Red orbit

Struggling with my approach for art instruction with an incredibly young group of students this semester.  The smallest kiddies can just barely hold a pencil to scribble circles, and are inconsistent naming colors.

Stop worrying. Start with RED. That's what the voice said.

That voice is just the deep, stewy crockpot in my head, slowly simmering inspiration from seemingly random leftovers.

Can't tell my prefrontal cortex from my automatic ice cube maker, but I'm listening to the audiobook of Jonah Lehrer's How We Decide. The audiobook is fascinating, although reading the paperback kept putting me to sleep. How, oh how, am I going to teach art tomorrow?

Really red?  Just yesterday I posted about meaningless alliterative intensifiers, and "really" might be one in this situation.  What is the slow-cooker recipe for tomorrow's lesson? Stir it all together and see what happens!

A new Mars rover--Curiosity

My grandbaby reminds me of his dad's Red Rings toy from Johnson and Johnson back in 1982.

Outside my sliding door, Dad's colored rings hang from my birdfeeder hook. They used to hang in the dining area window. Pretty sure I bought the rings at the Dallas Arboretum and gave them to my folks.

Inside the condo, I unearthed a ziplock bag of red plastic peanut butter jar lids and other nesting lid sizes.

Paper-Pro Easy Punch 1-hole punch from Office Max chomping through ten sheets of paper. I'm impressed!

So, tomorrow night I hope to have photos of our art class red rings.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Formica shades of gray

Walking shoe and Formica chips

Rooting around in a disorganized teacher box in search of a piggy finger puppet I find a cache of Formica samples circa 1965. Give myself  The Talking To where I insist that something I haven't needed or even known existed should be thrown out in the interest of leaving less mess for my kids should I happen to die. Then I talk back to myself and whine.

I fail to put myself in Time Out.  Instead I reach a compromise whereby I keep the gray samples since they are relevant to an ongoing discussion, and chuck the others in the dumpster.

The Formica samples provided some further names for gray:

Bunny grays

haze
platinum
seagull
stardust
white kid leather

Newport, Oregon beach in December

ninja
orchid
optix
graceful oak
ice
surf




Just getting warmed up to the challenge plus inspired by Formica, I add these shade suggestions:

Very large sauerkraut crock

crock
tomato cage
bubble wrap
mystery meat
Duct tape
mockingbird
junco
freezer burn

Hairstreak butterfly

window screens
retro diner
comfy sweats
nap-time tantrum
no bars of service
mirror
shining armor
flashlight batteries
Velcro
wasp nest

Rock and roll is here to stay

fan oscillations
typewriter ribbon
Tut's tomb
tar pit
rocks
aspen bark
tumbleweed
windmill

Remote grays

Miss Haversham
sorry old guys' nasty undershirts
Brillo
air quality alert
technology
obituary
socket set

VCR gray

coming down with something
paper shredder
cable service outage
coin collection
dog-eared textbook

Hindenburg
tax return
charm bracelet
armadillo
clean the grill

Scared of the basement gray

furnace filter
tinted window
dryer lint
cafeteria fork
Mt. St. Helen's
required reading
sensible shoes
emery board
Dragnet
stink bug

Pale bucket gray

lichen
safe deposit box
pewter
tarnished
Edward R. Murrow
toad
cream of mushroom soup
mercury

Lichen or not

but fear itself
jammed stapler
fish scales
snowed-in

teen car oil spot
utensil
Stonehenge

Cozy afghan knit sofa snoozy gray

AV club
pencil shavings
galvanized bucket
pocket protector

dried Elmer's
firework snakes
desert lizard

toenail fungus

Fritzi's wastebasket

aging Tupperware
sink caulk
laundromat
padlock
snowplow
wet mitten
small kitten


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

RDA of hydrangeas

The weather map shows snow, cold, rain everywhere as March plays its final tricks for this year. A dose of "snowballs" helped my outlook, even though Sunday was dark and drizzly at the Arboretum. They might help yours, too.

As a bonus, here is one row of the pansy beds and baskets.  There were three rows with every possible color of pansy neatly labeled for home gardeners.














© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

YAARP Magazine

 This is the Yardley era magazine for girls who read Seventeen Magazine in the mid Sixties.  I needed some pink, I think, or an attitude adjustment.  Thus the pink construction paper for this week's art class projects.

    
Teaching the youngest group to cut bites into the folded paper to make peek-a-boo holes brought delight.  The threes were thrilled to look through their "masks".  That must have been what brought Twiggy's eyelashes and Jean Shrimpton's lip gloss to mind.

   
Things are a bit rosier now.  Some sunny, crisp, frosty mornings helped my outlook.




© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder

Christmas pansies

A little splurge, a little light, a little color, a little sharing--Christmas.  Swung into the garden store on the way to the Albertsons.  No one around except two elves.  All the poinsettias and frosted natural trees had been retrieved earlier. 

The long tables of pansies, primroses, ornamental cabbage, and cyclamen glowed against the gray sky outside the clear plastic roof.  Raindrops began to tap on that plastic, more and more, and then it's a downpour.  Such a silly moment.  Two young women in knit caps and parkas watering all these plants and drinking Starbucks.  Me with one each yellow, golden, and blue violet pansy pot in my arms, unable to resist a miniature pink cyclamen. 

We need color and light and laughter at the darkest time of the year.  How ancient is that need?  Does it predate the human harnessing of fire?  Is there a biological imperative for color and light?  Is it psychological?  I'm no scientist, but an artist fond of black, charcoal, gray, and white.  Still I need the spot of red that is the cardinal among the snow-covered branches.

For a moment I wonder if these young elves have the best job on earth.  My four little plants are in a brown paper sack.  The elf offers me a cardboard box to hold over my head.  She even offers to help me carry my purchase.  No need for us both to get soaked. 

We wish each other a Merry Christmas and I head to the parking lot under my box.  The wind is catching it, and I've forgotten to get the car keys out of my purse.  Not a scientist AND not a juggler!  Rain is running down my nose.  I hope the elves are laughing, too.  Six dollars very well spent.

© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder