not quite dead enough for you

Either my premature mid-life crisis is over, or I am going to die at the age of 68. Either one will be fine with me. If you try to take today, I beg you to wait long enough that I may complete this series of paintings and please give me at least three months to write some pages for my daughter. Though she reports "no mommy issues at all," she will eventually need details in order to understand her premature mid-life crisis.

Death. That's what this post is about. It started on approximately Oct. 28, 2011. It actually died a few days after Christmas and it was cremated (a slow burn) for another two or so weeks. Then I was suddenly able to paint it- that which I've wanted to paint for most of my life. Should you require a more literal explanation: "it" is an idea. The idea has been unraveled as it has evolved. "Abstract" the process as it ever was. It is the literal reason why I understand the reality of "it."

In particular cases, it's too bad that I'm not actually dead. I would get more of your attention.

photo: painting on the floor, rachel kice, 2012

quick and wide

Today it's just thanks for the really nice letters that I've been receiving- and since I'm having a hard time taping my daughter's "Lil Wayne" to the fridge, the mom in me is showing off (see photo).

The main reason why I get nice letters is because (as if having a menstrual cycle weren't enough), I send out a letter that makes me feel nervous every month (sign up to the left).

What make me do it anyway is that with a newsletter as my rule, I share my work directly, quickly and consistently- which somehow slows me down in "paint over my work" department and is helping out in the "questions things" department. It gives me something to tell other painters to do when they ask what to do: paint, share, repeat.

The nice letters that I receive in return are like a surprise party at a funeral- which is to say that I feel such a wide range of emotions when I read these very special, generous and inspiring notes.

Thank you, art lovers and lovers alike.

ramping up into a muse

Rock climbing has been suggested. Playing pool is not working out (see photo). My free time was a lot less free before I gave up text-messaging men over the age of 45 for Christmas. I'm still not religious.

In this, there are a few secrets that I will only ever share with The Former Muse. It is all that is possible. We are ramping right up into the next series of paintings. The New Muse and The Non Muse might get involved.

Sometimes I imagine that I'm Beatrix Potter without the cute-looking result.

The Muse Characters are mostly handsome.

the action painting feeling

I was nearly thirty years old and well settled into my career as an "action painter," before anyone ever called me an action painter. It's still hard for me to think of myself as anything but "a young mother." That's my title. Young Mother is my main identity. It's the skin that I can't shed no matter the season- and no matter how much I might grow or grow up. Everything else that I do, is just a feeling. It's the kind of feeling that I hope that my daughter will also allow herself to feel.

photo: action painter autograph on elementary school student's art.

The Former Muse

I dare The Former Muse to remember what he did to me on his 40th birthday. Hint: It was within 24 hours of our second to last break-up and in public. We couldn't have gotten arrested for it, but it was still fun.

The reason that I dare The Former Muse to remember this is that he is considerate yet was too drunk to remember much of anything. He is so considerate that he will eventually read this post and write something so smart to me that he will continue to inspire my work- even as I  am thrilled that his 40th birthday is over.


photo: "Bird of Prey" sketch

A (Painted) Book For You.

If you aren't on my mailing list, please sign up- to the left- but only if you want to get a love-note from me once or twice a month. Lately, it's the kind of love-note that took me ten years to think to write- and three years to learn how to scale down.

I know, I know. Plenty of us know. I am not blogging like it's 2009: The Former Muse got married and Scavenger Pigeon is (momentarily) disinterested. It's been three years and I am only just learning that without two good men, I am hardly a blogger.


photo: "Loved," Rachel Kice, from: A (Painted) Book For You, 2012.

a hawk in a palm tree

I'm not very religious, but I gave up text-messaging men over the age of 45 for Christmas- except for my dad and my doctor.

What happened next was stunning. Men under the age of 25 called (as in: dingaling the phone is ringing) until I replied to a text-message from a man over the age of 45.

I don't know what this means, but it's probably a lot like a hawk in a palm tree at midnight. If I google the sh*t out of it, I'll come up with a new belief.

Happy New Year.

Love,

Rachel