Category Archives: art

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Watercolor

This is for the Daily Post Prompt: retreat.

I have been changing the art in my clinic with the seasons. This is by my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway, and is currently up in the clinic. This is her largest watercolor, of the Olympic Mountains, painted in the last few years of her life.

A retreat into beauty….

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alphabody

arms around
breasts beckon
curious cunt
deviant dong

erogenous ear
fleeting fungk
great gams
hind hunting hugs

in inner inside
jumping jack
keen kind kisses
langerous lick

mmmm man men
numinous nuzzling
open orafice
pounce pound

query queer quickie
raunchy raking
strong slipsliding
tupped trumpeting

undulating underneath
vivid vinelike vending
watch wearing white
xenophobic

yes yes yes yes
zoo zoooooom

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Random confuse the engine search

A friend and I are using Facebook to message this am and she says she hates that Facebook is mining for advertising all the time. I said we should do a random confuse the engine search every day. Something silly! I searched enamel zebra hamsters first…. And it’s fun to watch the internet try!

What silly search would you use to confuse the big data mining on the internet? Go wild! Confuse your feed!

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Art at Quimper Family Medicine

I change the art at clinic, these for the summer. We had four reproductions up before, of alchemy paintings from the 1400-1600s. I thought they were creepy but also interesting and beautiful.

The painting on the left is by my mother, Helen Burling Ottaway, of my sister, Christine Robbins Ottaway. On the right is an oil by an artist that I don’t know. It looks like my father. I inherited art, but I keep finding beautiful pieces. At least I can display a little and rotate them with the seasons…

 

 

 

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Black lives matter

My family moved from upstate New York to Alexandria, Virginia when I started high school. My mother, Helen Burling Ottaway, took life drawing classes at the community college to meet other artists and because she would have a model. More than one.

She met Michal Platt and took classes with him. He pushed her. My mother did tiny etchings and fantasy drawings and big drawings and watercolors. Micheal wanted her to do powerful drawings. So she did. When he had to be gone for a day from the class, he would have my mother fill in teaching.

I have this picture hanging in my clinic. The title is “One fist of iron”.

The stages of grief for the recent deaths include denial, anger, bargaining, grief and acceptance. It is not a series one goes through. We do them over and over, going from one to another, like a spiral, a whirlpool, a tornado. Black lives matter, police lives matter, I wish my mother were still alive.