Friday, August 31, 2012
Truth? You Can't Handle The Truth! ~R. Brabham~
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Dance Like Nobody Is Watching & Pray That They Aren't
Dancing was one of the first indicators that I was getting better after surgery. I shagged by myself to Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl with the frig door. My feet weren't always Happy Feet, there was a time when the music died. I swayed and waxed philosophical on friends couches during the 70's to 8 -tracks of the Eagles, Pink Floyd. Danced my butt off in the 80's and early nineties. The club nights and house party's became fewer and farther between in the third millenium. Slowly, the inside music died and Stella lost her groove. I tried to dance a few times around the house during my decade dry spell. It was the most pathetic non-rythmic display my mirror had ever witnessed.
Then one day, I was in a retail store browsing through the racks. A song came on the piped music. ~Under the Boardwalk, by the Drifters. My shoulders started first and the short waves traversed down to the dead dancing nerves in my feet. Soon my happy feet were shuffling unseen beneath the clothes racks. I was shagging. When I got home, I threw my packages down and you tubed some beach music. I was cutting the rug to some old shag tunes and it felt sooooo good. Over the next couple of month's Stella got her goove back.
Now, it might not be pretty. But, if the music's in me, it's going to come out. A recent visit to my daughters had a room crying laughing as grandma held her own with grandaughter on ~Hey Ya~ by Outcast on the Wii Dance. I smile thinking of my Ya Ya's one Carolina summer eve on the back porch. My sister got up and started dancing by herself to the music on the IPOD, minutes later the other Ya Ya joined her, her husband looking inquisitively on from inside and shaking his head.
Dancing should come as natural as swatting mosquitoes here in Charleston. The south has spurned out a few classics. Developed by Kathryn Wilson, the Charleston became a popular dance craze in the wider international community during the 1920s. Despite its origins, the Charleston is most frequently associated with flappers and speakeasies. Speakeasies were back alley bars that ran during the American Prohibition.Here, these young women would dance alone or together as a way of mocking the "drys," or citizens who supported the Prohibition amendment, as the Charleston was then considered quite immoral and provocative.
Jump up 20 years and flocks of kids are converging on the beach boardwalks of the Carolina's to do the Shag dance. The Shag was designated as the official State Dance by Act Number 329 of 1984.
It's much more fun if you dance like no one is watching and praying that they weren't. I feel I may have startled a landscaper or two while throwing down near my patio window a few times. But, it's ok. Drive it like you stole it baby!
The photograph is of House Representative T.S. McMillan of Charleston watching on as flappers dance the Charleston with the Capitol building in background. Credit: Library of Congress LC-US762-93721
Friday, August 17, 2012
First Day of School
Renae Brabham
This is the day I have dreamed of so much
Shall it be coffee, tea or a long leisurely lunch?
His first day of school, oh what a treasure
The house to myself, such extreme pleasure!
Nothing to do, nowhere to rush
I wonder,
should I have sent his toothbrush?
I'll take a long bath, condition my hair
Maybe tidy his room, while he isn't there
This feels so good, just being alone
Oh, look at his growth chart
My, how he's grown!
Hmmm…did I double tie his shoes?
I bet he misses this Winnie the Pooh
Maybe I'll go and watch TV
Take a nap, read some
Which will it be?
That clock on the wall, it has to be broken
It's only 12 o'clock
You've got to be joking!
I think I'll go ride
maybe stop by the school
Since I've got so much time
and nothing to do
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Day The Earth Moved For A Can Of Spagettio's
Thursday, August 9, 2012
This may be my next floorcloth creation
Monday, August 6, 2012
Mixed Media, Mixed Message
Bricoleur: As used in reference to visual arts, refers to a person who constructs or creates a work from a diverse range of things that happen to be available. I think the laymens' term for bricoleur would be crafty. As I was choosing a category last week for the blog at CharlestonGrit.com, I noticed that I always tend to use Mixed Messages. The story may first appear to have a clear and concise category, but by the time I put the period on it, it has run the gambit and I feel that I must use this indecisive category.
Words,my first love. For whatever reason, there were only two kinds of books in our house. A websters dictionary, a Bible and a set of childrens' Bible story books. I remember stating that I would read that dictionary and Bible from front to back and learn every word. I made it to the word aardvark in the dictionary and eventually to the last thin page of King James. I looked for words on objects everywhere. The first big words that I learned was King Edward. He was the dude on the cigar box my mom kept change in. The next was prndl, that's pronounced (purn-dul). Yes-sir-ee, I was proud when I was able to explain to my mom what happened when my grandmother put the prndl stick into the wrong gear and backed into the tree. So, looks like my path might be forged right? Well, it might have been if not for my second grade art class.
The teacher, my first bricoleur taught me to open my eyes to forms of art all around me that i could use. "There are objects all around you that you can use to create, you just have to look for them." she told us. Nirvanah! Do you mean to tell me that my expression of self doesn't have to end when my tin box of paints dries up? We made Picasso inspired art collages with crushed and dyed egg shells along with 3D art on cardboard backing using beans, rice and noodles. I seriously have never had a boring day in my life again. Well, I thought I would try out this new world of mixed media. Mom's birthday was coming up. There's this pretty blue box in the bathroom under the sink, said Kotex. The box had a big white beautiful rose on it. I cut that bad boy into the shape of a card and pasted paper to the inside with a message. There was a small gathering for a birthday dinner that evening at my Aunt and Uncle's home. I brought the card out from behind my back at the kitchen table, a few audible gasp's and then laughs and nervous giggles. Their response was a little different than I had expected. Oh well, it was fun for me. The next week I made a card for my math teacher out of our Captain Crunch box. Mixed media even made it to the kitchen. I was making breakfast for my sister and brother one morning and decided to spice it up a little after reading Dr. Seuss. I cooked the eggs with green food coloring. That didn't go over too well.
The new genius spilled over into all areas of my life and although it doesn't get the accolades of a single defined art, mixed media definitely gets a response. I search in earnest for things that are otherwise deemmed useless and look for ways to give them a new life. Sticks become canes, shells sculpt into christmas tree's. Projects sit in every corner of my home for me to pick up. Some I have worked on for years, some I will need to go to prison to finish.
I used to long to be the person who, when asked, emphatically says "I am an artist." Which leads to the inebadable question, "What kind of artist are you?" to which their reply would be. "Oh, I write," or " I'm a sculpture" or "I'm a photographer." Not anymore, my answer would have to be in earnest "Well, I am a ADD Mixed Message artist. I write, paint floorcloths, make soap, perfumes, unusual jewelry, mosaics, collages and weird handmade books." Next year the list could be totally different. I am so grateful for that art teacher that expanded my horizon.
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