Saturday, 30 November 2013

Three hours to the start of the 32-day fair.. As long as it stays dry, it's okay. Cold and dry or cold and snowy is okay. Cold and wet is a boner killer (regarding sales. Otherwise it's probably a baby boom.)

But you know what they say. When life throws you lemons...


Wednesday, 27 November 2013

Gorgi landed :D

Hard to believe, but the Gorgonaut tomes have finally landed, safely in my lobby. (The dog is now barking at the zigurat, unsure of what to think of SpulpF :)) Dad did the heavy lifting, so to speak, driving me there and back again and helping me unload. Later the carrying actually happened on my part, fifteen friggin boxes, and the house renovators helped with some. The books are such as they are, too narrowly cut, too densely glued and occasionally flawed, missing a page or two. It only took them two months, and of course the ones they fucked up, they included into the package, so I now have approximately 180 nice books and a couple of unique ones. I've also made my first sell and warned people that, come January, I'll bother just about everyone I know to buy them. Which I'll need to, because I haven't paid my phone in months and the breaks on the car fell off. 
     Three days to fair. Am very happy with myself today, as opposed to yesterday. Oh, and G passed his first exam. Sweet thing.

Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Today was one of those "I think I'm having my period, but we'll never know" days. I was cranky and messed up most of the afternoon. Wept like a five year old for an hour, slobbering: "I don't know whyyy I'm saaaad!... ..." Got to give it to the General, he certainly has patience of a Dalai Lama.

But other than that, they began setting up the ugly little white huts that will be my home for the duration of December (Not all of them, just one). I have to invest some brain power into trying to make it attractive, so I don't look like a hobo in an old washing machine shell. These are supposedly more effective conditions wise, though nowhere near as quaint and there isn't any hammering allowed. Which poses certain decoration limitation... I've been given good hints as to heating it with flower pots and tea candles, and hopefully December won't be a total fucking murder icicle fest. I may need certain amount of hot pies from McDonald's (which, I estimate, will be the closest offer if I'm located near Gubčeva) for moral support..

I have no idea how well I will sell my things. I may sell enough to pay my phone bill and buy everyone prezzies, or I may spend a miserable months writing pulp science fiction, paining more and more decrepit angels on dense carton. Uu, I was real lucky with the carton - having ran out of money for the canvas plates, the neighbour frame shop gave me the cut-offs of the passe-partouts, which as pretty much the same thickness and density and I now have a load of them all shapes and colours... The colours alone inspire me to continue paintings. The goal is to have 50 of them by the start of the fair - which is Saturday (3 days to go). I'm doing okay. I'd be a dozen shy if I didn't sell a few of the paintings already :) Not bad, really. Fifty tiny paintings in a months. Luckily I'm an illustrator and I really like coloured pens work. ;)

Thursday, 21 November 2013

How the fuck does one NOT Mary Sue a futuristic female detective?? O.o

The funny thing lately, when people ask me how am I feeling, I don't know where to start. It's been a while since I was so packed up with emotion and sentiment - without it being a melange.  The bottom line of the feeling is GOOD. But that's just the honest simplification.

- The fucking book is stuck at the printers. Grrr... Anxiety.
- The usual family feuds. Not sure from which direction the next bullshit fart will hit me. Paranoia.
- Having absolutely no money. Can't buy new canvases :/ Frustration.
- Dog had fleas. Hibby jibbies. O.o
- Still no results on General's exam. Restlessness.
- Unable to start a new book. Time wise, discipline-wise. Impotence.
- Sometimes people I know die. Sad :(

- I am working like nuts on the paintings for the fair. Hyper productivity.
- The book will soon be out. Yay!! Super proud.
- I can start any new book I want. Any in the whole world. Total freedom of choice.
- Many great books to read, movies to see, videos on YouTube every day to cry over. Emo.
- Nuts, head over heels in love with my husband
- End-of-yea fairs are starting! A million adorable things to see and (hihi, buy!)
- The movie is going great. Ambition.
- Holidays incoming. Cookies and prezzies! I love giving as much as receiving!

Vesna K. (and Lara)

Monday, 18 November 2013

Been painting so much my wrists hurt so bad I have to type this with my nose...

Sunday, 17 November 2013

Song of the day :D

A very nice house

Did a shoot in this one. Took a tour to warm up. Such a cushy place.

One of those embarassing moments of realization

This is my first Chihuahua. I mean, the first Chihuahua I met. I think we had one in school and she was ever yapping, but I never actually met that one. This one - I forget her name, though I remember it was cute - was the nicest dog I have ever seen. Normally, like anyone else, including the owner, my first impulse would be to forever hate these breeds as a terribly byproduct of Paris Hilton's horrid lifestyle .. But oh man. When these two (there were two, but only one liked me), came running at me as I walked into their floor (they cannot climb stairs, i think, so they just reign the upper, cushier floor with the fireplace), they were so small I thought they must be puppies. They were hamster size. They were cannaries with feet. And as soon as I touched this one, she was the softest, cleanest mutt imaginable. In fact, she kept making the 'lift me! lift me!' pose and i just picked her up and carried her around. For the duration of the meeting.
Seriously? A Chihuahua?? This is all I've been thinking about. None of that hysterical excitement when you come or explosion of emotion when you leave, the constant demand of attention, care or rewards. Certainly every dog is a joy, yadda, yadda, and I love my beast more than I realised before the other day when we lost her in the woods for the night, but most of the people I know take dogs on a challenges, as personalities. Certainly Drej's Joyce is an abundance of character and Flor is her own set of interesting twists and turns, Tara and Emi are ... well, interesting, and Lyra is unique, underlined. Every one is almost a person. No way you could ever put any one of them in your purse and just carry it around like a little cushy soul.

This is the first dog that was actually really nice to me.
And that's how I fell in love with a Chihuahua.


Friday, 15 November 2013

The most epic split EVER

Thursday, 14 November 2013

I got into the holidays fair thingie (the bitch cold thingie that I hate when I'm there and absolutely hate not being there if I'm not :))), which is a month long ordeal. I'm making more and more of small cute paintings thingies - am also very tired, hence severely diminished vocabulary ... thingie. Here's some more stuff I made today. Each is valued around 6-15 bucks (these more like 6 - 12).. And yes, as on popular demand, I am making the friggin' angels ... :P

Good luck, love :D

Tuesday, 12 November 2013

Ha, I brought two books, the paddie and a notebook to the coffee place to spend a couple of chillaxing hours while G is at his last few hours of physical therapy, his broken wing finally starting to resemble its former glory (hush, don't jinx it!), but I am so tired I cannot focus on anything for longer than a few minutes :D A round of Plants vs Zombies, a few pages of The Art of Fielding by some Chad fella, a few lines of Ulysses (homework) and a few paragraphs of Mireille's musings, trying to ink down what her face says on film. I really hope I will do justice to the actress in that movie. She is so absurdly beautiful and I am getting such sublime material, I just can't decide how I should be using it. It has grown way beyond my simplistic, meditative script. It feels like riding a wild horse – an exhilarating experience, but, man, way above my pay grade! Even the slightest shift in the tone tells a different story and I am constantly combating the only three elements I should be  harnessing: editing, music and overtones. If it was up to me, I wouldn't edit a thing, tone or sound anything at all. I think it's perfect just the way it is. But this is like the books I write - the most terrific fun to write and not quite so much to read. If successful directors have taught me anything is that you don't enforce your vision and expect people to appreciate it. People want to be entertained. Even if it is a profound piece of true art. It has to be coherent. This is not a documentary, although it pretends to be, and it is not an invitation, it's a manual. This is as far from various Justin Biebers, One Directions, Miley Cyruses and fat Britney Spears' as is possible, if you will, still originating from the same Milky Way. 
        Blame it on the damn dog, I haven't slept much tonight. Funny how these hairy little fuckers worry us and from her reaction to finding us I can't decide if she was late because she was having so much fun or was she actually unhappy, sleeping outdoors for once. Mental note to invest into a telemetric collar on a civilian level. The weather this morning was an aftermath of an Atlantic typhoon: winds from the arctic wasteland, rain as cold as snow, trees billowing so vehemently that the General heard a warning announcement to stay out of the woods five minutes after he dropped me off on top of a deep forest hill and had a thought to return for me. I started to holler and descend at the top of the terrain (Drej took the fairly straightforward forest road I took yestereve and the General went and found the dog). On top of all my wear, he also gave me a large, hard raincoat and that pretty much turned me into a sail. If I walked the ridge, hoping to scream loud enough against the wind for a hound to notice in the northern side of the drop, I was at peril of being rolled around. But as soon as I started sliding downhill (easy 45% angle and wet branches under wet leaves), the wind also shot me over. The yelling was easier here, and it's possible the mutt actually heard me (she was seen sprinting in my direction down at the bottom of the field), although my concern weighted the effect of three people searching the same valley as opposed to each searching one. As it turns out, the infamous beagle ability to remember where she is usually picked up actually came to fruition and she was waiting for us in the right valley. The search was over in half an hour - just by the time I found a non windy terrain and got warm sporting. It would have taken me a while to get out of it downhill (foliage getting more and more serious the lower towards water you got, resulting in obstacles akin to a knitted curtains of barbed wire and some more barbed wire.. ) so in a rare decision to backtrack, I followed my own trail back up, on all fours, and then spent a few elevating minutes walking down the hill on a road with the dramatically changing weather making love to the really lovely countryside. 
    I had plans to treat Drej to a coffee as my way of saying big thanks, but almost all of the involved parties passed out under cushy blankies as soon as we got home and that will have to wait. The dog hasn't recovered yet and only time will tell if she is feeling miserable because she had to cot under a wet spruce or because we brought her back to doggie bags and concrete. I would pay money to be able to hear her side of the story. And what are the odds we’ll be having puppies come New year’s?

To Miraille everything was interesting. She loved shadows, as they gave character to otherwise shy objects. She loved light in every shade, shape or form. Even if she knew none of their names, she would slide though them like a tourist on the first day of a very crowded spice bazaar. It didn’t matter things were great or small, grave or gay, well cut or thrown aside or if they were things at all. She liked all the sounds and all the secrets. Faces, oh, she was in awe of faces. Beastly eyes, baby lips. The hair. The features. People gave her dirty looks and hateful glances or they fell in love without ever getting from her more than a single fleeting moment. A woman, enthralled while flipping through cheap pages of a gossip magazine. Grand, important men, looking down from election posters. Mireille loved all the faces. These were all interesting people to her.
                It didn't matter if Mireille was a person or a sprite. Alive or a reflection, it didn't change the way she saw shapes made. If she was an old soul or an excellent creature from the future, mattered none the way she stared. She was all eyes, all senses, she was the brain, the heart behind the skin. To her the advancing sights were what to other people is iron in their blood, a feeding life force, and she never stopped moving, never stopped wondering. Even every pain she felt was curious, complicated. She kept every thing that made her smile, every thing that made her cry; she called this collection a planet. Except for a handful of practical items like shoes or a blanket - all of which she's only ever been given, her only possessions besides her existence, a far more fleeting thing than one might think, were fragments of her past lives, her former stories. The shards of her soul. What reason it had to shatter so, Mireille neither knew nor worried. To her none of them had sharp, cutting edges, they were just little crumpets on a fair winding path. If history was a tale on frail stationery, mailed to dusty bespectacled scholars, these shards were the stamps. Even how she knew these were things that were important to past Mireilles, didn't matter. She knew. They knew. She carried them around, adding them to shape a puppet that bore her semblance. A silly, sentimental thing, perhaps a ticket of courage, some might imagine, abstractly, by the look of it. But as irony, another grand life stream of the world, would have it, that rag reyna with a clay face and jewel mouth was more alive than Mireille herself.

Sunday, 10 November 2013

Miss my dog :((

What the fuck is she up to??
I hope whatever intellect she has, she keeps inside the forest, where she is safest, as opposed to venturing out to find us, crossing traffic :///

Second day of shoot

While waiting for our crazy dog to return to us, wayward mutt, we had the second Shards shoot this morning. It lasted good 7 hours and we did the Origin story and some of the Ghost cuts, minus the ghost. Spooky stuff, too. Not so much the Ghost setting, but definitely the Origins one...

The most "You must be fucking joking!?" location we could find

Yours truly looking for quicksand. General nearly killed me when he found out I was poking around the swamp

A bulb or a bug?? O.o

Just a spot of mud

Jamiroquie in the deep dark forest

Tina did excellent wound tissue, the setting of which serves for Mireille's first, quite literal, shard