Angel Snakes

The Manufactured Home

The Manufactured Home 

by Gay Pogue
Fiber with paper, beads, and acrylic paint
20 x 25 inches 

Ever the optimist, the Angel Snake Roland was not in the least daunted by the sight of Clarisse and Kyle’s new home in the woods. They were artists with powerful imaginations. In their minds’ eyes, they did not see it as it was but as they would make it. Roland would ensure that they did not lose their vision.

Clarisse’s parents owned, but seldom visited, that 37 acres in Central Texas—a tick-infested, weed-overgrown, vine-entangled, steep sloping jungle at the end of a seven-mile one-lane road. A rusty rig still pumped crude out of the ground on one corner of the property. Of course, Clarisse’s parents did not own the mineral rights. A neglected old house trailer sat smack in the middle of it all. They would live there. 

The only thing right about the whole deal was the price---the cost of the taxes and utilities. They had to make it work because they intended to survive by creating and selling their art.

Clarisse made art quilts; Kyle made fine furniture and household items from lovely local wood.

The naïve couple begged and bartered for paint and supplies necessary to turn the trailer into their dream home. Perhaps its dire condition gave Clarisse the courage to paint it to resemble her quilts. Nonetheless, it soon became the talk of the region and attracted visitors and buyers from all around.

Roland liked to think that he had a great deal to do with the outcome.

#8 in the “Angel Snake Houses” series
Completed October 2011

 

Moving Van

The Moving Van

by Gay Pogue
Fiber with paper, beads, and metal
18.5 x 25.5 inches

Melinda loved going to new places, meeting new people, seeing new things, making new friends; she did not like stuffing her life into boxes to be carted down the road.

The screech of the strapping tape ripping out of the dispenser always sent chills up Melinda’s arms. She felt as though her true home was the moving van itself. How could she not? The boxes were never set out on the street for someone else to pick up and reuse, but instead, carefully cut down, sorted, and stored for the next move which always seemed to come just when she was getting settled. For that matter, some boxes were never even emptied, just dragged from storage facility to storage facility.

Mostly though, she hated never having a studio, a real home for her creative pursuits.

Overhearing her whining, the cashier at the local art supply store recommended the Angel Snake Moving Company. She said those guys, while taking a little getting used to, understood artists and their unique needs. The Angel Snakes would set up the studio first and then stuff the rest of the household around it.

Melinda hoped her movers could, indeed, accomplish this mission impossible. 

#9 in the “Angel Snake Houses” series
Completed November 2011

Gay Pogue
gay@angelsnakes.com
http://angelsnakes.com

 

Fishing Around for Fun

Lila had a good time at Belterra getting to know the puffer fish. They had a brief conversation before we all went in to a fabulous brunch. 

Merry Christmas and Wings Up!!!
Madilla

PS: We also loved the poinsettia tree.

 

Lila and the Long Arm Quilting Machine

Yesterday, we all went with Janet Serrenho and Sharon to Kay's Machine Quilting and Frugal Fabrics in Ghent, Kentucky. The shop is way out in the middle of the countryside. We had to take several one-lane roads to get there, but the rewards were great. We got to see her two Long Arm quilting machines on which she can quilt a whole large quilt at one time. The machine that Lila is inspecting is computerized. Boys and girls, this is an amazing machine. Gay touched it longingly, but we reminded her that she had no room in her studio for such a machine, and no way she could justify it in the stash budget. 

No matter, Kay can do the work for her. 

Wings Up!!!
Madilla

PS: Of course, Gay made a significant additions to her stash while we were there. 

Lila Attends Christmas Tea (and Behaves Herself)

Lila attended the Ladies' Christmas Tea yesterday. Gay took her hoping that the dignified manners of the other attendees would rub off on her. We have been trying to teach her such things, but she continues to revert to her former ways after a short time. 

Since there were no men or male Angel Snakes at the table, Lila was able to give her full attention to the conversation and the food, of which there was plenty.  

The lesson seems to have been successful because last night Lila asked to be served her roasted vegetables  on a china plate rather than the pottery.

Wings Up!!!

Madilla

 

Follow Your Muse

This from "Cloth, Paper, Scissors"

Click through and read. I could not have said it better myself.

Wings Up!!!

Madilla

The Sign of the Gnome

Nissa, a small Angel Snake with body paint done in the latest array of pinks and purples, needed a new home, one with a more peaceful karma. The last artist had just not worked out. “Top Draw” he had called himself. What in the world kind of name was that? Top Draw. Nissa had once asked him about his name and all he replied was, “Don’t you get it, Dude? Top Draw. That’s me.”

She did not get it then, and after being with him for three months, she still did not get it. By anyone’s standards, his drawings were terrible. Furthermore, he had attracted only two fans—his mom and a girl who was so lonely and unattractive that all he had had to do was look at her and say, “Wadup?” to smite her with true love. That was it, two fans.

Arrogant—he was so arrogant. Nissa had offered many encouragements and suggestions. She had patiently watched him work and not work. She had left little presents on his easel. He would pick them up, look at them, shrug “huh” and then toss them into the corner. 

How much abuse should an Angel Snake endure before losing all her self-respect, before giving up? 

Back in school, numerous seminars had been offered on the topic of practical musing. Nissa had frankly not paid much attention to the ones on discerning the suitability of new employment opportunities. Now she wished she had. She had always thought she could rely on her beauty and the luck of the stars to get her where she wanted to go. 

As she lazily flew through a quiet neighborhood bordering the arts district, her eye caught several gnomes grouped in a garden. Then she remembered. Yes. The old Angel Snakes had mentioned garden gnomes as a sign of a likely suitable spot. It made sense. 

Garden gnomes would not be present unless someone in the house had a whimsical, creative spirit and an active imagination. Nissa circled the brown Arts & Crafts house several times before landing on the porch to wait for the inhabitants to come out so she could introduce herself. 

 

The Magic Pouch

On this rainy afternoon, Linda was headed for the local public library where she had promised to read stories to the children after school. She herself was feeling none too chipper, none too magical—the lack of which qualities usually made for a trying afternoon. On her way out the door, she grabbed her magic pouch. Reaching in, she pulled out a stone, and began to finger it in her pocket as she walked over the colorful wet leaves plastered to the sidewalk like a magic carpet. 

[What about the magic pouch? It was a small leather bag containing small stones and found objects worth nothing on the open market. The baubles simply delighted those who saw them or held them in their hands. Soon their imaginations would take off in some unexpected direction—out the window, down the lane, or to the stars. A certain power would take hold, pushing thoughts a wee bit further than might be expected.]

The stone today reminded Linda of her own childhood when she looked forward to story time at the library because in her small town, that was the biggest excitement to be had on a summer’s day. An old lady whom everyone called Aunt Hattie would appear in her sensible shoes, grey skirt, and lilac blouse with a brooch at the neck and seat herself on a low chair covered in crimson velvet.

Aunt Hattie always told a little story about herself before she began the reading, a story that somehow explained why she chose that story to read on that particular day, or how that story had affected her a long, long time ago, when she was young and heard it for the first time.

Then she would transport us to some distant place, around the corner, where all things were possible and even small acts had great significance, where everything was connected, where conflicts could all be resolved, where bad people received their just deserts, and good people basked in the glow of admiration and respect.

Yes, the pouch had again worked its magic. Linda took a deep breath, “From now on, I am Aunt Hattie when I go to the library—maybe at other times too.”

 

The Ripe Mango

Julietta slithered her way from one end of the kitchen counter to the other following the sweet scent of the ripe mangoes. Something in her snake brain could not resist the pull of that aroma. She began to shiver slightly all over as she neared her objective. She could not recall ever having smelled something like that and wasn’t exactly sure what it was. She must have it. 

Her Grandmother had warned her that such things existed, things to which she was already addicted. Her grandmother said that the consensus among Angel Snake scholars was that certain fruits had been present and consumed on a daily basis millennia ago in The Garden, before the unfortunate incident.

Julietta took deep breaths to calm her nerves and pressed ahead, but the breaths served only to increase her desire for whatever it was. 

Finally she saw what she knew must be the source of the aroma—a lovely green, pink, red, yellow, orange fruit lying there on the counter like some ordinary apple or lemon. Clearly, it was food for the gods. 

She should have held back, considering the fruit was not precisely hers. Vivian might have some special purpose for the fruit. Julietta should have waited until it was offered. She should have at least asked. Alas, none of these thoughts even flitted through her small brain, not the conscious part anyway. 

Julietta simply forged ahead with her mouth wide open. As her extended fangs touched the skin, she sank them deeply into the soft sugary flesh. Juice shot into her mouth and into her brain calling up memories and experiences she herself had never had. She could not stop herself and ate and ate and ate until the sticky pulp covered her dark skin and bloated her belly. She could not stop until it was all consumed. Even then she continued to lick the pit and pick off the remaining strings.

The crime scene was bloodied with the orange syrup, and Julietta lay in the middle in a drugged stupor.

When the viciousness of her attack on the fruit slowly dawned on her, shame crept in with it. Any minute Vivian would come in to make coffee. Julietta’s life would be over. Vivian would surely cast her out into the cold. And they had been making such progress on the pots for her next exhibit.

The overhead light’s sudden flash blinded Julietta. She squeezed her eyes shut as it to fend off what was to come. 

Vivian let out a whoop and then laughed, “Oh I see you found the mango. I thought you might like it.”

 

Colored Index Cards

Laura Liebowitz's life was nothing if it wasn't organized. Her entire existence was outlined on colored index cards. Blue for household chores, yellow for exercise, red for food, orange for shopping, black for sleeping, pink for underwear, magenta for hats, cerise for exercise clothes, rust for coats and outerwear, and so on. 

When she had run out of manufactured colored cards, she had created her own with Sharpies or colored pencils and stiff paper. So many and varied were her colors and categories that, truly, they had ceased to mean anything.

Gloria, a recently unemployed older Angel Snake, flew by Gloria's dining room window and saw all the cards spread out on the table. The table had been extended as far as it would go by the addition of all the leaves. She stopped to examine the array of cards and watch Laura fussing with them. Settled on an overhanging branch, Gloria watched for most of one day as Laura made notes, colored cards, and moved things around. The pattern that was created was quite nice and reminded Gloria of a quilt. 

Suddenly, Gloria saw her work laid out before her: Get to know Laura and teach her to quilt. All that obsessive/compulsive behavior could be put into something productive and beautiful.

All Gloria had to do was find a way to work herself into Laura's life and gently guide her in the right direction. This would be too much fun.