_i2slN7_PheSoKtvowahvJFHgEvBdzu9Ho-kPHSEje9etdWB6fXHjfTJzVvsXtEylV78JX0XgKvWXduYGwOVcUg/s1600/IMG_20181107_122952.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XGib4rryKfj6X6bOe6aJZ-WnJSM5bQQL43RuaBA74GH9EtFWxJXR_i2slN7_PheSoKtvowahvJFHgEvBdzu9Ho-kPHSEje9etdWB6fXHjfTJzVvsXtEylV78JX0XgKvWXduYGwOVcUg/s320/IMG_20181107_122952.jpg" width="320" height="278" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1389" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXrYrXMP7EFRb-W5uupK_s-9P1LAeUZMe_2hs_UiuLWOhHwVv8gD11r6ThTMJbn80OK65NKvVLhYt5BLn-SEUwgYemLbVVwgMxSXFpgNV02C0ITjMz-h6OFIc0mA0v_VnkocCdgALWXo/s1600/IMG_20181107_142246.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXrYrXMP7EFRb-W5uupK_s-9P1LAeUZMe_2hs_UiuLWOhHwVv8gD11r6ThTMJbn80OK65NKvVLhYt5BLn-SEUwgYemLbVVwgMxSXFpgNV02C0ITjMz-h6OFIc0mA0v_VnkocCdgALWXo/s320/IMG_20181107_142246.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb6xszgc1ZcNZ6TH4e_AOJl0LpRSPhZOyT8RwR4hU5Nwb0bK0cWxXRC1Hmbc6UqLHy9w932-KnGeoJtlsMwiYgXR4nhq6Vq9lTp0kid5rVnvG2yTZTQmKxshrN5b4zmjh1PS_FxFUtbQ/s1600/IMG_20181107_142027.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb6xszgc1ZcNZ6TH4e_AOJl0LpRSPhZOyT8RwR4hU5Nwb0bK0cWxXRC1Hmbc6UqLHy9w932-KnGeoJtlsMwiYgXR4nhq6Vq9lTp0kid5rVnvG2yTZTQmKxshrN5b4zmjh1PS_FxFUtbQ/s320/IMG_20181107_142027.jpg" width="297" height="320" data-original-width="1485" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5HTx3gMw410BXJhSA1ze5hQAWSR97McdlYuAjQz9kBeNRyor9mCLFNSSZfoaw2rSo1wx-JKDYD6O1cV0ypVG0sthTf9Qp5hxvv5UjF9EcDl6dAKr-RJtqUm2cUbXJ1losKZpRXFP2zM/s1600/IMG_20181107_125428.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR5HTx3gMw410BXJhSA1ze5hQAWSR97McdlYuAjQz9kBeNRyor9mCLFNSSZfoaw2rSo1wx-JKDYD6O1cV0ypVG0sthTf9Qp5hxvv5UjF9EcDl6dAKr-RJtqUm2cUbXJ1losKZpRXFP2zM/s320/IMG_20181107_125428.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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We admired buckets of silver fish gleaming on the dock, right off the boat. Driving on, we came into the outskirts of Jacksonville near the Navy base. That's a whole 'nother story...but I'll say we had quite a laugh over our adventures that day. Back in Fernandina Beach, I hung some art around the cottage (with Wade's permission, of course) and rearranged furniture. It was a work of art. Over in the evening, the days short and with the time change, I'd pour a glass of vino, sit with River out on the front porch and toast life. It does a body good to go somewhere, and have a few friends along this path of life. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Reyn7KeYHq202Vh-H1hjL3BuyUUclHYe5i-Yk2-I8tAv7axoKqTHC7gaUeb5yheyKSVRwIAi2vB2CaBoOfg_d50AZV_sH3z1vScqfig6DFbb1Y1dl5z23dxRhvY0GA-n__YzooHLgPw/s1600/IMG_20181104_124422.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Reyn7KeYHq202Vh-H1hjL3BuyUUclHYe5i-Yk2-I8tAv7axoKqTHC7gaUeb5yheyKSVRwIAi2vB2CaBoOfg_d50AZV_sH3z1vScqfig6DFbb1Y1dl5z23dxRhvY0GA-n__YzooHLgPw/s320/IMG_20181104_124422.jpg" width="223" height="320" data-original-width="1116" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2E7pdMrUV0n8WkcMMqLhMJoS1NFQX7B1pSfk3y3zFt-Gkahw4iHqkS3Ns1AOz4kH_noe0vIj33R2X4w49mrqPXY0pqc6CI8077dfVV5Tvbcp8jYVJBLT1HArAjY-NnVIIrqxSglHgjs/s1600/IMG_20181104_111358.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-2E7pdMrUV0n8WkcMMqLhMJoS1NFQX7B1pSfk3y3zFt-Gkahw4iHqkS3Ns1AOz4kH_noe0vIj33R2X4w49mrqPXY0pqc6CI8077dfVV5Tvbcp8jYVJBLT1HArAjY-NnVIIrqxSglHgjs/s320/IMG_20181104_111358.jpg" width="302" height="320" data-original-width="1512" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVR2bxHa46gnFloyTmFhErA3cbnTknmptoVYlzX2RikD-A_IA0UHRYRXtU5rnUdsVPhSAKGcW3Vk6OT4b5BafpP0ZCwSB42ciUBH0l-rsC12mXk7I9PB76WnSWk_XHcCDTOJM1zCUKkpY/s1600/IMG_20181104_111019.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVR2bxHa46gnFloyTmFhErA3cbnTknmptoVYlzX2RikD-A_IA0UHRYRXtU5rnUdsVPhSAKGcW3Vk6OT4b5BafpP0ZCwSB42ciUBH0l-rsC12mXk7I9PB76WnSWk_XHcCDTOJM1zCUKkpY/s320/IMG_20181104_111019.jpg" width="268" height="320" data-original-width="1339" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKL_AIxFJJhttUgE4j3FDHKyXiOFFWDhdlIUtw45xa5cak-GdN8h3pM2auQ1EI2al6dyC5kpriXazNyivS2dUMr9WbC6Ol3jcXWUZEH7D_jsMibiWo8MT1dPUuKPBjTNgHFHh8MW8YMY8/s1600/IMG_20181104_111047.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKL_AIxFJJhttUgE4j3FDHKyXiOFFWDhdlIUtw45xa5cak-GdN8h3pM2auQ1EI2al6dyC5kpriXazNyivS2dUMr9WbC6Ol3jcXWUZEH7D_jsMibiWo8MT1dPUuKPBjTNgHFHh8MW8YMY8/s320/IMG_20181104_111047.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwek2brk4h7ssMjlLgRImrnAJSXZjkXu9Pd_R1wKchQoLdTHEX3o4mOyhNk_H-p46WCgirBwXW5aANs964KvuQBzVreYXxNxj5vY43nVkvQwUY_PmsaJyJoiJUUsGUHsYV86tJsliXOYQ/s1600/IMG_20181104_110901.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwek2brk4h7ssMjlLgRImrnAJSXZjkXu9Pd_R1wKchQoLdTHEX3o4mOyhNk_H-p46WCgirBwXW5aANs964KvuQBzVreYXxNxj5vY43nVkvQwUY_PmsaJyJoiJUUsGUHsYV86tJsliXOYQ/s320/IMG_20181104_110901.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZVSA8P6f53FEpl11naxjDLb-nsSv8oH4sRHzdsru9JXScRHznUHin02MVrDxOONmEWnTP0EdK_Rlxkue9Qo1Lr4MzP-nwNZU2Xvs_g6sGL9F7aHBqo5HQw2-Kz8plEg_qPSVfSZsq4kI/s1600/IMG_20181103_093823.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZVSA8P6f53FEpl11naxjDLb-nsSv8oH4sRHzdsru9JXScRHznUHin02MVrDxOONmEWnTP0EdK_Rlxkue9Qo1Lr4MzP-nwNZU2Xvs_g6sGL9F7aHBqo5HQw2-Kz8plEg_qPSVfSZsq4kI/s320/IMG_20181103_093823.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFu1GnIEiRObCWIX6GFxG9o_G8XN7SFMsrKAdFwiQ9wHeJmz-V_no9k1-unI0S7tOcELyvQ781OJnKgodKFYCe3Z1jtqURgYlzYJ-I2NLa8p2iVxnVTdfSofPQdHPdtd1XqtpFNzpId7A/s1600/IMG_20181104_111114.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFu1GnIEiRObCWIX6GFxG9o_G8XN7SFMsrKAdFwiQ9wHeJmz-V_no9k1-unI0S7tOcELyvQ781OJnKgodKFYCe3Z1jtqURgYlzYJ-I2NLa8p2iVxnVTdfSofPQdHPdtd1XqtpFNzpId7A/s320/IMG_20181104_111114.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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By the way, if you'd like to spend some time at Fernandina Cottage, just contact Wade Kirkland via Facebook, the owner who lives in Charlotte, NC. I can attest that it's in the heart of all sorts of Good Things. Historic Fernandina Beach. Not far from the sea or dining. The marina's a walk away. Bikes. Galleries. Bakeries. Fresh caught seafood. The oldest bar in Florida. A nice woman named Bonnie who works at the Visitor Center in the old depot building. I liked her. Besides, I'll always remember her name, since it's mine too. Oh, yes, it does a body good to get away.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaT8BAhMg1NuDlqhQwwucLdXIPghsKdvgnI8LxZKHJ-UQasA_2ss83f80tfoZJx_Fd5L9WMqp-8_fAwrgKI7YECrgCKa4saOHKGjU2tamYnhFT8vVvR4IpBalRkHDFHswon_50RBzf3HE/s1600/IMG_20181109_093512.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaT8BAhMg1NuDlqhQwwucLdXIPghsKdvgnI8LxZKHJ-UQasA_2ss83f80tfoZJx_Fd5L9WMqp-8_fAwrgKI7YECrgCKa4saOHKGjU2tamYnhFT8vVvR4IpBalRkHDFHswon_50RBzf3HE/s320/IMG_20181109_093512.jpg" width="315" height="320" data-original-width="1573" data-original-height="1600" /></a> <br />
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(P.S.: This month, I'm "Artist of the Month" at Tryon Arts & Crafts School (see link at right) and will be featured at David Cedrone's "Whimsical World Gallery" December 15 from 5-8 p.m. along with David (gallery owner and artist), Alex Trumble, Kelly Sparks, and Amy Goldstein-Rice. Enjoy live music with Jay Maybry Band!)Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-9707068281200696162018-09-22T15:06:00.000-04:002018-10-03T15:43:50.394-04:00How We Spend Our Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkqDS4avTA36alMS41AncdHSO7AOaRiWyDW8ATBgdq3kAWLxbyaZCwWSN68kdTY7_q-6B8ONWNIf0MqIEKYTV8jCbXgNfP6r0EgyG2WUqBrgB-suo7ENQV1XfoXcL6X6zMNDvzjNDysEg/s1600/IMG_20180826_133039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkqDS4avTA36alMS41AncdHSO7AOaRiWyDW8ATBgdq3kAWLxbyaZCwWSN68kdTY7_q-6B8ONWNIf0MqIEKYTV8jCbXgNfP6r0EgyG2WUqBrgB-suo7ENQV1XfoXcL6X6zMNDvzjNDysEg/s640/IMG_20180826_133039.jpg" width="640" height="571" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1427" /></a></div><br />
(painting: Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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<i>"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." ~ Annie Dillard </i><br />
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It's the first day of fall--this sun-filled Saturday afternoon, a blue jay's rusty-hinge screech high over blue-shaded woods. River Dog snores nearby; it's been a busy morning of walking to town, hauling paintings for the upcoming Art Trek Open Studio weekend next Saturday and Sunday. Somehow it gets a little harder to clean, prepare, haul each year, but it usually gets done--albeit slowly. Lately, I've been pondering what makes a life a good one. Annie Dillard, one of my favorite authors, "In The Writing Life" says, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern."<br />
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"There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by. A life of good days lived in the senses is not enough. The life of sensation is the life of greed; it requires more and more. The life of the spirit requires less and less; time is ample and its passage sweet. Who would call a day spent reading a good day? But a life spent reading — that is a good life." <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsIVPYLzpwDTFRv5loKpWt-mfHOAQosxs_eS95zqZJXJXyuoi1ZyTUzxBUtvCy1ievtELXdJ2Ds7B9NWwVpYYv_S-mwTRbzFnZV5FKZgrOe5lnMJxW5CT_yfnmncvyb6Hl66d-ogNea8/s1600/IMG_20180618_113402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsIVPYLzpwDTFRv5loKpWt-mfHOAQosxs_eS95zqZJXJXyuoi1ZyTUzxBUtvCy1ievtELXdJ2Ds7B9NWwVpYYv_S-mwTRbzFnZV5FKZgrOe5lnMJxW5CT_yfnmncvyb6Hl66d-ogNea8/s400/IMG_20180618_113402.jpg" width="400" height="177" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="708" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FJ3OimfKMC6n9FDFXqYv8q5zKitCNznpB2B44CAZofUiSaxuwmkQNP2N6MxCgHEN_f85o3lr12sUDUWYIOwrDijcCtpFgc0n21JzilJSDHbBK19K6BDIVfJVG6M6tO6gB7JsHl1h_Yw/s1600/IMG_20180618_113335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9FJ3OimfKMC6n9FDFXqYv8q5zKitCNznpB2B44CAZofUiSaxuwmkQNP2N6MxCgHEN_f85o3lr12sUDUWYIOwrDijcCtpFgc0n21JzilJSDHbBK19K6BDIVfJVG6M6tO6gB7JsHl1h_Yw/s400/IMG_20180618_113335.jpg" width="400" height="276" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1102" /></a></div>(Paintings: "When Dinosaurs Roamed" and "Spirit Guides": Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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As one gets older, time flies quicker. You ask yourself if you've had a good life, one that matters. You start sorting and sifting through the grains of thought, of things: a paring of self, soul, possessions. The burden gets lighter, perhaps. In that, there is a sense of joy of giving away, of needing less, and embracing the life of the spirit. In evolving over a lifetime, the owning of things becomes less and less important. <br />
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Oh, it would be lovely to have a next-to-new car again, something that doesn't blow white smoke at stop signs, that goes smoothly on the road of life. It would be indeed. But the truth is what really matters is a dog that's snoring peacefully on the first day of fall, the sun sparkling through kitchen windows, the praying mantis turning her green face toward mine, a friend. There are paintings to be done, a ripe tomato on the sill, and a bit of chocolate gelato in the freezer. The morning coffee was fresh and hot earlier, and a Wildflour bakery danish in a paper bag for breakfast, carried home from my walk to town. Is this not the good life, this little vignette of time captured in these thoughts? <br />
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To paint, to create, to write and think, to watch the mantis, the rose petals drift, an acorn upon the ground. To love those dog ears, and be delighted by a new shade of pink. To hold the cup of life warming in the hand one more day, this. This. How we spend our lives......<br />
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<i>**if you enjoy this blog, please share. I think it earned me a whole quarter last month. In the art life, a quarter is good. So click, share, and I'd love you to follow it (scroll down on right side and join in!).</i>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-54949829644519742042018-09-01T17:54:00.001-04:002018-09-02T09:27:47.308-04:00The Creation of Gaia (how a sculpture is born)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIO-QNfXm8p2_GZYlUxlYhM373g3b0PpyUWfQN9h4YNs7QSthDHqWAFck43ecGXUflJFyx602oN13Twg3uQhpNZV8_9IFx_ykK5EN1v8LsHx58OJDeWUC8hfCYrCb-OfM2L-2OyEk4Z2Q/s1600/sculpture+award-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIO-QNfXm8p2_GZYlUxlYhM373g3b0PpyUWfQN9h4YNs7QSthDHqWAFck43ecGXUflJFyx602oN13Twg3uQhpNZV8_9IFx_ykK5EN1v8LsHx58OJDeWUC8hfCYrCb-OfM2L-2OyEk4Z2Q/s640/sculpture+award-001.jpg" width="591" height="640" data-original-width="470" data-original-height="509" /></a><br />
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The other night, my sculpture "Gaia: Mother Earth" (detail above) won 1st place in an annual juried exhibit. Of course, I was thrilled--who <i>wouldn't</i> be?! It dawned on me that maybe there are those who would like to know how a sculpture is born, so to speak. This particular piece was years in the making, and I spent the past year (on and off) working on her. It didn't happen overnight, and it didn't happen in a day! Sometimes things do, but in this case, it was a long labor of love along with a lot of experimentation on top of labor and time. <br />
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Gaia started as another sculpture: one that I'd sent out to the side garden to live a few years by a garden arch. You might not want to do that to a painting, but you can often do that to a sculpture! Over months and a few years, she weathered the elements and changed. As we all do. Such is life, right? Ivy started creeping up her body, moss grew here, there. Every now and then I'd tuck flowers on her head--which was fired terra cotta clay.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsxT0yCzBmnTf3GnydH_gcjydW_cF6sJazSp3QatY34lBGEeVD31AQE4yYnGLm4nSezU8r7WTTkiHztOyy1DcmDruyQY9WRYGOMwiKZuLzT8GdwBnZNv7B5N7lkhWAxx2c3yCfV-XWuU/s1600/IMG_8033.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsxT0yCzBmnTf3GnydH_gcjydW_cF6sJazSp3QatY34lBGEeVD31AQE4yYnGLm4nSezU8r7WTTkiHztOyy1DcmDruyQY9WRYGOMwiKZuLzT8GdwBnZNv7B5N7lkhWAxx2c3yCfV-XWuU/s320/IMG_8033.JPG" width="232" height="320" data-original-width="1161" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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Being out in nature, she took on a different persona. One day, I looked at her again and pulled her armature up from the base. Hauling her to the back deck tables, I laid her flat on a sheet of heavy duty plastic, made my witch's brew of secret treatments while wearing heavy neoprene black gloves and went to work (her face is toward bottom of photo below). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazrOds3WBgfJGSFldEqMh1-JGdaZMy8eUQvLLaVL5712YgM5XeA8VVAxRQhFYZRasZYwokviQchJ-SiAjVkbaCB3Uv4qVpb31Ot95rP2ZGOfFo7TFufJQpkg9QXqYlu9MKJ_7TAb4GWM/s1600/IMG_20171219_144309.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgazrOds3WBgfJGSFldEqMh1-JGdaZMy8eUQvLLaVL5712YgM5XeA8VVAxRQhFYZRasZYwokviQchJ-SiAjVkbaCB3Uv4qVpb31Ot95rP2ZGOfFo7TFufJQpkg9QXqYlu9MKJ_7TAb4GWM/s400/IMG_20171219_144309.jpg" width="347" height="400" data-original-width="1388" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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The new piece begun. With a bucket-load mix of matte medium and other elements including long strands of kudzu fiber, I literally bathed her from top to bottom, then wrapped her tight in the plastic, duct-taping the whole thing so it wouldn't drip. For a while, I tucked her inside on the back porch...who knows what the phone guy thought! She resembled an Egyptian mummy at this point. <br />
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I'd collected long strands of kudzu fiber from the side street: all summer, I'd pulled those pesky kudzu-monster vines out in the side street for cars to run over, again and again. Every walk with the dog, I'd pull 'em a little more, or kick them back to the edge: so they suffered great abuse! The traffic and abuse broke the long vines apart into fiber. Kudzu is amazingly strong, FYI. For sculpture, I needed it dry, and carefully separated it a bit, folding it up to store in a 5-gallon bucket on the back porch until I was ready to work more. Meanwhile, we have a 4' foot tall mummy hanging around the house. Imagine that! Occasionally, I'd unwrap the plastic and check. With fired clay, wood, metal, and other materials in the wrap, I didn't want it to be too wet, so I'd open it up to dry. Next, I hauled her back to the work tables outside and brought along the kudzu fiber. This was exciting! (don't ask me why, but it was...) <br />
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Maybe because experimentation is curiosity. You don't know where you're going to end up. This led into winding kudzu fiber, treated with more matte medium, in naturally-flowing patterns. Already, she had wings--which I added to with organic materials from Gulf waters, a couple of large twisted shells I'd collected, and wire. After all this dried, I left her propped (no more mummy wrap) in the dining room where over months I eyed her to think about what would be the next step. A friend noticed her and mentioned Japanese Kabuto theater masks. Now that really got my little imagination wheels spinning...so, I used Bondo for more structure-building, and a Golden modeling product for filling in cracks: sort of a face lift for the old face. (if only it was that easy for me!) <br />
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I used white gesso for her 'mask'. For the fun part, lips got Cadillac Red. A girl can never have too much lipstick, eh? I loved it! Experimentation = EXCITEMENT. So...I let her sit a few more months. I eyed her to think what's next? This takes a while, folks. All the while, I'm working on other things: a bazillion paintings on top of trying to mow and survive daily. However, she's my constant companion, and always standing at the dining room door so I never miss her. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6VWlY_l0DAix3NbxyTJb93VMwESU799zaA-YpOYDNWBlT6If5aWxbd-EjHs2L1D_E8XGSjK34AzBye8k2V6KeYUI8sROcmOiOB6-DmANwH6eUe0nj3x951-vCb7_EVCEvouAt9ZH10Q/s1600/IMG_20171222_145749.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6VWlY_l0DAix3NbxyTJb93VMwESU799zaA-YpOYDNWBlT6If5aWxbd-EjHs2L1D_E8XGSjK34AzBye8k2V6KeYUI8sROcmOiOB6-DmANwH6eUe0nj3x951-vCb7_EVCEvouAt9ZH10Q/s400/IMG_20171222_145749.jpg" width="257" height="400" data-original-width="1028" data-original-height="1600" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUz9S3uZXAyRZZATv781KwsnwPAZO5jg9LxjMP-KvkCzuqYJIUdOE1mVLHTSEc4REOvyKXTQ6k50HqqCLPp4owxj6EnmILcLZdnC54L_XIOluIGO4pudCS7u83GEhCU7ZeSYWbywgeCHQ/s1600/gaiahead.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUz9S3uZXAyRZZATv781KwsnwPAZO5jg9LxjMP-KvkCzuqYJIUdOE1mVLHTSEc4REOvyKXTQ6k50HqqCLPp4owxj6EnmILcLZdnC54L_XIOluIGO4pudCS7u83GEhCU7ZeSYWbywgeCHQ/s400/gaiahead.jpg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="480" data-original-height="640" /></a><br />
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I agonized over if I would enter the yearly Arts Council "Bring Us Your Best" art exhibit. It'd cost me money to renew my membership/enter, and I just didn't have the extra $40. Well, that's nothing new! My hand/wrist ached from carpal tunnel/tendon issues, and I worried that toting the piece around would be impossible. Nobody's ever going to buy her...oh, the excuses kept rolling! Maybe I won't enter this year, I thought. But.....I did. She kept whispering to me to work on her, no more excuses. So, I got busy and pulled the sculpture outside to the front porch studio: it was time to 'bring her home' which means get her finished! I elevated her on a large plastic bucket set on a large section of old canvas so I could move around her in a circle. More kudzu fiber, matte medium, acrylic paint. I have a lovely light-weight hammer I call "Maxwell's silver hammer": it was in use, along with wire cutters, paint brushes, pliers--tools of the trade. More wire. A bird's nest with nutmeg 'eggs'. I'd made the nest a few years ago, and painted the eggs with a bit of blue after securing it on her head, with a fired clay bird I'd made years ago--I retrieved it from the kitchen window. Like stone soup, the recipe for a sculpture of mine can include just about everything! Since I'm a fan of recycling, organic, and re-purposing: this is a way of educating others what can be done with materials we might not consider. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb10fScAT5raWMwRxWbFtKXVy7eSjBiMg0ifiuL4s-4aR3HqhFSFpE6ySnfrOaPKYKTbPmwvFLFSxKex6-QPgej5Z2XxQu9m6-RQBhZEfuuwDYFqvd9aOMo1Tb4gy9Iq4QuDJ_jNzfPfY/s1600/IMG_20161224_125450.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb10fScAT5raWMwRxWbFtKXVy7eSjBiMg0ifiuL4s-4aR3HqhFSFpE6ySnfrOaPKYKTbPmwvFLFSxKex6-QPgej5Z2XxQu9m6-RQBhZEfuuwDYFqvd9aOMo1Tb4gy9Iq4QuDJ_jNzfPfY/s400/IMG_20161224_125450.jpg" width="360" height="400" data-original-width="1440" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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Hauling a copper pipe down to Gibb's Welding out of Landrum, SC, I picked out a nice rust-colored square of steel for the base, with the copper to be joined. That meant a return trip to pick it up...and the old truck and I went forth the next day. Having the functioning base with pipe made it easier to work with her. Treating the base with a etching fluid and later acrylic after a bit of naval jelly to remove extra rust, I finished that part and went back to tweaking, using matte-treated hydrangea blossoms from the yard, a bit of dried orchid flowers for the nest: which is by now attached as her head dress. The kudzu whorls beautifully up, around the head, even as it does lift toward the sun. A iridescent feather circles and whirls around her head, creating the feel of a turning earth. <br />
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Again, more matte medium and shades of green, brown (all natural hues) paint here and there, with a bit more white gesso and red for her face. I built a blue planet out of a Japanese lantern for her to hold: this takes a couple days of baking it on low in the oven (drying) and loads of paint with torn tissue paper to give it the look of Earth floating in space. Around this point, as I'm tucking moss and again eyeing the piece: she names herself. Gaia. Of course, she knew. All this time, we'd been working together, I was just listening. All her elements honored life, nature, and spirit.<br />
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If someone asked me how long it took me to make this sculpture, I would say a lifetime. She's a cumulation of all I've learned, and all that is. I took what I knew, and used what I didn't know. Maybe 'un-knowing' is a good thing. So on the show intake day, I tucked her in the passenger seat of the old truck, and we rode together over to Flat Rock, best friends. I never know what people think of seeing a pick-up truck with two women up front: one driving, and one with a bird nest on her head, but I hope they smile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxllP-rkdwtjwdJ2vZ1GEXwZAv5ScI9OXPfkqsv0tU6qJj7uRQzIYuJ-UnYmmSD3ml8tVrb3Cdtm4s7biratT-vBK6xTEge-WuOqYUe4XaLkv9h58tk1tYavNb4laWYBWIV6lseP7gLI/s1600/sculpture+award.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxllP-rkdwtjwdJ2vZ1GEXwZAv5ScI9OXPfkqsv0tU6qJj7uRQzIYuJ-UnYmmSD3ml8tVrb3Cdtm4s7biratT-vBK6xTEge-WuOqYUe4XaLkv9h58tk1tYavNb4laWYBWIV6lseP7gLI/s400/sculpture+award.jpg" width="320" height="400" data-original-width="768" data-original-height="960" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7-UTp-DW4Q-sTjMPei_zWflU3HnzGO_eP1zIOkIHixdUfpYMSzb0tWQrhDToLIsX0EC4piOdWe2ugYXtcNiVmTyKynYgQGCK2TwW9-EGLhzjlOrRSD7k0TWC_Rdsxwbjf2SlGPaMit4/s1600/IMG_1070.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb7-UTp-DW4Q-sTjMPei_zWflU3HnzGO_eP1zIOkIHixdUfpYMSzb0tWQrhDToLIsX0EC4piOdWe2ugYXtcNiVmTyKynYgQGCK2TwW9-EGLhzjlOrRSD7k0TWC_Rdsxwbjf2SlGPaMit4/s400/IMG_1070.JPG" width="400" height="300" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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*if you enjoyed this blog, please share. Even feel free to click those annoying ads (sorry about that!)I think it earned me a whole quarter last month. In the art life, a quarter is good. So click, share, and I'd love you to follow it (scroll down on right side and join in!). Thank you for reading this. It's done with love.</i>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-18867613079164021612018-08-26T11:31:00.000-04:002018-08-26T11:34:13.606-04:00Angels Among Us<i>"No, I never saw an angel, but it is irrelevant whether I saw one or not. I feel their presence around me." ~ Paulo Coelho</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EtrR7cEVJp01AFVEUV6T34n2cxCZtUfVwqqnTtSF_ABPOM8H1tPJVY987n8KP8Y9p6mXkqppuzVOTYoTK7kT-VY5ssF_FOjZ11PFjdYVFJY7v8Aen7e7vTXR8OnkrA3IvaCKA1F75RY/s1600/angel.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9EtrR7cEVJp01AFVEUV6T34n2cxCZtUfVwqqnTtSF_ABPOM8H1tPJVY987n8KP8Y9p6mXkqppuzVOTYoTK7kT-VY5ssF_FOjZ11PFjdYVFJY7v8Aen7e7vTXR8OnkrA3IvaCKA1F75RY/s640/angel.jpg" width="570" height="640" data-original-width="848" data-original-height="952" /></a><br />
<i>(painting: Angels Among Us, 30" x 30", Bonnie Joy Bardos, available)</i><br />
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When I was a little girl, every time I visited my Grandma and her country farmhouse, I was mesmerized by a small, framed print: an angel hovering behind two small children, watching over them. Some things stay in your memory a lifetime...that picture has been in my mind's eye all these years. I keep the same angel in my dining room (here it is!). Just because.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozc7EMNoAamMt_mq8j97iTPzee-jaqoJRHVY_V-OKFk3JemspKQN79KquhPqNIqDsmAo5ZOX9HGmmbtI4cvFY3fGd0DUz4rHznu_2BxLqAhWGzGN6YvaQxrivnB2gujNV8HAFmGnt43Q/s1600/IMG_0128.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiozc7EMNoAamMt_mq8j97iTPzee-jaqoJRHVY_V-OKFk3JemspKQN79KquhPqNIqDsmAo5ZOX9HGmmbtI4cvFY3fGd0DUz4rHznu_2BxLqAhWGzGN6YvaQxrivnB2gujNV8HAFmGnt43Q/s320/IMG_0128.JPG" width="229" height="320" data-original-width="1143" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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We all need angels, and I'm convinced they walk among us: sometimes in human form, sometimes in animal form. They're there. Certain subjects appear in my art over and over: trees, birds, women, horses, angels, things with wings often appear. In sculpture, angels again appear often. Again, this pattern goes back to childhood. I spent a lot of time in nature: the woods, garden, far reaches of fields. Wading in creeks, trickling branches there were crawdads under rocks to observe, the robin's egg blue sky overhead through pine branches. I would lay flat and watch the clouds, the birds, feel the breeze. Spending time in the outdoors, a child learns the rhythms and patterns of the earth, the sky, all that is. Answers whisper in the rustle of leaves. Squirrels chatter, rabbits hop. Snakes slip through summer grass. Water giggles over rocks. Moss carpets are lush green delight. <br />
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To this day, I paint the essence of what I've seen and felt. I don't work from photographs or endeavor to paint realistically. Details are not overly important, but the 'energy' and feel is everything. Perhaps I never saw an angel, although I'm convinced I've met them often. But as Paulo Coelho said, I feel their presence around me.<br />
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<i>** So, what can you do to support the arts? The artists? Treasure art. Look at it. Appreciate it. Buy it when you can. As for me, I'd be grateful for a donation. Or to sell a painting. Or sculpture. Anything helps. I'm not alone out there....so keep us creative types in your thoughts and in your life. We need you, you need us. Now, that is what it's all about. If you click the ads on this blog, I get a pittance. Hey, I'm not proud...in the next year, maybe it'll earn $100, then I'll receive a payment from the G-place! Lucky me! I'll take it. Every bit counts, I'm not proud. It's humbling, folks. </i><br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-61960107174537194382018-08-16T19:31:00.000-04:002018-09-03T08:52:52.567-04:00A Look At The Life Of An Artist <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEM54dBkpa8CSbtpS4FQRcFN27i_-2vG4K1N4kob-9stcrYgQctpfqq9_ki3A4hYnESVEN4aF4hpg_Wqz8IMZjrsTMYmf99hiINKjyEKXMvrfv4bIMCCBge67cAsy679-P3Oy1uA4kjWk/s1600/IMG_0117-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEM54dBkpa8CSbtpS4FQRcFN27i_-2vG4K1N4kob-9stcrYgQctpfqq9_ki3A4hYnESVEN4aF4hpg_Wqz8IMZjrsTMYmf99hiINKjyEKXMvrfv4bIMCCBge67cAsy679-P3Oy1uA4kjWk/s640/IMG_0117-001.JPG" width="640" height="399" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="997" /></a><br />
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<i>A mind that has no walls, that is not burdened with its own acquisitions, accumulations, with its own knowledge, a mind that lives timelessly, insecurely - to such a mind, life is an extraordinary thing. Such a mind is life itself, because life has no resting place. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pG8zK-6q76St8v2OzoPgIVu3ktOlgqgGPwKoq1GuE0DW006KBFVXdNP8DGJAu_uVlkUI3UFjAYBEMV3IMA3i7AOQJes_DXqfzsVeTvILZQ9ITS64YoxrOrinBVLCjpOz5UWE7Rgnpiw/s1600/IMG_20180708_121131.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pG8zK-6q76St8v2OzoPgIVu3ktOlgqgGPwKoq1GuE0DW006KBFVXdNP8DGJAu_uVlkUI3UFjAYBEMV3IMA3i7AOQJes_DXqfzsVeTvILZQ9ITS64YoxrOrinBVLCjpOz5UWE7Rgnpiw/s640/IMG_20180708_121131.jpg" width="640" height="612" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1531" /></a><br />
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What else would I rather do, than go out on a sun-filled morning, the hydrangeas blooming rampant and blue, a ballerina-pink swing...rocking chairs....large ferns dripping green fronds.... the dog basking in the day. Butterflies, gold fish, hummingbirds nearby. The pond frog. The cat perched on the rail, pink collar. A painting on the wood easel, and others lined up. Messy oil paints, tubes crinkled, a rough drawing crumpled up on the blue metal table. Prisms sparkle. My soul fills up. The paint gets on clothes, hands, sometimes hair or face. Often the porch floor. This is my life. Nothing fancy. Mostly simple. I'm at it day in, day out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKKEJNoel6oCnnj4H6A_GROcjAM8Wup9nPOBNHBOlLOWqDGnGym5ofAERu_vbz_0tgg4XA5IfVCQK4B9Gu3fIr3keAMrvALEdx3dT4B4msuQ_3VVRDTXOJXBZCXehW2c8-SNF6sytuwI/s1600/IMG_20180816_145646.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKKEJNoel6oCnnj4H6A_GROcjAM8Wup9nPOBNHBOlLOWqDGnGym5ofAERu_vbz_0tgg4XA5IfVCQK4B9Gu3fIr3keAMrvALEdx3dT4B4msuQ_3VVRDTXOJXBZCXehW2c8-SNF6sytuwI/s640/IMG_20180816_145646.jpg" width="480" height="640" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvv3tCB0oiv4wSEUwjDAG_p0b4EM29-uhIQyNveEAsCjbh_ZFwHREDMI3JkIq_Xqo5DG_7L3rFJ_Ya8XPKxnwXiOAnFv7GgxOYtrTKjCyPDjxh_3A61E91qbexsrpROqtVJaA3Chvk2w/s1600/Esto+Perpetua+Into+the+Light+Bardos.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirvv3tCB0oiv4wSEUwjDAG_p0b4EM29-uhIQyNveEAsCjbh_ZFwHREDMI3JkIq_Xqo5DG_7L3rFJ_Ya8XPKxnwXiOAnFv7GgxOYtrTKjCyPDjxh_3A61E91qbexsrpROqtVJaA3Chvk2w/s400/Esto+Perpetua+Into+the+Light+Bardos.JPG"/></a> <br />
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“The poet lights the light and fades away. But the light goes on and on.”<br />
~ Emily Dickinson<br />
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Over and over, I choose to continue making art with the little time I have left on this planet. I work on sculptures that probably will never sell, but that's what artists DO. They commit their being to making work: whether it sells or not. However, there comes a time when they have to give up on certain things in order to keep making their work, to lose this, to lose that. I've listed my house on Zillow. Boy, that was hard...but...we do what we gotta do. Maybe things will get better, maybe not. But we have to choose, and pick the things that feed our souls most, and artists do that: they stay true to self, to soul. It shouldn't be such a struggle, but it is. The world goes on, and the world will always need artists, whether it knows it or not. In the scheme of things: money, material things and greed are not what matters to this world. Art and truth stand firm, the North Star, fixed. There, that simple beautiful fact that leads me on down this rocky path. <br />
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So, what can you do to support the arts? The artists? Treasure art. Look at it. Appreciate it. Buy it when you can. As for me, I'd be grateful for a donation. Or to sell a painting. Or sculpture. Anything helps. I'm not alone out there....so keep us creative types in your thoughts and in your life. We need you, you need us. Now, that is what it's all about. If you click the ads on this blog, I get a pittance. Hey, I'm not proud...in the next year, maybe it'll earn $100, then I'll receive a payment from the G-place! Lucky me! I'll take it. Every bit counts!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNBvCSRnI45xXK-nMpBOsdKsi4LA5hyphenhyphen-HbKm8tysx2CGuVblC9Mj0iX1NTUk52GlqGnCb4vq9ICt0ZX0XwSHbXtuZYHczViT9nNQa2P_wi38gpU9mi_vBQ7sR22gAijmKEn2SeLS43AY/s1600/IMG_20180813_195013.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMNBvCSRnI45xXK-nMpBOsdKsi4LA5hyphenhyphen-HbKm8tysx2CGuVblC9Mj0iX1NTUk52GlqGnCb4vq9ICt0ZX0XwSHbXtuZYHczViT9nNQa2P_wi38gpU9mi_vBQ7sR22gAijmKEn2SeLS43AY/s320/IMG_20180813_195013.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-35202116870462873562018-08-01T12:57:00.001-04:002018-08-01T13:00:22.497-04:00Feature in August 2018 Bold Life Magazine: Taking WingThe August 2018 Bold Life Magazine is out on stands today, so if you're in Western N.C., you might get your hands on a copy. If not, just click the link included (see sidebar to right), and visit the story on-line. <br />
<a href="http://https://www.boldlife.com/taking-wing/"><a href="https://www.boldlife.com/taking-wing/"></a></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_AVmc0aAel4McsL76cUghqiIGO4C1IkfpqRNXITTzwXLbKWsEpIHHWNGw9Zp12vwTH-CUIh4iQ8rzN3rHnnheJZx_Q9WKJ19o79j3_jRLcheHBBvlj0PFkrbeChU6c2PdYD5QV1oVxf0/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_AVmc0aAel4McsL76cUghqiIGO4C1IkfpqRNXITTzwXLbKWsEpIHHWNGw9Zp12vwTH-CUIh4iQ8rzN3rHnnheJZx_Q9WKJ19o79j3_jRLcheHBBvlj0PFkrbeChU6c2PdYD5QV1oVxf0/s640/me.jpg" width="427" height="640" data-original-width="1067" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>Portrait: Amos Moses Photography<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRDJm2OMYCCjOM1y9LlIfrFKv1b2DPCe4BNhLYEH6i5NrVXKeRyMvAdyhsrdhPU8WHehM1WCI6l19MDrMWfrGNt7skfgHm878KvDBJYSfCDt0YnEegJzx_Nrm2WxRWIxqsByIBcVzWwg8/s1600/boldlife.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRDJm2OMYCCjOM1y9LlIfrFKv1b2DPCe4BNhLYEH6i5NrVXKeRyMvAdyhsrdhPU8WHehM1WCI6l19MDrMWfrGNt7skfgHm878KvDBJYSfCDt0YnEegJzx_Nrm2WxRWIxqsByIBcVzWwg8/s640/boldlife.jpg" width="640" height="430" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1075" /></a></div>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-22068071907758350112018-07-24T09:35:00.001-04:002018-07-31T17:15:36.167-04:00Summer Paintings & Thoughts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDF4II8Rke9yJFaTCACr6adp6_yR_kIw6LKjMLrlGTFMclr1wr3dVuLshQYrr8MIGEO8MQP-2NTQ5Gn1G93prCox_uy6dveBWxO9ubG4weuocJOeyWmETwadx5i19q0XozF0sz84V3YHs/s1600/ificouldidflyawaywithyou.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDF4II8Rke9yJFaTCACr6adp6_yR_kIw6LKjMLrlGTFMclr1wr3dVuLshQYrr8MIGEO8MQP-2NTQ5Gn1G93prCox_uy6dveBWxO9ubG4weuocJOeyWmETwadx5i19q0XozF0sz84V3YHs/s640/ificouldidflyawaywithyou.jpg" width="619" height="640" data-original-width="1231" data-original-height="1272" /></a><br />
<i>The ultimate source of happiness is not money and power, but warm-heartedness.<br />
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~ Dalai Lama</i><br />
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This painting is "If I Could, I'd Fly Away With You", (painting in progress) 20" x 20" oil on linen...it really came around today: I'd taken it out to the front porch easel this morning: sun shining despite promise of rain, River Dog basking, Pikachu sneaking around as cats do.<br />
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My foot hurt (whine) from a shard of glass I hadn't been able to get out--serves me right for bare footin' it in the kitchen yesterday. The wrist hurt (whine) from carpal tunnel/tendonitis. I was worrying myself over mortgage and thoughts of will-I-make-it-another-day-month-year, and this, that, no half-&-half for coffee (whine), friends and family struggling with the big C, and then....started painting. And painting. Oh, the changes this one underwent all morning.<br />
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After hollering (several times) at Google to play "Poor Pitiful Me" by Linda Ronstadt, and the next thing I know I'm listening to Anne Murray sing "Snow Bird", and those wistful lyrics "I'd fly away with you...."<br />
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There I was, painting, crying over that song (it was my mother's favorite and how the memories fell in tears), crying over the foot, wrist, and the whole nine-yards. The painting named itself. All I did was listen. And paint despite it all.<br />
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The sun kept shining a bit longer, River snored a little longer, and I kept on. By afternoon the rain stepped in, I soaked that foot an hour in Epsom salts, and dug that damn glass out. You do not mess with a Southern woman. Behind every painting is a bit of blood, sweat, and tears....and faith that things will fall in place once again.<br />
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What's going on? The show I'm currently in with three other women painters will be up until August 3 at Upstairs Artspace gallery; we'll have an artist talk this afternoon at the gallery. For August, yours truly will be featured in Bold Life Magazine, interview by Norm Powers, photos by Amos Moses who came here on a HOT day, a couple hours behind. Naturally, I had already melted in the heat outside, and figure those photographs will show the artist in meltdown! It's a thrill to be in Bold Life. Here's a link to the article: <a href="https://www.boldlife.com/taking-wing/">https://www.boldlife.com/taking-wing/<br />
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In late September, I'll be at it again: Open Studio weekend with Art Trek. Also, I'm guest artist of the month at Whimsical World Gallery, Jones Street, Landrum, SC, owned by whimsical artist David Cedrone--located in a historical old church building! Stop in. I'm a fan of David's work! After moving here from Maine, he bought the old church and turned it into a gallery.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQ2-QeVDY9veAIg5WWLuTydhRfzbmn9jTXoA4E5HqxCSXHrXcwjYwWV5CE2Gl3TIXhoD4yePjhIP1qKiTl5NcnBTu1FiBvZMBbzeMLs2Lq1PTsJfQivA4TNpEwEOjKzEtyd0qSB6O-Ss/s1600/fourwomentea.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQ2-QeVDY9veAIg5WWLuTydhRfzbmn9jTXoA4E5HqxCSXHrXcwjYwWV5CE2Gl3TIXhoD4yePjhIP1qKiTl5NcnBTu1FiBvZMBbzeMLs2Lq1PTsJfQivA4TNpEwEOjKzEtyd0qSB6O-Ss/s320/fourwomentea.jpg" width="320" height="249" data-original-width="540" data-original-height="421" /></a> <br />
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Times seem chaotic and unsure: I find solace in going out to my old easel and front porch. The swing is now 'ballerina pink', and the fish pond brims with gold fish, frogs, and ripples in water. Wind chimes sing on the summer breeze. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAOidJIEoi7kKRX4XEFBOLJolE0siaTc8x_jfksuoceUzmBvszWGWWx4Ytm2JnHTgS-HFt6g0gxEjHfdZnn83jWssI61hiq9o1ZQzL-qa32HRATApwLfC9dSk2Zi6zptzgSDfzDSHKOY/s1600/IMG_20180627_105720.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAOidJIEoi7kKRX4XEFBOLJolE0siaTc8x_jfksuoceUzmBvszWGWWx4Ytm2JnHTgS-HFt6g0gxEjHfdZnn83jWssI61hiq9o1ZQzL-qa32HRATApwLfC9dSk2Zi6zptzgSDfzDSHKOY/s400/IMG_20180627_105720.jpg" width="343" height="400" data-original-width="1371" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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Tomatoes cluster on a vine, and a crimson mandevilla winds around a white post. A young praying mantis as-green-as spring's-tenderest-leaf peeps at me from the boxwoods. River Dog snoozes and the cat tiptoes soft as a whisper. Such is life here: one more day in an old house in a small town, trying to make ends meet, and singing my heart out with brush strokes and tenderness. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj030imcmMG5HPVBN77v0KQ5ovJ-4bzcyJpwjws16z1Kt3cBRxXScvoJLmQEOjKsdzEhS3w3JrNLQkr_sA5AffXVwhZOTujYsqOKnjWsewJ85FHI9Z9D0AQNMLmywAmJ36w7d9c-Kgyfy0/s1600/pikachu.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj030imcmMG5HPVBN77v0KQ5ovJ-4bzcyJpwjws16z1Kt3cBRxXScvoJLmQEOjKsdzEhS3w3JrNLQkr_sA5AffXVwhZOTujYsqOKnjWsewJ85FHI9Z9D0AQNMLmywAmJ36w7d9c-Kgyfy0/s320/pikachu.jpg" width="320" height="247" data-original-width="1208" data-original-height="933" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_VtMabsMPpeTRsJW-23PE3fMMSBYUVPSoI2Ecm8JXanueUjRpZ58vbGNQODD0i3rMuFnxKZyMLlwRmBlZzSnt048KS6m2i5fW5w5nblpyLSkXEnUPuJ8jio0_gNEDtRK_ijXAZPEsCQ/s1600/hibiscus.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_VtMabsMPpeTRsJW-23PE3fMMSBYUVPSoI2Ecm8JXanueUjRpZ58vbGNQODD0i3rMuFnxKZyMLlwRmBlZzSnt048KS6m2i5fW5w5nblpyLSkXEnUPuJ8jio0_gNEDtRK_ijXAZPEsCQ/s400/hibiscus.jpg" width="345" height="400" data-original-width="1379" data-original-height="1600" /></a> <br />
<i>(photo: beauty in the imperfect: yesterday's hibiscus blossom fading)</i><br />
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*if you enjoyed this blog, please share. Even feel free to click those annoying ads (sorry about that!)I think it earned me a whole quarter last month. In the art life, a quarter is good. So click, share, and I'd love you to follow it (scroll down on right side and join in!). Thank you for reading this. It's done with love. <br />
<script type='text/javascript' src='https://ko-fi.com/widgets/widget_2.js'></script><script type='text/javascript'>kofiwidget2.init('Support Me on Ko-fi', '#46b798', 'N4N2GYJK');kofiwidget2.draw();</script> Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-47040242202643111192018-06-20T18:14:00.000-04:002018-06-20T18:14:30.785-04:00As Spring Flies Into Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovp0z1bdmZ3fBTWJLX7vHqtEoaWyVextgEykVPM70jfJ73SHymnREXPt9_T1MHBDNP9x2d0zJjUu9hS0N20hP-YsxVgbTjDo1_uZwLOAGzOCndJ09ESqiiEKvdzeQF1-QdRunxswE7l8/s1600/IMG_0061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovp0z1bdmZ3fBTWJLX7vHqtEoaWyVextgEykVPM70jfJ73SHymnREXPt9_T1MHBDNP9x2d0zJjUu9hS0N20hP-YsxVgbTjDo1_uZwLOAGzOCndJ09ESqiiEKvdzeQF1-QdRunxswE7l8/s640/IMG_0061.JPG" width="640" height="503" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1258" /></a></div><br />
The White Crane: Flying Into Dreams, Bonnie Joy Bardos, 48" x 60", oil<br />
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<i>Once we recognize that all things are impermanent, we have no problem enjoying them. In fact, real peace and joy are only possible when we see clearly into the nature of impermanence. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh</i><br />
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Spring turns into summer, weeks of rain fade into hot sunny days. Here at the old Art House, River and I spend mornings out on the front porch: I drink a morning mug of coffee, and he basks in sunshine. We stroll through the daylilies, lush roses, pink honeysuckle, catmint, bright phlox, yellow suns of coreopsis. Hydrangeas in white, blue, lavender spill throughout the gardens. Knee Deep, the resident fish pond King, sits on his mossy rock. Birds flit, in the afternoon sun, crows wing low over the road, cawing. <br />
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This month, a new exhibit opens at the Upstairs Artspace, and the above painting will be part of it, along with alot of contemporary art. I'm in "Four Women/Four Journeys" which features Carol Beth Icard, Patricia Cole Ferullo, and Linda Hudgins. We've been friends and fellow artists for years. Downstairs, nationally famed Stoney Lamar appears with the likes of Dale McEntire, Dale Weiler, David Zacharias, Mark Gardner, Shane Varnadore and more in a sculpture show. Holland Van Gores shows his fine wood-turnings also--the exhibits will run through August 3. The Upstairs goes back 40 years: back to the days when Craig Pleasants opened the upstairs bedrooms in his house as a place for artists to show work. Not just any work, either. Craig had a vision. Out of those artists, a lot went on to become famous. The gallery moved, and the first time I found it, it was beside City Hall in Tryon, NC...and that was the beginning. Poetry coffeehouses, gatherings, and interesting art (along with people). A non-profit, the gallery has been in its current location beside the Tryon Theater since the early 2000's...in fact, I worked there for a good five years, up until 2011 or so, and remember "String of Pearls", the 30th anniversary gala we put on. Craig and Sheila Pleasants came. The mission of the gallery has always been Craig's: that the Upstairs would support artists, and show their work: work that would not necessarily be commercially sales-driven stuff. I hope that stays the same. Run by a Board of Directors, the Upstairs will hopefully go on another 40 years! <br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-12073344674048190702018-05-18T10:54:00.000-04:002018-05-18T12:08:05.220-04:00Art in Spring<i>I want to be alive to all the life that is in me now, to know each moment to the utmost.<br />
~ Kahlil Gibran</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJGxp_TddK8HUmcd9K2QkGep_ITpKnW39lTaAZveQYyJUQOIcYdz7B4TZO6dhm-JZkNa3nVOtHQzXEduqnxN4hFq7Lo_KhSDdCIoo_39fZTnHFbC3eDN0TUIggr_RktFVnRSCQRVN428/s1600/IMG_0054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJGxp_TddK8HUmcd9K2QkGep_ITpKnW39lTaAZveQYyJUQOIcYdz7B4TZO6dhm-JZkNa3nVOtHQzXEduqnxN4hFq7Lo_KhSDdCIoo_39fZTnHFbC3eDN0TUIggr_RktFVnRSCQRVN428/s640/IMG_0054.JPG" width="640" height="488" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1219" /></a></div>(painting: "White Crane", oil on linen 36" x 48", Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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Spring is the time I roll the big wood easel outside to the front porch, pushing it carefully over worn Persian carpets and oak floors, up over the threshold just a bump, and voilà....we're out! Next cart-loads of paints, an old blue metal cart here, a small white one there. A turquoise blue rag draped over a pile of oil tubes. An old glass bottle to hold garden flowers dripping with morning dew. Pink honeysuckle twines up the porch rails, draped over an ancient wood trellis. <br />
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Nearby the Japanese maple branches drip down green fountains gracefully toward the shimmering fish pond. Pond frogs Banjo and Knee Deep hold court on mossy rocks, and River Dog stretches out to catch sunshine. These days are strawberry juice deliciousness. Peonies open, roses join in the dance. One more spring has come to the old Art House and me...and we make art, grateful for these moments. Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-8247481571025592242018-03-12T12:58:00.001-04:002018-03-12T12:58:42.949-04:00Art, Dogs, & Good People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9EUxbNdEjiaF8Z6QIryFziu56BcNrezafl5-3aw6e1jcmYS_VI1ab3qrbMx0LxgVKmBIy35iRoHJHy5ZddTa53ublfaiyaZtiBxpoXQdk8KXo1S59TiA-NT3Y1w_mzHTyQKwkNvwH7g/s1600/IMG_20180306_160831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq9EUxbNdEjiaF8Z6QIryFziu56BcNrezafl5-3aw6e1jcmYS_VI1ab3qrbMx0LxgVKmBIy35iRoHJHy5ZddTa53ublfaiyaZtiBxpoXQdk8KXo1S59TiA-NT3Y1w_mzHTyQKwkNvwH7g/s640/IMG_20180306_160831.jpg" width="640" height="527" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1317" /></a></div>(paintings: Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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<i>"It isn't more light we need, it's putting into practice what light we already have. When we do that, wonderful things will happen within our lives and within our world." ~ Peace Pilgrim</i><br />
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Spring's coming, despite the long hold of winter's icy clutches here in the mountains. I'm back from a road trip to Florida with River Dog and art supplies. A friend offered their charming vintage Fernandina Beach bungalow and all I had to worry about was getting there. Which took a bit of wrangling through rental car sites and such. The further south toward the coast we got, the warmer the air became between each rest stop. Shucking my winter jacket felt good. On the Florida state line, the phone died, so I had to rely on old-fashioned wits and road signs to navigate the final miles to Amelia Island and Fernandina. Artists tend to do that anyway, rely on drawing their own lines and following the nose. Here, no here. Wait, that looks right! Yes, we finally pulled into the cottage's driveway and piled out, road-weary and grateful for landing safely. <br />
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The evening called for a glass of crisp vino and a veggie pizza from a nearby local pizzeria. Ah. Life is good when you have a good dog, good pizza, a cool place to hang your hat, art supplies and a glass of wine in hand.<br />
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While on the island, I painted every afternoon: sitting in a weathered rocking chair, blue easel set up on the front porch. Azaleas, camellias, roses, palm fronds, blue sky and sea breezes. Lots of dogs and nice folks walking by. River enjoyed daily walks along the historic district too, and I set out to explore downtown, art galleries, and interesting points of view. Plus, a stroll on the beach barefoot of course. At night, I found myself hanging with a couple of home folks who'd bought a house on the island: they hauled me to the Salty Pelican and the Palace--the oldest bar in Florida with glowing old woodwork to tell those tales. And, every afternoon, I painted. Just bright 'out-of-mind' paintings that bloomed like the azaleas nearby. It does a body good to get away to a warm beautiful place in winter, especially fueled by kindness and love from others that made it all happen. A circle of color and love that goes round and round in a world starving for love and beauty. Let there be art. And people who love art, artists, dogs, and have good hearts. <br />
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The day I packed up to leave, scrubbed Wade's sweet little vintage cottage clean with gratitude to my generous host, I made a new friend, who'd gotten back to Fernandina from LA just in the nick of time to catch me before I left. Rhonda ended up buying one of the paintings and loved it so: it was meant to be. Such good energy! I left the island feeling renewed and full of color again. <br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-36403683442037673682018-01-08T11:32:00.001-05:002018-01-08T19:22:14.675-05:00The Winding Road of Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iz-Am4VD2_j66rNV28-DWftOVaFqrQPFybGWue3H1YDysWclwuv3J0bxyVcxyuChF_ryAh08uozWxxAFBq8lkazR_t0NmKBsPt6QMxpPsEoA6Eg0J1cWgV86kcivbakvOXTonzTjgik/s1600/IMG_1728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6iz-Am4VD2_j66rNV28-DWftOVaFqrQPFybGWue3H1YDysWclwuv3J0bxyVcxyuChF_ryAh08uozWxxAFBq8lkazR_t0NmKBsPt6QMxpPsEoA6Eg0J1cWgV86kcivbakvOXTonzTjgik/s640/IMG_1728.JPG" width="494" height="640" data-original-width="1236" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
<i>"As I write I create myself again and again." ~ Joy Harjo</i><br />
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<i>"...there never was a world for her<br />
Except the one she sang and singing, made." ~ Wallace Stevens</i><br />
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<i>"Any woodthrush shows it- he sings, <br />
not to fill the world, but because he is filled." ~ Jane Hirshfield, "The Stone of Heaven"</i><br />
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Here it is a new sparkling year: 2018 has arrived. Single-digit temperatures in the mountains combined with weeks of a Christmas 'gift' virus kept me from painting. The most I've done is pick up charcoal and sketch horses into a landscape, a welcome reprieve into 'my world' as I call it. I *had* to do something! For sculpture, I've put the large figure I'm working on outside on the back porch to 'weather' a bit more. Let's face it, winter is never my favorite season, nor the easiest to survive in an old house: the basement pipes have created a skating rink of ice...so today, it's wait-for-a-plumber-and-pray time. In between all this, I've been reflecting (new years bring a clean slate and self examination time). <br />
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It's time to consider the road ahead (this is something I ponder every year at this time!)...literally and figuratively. Is my work any good? Am I being true to self always? Where is it (and am I) going? Where do I belong in this world? How do I balance the ingrained need to create versus survival? Age-old questions for most serious artists. It is my belief that this broken world needs art to mend our beings, our very souls. To bring light into darkness: both for the artist who creates it, and for those who see/read/hear/feel it. Art is life. It is to me--over this brutal winter, I've wondered if I should go back to the workforce world in order to make my tattered ends meet: if it hadn't been for angels among us, I would have fallen down, hard. Yet, time and time again, they have come when I needed them most. And, the wood thrush's bell-clear answer came: <i>you are doing what you should, and must</i>. While you are here on this earth. Keep believing. Don't give up. Sing. Be filled. Create yourself again and again....<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjku_6Gt9qUH6h6WZ3De79x9GCbIwwEv2jRDLrGI7IeB2NBXH4Ahk9x9xnWsEipH8q9jat6671YHV-4EVht80BZxFZ_6px2PHXvDzW88SAV9P5PgCa-dmUusTh4x7FN8CMGn3i-dRZ6eg/s1600/IMG_20180101_095000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjku_6Gt9qUH6h6WZ3De79x9GCbIwwEv2jRDLrGI7IeB2NBXH4Ahk9x9xnWsEipH8q9jat6671YHV-4EVht80BZxFZ_6px2PHXvDzW88SAV9P5PgCa-dmUusTh4x7FN8CMGn3i-dRZ6eg/s400/IMG_20180101_095000.jpg" width="300" height="400" data-original-width="1201" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-4677149758789459012017-12-12T09:32:00.000-05:002017-12-12T11:08:53.860-05:00Painting & Life <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGypIYvKSoyIaQ5AhaJYnvNyjjC9G7MrLF7us0VGQMQif2a2ViAOQua-jOF7mITtwEu33hEbQuPYKnJMywaxT-pqIuCc1CFsOBp7K9MNoMXP4gOp3_DikmVS8_qzxblaa5wHndzcY3FU/s1600/bestdateever.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGypIYvKSoyIaQ5AhaJYnvNyjjC9G7MrLF7us0VGQMQif2a2ViAOQua-jOF7mITtwEu33hEbQuPYKnJMywaxT-pqIuCc1CFsOBp7K9MNoMXP4gOp3_DikmVS8_qzxblaa5wHndzcY3FU/s640/bestdateever.jpg" width="640" height="640" data-original-width="960" data-original-height="960" /></a> "Best Date Ever", 16" x 20", Bonnie Joy Bardos<br />
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<i>Our heart, when it breaks open, can hold the whole universe.<br />
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~ Joanna Macy</i><br />
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This painting is one I started working on one evening. As my favorite pieces are prone to do, it just <i>'happened'</i>. Strands of Christmas lights around my old house kitchen were my only lighting, and create a magical feel, although it's too dim for painting. My new infrared heater helped warm the chill air, and the brushes kept saying 'red'. Blue. Yellow. The eyes delighted me: the slant of one, the look of imperfection. A bird cage disappeared under the yellow, the side table ghosted through. Cats appeared. People are going to think I'm a cat lady--although I only have one, she appears over and over. River Dog is taking a break: I'm paying him a model fee with homemade food this winter as we battle his kidney disease. I would do anything for him. He's with me every day, helping paint: and there's nothing more companionable than a snoozing dog in morning sunshine, the soft sounds of a brush caressing the canvas, birds singing, fish pond trickling, the heart tender and full. <br />
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Right now, I'm looking at the piece to see what it needs. Maybe a little deeper cobalt blue. Hmmmmm....I sits, I thinks. Such is life. Paintings are but a metaphor for life: they happen, sometimes they need a tweak, sometimes they sing with delight. Sometimes they have something big to say although they're deceptively simple. This one makes my heart sing! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Un1l28qJWo59RSUUyIWAMfm7MZl2gcmHwsfmTxLDxnOodzrTjFFTxTHi-k_Ap1IBRFm6hl_vDKRvoa09hZgZS6FhaflcX_laqvzumZg52ApV6d3c54e0SNOIGUvq0KKgY9ZsiHfi95U/s1600/IMG_20171201_170316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Un1l28qJWo59RSUUyIWAMfm7MZl2gcmHwsfmTxLDxnOodzrTjFFTxTHi-k_Ap1IBRFm6hl_vDKRvoa09hZgZS6FhaflcX_laqvzumZg52ApV6d3c54e0SNOIGUvq0KKgY9ZsiHfi95U/s320/IMG_20171201_170316.jpg" width="252" height="320" data-original-width="1258" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div>(photo: starting a painting)Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-89137029742156754282017-10-21T16:54:00.000-04:002017-11-07T13:27:05.547-05:00Life & Art <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Te7E9zNh4VSoPaE9i-07zgDOcV2tSa_K2vsBZG74ZUiRqsrQfK4klhJhY8gfVdm4clkMJw1MqYUB7GZV2IiZGmps7QiJyi2MVsSncJqDmvnGB0DasPvLHzCkpuS00cUmshOalkcAsl0/s1600/IMG_20170927_132139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Te7E9zNh4VSoPaE9i-07zgDOcV2tSa_K2vsBZG74ZUiRqsrQfK4klhJhY8gfVdm4clkMJw1MqYUB7GZV2IiZGmps7QiJyi2MVsSncJqDmvnGB0DasPvLHzCkpuS00cUmshOalkcAsl0/s400/IMG_20170927_132139.jpg" width="400" height="372" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1487" /></a></div><br />
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Fall days grow shorter, as blue shadows grow longer in the evenings; mornings get here later...crisp. Around the Art House, I've moved most of my porch plants back inside, as well as closing down the 'front porch' studio. I've set up a table on the back deck to catch warmer afternoons while they're here. Just picture me sinking fingernails in the skirt of summer, begging her to come back, come back! Cold and dark don't sit well around here. <br />
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Despite dead furnace, house stuff, plumbing, dog, etc. I've been working on a sculpture piece and painting, after the annual open studio tour--which takes a while to recover from! Honestly, if I went a week without working, and art IS working, I don't know what I'd do. The sculpture is outside on the back deck, where I drill, pound, and fit pieces to the puzzle of what it will be. Not even I know. That's the beauty of just going with the flow in life, you don't know the answers. Usually they're right there the whole time. The truth is, I'm just grateful these days...old house, old truck, and all. How lucky I am that so many people believe in me, and that I believe in me too. If I stumble and fall, someone is there to help me up. That's what we need the most, to remember that we are all walking each other home (to quote Ram Dass). <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xGp7ghY4_oYFfr_hpYcK6_B45k6K7CRNfQDUxGoex7X-V22t2P6uJ_PfOqhYSXFg9M_HMIabJ5FjGUIByc4j-jYej8ddgM4DQyWPY3bkw-c9FuDs7QpW6Lmra-mi25jiAp0dnKpBA6c/s1600/IMG_1797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0xGp7ghY4_oYFfr_hpYcK6_B45k6K7CRNfQDUxGoex7X-V22t2P6uJ_PfOqhYSXFg9M_HMIabJ5FjGUIByc4j-jYej8ddgM4DQyWPY3bkw-c9FuDs7QpW6Lmra-mi25jiAp0dnKpBA6c/s400/IMG_1797.JPG" width="359" height="400" data-original-width="1435" data-original-height="1600" /></a></div><br />
Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-26594574139820828242017-08-14T17:50:00.000-04:002017-08-15T08:52:53.378-04:00A Day In The Life: Artist At WorkMy search bar reads "between custard and ice cream" but that couldn't possibly have anything to do with art, could it? Maybe it does. Maybe. A day of painting is perhaps, to an artist, like the smoothness of custard and ice cream. Rich, full, soothing. Yet, a day of painting is *hard* work too. All day, I worked outside on my front porch studio, on my feet standing. It rained, the sun came out, it rained some more. Breezes drifted. Heat settled. My glasses fogged up. The feet hurt. Stop! Stop, they cried. The dog snoozed near them. As I usually remind 'normal' folks who actually might read this blog, artists work hard. It's not our 'hobby'. Or worse yet, the age old question...."How do you REALLY make a living?" I've heard it all, as well as any artist that ever has existed. Rembrandt probably heard it. An artist is at work, whether there's a paycheck involved or not.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9f9orMHVCekOKxHKyD9aV1CmRwHBMrBQj8hOQusyCIhRhIFx7Wj0ge8Abkc7mUZutTc5OjaM0n-6zLVXXSjLRVFiiT3-F78gc_XXLCE13-tJgSpE8qg9aznSGWvm2lY7MSGrpYWdSL8/s1600/IMG_1605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic9f9orMHVCekOKxHKyD9aV1CmRwHBMrBQj8hOQusyCIhRhIFx7Wj0ge8Abkc7mUZutTc5OjaM0n-6zLVXXSjLRVFiiT3-F78gc_XXLCE13-tJgSpE8qg9aznSGWvm2lY7MSGrpYWdSL8/s640/IMG_1605.JPG" width="640" height="320" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="800" /></a></div><i>One of the many stages of this piece. I *love* this, but took the orange bit at the top out, then kept going. I believe this would have been a great abstract finished painting, though!</i><br />
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This week, I told the dog and cat they at least have food, so that's good. We like to eat around here. It's not an easy existence, but when you do what you were born to do, somehow you find your way. The universe is listening, and someone out there's going to find your art. Annie Dillard writes: "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing. A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time. A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order—willed, faked, and so brought into being; it is a peace and a haven set into the wreck of time; it is a lifeboat on which you find yourself, decades later, still living. Each day is the same, so you remember the series afterward as a blurred and powerful pattern." <br />
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I thought you might like to see the journey of a painting, along with what I did today: on a rainy/sunny/August day. Yes, my feet still hurt, the dog is still near them: we're inside now at the computer screen while I take a break to sit down and share this with you. The <i>life</i> of an artist. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSpJOnIr8qbBMrCI7KnSAb6Dm41gc540AHAluoHYR7Xk0JWfrWLulvtJGWct-tQfGTKH50OrFJHmpfoXRaY6LAfPR-go7lk3xgerRxrh0QrYHHzLkrhGyeWmv2ylsfc-zIWkhcHkC4WM/s1600/IMG_1613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSpJOnIr8qbBMrCI7KnSAb6Dm41gc540AHAluoHYR7Xk0JWfrWLulvtJGWct-tQfGTKH50OrFJHmpfoXRaY6LAfPR-go7lk3xgerRxrh0QrYHHzLkrhGyeWmv2ylsfc-zIWkhcHkC4WM/s320/IMG_1613.JPG" width="320" height="180" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="899" /></a></div><i>Painting in the rain. </i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H0FWHG_p-Ek1rn3PMOyRnCAMQ45k_fRmvek4oKAI9ehQdyuurEvFp25PDTsW3zah5gPtvond6Lwz-SFfvF53Fi8CsuYtDHQkxj_1loBQAoH3VWnZ9uS2LgNyonyz9SIwuuZp562EXZM/s1600/IMG_1619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0H0FWHG_p-Ek1rn3PMOyRnCAMQ45k_fRmvek4oKAI9ehQdyuurEvFp25PDTsW3zah5gPtvond6Lwz-SFfvF53Fi8CsuYtDHQkxj_1loBQAoH3VWnZ9uS2LgNyonyz9SIwuuZp562EXZM/s320/IMG_1619.JPG" width="320" height="160" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="801" /></a></div><i>By now, this piece must have 50 layers. Some get removed, some added to. It's symbolic of life. It's taking a new direction, isn't it? </i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4lh1ialhPHLrx4oKr34IBq3TmavgtFPmXVsQJhMySSKTpTfh9zJYESAzHFMWPtiiNm1NFrY-EaUaq__cBPytseOd5foY_ZyJgHrAog1UwvjiZPuDp7HsLWD_Gx3SJB0hYuj-lQFsCHc/s1600/IMG_1627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4lh1ialhPHLrx4oKr34IBq3TmavgtFPmXVsQJhMySSKTpTfh9zJYESAzHFMWPtiiNm1NFrY-EaUaq__cBPytseOd5foY_ZyJgHrAog1UwvjiZPuDp7HsLWD_Gx3SJB0hYuj-lQFsCHc/s400/IMG_1627.JPG" width="400" height="202" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="806" /></a></div>This is the painting in its most recent stage, it of course belongs to my long-time series "Esto Perpetua", yet feels different. This one is titled "Time of Mist: All is Not Lost". Right now, it's going to dry for a few weeks before I decide "Finished!" or keep going. I let paintings lead me. All is not lost....I keep looking at the abstract version I like so much, yet I love this too! It'll happen. The universe will speak. And I'll keep on painting. Tired feet and all, the dog near by. <br />
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And that is a day in the painting life. Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6961703294849422618.post-66781146448900619712017-08-03T14:24:00.000-04:002018-01-08T11:35:32.282-05:00Meanderings & The Painting Life <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZYBva7YX4Msxiv5xfQPsB8VxDB-EsqKjxled3Ex-b9Z8zwQPBX3fR-Ixi2DfrEssen69QD7iMFZdeDDQWiAXK3AnXZv1miiziPDFzz3z4X9e4f6tQIBGkEqt3rggsczsPVcj41nyPRY/s1600/IMG_20170730_100029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZYBva7YX4Msxiv5xfQPsB8VxDB-EsqKjxled3Ex-b9Z8zwQPBX3fR-Ixi2DfrEssen69QD7iMFZdeDDQWiAXK3AnXZv1miiziPDFzz3z4X9e4f6tQIBGkEqt3rggsczsPVcj41nyPRY/s640/IMG_20170730_100029.jpg" width="640" height="606" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1516" /></a></div>"Solace I", Bonnie Joy Bardos<br />
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<i>“It’s a serious thing, just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”<br />
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~ Mary Oliver, Red Bird</i><br />
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Late summer days in the mountains flow with cicada song, peepers, long blue shadows promising fall ahead. Every morning I'm outside on the front porch studio, working on new paintings and listening to the fish pond trickle, River dog snoozing nearby, and bird song. Now and then someone strolls by and wishes me a good morning. Last week, I hauled a large sculpture outside and worked all day on her for a juried show that opens tomorrow night. Named "Walela (Spirit Guide)" (Cherokee for hummingbird), she's made of fired clay, metal, copper wire, fiber, and much more...along with natural branches and wood pedestal. Walela consists of many found objects and recycled media.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-VwXYL-6Og733h0yL9VtL5pth47ie9n3qZzVZ44TyD667ukkAO4dh1BGkdgz_HXPP5AhG050sRXYQMTTgDqxn7gW2fLBY7sAzDbY8eyvjdk-SkJkoOuMvYJE6eWo1Hxn_U_fFLavkQo/s1600/buyb2017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ-VwXYL-6Og733h0yL9VtL5pth47ie9n3qZzVZ44TyD667ukkAO4dh1BGkdgz_HXPP5AhG050sRXYQMTTgDqxn7gW2fLBY7sAzDbY8eyvjdk-SkJkoOuMvYJE6eWo1Hxn_U_fFLavkQo/s200/buyb2017.jpg" width="200" height="181" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1450" /></a></div>Update: "Walela" won 2nd Place in 3-D Art for the Arts Council of Hendersonville's Annual Bring Us Your Best exhibit, as well as winning "One Planet/One World" award presented by the Hendersonville Unitarian Universalist Fellowship for "the artwork which best represents a world community that recognizes the inherent worth and dignity of all beings, and the oneness and interdependence of all life." This means the world to me--and what an honor for both awards. I'm so grateful that I drove over through Flat Rock, past the Carl Sandburg farm and on to the UU service today and took a heart-felt note of gratitude for their support and appreciation of the arts. <br />
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A painting I worked on became a road trip back to the '60's....a Nash-Rambler station wagon, forest, and the iconic picnic table alongside the winding road. All summer, art projects have been in the works: all influenced by the turn of earth and slant of sun, the soft dog ears under my hand. Butterflies that flit, hummingbirds that zoom to the nearby feeders....one more year I stand at my work table and easel, observing and putting it all into the story I'm painting. Life for an artist goes on on those August summer days...<br />
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In late September, my house/studio will be on Art Trek Open Studios, sponsored by Upstairs Artspace. I've done this event every year, and will be at it once again! Mark your calendars for the weekend of September 30 and Oct. 1. A preview party featuring all participating artists will be September 29, 5-7 p.m. at Upstairs Artspace, 49 S. Trade, Tryon NC. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nWv4Rmc6J4aImVW5gzqucxH86mokw_5sfg-pJi3Yy7YEokYLCCdER2v90cYVgOUZ0eoKg7ql6HLPTwssxpHUR5dzYgUb3TkvPaL_nWybJjctcz1BzyOkcRLbbtYxm5jaQw0IKDl4WBM/s1600/IMG_1569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3nWv4Rmc6J4aImVW5gzqucxH86mokw_5sfg-pJi3Yy7YEokYLCCdER2v90cYVgOUZ0eoKg7ql6HLPTwssxpHUR5dzYgUb3TkvPaL_nWybJjctcz1BzyOkcRLbbtYxm5jaQw0IKDl4WBM/s400/IMG_1569.JPG" width="400" height="305" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1218" /></a></div>"Road Trip II, Bonnie Joy Bardos)<br />
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Bohemian Artist: Bonnie Joy Bardoshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18229626328949845481noreply@blogger.com0