The Assemblagist

I was a one-girl band in the mid-1960s. My parents somehow procured an entire "band" which could be strapped to one's chest and hung over shoulders. The front contained a washboard with a scrub brush, a floogle horn-type assemblage, lots of cymbals, , a bicycle horn, spoons and the rear assembly could be activated with a lever. I don't remember what all was included, just how wonderful the entire ensemble sounded to my seven-year-old ears. ... read more

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What trips your trigger? For me, it's abandoned metal, cracked and chipped paint on an old piece of wood, an old chest of drawers with the legs missing... rusted elements of some forgotten automobile. ... read more

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It's getting close to finish time for the Sisters of the Inquisition. Problem right now is photography since the regular photos make the piece look pretty damn shabby. It's outsider art. Painted on the back of a chair and on the side of a cuckoo clock, then fused. Think of the chair back as  an spread open wide "C" with the piece of cuckoo clock in the middle. Then there's a golden baby without the top of its head and a hollow body. There will be  a bouquet made out of oddities--constructed with copper wire as the stems. The golden baby will be a "vase" for the bouquet. The "baby" came from Piggly Wiggly on River Road years ago. When the bakery was closing down, I bought a bag of small pink plastic babies. They were originally intended as cake decorations for a baby shower or new baby cake. I loved my bag o'babies and it was hard to break up the flock, or herd, or ... a bag o'babies would be a "jumble of babies" - that's what it is, babies in a large group would be called a "jumble". Which transcends a murder of crows. ... read more

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Jack dogs nipping at your nose. Tiny sluts with their flies all aglow... ... read more

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This new website is kicking my Ass -emblage capabilities. The 600x200 graphics aren't loading correctly [this is where we serve the wine] and the thumbnails refuse to submit to their 120x120 requirements [bring in the small platter of brie] ... to submit my taxied brain to further degradation, the template is fubarred by my constant incorrect line-edit manipulation. I shall retire to my dressing place and contemplate the universal roundhouse wherein my mental train resides. Hand me those Ritz crackers, please. ... read more

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