A few months ago I decided I wanted to try some mixed media art. Hey, I thought--I have several copies of Robinson Crusoe, why not use the pages of the junky copy to make the background?
I admit, I felt slightly sacrilegious cutting up and modpodging pages of a book to a blank canvas.
But it really was a badly worn out paperback that I probably spent 50 cents on at the used bookstore, my inner voice of self-justification whines.
Still. It went a bit against the grain. I love books. I never throw them away (unless you count some of the iffier books that were given to me as presents by people who obviously had no idea about what I would consider innapropriate. Ahem.)
Yesterday, after much hemming and hawing over what I actually wanted to do with said canvas, I decided to paint a buffalo.
I like buffalo. I think they're neat. I like to imagine a place where herds of buffalo roam, free as the wind, and for some reason in my mind there are deer and antelope cavorting there as well. I would probably call that cloudless place my home, because nobody would discourage me and there are buffalo. Anyway. Here's Bernadette.
When my husband came home last night, I showed him Bernadette. His response was, "Hungh. Tatanka," followed by "!!!" when he noticed that I had defiled a book in the interests of making art.
Today's weather report shows that there's a 50% chance I'm going to get struck by lightning. Kinda wish I'd held on to that copy of Rubber Suitmaking For Dummies.