Members Only

Members Only, 6 x 6", ©2011 K. Hambric

Are you part of the club?

This piece now on Etsy.

Urban Excess - Place, Part III

Space Available, 8 x 8", © 2011 K. Hambric

Signs.  Cars.  Buses.  Bricks.  Concrete.  Trees.  Steps.  Cranes.  Ladders.  Bicycles.  Couriers.  Kids.  Streets.  Restaurants.  Steel.  Glass.

Pick me up and put me there right now!!!

This piece on  Etsy.

My Idea of Heaven: Place, Part II

My Idea of Heaven, 8x8" ©2011 K. Hambric

I once saw a photograph of an intersection in Seattle.  On each corner was a coffee shop.  This is my idea of heaven.  Imagine the smell.  Fragrant of memory and of promise.  A brew of stories.  Caffeine!

I love cities.  Most of my vacations are centered around cities. 

I love maps of cities.  I used to draw fantasy city maps.  Others drew maps of fantasy lands (after they had read the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, of course).  As a child I would create city maps out of just about anything:  paper and pencils, dominos, Tinker Toys, clothes pins, game pieces, empty cartons, building blocks, and probably 200 other items. 

My goal was to become a city planner.  I wanted to design cities from the bottom up.  From scratch.  All new.  Later I realized that was impossible.  Like plants and people, cities grow.  From towns.  From villages.  From a settlement of a handful of houses, a blacksmith shop and a general store (and/or a saloon).  Out and up.  Neighborhoods form, grow, and often, eventually die.

While I love to be in a city with a map, most of the time I have to be content at home with a map.  What do I do with surplus computer time?  Head to GoogleMaps.  Zoom in.  Zoom out.  Where do I think the rich people live?  Could those large masses in the central city be a convention center (replacing what was thought to be a declining neighborhood)?  Does that mass of restaurant, coffee, and shopping icons indicate a vibrant urban node, perhaps gentrified?

. . . I can smell the coffee now. . 

Visit this piece on Etsy.

Place, Part I

Where are you? Are you in the right place?

You Are Here I, 7 x 7" ©2009 K. Hambric

on Etsy.

You Are Here II, 9 x 9" © 2009 K. Hambric

on Etsy.

I'm still looking for the right place.

When you step out your front door (or the back if that is what you prefer), how do you feel?  Excited?  Anxious?  Content?  Depressed?

You walk down the sidewalk and stop at the street.  Which way do you turn?  Where do you go?

Nine Out of Ten Like More Free

More Free, 8 x 8", ©2011 K. Hambric

Nine out of Ten, 6 x 6", ©2011 K. Hambric

Two new pieces now in my Etsy shop.

Several months ago, I went to a small collage making party. Everyone contributed bits and pieces, papers and catalogs. One interior design magazine caught my eye. I flipped and flipped, yet everything seemed too perfect, too glossy. Then one of those damn inserts fell out.  Every time you open a magazine, a flurry of these things fall out. I hate them!!! Well, I used to hate them!!!  I fell in love with them!!!  Now, I collect them.  They are the basis of both of these pieces and a few others that I have not yet posted. I especially love those black bars that are printed below the no postage if mailed in the United States square.  Black and white together really catch my eye.

And they only get better when they tell me in large letters to SUBSCRIBE NOW!

And junk mail!  I'm beginning to look at junk mail in a new light.  My scissors are never far away.  Must go cut.  Bye.

Things To Do Before Your Mother Dies

Yes, Mothers’ Day is just around the corner.  Restaurant reservations have been made, flowers will be purchased, and Hallmark stock will rise temporarily.  I’m hoping to receive a handmade card from my daughter, and perhaps one of my favorite meals cooked by my husband (yes, most are my favorites, because they are ALWAYS made by my husband).  But, I guess what I really want, is to be able to mope about and miss my mother.

Many of you have lost your mothers, but for those who haven’t, here are some things to do before your mother dies.  Or should I say here are some things I should have done before MY mother died.

Gather up her stray writing:  grocery lists, calendar entries, knitting instructions, your name scribbled on your brown lunch bag.  I guess this last one is just for the young ones out there.  I wish I had saved one or two of those bags from elementary school.

Take a picture of your mother enjoying herself.  Perhaps while telling a story about an old boyfriend and making everyone around the Thanksgiving table laugh until they cry (including herself).

Tell her you love her.  The last time I saw my mother conscious, she told me she loved me.  I don’t think she had ever done that before.  Before I could say anything in return, she quickly changed the subject, and much later I realized I had left the hospital room without saying that I loved her.

Well.  What are you waiting for?