Blog

November 2-4

70 Artists Booths
Deadline: June 14 - new deadline!

The 24th annual Metro Arts EXPO will be in the heart of downtown where thousands of people come to eat, shop and experience museums, music, and amazing architecture.  The EXPO is free to the public and offers a jury-selected array of fine art created by 70 professional artists from across the United States, live entertainment, demonstrations and an upbeat holiday shopping atmosphere.

The categories include 2D and 3D mixed media, ceramics, drawing, fiber, glass, jewelry, metal, painting, photography, printmaking and sculpture.

              
ARTISTS BENEFITS:

• Overnight and Daytime security
• Complimentary dinner Friday night and breakfast Saturday and Sunday
• $2,500 in Sponsors Choice awards
• Exclusive Hospitality Area
• Booth sitters, and much more...

The EXPO is a smaller show that draws 6,000+ loyal patrons and serves as fundraiser for Metro Arts Alliance.  All proceeds go to support Metro Arts community and educational outreach programs.  www.metroarts.org 

More information with a video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPMH32TNDlU

Schedule:

Friday Nov. 2: Opening night party: 4pm-9pm

Saturday Nov. 3: Show: 10am-8pm

Sunday Nov. 4: Show:  10am-2pm

The deadline to register is June 1st and the Jury Fee: $35

June 15 - Jury selections

June 18 - Artist Notification (10% off booth fees until July 1st)

July 1 - Early bird discount ends

July 31- Accept invitation & purchase deadline

Aug. 1 - Notify Artists on the waiting list

Aug. 29 - Artists on the waiting list, Accept invitation & purchase deadline

Apply: www.zapplication.org 

Artists are advised to submit images of professional quality.  Keep in mind that your images are what you will be judged on.  Clear, sharply focused, High resolution jpeg images are best.  They should represent a coherent body of work, by form, technique or concept.  Bold color is viewed better than pastels, whites, grays or blacks.  Please, don't let the background overpower or detract from your work.

For more info. about Metro Arts Alliance of Greater Des Moines, the EXPO or other programs, Please call (515) 280-3222 or visit:  www.metroartsexpo.org  

Hey everybody, I just thought I would pass on some information that I found just in case it may affect any of you. 

On August 16, 2011 Sugarloaf received notice that the Connecticut Expo Center was being sold to a new owner.  The facility will close forever as an expo center as of September 22, 2011.  The center has canceled all show contracts after 9/22/11 forcing them to cancel their show in Hartford scheduled for November 11-13, 2011 as well as future events there.  Hopefully, if you were scheduled to show your work there in November you already know this unfortunate news.

I found this information when I was on the Sugarloaf website.  However, when visiting the Connecticut Expo Center's site, unless you notice the 22nd on their calendar, you might not realize they are closing.  Everything on the Expo Center website suggests it is business as usual.  They still have a list of upcoming events running down the left hand side of their website.   Website visitors possibly have no idea that the Center is closing soon.

Sugarloaf was starting to hear a few rumors that the Center was being sold.  So, they began looking for an alternative venue so that they would not have to cancel the November art show.  Any place large enough for the Sugarloaf Craft Festival was already booked.  Most of the places that were available were just not large enough, didn't have enough parking, or were in an unsuitable location for their Festival.

Sugarloaf is actively looking at other locations for future shows in Connecticut or southern New England.  So, hopefully, eventually the show will be picked up again.

I hope this wasn't a shock for anyone that was scheduled to do that show in November.

Jacki B

Note to self: The desert can get cold.  I don’t mean the kind of cold where you can bundle up and do fun aerobic activity in, like ice skate or have a snowball fight.  No, it’s a bone chilling cold that comes from sitting still for hours at a time in front of the easel in a tent that likes pretending it’s a refrigerator.  I was not prepared for this.  I brought one heavy wool sweater and I’m sick of it.  Paint takes on a tar-like consistency that mangles good sable brushes.  Paintings that I expected to set up overnight are still wet and sticky, so I now have six paintings going.  All wet.  That’s not a bad thing, but it makes maneuvering around my abbreviated studio area a dicey proposition, especially since I’m forced to also wear my nice coyote vest over said heavy wool sweater while painting, as it’s the warmest thing I brought. Factor in a pair of heavy sheepskin gloves, and you’ve got a rhinoceros trying to needlepoint.

I’ve been sitting here with a hodgepodge of half blocked in pieces, wallowing in the self-imposed peer pressure brought on by being surrounded by productive artists, and feeling the labor pains of a new style that wants a midwife.  I know we all struggle with our art, we all talk every day here under the big top.  It’s gratifying, in a small, small way, to know that others are struggling too, and I don’t mean that to say misery loves company.  But, being human, we have all absolutely convinced ourselves that no one is struggling quite as much as we are.  Everyone else here looks to me as if they are moving swimmingly and effortlessly along, blissfully turning out canvases like biscuits from a well-greased tray.  No one could possibly be feeling the angst that I am, the utter self-deprecation that cloaks itself in thoughts like, What was I thinking coming here?  Or, even better, in the voice of a certain influential family member, You’ll be selling portraits in Grand Central Station for a nickel...there’s a million artists better than you!   It becomes a bedlam that calls for large doses of Pink Floyd and vodka.

 But, open book that I am, I have confided my existential crisis to a few kindly souls, and relieved to know this twisting agony is not unique nor my own personal neurotic albatross to bear.  It comforts me and lets me continue in the face of struggle.  It also make me think, why the hell hasn’t a European tour promoter come up with a new kind of tour to supplement the mainstream cultural tours of Florence, Rome, Paris?  There’s Al Capone/Gangster Tours of Chicago, there ought to be a new Tours de France: Van Gogh in Arles: Assault of Gaugin and Institutionalized in San Remy.  I’d be first in line.  Just think, the unknown works of the Great Masters: the fits of pique and the holes punched in the wall, broken brushes and rent canvases, arrest records, psychologists’ notes (depending on the century and statute of limitations on patient-client privilege).  I remember withering upon entering the Uffizi, the Galleria dell'Accademia, Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, and weeping over my own paintings later at night.  Oh, what a relief it would have been to this young artist to know Caravaggio was a criminal- a felon!   That Michelangelo’s father was disgusted with him for choosing art as a career and suffered from low self-esteem!  (The Agony and the Ecstasy would have been helpful reading.)  

The artistic struggle that exists within an often solitary work environment can break the budding artist unfamiliar and unprepared for this mine-ridden emotional psychological territory.  From what I can recall from art school days, the most the topic was ever addressed was maybe a fleeting, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  You might as well tell a teenaged girl that those five extra pounds make her look healthy and the glasses make her face unique.   I propose new classes at the university level:  how would a, say, Psychology of Creativity 101 go over?  Or, The Blank Canvas: You DON’T Need a Straightjacket and Lithium! ? My guess is those classes would be standing room only and there’d be a hell of a lot more well adjusted artists pouring out of art schools telling arrogant gallery owners to stick their attitudes where the sun don't shine.  Perhaps a cooking class: Ramen Noodles and The Food Pyramid? OK, maybe not.  But if we had Psychology for Creative Productivity classes maybe we wouldn’t have to battle the myth of the starving tortured artist so much.  Sure, there’s a bunch of books out there on the topic, self help books, but most of them are written by opportunists with a bent towards self-promotion and prey on us artists desperate for an answer.

Baloney.

No one can tell you the answer.

You just gotta go through it.

I’ve been here almost three weeks, at what some of us are affectionately calling the Fine Art Boot Camp Expo, and there’s no way out but through.  That’s a thought that actually comforts me, much as the Serenity Prayer gives a recovering alcoholic the strength to go on.  Then I can take a Xanax at 3 am and leaf through Georgia O’Keeffe’s abstracts until I finally pass out around 4 and Framer Dude awakens me at 8 with a chopsaw.  Yeah, I’m painting everyday. I’m an artist!  This is the life!  Would someone just get me another sweater to wear?

OK, I’ve fallen behind a couple of days and peeps, I had a couple of hairy nights and Expo had the Gala last night, which I’ll write about in a separate post.  Suffice it to say, I may not have been writing, but I’m collecting a ton of material...onto Charles, today’s Peep!

Charles came into the art world because of a terrible accident which nearly ended his life.  Despite the fact that it ended a very successful career as a high-end carpenter, he says he would “relive the accident a thousand times” because it opened up a new life for him.  One look at his work and you can understand why: these beautiful forms couldn’t come out of a two-by-four! Organic, flowing, full of movement, the wood comes alive, this in purple heartwood and maple:

I wish I could do the wood grain justice with my camera for this mahogany piece:

Although he has patiently explained to me the intricate process of transforming a 2-D drawing into a 3-D sculpture, I still can’t wrap my mind around it.  It looks ingenious to my2-D artist eyes.  This is a piece in the making:

 Here's Charles with his sculptures to give you an idea of the size.

See more of Charles’ work at: envisionsbytaube.com

Post 1/28  29/11

I am pleased as punch to report that I made a rather large sale the other day; however, this is where experience separates itself from just plain old dumb luck. Realize now, that I still am a fairly relative newby with less than three years art show experience under my tent.  So, when a wonderful patron asked me, “And how much is shipping to New Hampshire?”  I played coy and said I’d have to check my book and get them a quote.  Hell, I’ve shipped paintings to Germany!  How difficult could it be to ship a piece to Keene, NH?

Well.

I checked my little book, and recited the quote for the USPS for a piece 36” X 24” and up to 25 lbs to NY for $85.00.  Hey, how much more could a piece 52” X 24” be? A few bucks?  Oh no no no no.  At a certain dimension, the USPS turns its back on you.  At a certain weight, UPS and FedEx just hand you Vaseline and tell you to bend over.  There is a netherworld out there in shipping, where the actual size of a package is eclipsed by its estimated weight category.  This is the best way I have to describe it, and it’s better this way, because my tequila report is interwoven with it.  Apparently, according to one private shipping company (which may be the issue) dimensions and weight cease to matter and become a nebulous area where the length x width x girth is estimated to fall within an estimated weight range, and if your package doesn’t fall within these specifications, they hand you the extra large bottle of Vaseline.  Uh huh. 

“Three hundred thirty dollars.  Plus one hundred twenty nine to build the crate.”

“Two hundred sixty five dollars, and that’s only a thousand dollars insurance.”

“Well, air will insure any amount, if you can prove its value, but ground will only insure up to a thousand.”

Hang on.  I’m getting to the tequila report.

So, after a few hours of feeling like I bit off both ends of my burrito, so to speak, I began to ask other artists which shipper they use.

“Shipper?” many of them inquired with a politely raised eyebrow. “Why would I want to use one of those?”

For the first few days of the show, my booth was peppered with fliers from private shippers advertising “free packing”, “will pick up from show”, “insurance included”.  I began to feel like a college student shopping for car insurance.  I didn’t even know there was a difference between packing and crating.

“You make your own box.”  Upon viewing my completely obtuse expression, my peeps began to explain.

“You go to Home Depot.  You grab a refrigerator box.  They’re always throwing them out, they’re free and they’re heavy duty.  You cutta the box to size.  Now, if you gotta canvas, you gotta getchaself summa masonite and putta thata on the face of it...you builda your owna box...”

Ok, so maybe I’m overdoing the Godfather bit, but it was about as big a mystery to me as say, oh, cannoli cream, cappozella, and Casa Nostra.  So, taking me under their wings, these obliging artists initiated me into Packing Your Own Artwork 101.  “Screw the shippers,” went the first commandment, “they overcharge.”

As Framer Dude is collaterally involved with this adventure, he was adamant that I buy a box from someone: “I am NOT dumpster diving for cardboard!  We’ll go to the shippers and buy a box!”

So, we went to various packers.

“I can order that size for you, it’ll be here Wednesday.”

“A 65” x 30” x 6” is $70.  Yeah, just the cardboard box, lady.  We gotta pay to freight it here.”

“You need a crate for that size.  Mine are $129.”

Uh huh.  When a shipper charges more for a box than I paid for a painting to go to Gemany, I start to get the idea that maybe I’m being played and taken for the rube I am.   I don’t like that feeling.  I retreated into my wounded manic artist persona in the truck home, feeling about as stable as nitroglycerin.  Seriously, one decent sale and I shoot myself in the foot and eat my profits with the shipping? There’s got to be a better way.  Maybe I don’t have all the money in the world, but if I bought a painting for say, 2 grand and then was told I’d have to pay 500 in shipping, I’d balk on principle and rent my own damn uhaul and driver for less!

Framer Dude suddenly changed his tune when another boothbuddy pointed out all our frigging tools.

“Can he build a crate?  I mean, it’s kinda like building a frame...I got a painting I have to ship next week, and I’d pay you to make it rather than one of these vulture shippers.”

 MacGuyver Dude pipes up.

“I can build a crate.”  

Today I saw the covert looks towards him with visual vocalizations of “Crates” along with fingers pointing.  He may be leaving hot dog heaven soon.

So, having been deflowered by the packing and shipping companies, one of the veteran artists who has taken me under his wing, gently tugged at my sleeve at Happy Hour yesterday and offered me a consolation/congratulation: homemade tequila by a compadre of his from Mexico.  A bit of law and trivia (are the two even mutually exclusive?): if you make your own tequila in Sonoran County, you are not allowed to call it ‘tequila’; this was called Baccanora, or something like that.  I took French and Latin in high school, what was I thinking?

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he assured me as he expertly daubed finishing touches on a commissioned painting.  What, the shipping?   “...don’t take it like a shot, just sip it.” Oh. Oops.

Sippin’ tequila.  This stuff had a smoky cactusy burn to it, complex and oaky and flowery, that would have made it a venal sin to mix it with anything.  Well, after a water glass of this pure cactus heaven, I stumbled back to my RV, only to find Framer Dude and another peep engaging in another consciousness-altering substance.

Feeling suitably invincible now, I acquiesced to this peep’s generous offer as well.  Which is why this blog post was not published last night, as originally intended.  Beware of artists bearing gifts.

I first met Ernie (and his wife Cynthia, whom I wrote about yesterday) on the first day of setup, and was immediately in love with his hand crafted leather-and-embroidery furniture.  That’s too simplistic.  Let’s just say, I utterly regretted my Rooms to Go leather couch and loveseat purchase and am still trying to wrap my mind around a way to return them so I can have a set of Ernie’s craftsmanship.  

The most amazingly butter soft leather, in grape purple.  Totally cool, totally wow.

I never knew furniture could be so creative.  This is the first piece that captured me:

and its detail, in copper and turquoise, and yes, real python:

Check out his other creations at nwnative.com, here's another and Ernie himself, who I have to give a shout out to for his advice to me on shipping!

I also love the painting of him and Cynthia behind him, done by a friend of his.

Keith caught my eye with his gently evocative scenes of places he has visited which hold a special place in his heart.  From his home state of Utah, to sunny Italy, his scenes reflect a quiet spirituality, even the bears he photographed himself at Yellowstone:

This trail winding through the woods of Utah really intrigues me and I would love to follow it.  It reminds me of the Long Island I used to know, peaceful and unspoiled (without the mountains though!)

Keith has been one of the troopers here through this spate of unusually cold weather we've had here (30-40 degrees under the tent),  on site painting at the Expo quietly working away on several new pieces armed with coat, mittens, and hot chocolate.  I think we should get like, Purple Paintbrushes or something.

See Keith's work at www.keithdabbfinearts.com

I've decided that I'm going to post one artist a day while here at the Fine Art Expo here in Scottsdale.  My photography is lousy, my writing is amateur, but I'd like to honor all my peeps who devote ten weeks of their lives to exhibit at this wonderful show, and have extended a helping hand to me with my endless questions.  Today, for my first victim, I chose Cynthia Downs-Apodaca, who was the first artist I met here last Monday during setup.  She is the first woman I have ever met who is more of a rock geek than I am, and once you see her jewelry, you can see why.  What first caught my eye were the opals, since opals are my favorite gemstone and I can spot one at a hundred yards across an art show.  The silver wire braiding that she does is so intricate, I don't think my photos can even come close to doing it justice:

She also has these fabulous pieces she calls Tidal Pools, and in this one, the bottom stone- an Australian boulder opal- actually has a teeny beach scene in it!  Talk about the intricacy in nature! 

I'm also impressed whenever I see a woman firing up an acetylene torch and power tools, as she was hard at work one evening, after the show had closed.  Look for her wearable minerals at cynthiadowns.com. 

Cynthia, sans goggles and mask:

I can truly say she rocks!

Before I forget, notes from the road that I took and had no real internet access. (who really has the patience to blog on a Droid? Not me)...if you’re ever traveling in an RV on I 10 through LA and TX, there’s a terrific rest area just east of the stateline in Slidell, LA.  It’s the Welcome Center available to both east and west bound travelers, set off the interstate, and although it says no overnight parking, the security guard directed us to an RV campground area, separate from the big rigs, where they had a dump station and water pumps available free.  Despite the fact it was 23 degrees that night and we had no gas for the genie for heat, we slept very well.  It’s all about layering.  It reminded me of the show I did in Cape Coral last January, when it was sleeting and dropped to 30 at night.  We had just gotten the RV, and checking out the heater was not on the list of priorities.  Who needs to worry about heat on an RV when you live in Florida, right? 

Today we were able to venture out for pleasure, namely the Carefree Fine Art and Wine Festival, and enjoy this absolutely perfect weather that the Phoenix area has to offer this time of year.  The civil engineers/ city planners of Carefree have built a spectacularly beautiful town in Carefree.  I am enchanted by a town that does not have those horrible strip mall billboard store advertisements that seem to line every street in America, and concrete laid everywhere.  The goal of this city's planning was to blend with the natural desert landscape, and they show what can be done with a little careful planning, more focus on aesthetics, and less on the almighty dollar.  And a lot of buckos, too.  Framer Dude was a little annoyed that we couldn't see what was in each shopping plaza as we passed, or even if it was a shopping plaza, and I suppose I see his point from the driver's seat of a ginormous dually in a town really geared for Porsches and Mini coopers.   But it is a town that is a pleasure to explore, even if we had to turn around once or twice to find the Target to get our wireless adapter.  But I digress...

Thunderbird, from what I've heard, is a family-oriented operation that puts on top-notch festivals, and there was great quality art at this show.  There seemed to be a good balance of mediums, and in fact, seemed light on jewelry, probably because it was all very high end.  I got to meet a few artists who will be exhibiting at the Expo next week, who were taking in a last weekend show before settling down for 10 weeks under the tents behind me.  I am really looking forward to this Expo, and confident in Judy, Judi, and Dennis' abilities to attract the buying patrons.  I must admit I have a few worries that I am not Southwest enough.  But I guess that's the normal jitters when one ventures outside one's comfort zone.  From what I've been reading in the AFI discussions, FL's shows have been losing ground for a while, so if I ( as a fairly newcomer to the business) was able to make some profit in FL, then anywhere else will seem like gravy.  Right? No?  I hear about the artists who did shows in the glory days of the 90's and sold out their inventory, had 5 figure shows, and I can't even wrap my mind around that...

This is an enormous setup that goes on here that even Framer Dude the Pragmatic was impressed by.  The 2D artists' booths occupy probably close to 2 1/2 acres under the tent, and I can't fathom the work that goes into putting that puppy up.  Then, there is an outdoor sculpture garden of about half an acre, which includes a Koi pond and specimen plants.  I can't wait to see it all come together.  We've met and broken bread (ok, cracked a beer with) some artists doing double duty and helping to erect this exhibit, and everyone is as nice as can be, which once again makes me glad to have chosen this profession (actually, it chose me).   What's also super sweet is that my booth is only 200 dollying feet away from our RV (and bed)! 

Tomorrow, I bust out the paints and start some sketching for new ideas.  I love the desert and the cactus; it's so different than where I'm from, I'm getting a much needed kick in the pants to try something new!  I just have to be careful when I back up while taking pictures: I almost sat on one of these.

Post from January 10, 5 pm after switching driving...

Well, days and 875 miles into the road trip and Framer Dude and I haven’t killed each other yet, that’s a good sign.  But we have 1,200 miles left, 800 miles of it just through Texas alone, so there’s a lot of tread left on these tires, so to speak. 

I hate interstates.  They take the fun out of a road trip, but for the sake of expediency, they’re a necessary evil.  Coming home I will do secondary routes.  There’s so much out here to see and I don’t want to become cynical, too “been there, done that”, too old in the mind.  That’s one thing that is vastly different between my road trips in my teens and now, and I touched on that in my last post.  I had Tom Petty’s Full Moon Fever album (HA!! I just showed my age!!) playing as I left Louisiana and blasted into Beaufort, TX.   I reminisced that I had first bought the cassette tape for a road trip when I was 18 and taking a road trip on I 90 west with my college buddy Warren, when I was the only one in my dorm with a car (my great-aunt’s 71 Maverick, 3 on the tree, no heat, no ac, no power brakes or steering, and a gas gauge that worked intermittently).  We would get a hair up our butt to just “go west” into cow country out of Albany, NY to see what there was to see.  I still remember that sense of adventure, the excitement and we and maybe a few other clueless 18 year old piled into my car and headed west.   No particular destination, just wanted to see what was around the next bend.

I miss that feeling.  Sure, I’m excited as a little painter can be, going to the expo across the country, quitting a 40K steady job to do it, how much more ballsy can you be?  But I want to be that adventurous kid again.  I want to wonder what’s around the next bend, be wide eyed at the mystery and beauty of it all.  I don’t want to be a staid middle ager reluctant to leave the security of my GPS and next clean pair of socks.  Going on a road trip used to mean you definitely weren’t going out there to be sure there was a Walmart within 10 miles.  I know my fellow RV’ers out there know what I mean, and most of us artists too, because that’s what we do- create from a place that inspires us, and try to pass that along. 

But for the moment, time is of the essence, and here I am on on I 10 weaving my artmobile through Houston’s rush hour traffic. I am always a little awed by the sweeping concrete overpasses that crisscross each other around cities, I suppose in the same way that Edward Hopper was when he painted his cityscapes.  There is a kind of industrial beauty that Art Deco was fascinated with.  I may try my hand at painting one of them if I ever get bored of rocks.  I guess if you think about it, the overpasses are a kind of rock...maybe.

...that this is where you are supposed to be?  For the past couple of years, I've toyed with the idea of attending a workshop for a week, and hopefully be able to choose someone who is a good teacher and a good artist.  Now, here, it appears my search has been fulfilled, because I am surrounded daily by hard at work artists.  The energy here is amazing, intense and positive.  Other artists echo my sentiment; they accomplish more work in the ten weeks here than the rest of the year.  I've truly missed the old art school feeling I remember of pulling all nighters and the determination to create, create, create.  I have even found the courage to plunge into a stylistic change which has been lurking in the back of my mind as I've found myself a bit bored with the photo-realism I'm known for.  It seems as soon as Framer Dude and I crossed the AZ border, the name Georgia O'Keeffe  rose, unbidden, into the forefront of my mind.  Now, I have been somewhat familiar with her work most of my adult life.  But when I did a Google search the other night on her images, her work resonated within me for the first time. Aha,  I thought to myself, THIS is where abstraction meets realism !  I'm not going to say I understand abstract art or "get " it all the time;  I'm not too proud to say that I still don't really get Pollock.  But seeing Georgia's realistic intimate landscapes (as I have come to call mine) and her consequent progressions into abstractions of the same subject, I see what she's trying to say.  It's a catharsis of sorts.

I have met artists here at the peaks of their careers, and they are generous in  sharing their acquired knowledge and providing constructive critiques.  Understand, I have worked in near solitude for the past 10 years, where productive interaction with fellow artists was brief, few and far between.  I couldn't have chosen a better workshop, and paid less, since this is a ten week gig, plus there is the opportunity to make sales.  I broke the ice today and sold 2 (small) pieces, with a strong bite from her friend on a much larger piece.  Here, the artists have a silly little dance that they all do to celebrate each other's sales (after the celebrant patron has left the vicinity, of course.).  I will be inducted tomorrow morning.

Did I mention our Happy Hour?  Every day, at 5, a metal artist sounds his gong, and many of us who have been hard at work all day rush to gather at one artist's booth, who takes his role as master artist seriously and master of happy hour very graciously.  Framer Dude is in awe of him.  He is the consummate successful professional artist who is able to enjoy life to the fullest and is utterly gracious.  As Dude stated last night, "He cranks out a %$#^&!@ painting a week, gets paid $%^@& good $$$, and %$#&!  parties at night!  Why can't you be him?"  Or something like that,  I didn't hear the rest of it, I pushed him off the log into the fire. (Dude was between his fourth and fifth Jack so he didn't feel the third degree burns til this morning)  Anyway...patrons sometimes mingle with the artists during this very informal setting, and they get a kick out of hanging with us.  I have met some terrific artists who are terrific people also, and for a relative newbie like me, it's a brilliant view of what one can accomplish in the short-term, as well as long-term for life goals.

Anyhow, I just know that this is where I am supposed to be right now, and quitting my 40K a year job in FL was just a part of it.  All my pics are on the Mac right now, so I'll share them later.

You know those ugly defects on tree trunks that cause homeowners to rush to their nearest arborist and remove the offending specimen?  They’re called burls, and Dave turns them into amazing artwork.  It’s a laborious, time consuming process, though much of it is hands-off seasoning and drying time, but the end result, well, see for yourself:

His goal is to create a work that looks ancient, but well preserved, like it has been dug up out of an archaeological find.  Many of the final pieces look like they contain a bone inset, but it is all wood, just finished differently.  As someone who appreciates details within nature, his work really captured me, and I am awed by the amount of time it takes to go from log to wall!  This pic gives you an idea of the work involved:

Check out his other burl work at barkbywoodsgallery.com.