Why on earth would I do Pet Portraits?

"Pet Portraits". Every time I say those words I think of that little section on the movie (or book- or vice versa ), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in which "my attorney" explains : Lucy paints portraits of Barbra Streisand.  For a moment it makes me feel just as awkward as she is !

I think I inherited my love for animals from my mother. She has the best connection with at least 2 of the 6 living kingdoms. I don't know how well she does with protists, fungi, archa and eubacteria but when it comes to animals you can see they love her and everything that she plants just grows and grows. As a child she had always wanted a pet cow and could never understand why that seemed so strange to most. So when it was my time to grow up, we still didn't get the cow, but we had anything from fish, turtles, hamsters, chicken and rabbits, to canaries, parakeets, parrots, snakes, frogs, butterflies, dogs, cats end even monkeys and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few !.  Yes, two adorable little monkeys.

Working on Cubby

Cubby

But even if we share the same love, I was cursed with being allergic to the hair of most animals. My eyes would swell, my cheeks would start inflating like the Stay Puft Ghostbuster's Marshmallow Man and soon enough my lungs would close so I couldn't breath at all. It was no joke either. I remember as a teenager being quarantined because of it. Yes, 40 days out of society and in a small, no carpets, no furniture, apartment with no human contact. Yes. That Bad. That awkward. Even more than Lucy.

Toto

There's also a big difference between people that have pets and people that love their pets. My next door neighbors with their chihuahuas that have never stepped inside the house - and complain about it all day long- are a clear example of people who just "have" pets.
Instead, those that treat them as if they were their children, that care for their food, their baths, their teeth, their nails, their walks (on the case of dogs or equivalent for other pets)... and that find time to play with them, are the only ones that would ever even consider having a portrait of them done.

Rizzo

So, I like people who like animals. I don't necessarily dislike those who don't, but it's definitively easier to like those who do.

My first portrait was done as a Christmas present to Ed and Joanne.  I love those two! It was done from a picture of Rizzo (a beautiful mixed Pitbull). I used black ink pens, since it was what I had available and spent quite a bit of time working on it. It was a great feeling to see that smile when they saw it.  I think most times it's a greater joy to give a gift than to receive it. There's something selfishly great in being the reason for someone's reason to smile.  After that first one found a spot on the wall, it caught other people's eye and soon I was rewarding myself with more smiles.

Ed with Sudie, Rizzo and Baron Von Lucky

I've never charged more than $150 and  I always spend a few days working on each one to make it look as best as I can. I looked online to see what others were doing. I had never even imagined that "pet portraits" was even a business, but apparently there's thousands of people doing them...and I thought I was being original with that first gift !! ..If you browse all the websites of people that offer this service you'll see there are some really bad ones and some incredibly good ones, and prices are sometimes or most times, outrageous. I even ran into this website in which they would just apply a photoshop filter that would make the picture that the client submitted into "charcoal" or "watercolor", or "warhol"  effect and then they would send you back a big print of it and charge you over $300. I can't believe people have the nerve to do those things.  But there's a lot of websites that do things like that. And apparently no one has any nerve issues. Actually those with too much nerve tend to be recognized and acclaimed for the consequences of such excess!! I won't get into that !!! but I could use some nerve implants !!! ;)

Molly

So that's the story of how I got into it. It has helped me pay rent and it has helped me build some confidence and  above all it's a way of recognizing those who love their pets and in return having the joy of having something to do with someone's reason to smile.

Snoop

Let me know if you'd like one for yourself or for a special occasion. I'd be happy to do them and I'd put all of me to make them look great. I don't work for free, because in order to do it, it means I have to give something up, but I work with any budget.  As long as everyone's fair !!!

Cheers!

Sudie & Rizzo

For more information e-mail me: rizzosink@yahoo.com

Outside of Everything

I've always felt out of place anyways. Like most of us, right? ...right?. We are like planets floating on what we think is - the same galaxy.  Too concerned about our own problems, our own front lawns, turning on the lights of our weak pride of being able to stand alone; to not need anyone; to not need anything. To be independent individuals. soledad.

But on that case, we are always stepping out to see what others do, or  maybe locking ourselves in so we can avoid that completely, until it starts raining--inside-- and you have to get out.

This was the first thing I've ever painted with acrylics, as an "adult" (whatever that means).  It's done with the cheapest brushes that would paint  under their own will and craft acrylic that needed an over abundance of layers to leave a mark. It was, of course,  done on cardboard, which was what I had available considering my budget at the time.  So I can't type "oil on fancy canvas with outrageously expensive frame" under this picture. Nah. "craft acrylics on cardboard". Sounds right to me. Everything does.  

So, going back to where I started (how I wished that was really possible !!!), there's another sensation of disbelonging that happens (or at least happens on my planet),  when you leave home and live abroad for a long period of time. I think it's specially so, if this happens when you are young.  The reason, I believe, is that when you move from place A to place B, you 'll still bring the habits, values, ways of thinking and looking at things, hierarchies,  priorities, street names, that park in which you spent so  much time and you bring all this to place B. No one there knows about it or even less cares. So you leave that in a box and learn a new way of looking at things, of prioritizing values, tasks, goals and dreams. You learn new rules for judging, and not just people, but everything. But sometimes... specially when you disagree with any of these rules, you think of place A and how this or that was more fitting and you decide to go back. But when you do so, you already have place B in you , so you'll feel good about certain things but not so much about others. No one there knows about it or even less cares. So you'll box these things too, and before you know it, you just have a pack of boxes with no labels that get all mixed up with the sensation that you'll never fully belong anywhere, but partially, to a lot of places.  But again, I might be wrong.  I probably am, right?

However, there is one single thing that takes it all away and that can be found absolutely anywhere, and that is the horizon. I have trouble living in places in which too many things are covering that single line that takes all my thoughts away and that puts everything on some more convenient perspective, giving me a sensation of space. The horizon line will always have that power to "clear the mind", to take it all away and most of all, to make it feel great that you are just with yourself.

But I do miss "my piece of the line". And that piece is the fragment of horizon that can be seen from the Montevideo boardwalk.  Ever since I was a little kid that line would fix it all. I remember running away from my house when things got rough, or simply "running" away from whatever I didn't like ... Jumping on the skateboard, feeling the wind on my face and arriving to that spot, sitting on that rock,  breathing the ocean breeze and letting the line hug me and hold me and take it all away. It healed my broken mind, it healed my broken heart, it healed my broken me, so many times.  I could always think better there. I could always stop caring or start caring, whichever one I was lacking, and it was all because of her. How I miss that line.

I guess that's the line, but not my line. That's my second or third attempt with paints and it sure is a Uruguayan Sunset with its millions of colors and shapes, but it's not the specific view that would rescue me. 

It's done on, what I now know, is known as Sunday Canvas. This means, cheap canvas for hobbyists, for the amateur, for the not so serious. The funny thing is that the quality of canvas is the same as any other, but it's the size that marks this difference and a big big difference in price. And by size, I don't mean bigger, but just the relative measurements. Yes, there's a million and one ways to rip us off and we are always accepting and reinforcing them, since they give us more vocabulary that make us feel (and lets others know !!!!) that "we know what we are talking about !!!. Fools !

I guess it's getting late. 4:03. Just got home from serving bombs, jager, car, english, irish bombs, to blow out everyone's minds.

I'm running to sleep. I need my line. 

Espejos y Sombreros

It all started with a dream. I was sitting on the passengers seat of my grandfather's car. 

The streets were deserted. There was no wind; not even a breeze. Nothing was moving except for us.  

Without saying a word he turned to me and pointed at my jacket.  I noticed I was wearing a jean jacket. In my dream I knew I was dreaming, and I wished he would talk to me.

I miss him. 

I looked inside the inner pocket and found one of those half used hotel notepads and a beaten, maybe even chewed up,  blue "bic" pen.  

He stopped the car and made a sign for me to get out. I opened the door and stood outside while the car and my grandfather got gradually smaller until they were finally swallowed by the horizon. 

I immediately woke up and the first thing I did was write. 

I didn't stop until it was finished.