ART FOR SALE

Here are four little things I've created and there are many more on the way!

evie coates on Facebook

ART(ist?) FOR SALE

Good news, art fans! I've got a real, living, breathing site up (thank you, dear Facebook, for making it free and easy) where I will hereby and hitherto and heretofore be posting art for viewing and for sale. I've had a few frustrated followers in the past who had no way to reach me for commissioning or purchasing my work, so here it is! Ta-da. For those of you who aren't lovers of the whole social network thing, I understand. I promise that when I've got anything available, I'll post it here as well as there. Deal? (virtual handshake.) So come and join my artist page on Facebook, if you're into that sort of thing.....

p.s. Evie is available for commissions, always. If you see something you like and you think "Gee, I'd like something like that," leave your email address in a comment and I'll get back to you quicker than you can swat a fly. Something like that.


click here!

evie coates on Facebook

SUMMER NIGHTS

The sky is striped. Hazy orchid pink, apricot orange, and way up in the stratosphere, in the deep crown of the sky, there is a rich, mild blue. Quite coincidentally, I am listening to "Blue Spanish Sky" by Chris Isaak from his 1989 Heart Shaped World as I sit here on my back yard swing in the falling dark. Isn't it strange that I still listen to and love the music I listened to twenty years ago? (On cassette...sinking in...I'm older.)

The leaves and branches above me are cutting inky shapes out of the sky's fading color. The constant hum of the air conditioning unit is interrupting the otherwise quiet and cricket-serenaded night. Fireflies are exhibiting twirly dance moves in the tree line that separates my yard from the neighbor's. I could not be more grateful for that tree line, for it blocks the view of an unsightly, long-forsaken childhood treehouse and a dog who should be grateful that I have not purchased a BB gun. The doors of The Hatch are only slightly ajar and there are vertical lines of a warm glow in the dark. I know that painting and hammering awaits me, and I'll go there in a few minutes. There's something about the darker hours of the 24 that God afforded us that throw me into productive mode. I can't explain it, except for the fact that I'm a werewolf.

The sky has faded to a purply grey, Mr. Isaak has gone quiet, I can barely see my keys and it's time for me to get my art on.

TESTING, TESTING

There is such a thing as an ERB test. Don't ask me what those letters stand for, but they are the standardized aptitude test currently used in the school where I work. I, personally, just love to call them the "erb" tests. As in "herb." At the lunch table, I asked the kids, ages ranging from grade 3 to 5, how the morning's tests went. One third grader who is famous for the bows which always sit perfectly atop her cute little head, said "this is going to be the longest week of my liiiiife." A fourth grade ragamuffin who likes to call himself "Heinz Cowguts" (which I think is quietly brilliant) said "oh that stuff's so eeeeeasy for me! I finished so fast!" I assured Monsieur Cowguts that there were many fellow students for whom this test wasn't "so eeeeeeasy" and that he might want to use a bit more tact at the lunch table. And that the correct grammar usage would actually be "I finished so quickly." And then there are the mature, erb-savvy fifth graders for whom this test is old hat and something they merely endure.

There are also certain students who require a bit more time and TLC during this testing and, at times, the supply of teachers for proctoring purposes runs low. I gladly accepted the call for reinforcements last week and this morning I went and picked up a couple of third grade girls. They had their sharpened no. 2 pencils, their "good luck" notes from their moms, their bright eyes and bushy tails, and their thinking caps were pulled on, straight and tight. In addition, they had bags of candy and were allowed to choose a piece for each break between tests. Where were these bags of candy when I was in third grade? All we got was a sip of water and the satisfaction of knowing we hadn't fainted from the pressure yet.

After reading the instructions silently over and over again -- I think I was as nervous as they were -- I finally said those fated words "You may now open your booklets. Begin." Three sections of the test were to be given today and one of the students, naturally, worked more quickly than the other. I don't have to tell you how this affected the slower of the two, and you can well imagine the feeling of panic which began to creep up in her poor, frustrated little mind and body. Test-taker #1 was almost finished with section #2 while test-taker #2 was still in the throes of section #2. Confused? So was I. Moving on, test-taker #1 moved on to section #3, after her piece of candy, of course (an Andes mint, I think it was). Soon enough, test-taker #2 looked up at me, her sweet, big brown eyes brimming with salty tears and said "Miss Coates my stomach hurts." And she broke down. She sobbed but tried so hard to pull it together. I excused her to the restroom and told her to take some deep breaths and drink plenty of water. What do we need as humans? Air. We need air. And we need water. Everything else is fluff. Except, of course, for the blue raspberry Jolly Rancher I allowed her to enjoy, even though it wasn't an official "break." I'm not a big proponent of "official," if you hadn't already guessed.

After completing section #2, and after test-taker #1 had long gone, test-taker #2 had breakdown #2. I stood up and got her out of her chair and put my arms around her and held her while she cried. Heart-breaking. The pressure this child felt was too much for her to bear, much less me. I asked he if she was overwhelmed and really frustrated and tired of reading all of those millions of words. "Yes ((sniff))" she replied through her tears. I wasn't going to subject her to any more of that and I made an executive decision to call it a day. After we both pulled it together and shared a last piece of candy, I walked her back to her classroom. While walking down that long hallway which must have felt like both freedom and imprisonment to her, I said "You know, as differently as we all learn, we take tests differently too. If you had a different kind of test, say someone put a piece of blank paper and crayons in front of you and said 'Here is your test: draw a pretty girl with a rainbow above her. You may now begin...' you'd pass that test with honors!" She offered a weary smile.

When I saw her at lunch I didn't say anything but was moved to walk up behind her and squeeze her tightly. Later, her class came to Art and she slid a piece of paper into my hand. As the chatter rose in volume and the kids got their paintbrushes moving, I took a moment and unfolded her gift. There stood a pretty girl with a rainbow drawn above her. Just beneath the rainbow, in careful print, read "Thank You [Mrs.] (oops) Coates."

TUCKED IN

Bedtime.

Hot shower, squeaky-clean hair.
Cold drizzle outside my window.
Clean, bleach-scented sheets.
Lavender hand cream.
Bulleit nightcap, neat, on the rocks.
A candle by the name of "Fresh Greens."
Book of poetry.
Meandering music by Sigur Ros.
Quiet, save for the clinking of ice in the glass.
Promise of spring lingering timidly on the edges of the chilled night.
All senses sated.

Sweet dreams.

BLUSTERY

I love rainstorms and everything they bring along with them. The dark, steely-grey skies, the soft and powerful movement in the treetops, the clouds traveling swiftly above, the dim, cozier light in my classroom, the reflective quality of the wet ground, the quiet rumbles of thunder. It feels special, like the wind stirs the earth and brings new things.

My soundtrack on this day is compliments of a band from Stockholm, Loney, Dear. If you've heard them or their album, "Loney, Noir," then you'll know how nicely they dovetail with a rainy day.

"All I want is a state of hope."

Click here to have a listen: "Sinister In a State of Hope"

SUCH A PERFECT DAY

You know how after you're sick for a long period of time, you wonder if you'll ever again feel the way you're supposed to feel? You reflect on how it feels to be normal and have a hard time remembering? The pattern of the shower curtain fabric is burned on my brain because it is what I was staring at when I thought I was going to faint from fever and fall off the toilet. I will forever associate that white puckered diamond pattern with feeling like I had been set on fire and left to fester. But then mom comes to the rescue with gatorade and chicken noodle soup (the Lipton instant kind in the box with the tiny noodles -- that's my favorite) and the doctor prescribes drugs and they all join forces and begin to make me feel like I might come back to the land of wellness.

A week of couch-dwelling doesn't do much for the countenance. Dirty hair, creaky joints, a hot face, shivers, totally obscene and incessant infomercials for products called "Shamwow!" and "Snuggies," an out-of-whack sleeping pattern, a throat that feels like someone took an excavating tool to it. Strep throat is not for pansies. Late yesterday afternoon I went to my front door and found a bag full of "get well" cards from my fifth graders. I smiled and giggled as I read each one. One student said "I've heard that a spoonful of honey can help a sore throat." Bless you, James, for your sage advice. They love me, they really really love me!

Well, today is the first day that I feel just FINE. No aches, no pains, no seeing stars when I sit up. I woke a little late, made a strong pot of coffee and a bowl of steel cut oatmeal with gooseberry and raspberry preserves. The rain is falling with gentility on the metal awning over the back door. Candles light the dim kitchen, and Chris Martin sings "It's such a perfect day...." in the most perfect song on Coldplay's new album, "Strawberry Swing." I have a day that is laid out in front of me like a gift, and I hope to do a little drawing, a little cleaning, and maybe even take a bath. I am filled with gratitude and have all but forgotten how I wallowed in self-pity a short five days ago. Praise the Good Lord for antibiotics, oatmeal, Coldplay, and my health.

It's such a perfect day.