This is me picking through rocks down at Ashbridges Bay, Toronto, for beach glass and other interesting finds.
I lost baby ugly at White Cliff Beach near Vancouver B.C. Actually, I set her afloat to become a mermaid one year at a “family” picnic. Not real family, not bio family. My Step dad’s friends. A concoction of alcoholics, thieves, bikers and just out of jailers. They were as close knit as any other woven family.
Those were the highlights of my summers as a kid. Crossing the Lions gate bridge onward to the “far away” beach. Roaming freely on the ocean rocks-fearful the tide would come on fast and we’d be trapped at sea. Amidst a never ending blue neither ending at sky or sea. Bringing home hermit crabs, smoking with my “cousin”. Pondering the drug addled almost adult topless girls making out with their boys.
Always loved the beach….perhaps being a water sign has something to do with it.
Summer is over once again. Throughout the Winter I will be transforming my finds, my precious beach finds, transforming them wondrously into jewelry and sculpture. Humming the still haunting tune of baby uglie’s lullaby.
As usual I could not let this glitter flutter by. I held it in my hands not sure what I would do with it but all that glitters intrigues me. Though it is meant for some form of nail sculpting I fantasized the sparkling shapes and colors running through my hands, being applied to clay, paper and seashells. Further decorating my current bower.
My first bower was an old nut tree. A tree cave whose center branches reached upwards to the distant blue sky. The outer branches heavy with prickly nuts swooped down to the ground in a graceful arch. It was my secret place.
This is where baby ugly lived. My baby ugly, a naked and dirty doll with holes punched into her lips and crotch. So she could eat and then defecate wild choke cherries, their purple blood forever stained her chest where it dripped in sticky rivets.
Sometimes I’d wrap her in leaves or a toilet paper dress while I swept the bare ground, it’s gnarly roots poking out far enough to trip the not-so nimble. A broom made out of branches that blew the dry summer dust all around inside the bower. What I would have given to have glitter back then. I had popping green seed pods and sickly sweet cotton tree fluff instead…….
I thinks this will really be my blog. On being a Bower Bird. And what is a Bower Bird you may ask? Well….it’s a bird from somewhere in South America (I think…I will have to check that out later) that is creative and artistic to attract it’s mate and to deter it’s adversaries. It uses visual trickery to entice it’s female counterparts.
By foreshortening the visual impact of the depth of it’s bower, or nest, it creates the illusion of a vast, expansive bird mansion–but in reality it is actually not as large as it appears.
Because I am blind in one eye I have no depth perception, visually I am not so interested in this aspect of being a bower bird. However I love shiny, colorful and sparkly objects just as much if not more than any bower! Objects may not distract me visually, but mentally and emotionally they do the job.
Birds on Barbed Wire Mixed Media on Canvas
This is my son Johnathan with the best ever Christmas present an artsy mom could ever get
And this is what the artsy mom made with it
Now I have a place to keep all the little things he has made me over the years.