There's no time like holiday time to celebrate the world's children.
CATCH A DREAMER is a unique gift of art and poetry, a tribute to the spirit of children.
This book is for both children and adults to enjoy on many levels: from the colors and bold shapes to the message of hope for all children everywhere.
A very special book
Now with a special offer:
Buy one copy of CATCH A DREAMER for $25
and get each additional copy for $15.
Just add $5 for shipping no matter the quantity!
This offer available through December 31, 2009
Click here for more information.
Or click here to place your order for CATCH A DREAMER now.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Publishing on demand: a new world of freedom!
Newsflash: 100 CATCH A DREAMER books are now resting peacefully on my studio table.
They have been printed packaged and delivered to my door... and are waiting to be delivered to the first 100 folks who have been eagerly awaiting a chance to buy this book.( I have a rich fantasy life) For the hard (and soft ) facts check out: http://www.dovetailpublications
Publishing on demand means that you can actually demand to be published. That really appeals to me, who, on a few but rare occasions has been called a demanding person. This accusation has been asserted when I, hoped for, wished for, and yes demanded control of how my art got printed, posted, pictured, and presented.
Were these demands met? Sometimes, but never enough times.
But now I FIND MYSELF IN THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF PRINTING ON DEMAND. I have escaped the necessity of ordering what the overseas printers decide are minimum orders...would you believe 2500? Yes, the price per book is cheap, but the outlay is out of reach for ordinary private citizens like me.
Hurray for digital printing which permits me to be the actual publisher. What power trip!
I choose the size, the layout, the colors, the number of pages, and above all THE CONTENT
OF MY OWN BOOK.
No more censorship from the movers and shakers in the publishing world:
" Not everyone loves the UN, Helen. Possibly could you not emphasize the role of the UN in regard to children's rights?"
" I have some questions about the use of tapestries as illustrations in this book. People don't really understand that medium."
" The book is too arty for most people. More realism is needed in your art"
" Jim's words ( Jim Petersen wrote the poetry) are lovely but the meanings might be obscure for some. "
"The colors are a bit too bright. Bright is out. Too sixties"
And finally:
"Most people really don't care about the rights of children, at least not enough to buy a book about it. We sell to the masses."
So for all you demanding folks out there, who demand to be respected as individuals and not jammed into a box of mass ideas , tastes and beliefs or what others perceive as the values of the masses, I say to you support the efforts of the out of the box writers, artists, musicians and other non conforming idealists.
All of this springs from the wonders of the digital world which allows some
folks to to do their thing, without being thinged by the gate keepers.
They have been printed packaged and delivered to my door... and are waiting to be delivered to the first 100 folks who have been eagerly awaiting a chance to buy this book.( I have a rich fantasy life) For the hard (and soft ) facts check out: http://www.dovetailpublications
Publishing on demand means that you can actually demand to be published. That really appeals to me, who, on a few but rare occasions has been called a demanding person. This accusation has been asserted when I, hoped for, wished for, and yes demanded control of how my art got printed, posted, pictured, and presented.
Were these demands met? Sometimes, but never enough times.
But now I FIND MYSELF IN THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF PRINTING ON DEMAND. I have escaped the necessity of ordering what the overseas printers decide are minimum orders...would you believe 2500? Yes, the price per book is cheap, but the outlay is out of reach for ordinary private citizens like me.
Hurray for digital printing which permits me to be the actual publisher. What power trip!
I choose the size, the layout, the colors, the number of pages, and above all THE CONTENT
OF MY OWN BOOK.
No more censorship from the movers and shakers in the publishing world:
" Not everyone loves the UN, Helen. Possibly could you not emphasize the role of the UN in regard to children's rights?"
" I have some questions about the use of tapestries as illustrations in this book. People don't really understand that medium."
" The book is too arty for most people. More realism is needed in your art"
" Jim's words ( Jim Petersen wrote the poetry) are lovely but the meanings might be obscure for some. "
"The colors are a bit too bright. Bright is out. Too sixties"
And finally:
"Most people really don't care about the rights of children, at least not enough to buy a book about it. We sell to the masses."
So for all you demanding folks out there, who demand to be respected as individuals and not jammed into a box of mass ideas , tastes and beliefs or what others perceive as the values of the masses, I say to you support the efforts of the out of the box writers, artists, musicians and other non conforming idealists.
All of this springs from the wonders of the digital world which allows some
folks to to do their thing, without being thinged by the gate keepers.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
August 6th, 1945, 64 years ago
It was August 1945, 64 years ago, I was 17. I had a summer job at Schrafts restaurant near Grand Central station. NYC. The waitresses wore black uniforms with white aprons and white collars. Schrafts: a lady like tea room environment where the sanwhiches didn't have crusts.
I was mostly terrified during the month I worked there…terrified of the angry cooks dishing out insults to the waitresses. I was singled out for my “Chink” handwriting, which was actually a printing style I learned in a private “progressive school”, where cursive writing was deemed to be inferior to printing.
I was intimidated by the head waitress, who watched me with an eagle eye, observing my nervousness and general ineptitude. The first day I was there I spilled a bowl of peas (canned) onto the lap of a navy officer. My first tip was one penny.
But that was the tip of the iceberg,
Underneath the icy attitude of the head waitress, was the fact that I was the only Jew among the throng of Irish Catholic waitresses.
“Don’t tell anyone your Jewish”.
“You don’t look Jewish.”
“No one will know.”
Advice from the waitresses after I casually, and naively, announced my religion.
But when a Negro ( that was the proper term for African Americans in the 40’s) school mate from Music and Art High School sat down at a table to visit me, the ice grew thicker. The fact that he was a male made my alienation complete.
Every day when walking through the doors of Schrafts, my stomach clenched.
On August 6th I showed up for work, and while slipping into my uniform, saw the headline announcing that the U.S had dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima. About 80,000 people died instantly, and 60,000 more would die from their injuries in the coming months.
“That’ll show those Japs”. Everyone nodded in agreement, and hustled off to wait on tables.
I left my first job as a waitress 3 weeks later.
.
I was mostly terrified during the month I worked there…terrified of the angry cooks dishing out insults to the waitresses. I was singled out for my “Chink” handwriting, which was actually a printing style I learned in a private “progressive school”, where cursive writing was deemed to be inferior to printing.
I was intimidated by the head waitress, who watched me with an eagle eye, observing my nervousness and general ineptitude. The first day I was there I spilled a bowl of peas (canned) onto the lap of a navy officer. My first tip was one penny.
But that was the tip of the iceberg,
Underneath the icy attitude of the head waitress, was the fact that I was the only Jew among the throng of Irish Catholic waitresses.
“Don’t tell anyone your Jewish”.
“You don’t look Jewish.”
“No one will know.”
Advice from the waitresses after I casually, and naively, announced my religion.
But when a Negro ( that was the proper term for African Americans in the 40’s) school mate from Music and Art High School sat down at a table to visit me, the ice grew thicker. The fact that he was a male made my alienation complete.
Every day when walking through the doors of Schrafts, my stomach clenched.
On August 6th I showed up for work, and while slipping into my uniform, saw the headline announcing that the U.S had dropped the atom bomb on Hiroshima. About 80,000 people died instantly, and 60,000 more would die from their injuries in the coming months.
“That’ll show those Japs”. Everyone nodded in agreement, and hustled off to wait on tables.
I left my first job as a waitress 3 weeks later.
.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
My new book coming soon!
The new book is called CATCH A DREAMER. Just saw the final proof and in two weeks it will be listed in Amazon.
If you dig color and poetry, and a message about the rights of children I think
you'll enjoy this book. It's based on my ten tapestries created to celebrate the UN's declaration of the Rights of the Child.
If you dig color and poetry, and a message about the rights of children I think
you'll enjoy this book. It's based on my ten tapestries created to celebrate the UN's declaration of the Rights of the Child.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
So what is art anyway
Is it canvass wrapped around
a wooden rectangle
painted trees from a certain angle,
a crowded dusty city scene
or memories from
a shadowy dream?
Is the paint stroked on
or is it scrubbed?
Is it nameless
or can it be dubbed?
where is it in this vast world of art?
if you want to know
just click on the cart.
And when she’s done
that’s when she’s just begun.
And when she’s done
that’s when she’s done in.
Does her art get thrown
in the veritable dust bin?
Is she special?
Did she say anything new?
Or is it the same age old stew
of potted plants in a still life?
Or does the bowl of fruit
represent the artist’s strife?
She goes on line
to dig in the mine,
to find her place in a very long line.
Everyone wants to get in
to the inter net.
It’s a place to be, and yet
it's a very iffy bet.
It’s a mind game.
but it’s her game
and she’s lame
because she won’t follow the rules
and let herself be measured by fools.
Is it dough?
I don’t know.
Did I get into the show?
Who makes the rules of the game?
Who decides she’s a Name?
Who is the ruler
of an artists success?
who says what good is?
It’s anyone’s guess.
It's late in the game
for her to ask this stuff.
It’s a lame game
in scene that’s so rough
asking: "hey baby are you in style?"
"Maybe baby, just for a while."
But she still wants to know
Did I get into the show?
a wooden rectangle
painted trees from a certain angle,
a crowded dusty city scene
or memories from
a shadowy dream?
Is the paint stroked on
or is it scrubbed?
Is it nameless
or can it be dubbed?
where is it in this vast world of art?
if you want to know
just click on the cart.
And when she’s done
that’s when she’s just begun.
And when she’s done
that’s when she’s done in.
Does her art get thrown
in the veritable dust bin?
Is she special?
Did she say anything new?
Or is it the same age old stew
of potted plants in a still life?
Or does the bowl of fruit
represent the artist’s strife?
She goes on line
to dig in the mine,
to find her place in a very long line.
Everyone wants to get in
to the inter net.
It’s a place to be, and yet
it's a very iffy bet.
It’s a mind game.
but it’s her game
and she’s lame
because she won’t follow the rules
and let herself be measured by fools.
Is it dough?
I don’t know.
Did I get into the show?
Who makes the rules of the game?
Who decides she’s a Name?
Who is the ruler
of an artists success?
who says what good is?
It’s anyone’s guess.
It's late in the game
for her to ask this stuff.
It’s a lame game
in scene that’s so rough
asking: "hey baby are you in style?"
"Maybe baby, just for a while."
But she still wants to know
Did I get into the show?
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
No Oldie Left behind
NO OLDIE LEFT BEHIND
or WHOSE BEHIND IS LEFT?
A ditty by an old biddy.
My Face. Your Toosh.
Your Space. My Smoosh.
Our Twitter. Your titter.
Eat less. Be fitter.
Don't trust your baby sitter.
Yes, I'm 80 and I am bitter.
Linked up and linked in
still linked to Rin tin-Tin.
You tube and also flickr
is your i phone really quicker,
than racing down to catch the call.
from the phone down the hall..
I used to bake fine rugalah
now I cook with Googelah
to search and find who I am
and wonder: can I eat that spam?
I can dance the Lindy
and even do the blog
I have a web site
as webbed as a frog
But I'm an Old hippy,
and I think I'm in hell.
No one will tell me
what is HTML?
or WHOSE BEHIND IS LEFT?
A ditty by an old biddy.
My Face. Your Toosh.
Your Space. My Smoosh.
Our Twitter. Your titter.
Eat less. Be fitter.
Don't trust your baby sitter.
Yes, I'm 80 and I am bitter.
Linked up and linked in
still linked to Rin tin-Tin.
You tube and also flickr
is your i phone really quicker,
than racing down to catch the call.
from the phone down the hall..
I used to bake fine rugalah
now I cook with Googelah
to search and find who I am
and wonder: can I eat that spam?
I can dance the Lindy
and even do the blog
I have a web site
as webbed as a frog
But I'm an Old hippy,
and I think I'm in hell.
No one will tell me
what is HTML?
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