Recreating Paintings in Quarantine

During the lockdown in southern California I have been keeping busy.  I'm doing some freelance writing, I'm reading, I'm cleaning and I'm doing art.

I'm doing all kinds of art.

I have begun painting, making dollhouse miniatures and most recently I've started recreating paintings with things from around the house.  This whole thing was started by The Getty Museum Challenge and you can find other fine recreations under the hashtags #gettymuseumchallenge and #betweenartandquarantine

For the first one depicted below I've recreated Tissot's painting, The Widower.

My Recreation and Tissot's The Widower

And that was so much fun that I decided I need to recreate a few more paintings.


So here is my recreation of Henry Fuseli's The Nightmare.

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli and a recreation with Jojo the cat.

The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli












My recreation of The Nightmare - featuring my cat AKA Jojen aka JoJo

I didn't want my dogs to feel left out by all the fun that Cat and I were having so the next few recreations involve them.

This is Charles van den Eycken's painting titled "Willpower" 1891

My poor fools were so confused about what they could and couldn't eat after this they almost were reluctant to take the treats when I gave them to my boys by hand.

Next is the recreation of Briton Rivière's painting Requiescat from 1888.

Shadow snuffled my hand for treats the entire time we tried to do this photo.  Not smiling was almost harder than keeping his attention when he thought treats were a hopeless endeavor and tried to give up.

Next is a recreation of Compulsory Education, also painted by Briton Rivière.

Do not let Rocky's mournful eyes deceive you.  He was so excited by the treats that came out of this photoshoot that he happily traipsed over for more than one take.  

The next painting is untitled but commonly referred to as Knight Resting with Dog by Nicaise De Keyser

The amazing armour dress and leggings I'm wearing are from Lorica Clothing, the Sackville skater dress and the Sackville leggings. All of their products are amazing, if you have need of comfy armour dresses or leggings I advise you look for them at Lorica Clothing.

The next is a painting by Thomas Weaver and is titled The Dunearn Ox c.1812-1815

No, really though, why are so many portraits of cows so rectangular?  If you're interested in this particular phenomenon you may want to check out this article on rectangular cows in UK art. 

I thought my rabbit had a nice scale next to my "cow".  Doesn't Shadow make a fine cow? I thought so anyway.  So, I decided to take advantage of his lovely cowhide (tshirt situation) and take another pastoral photograph with Rocky too.

This one, Animals Resting in the Pasture is a painting by Paulus Potter

Aren't my cows fine? Don't I make an enviable farmer? I'm marriageable at the very least, if I'm not the envy of the county with such fine cows as these.  It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a fine herd of dogs, I mean cows, must be in want of a husband.  Or perhaps just an occupation.

Ok, so technically this next one is a woodcut not a painting.  But I think it still counts, it's very much a recreation.  

This is a woodcut by Hans Holbein the Younger called either the Chandler or The Peddler for the Dance of Death series c.1526.

and here is my recreation of it...

The Case of the Stranger at the Door and the Cowardly Cat

It was early, at least by my standards. Ok, fine, I admit it wasn't early. It was a little after eleven when I heard a loud knock at the door. It had to be loud for me to hear it because I was sound asleep at the time.

I had stayed up late reading and between seven and nine in the morning my cat had tried everything she could think of to make me get up.  She didn't need anything of course, she just enjoys an audience while she eats.  I, however, refuse to wake up so that she may dine a la russe.  So, I tried my best to ignore her and finally, after a two hour battle, (that involved her devilish tricks and muttered curses from my pillow) I convinced her to curl up at the end of the bed and sleep.

I don't know what you're talking about.  I'm totally innocent and all my desires are needs.

So, that's where the two of us were at eleven in the morning, both completely contented and asleep, when someone pounded at the door with enough force to startle us awake and get the blood going.  She looked about wildly while I checked the time.  Mother should still be at Bible study.  Perhaps it was a neighbor, but it was rather loud, much too loud for one of our friendly neighbors.  Wouldn't it be just my luck if the "bad guys" had come calling this morning I thought groggily.  No, it must just be someone here about the bathroom construction.  Maybe they have a quote for the house paint or the window.

I tore myself from my cozy bed to peer out the window and decide if I could reasonably ignore the person at the door or not.  I couldn't see anyone downstairs by the door and thought they'd given up and gone back to their car.  When I tiptoed to another window for a better view of the driveway and their little car I thought I heard another knock.  Clearly, with a normal little four door car instead of a truck this wasn't a construction person, and yet they didn't seem to be leaving either.

I put the nearest coat on over my pjs and resigned myself to greeting whatever neighbor or friend believed that eleven am wasn't too early for a social call.  They would be wrong about this of course, but there is just no stopping some people.  On the way down the stairs I called over my shoulder to the cat, asking if she was coming, since my presence downstairs had been her only goal for two hours that morning.  She was tiptoeing behind me.  That's odd I thought, still half asleep, normally she races down the stairs with me.  Then as I reached the bottom of the stairs I heard a sound that almost made my heart stop.

Who me?  I'm certainly not a coward and I wasn't tiptoeing either.  I was clearly stalking the criminal.  Yes, that's what I was doing two feet behind you.

I had heard this sound before, years earlier when we had a different cat.  Some said she was a devious cat.  I just said she was the devil.  She would wait until I was alone doing work in the kitchen after everyone else had gone to bed.  Then, and only then, would she approach the door from the outside, reach up, and jiggle the doorknob.  It scared me half to death every time she did it and she seemed to know that.  This time the noise was a little louder, but I knew without a doubt that the person who had knocked a few minutes ago was now jiggling the doorknob.  They were trying to get into my house!

I was afraid in that moment.  They clearly didn't know I was home as they had knocked to see if anyone answered and waited some time before trying the door.  I had taken my sweet time to decide if I could ignore them or not.  They had assumed nobody was home and were now trying to get in.  But subconsciously this thought kept my terror in check because I knew they were not trying to hurt me.

There was the briefest of pauses and then I heard the door give.  I knew that they had just shouldered my door open by force, and I had just heard the door jamb break.  The knocker was now inside my kitchen.

There was no doubt as to their intention now.  Thinking the house was empty the would be criminal intended to rob the place.  And yet the moment I heard the door give in I stopped being afraid and I stopped thinking.  I knew they were in my house and I knew with a ferocious certainty that I had to get them out.  I flew around the last corner with rage at their intrusion building in my chest and I shouted at the top of my lungs "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!".

Did she say intruder? Hide!

The intruder was a young man standing about my height (so not very tall) just on the kitchen rug, all of two feet inside my house, his eyes wide with shock as I came running at him, pj's flying, bed hair flying, with rage in my voice.  He immediately turned and with an "oh shit!" ran out of my kitchen and headed for his car.  As I reached my door I shouted "Get out of my house!" one more time before chasing after him across the porch.  He got safely in his car and began to leave before I could catch up to him, which is just as well because I don't know what I would have done with him if I had caught him.  Still full of adrenaline and rage I memorized his license plate numbers as he pulled away picking up hasty speed around my driveway and left my house.

Then I stood there as the adrenaline let-down started to make me shake and the shock of what might have happened set in.  I called mom to let her know I was safe but she insisted on leaving Bible study right away to come home.  The older ladies in the Bible study group were shocked and terrified that I would chase an intruder.  So worried in fact, that one of them drove by the house later to check on us and make sure we were ok because she couldn't get over the idea of me chasing out a robber.  I'm now infamous at church as the "battle daughter," my mother's new term for me, who chased away an intruder.

She is only fierce when she's pretending to be a lioness.

The next thing that had to be done was to call 911 to report the break in.  This led to a long morning of police statements and the dusting of our doorknob for prints.  The police officers were all very kind and offered suggestions and advice for home safety and personal safety.  None of these involved me chasing after criminals in the future I might add.  They assured me that the best thing to do was to trust my instincts.  If you think it's a "bad guy" then call 911 right away.  Don't wait til they break in and don't chase them.

And they are right of course.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to be aware of the potential repercussions of my actions.  I was lucky.  In future I'll be pleased to call in support before I need it.  It's far better to let the police chase away the intruders for me so I can stand aloof in the background with my cat while we wear identical expressions of dignified abhorrence.

And despite all my light-hearted joking about the matter, I am serious.  I know I have a rich imagination (evidence found here), but unfortunately this really happened.  My hands shook after the fact and it ruined my day.  And it has made me a bit more cautious.  And if it happens to you, do call the police.  I only joke about this because I am safe and it is over; and I think that often the only choice you have in these situations is whether to laugh or cry.  Personally, I refuse to let somebody else make me the victim.  So, I shall laugh at the comical image of my cowardly cat slinking behind me as I chase out a robber in my pj's.  It did ruin my day, but it will not make me subject to fear.  That's no way to live.  Ok, serious side all dealt with, I shall return to my farcical description of real events.

So, let this be a lesson for all people.  Some of us take our beauty sleep very seriously.  If you have the nerve to awaken me, and my fiendish cat, from our slumber I assure you that you will have awakened the sleeping dragon.  And if you are a would be thieving scum bag, the police will be more than happy to escort you to your new home. 

Transplantation: in which I have been moved

This is a simple post.  It has only one purpose and that is, namely, to inform the unfortunate souls who have stumbled upon this blog of a single fact.  No, wait, that's not quite right.  If you had by some great misfortune stumbled upon this blog you probably wouldn't be reading this post.  Most people stumble into things by finding peculiar images, and I admit that they abound on this blog.  Or perhaps by finding unusually mad titles associated with some term they've just searched...

Sunset through the fruit tree

No.  If you're reading this post, it would seem likely that you are in fact a reader of more than one post.  And the only reason for that must be madness.  Why else would you be reading this?  Well, I suppose you could be here out of curiosity.  This blog is sort of an online zoo for madness.  All manner and types of madness are present here, expressed in my thoughts and the absurd things that always seem to happen to me...

But I digress.  Whatever the reason you are here, and I'm sorry you must have put up with so much already, I must inform you that I have in fact moved.

I am now situated amongst the rolling hills of southern California.  I no longer have the good fortune to live on the rainy and perpetually cold island known as Great Britain.  I do enjoy the sunshine here in southern California.

Hey, where did all the rain go?

But I miss the history and vibrancy of life in London and I really don't enjoy the constant fear of wild fires.  But my transition to life here is for another day.  I merely wanted to inform you, my poor unfortunate reader, that I am now living here rather than there.

Now that I have done so, you must excuse me.  I have things to unpack, mad tea parties to host, and chaos to involve myself in. 

Mad Images

I'm in a weird mood today.  Yes even weirder than usual.  So, I'm going to leave you with a few bizarre and wonderful images I've collected recently. These images not only suit my strange sense of humour, and my weird mood, they also serve to illustrate just how mad the whole world is.

Mr. Monk a.k.a. Frangelico

I was not the person who decided to make this particular alcoholic beverage in a monk shaped bottle with a rope wrapped around his waist and all its lettering done in gothic scripts.  (Of course if I was consulted I would have approved very heartily of this plan).  I did, however, give him a hat and dub him Mr. Monk.  I think he must be a Franciscan and therefore fantastic.

Cage-frame men in a workshop

These strange cage-frame men were in a workshop I happened to pass by one day after work.  It is hard to tell with all the glare through the windows, but these cage-frame men are standing by big tools in some sort of machine shop.  They look like they are about to come to life, switch on various tools and carry on working on their latest projects.

Barbara Banana - Fruit Box Security Officer

Before leaving work for the day a few of the girls giggled while they crafted this addition to the fruit box.  According to the inscription written on a post-it note this is Barbara Banana the Fruit Box Security Officer.  Apparently she is guarding the granny smiths because somebody loves them.  But it seems to be a part of her role to also guard pears and protect strawberry children too.  Her weapon of enforcement, and of course a natural choice for security, is a spoon.  Her uniform appears to include a night-cap or strange pointy hat.  Maybe it's the long nose, maybe it's the crookedy teeth, or maybe it's the allusion to witches with her pointy hat, but I think this Barbara can really only be described as a crone, albeit a slightly amusing and charming one.

Apparently I am not a good pirate, for I do not know how to plunder.  Therefore I sadly, must work.  Some days plundering just sounds so much more appealing.  Ah well.

So there you have it a collection of some strange images and things I've seen of late.