anti wall skid paper in place for first part of install

laid out and ready

yes Howard S. I contemplated leaving them thrown about ready for install.

half loaded. no alcohol involved.

34 bellows and two eleven foot chairs plus sixteen foot table runners (joists) loaded on 8x16 foot trailer. about 20 more empty frame bellows of absence to load, table top elements and legs, three chalkboards, three incessant thinkings, plus hardware and tools. ye ha.

push came to shove and then I gave up

Drove up an incline, not really popping the clutch (and yes I have a clutch. real trucks use stick!), rocked the truck and trailer till the dang set of stupid big spheres rolled out. Should have filmed it. It was magnificently funny to watch the outer sphere structure, composed of two pieces fly (crack) open and roll out the smaller of the two. even though i used gravity and slope to ensure the directionsl roll, i was a little concerned for me and my truck. No art or artists were harmed in the process. All the better. Shoot. I may just stick the second image in my portfolio. I like it just as it lay!

laughing outloud

ha! the colts finally have returned to the fence's edge to nuzzle at the Dopt. one of the mamas moved a certain way giving my Dopt a start. she turned to take flight and smacked right into a pole. I made sure she was't hurt, only then did I laugh...outloud. she wasn't overly bothered at the pole, just grinning at me as I laughed, so we eased back up for some more colt nuzzling. they find my Dopt an odd curiosity. ha. then 20 feet behind me, across the crunched gravel lane, a big old tree gave way as gravity had her way with the desiccated elder deciduous beast. needless to say the herd stampeded without the Dopt's help.

hope they will return another eve for nuzzling my Dopt dog novelty.

hard to tell

that the done pile groans and the to do, dwindles, but it does. strewn out in its done flung pile ~24 feet in length, though individual units themselves max out at about 18'. the empty framed ends are now piled about shoulder deep. strewn out as is it reminds me of the deanimated mechanical machine creatures that sought the nebakanezer (sp?) in matrix.

tongue lulling, she hovers behind my legs as though I stand guard

after chasing each to their own mother
overrunning her own shadow
breaks engage, pack pedaling begins
the Dopt turns, makes a beeline for me
as though I could protector her

heads high, bodies tentatively ridgid
only mild concern with my shadow beast's approach, though cautious
with their mere mare motherly stare
the Dopt retreats, reengaging what she left behind
easing under the fence, belly dusting
she hovers behind my legs, goober
I told her not to go

leisurely morning strolls wan

meandering meditations will have to evolve into the days heat till fall takes hold. surely the Dopt will adapt to an abbreviated pre day's breach walks along with my long morning absence (school).

my body says, NO.

and I procrastinate, fidget and facebook more so than my norm. is it self sabotage or is the body honestly just crying UNCLE? I know that today my left hand has demanded a glove (pink of course) because the thumbs print has worn thin and complains with the wire to flesh tubular resistance. I oft am at a loss as to whether it is body or mind that resists me. I am more gentle with my breaks in self judgement as I recall the few that have braved a stitch stitch with me. In the aftermath of shared experience, I was assured no one would steal my methodology and that their whole body hurt. so I am more sensitive and gracious with what may be my body's demands. yet I fret whether it is not body but mind. I worry. I know I will be ready for my show. I always am. but I would have liked a thousand emptied bellowing frames of absence not fifty or sixty. to go with my vacant table setting of perpetually dissolved seatings.

and what's up with all these pike tires (I would remove this auto correct but based on my medium thought it too funny--intended word was pictures) of myself posted on my own blog and facebook (ok well it is called FACEbook). where is this coming from? originally for several years both on my blog and facebook I profiled an object of my own making. somewhere around 2008-09 I switched to my human form. but this summer I seem to be posting a plethora of self. I can throw out a series of conjectures. this isn't my first notice of the cyber behavioral shifting, but I find it unsettling in its boldness--here I am, visible, I can smile if I try, I am not even half bad or defective. look at what you put away? your loss? and do i even really believe that? bam. am I so simple and shallow I would do that? maybe? now I simply question everything. are the self pics some weird ad? way cheaper than eharmony. i don't even have an inkling or leaning of dating intent. oh slam again. denial. self growl at unwarranted slams and apparent bams that aren't really meant as statements but mere questions. asking myself is that what i am doing with the pics? are my images some kind of see!! statement? question myself at each turn? counter isolation? create a connection? a cyber umbilical cord of belonging? the images counter my chronology in a way my resume may lead or mislead for job securement and the art academic compulsion to hire the young, the up and coming. am i fighting the tick of time? am i archiving what otherwise would go unseen? am i talking to someone? enticing? pushing away? does it replace that reflection I'd normally understand in someone else's eyes? that sense of awareness that comes when we pass a mirror or another? or register our own shadow? is it just a slow trickle down consequence of social media? does it create an illusion of opacity I somehow experience as lacking? does the hermitage and the microforest dictate alternate avenues of knowingness? i am here? I don't yet understand what I am saying, I just know I keep saying it. and I find the visibility of my saying whatever it is I am saying a tad unsettling. that or I am simply stalling by writing another post avoiding cutting wire? is it body or mind that procrastinates? is it self sabotage or legit body break? and I really need a personal post proofer!

and darn. twenty some vacant bellows done. I thought more, but I just counted both the done and to do! omg 24 in my to do. double dang. no way they will all be done by Friday with faculty meetings and school resuming. the real space gallery viewer will be none the wiser. I'd be disappointed in myself (and perhaps am a bit or this post wouldnt even exist) but am aware that I am running up against my bodily limitations. so it is as it is and I make peace with it being just so (try) and turn of the mental podcasts of doubt (try). I am blaming my body because it makes me feel better and seems a viable explanation that my inner self can hold on to...

hmmm. pink gloves, apron, women's work. yup.

piled high and deep (not always evident

about twenty units flung into an I-am-done-with-you
pile, which stands about waist deep (4') by a tad longer than three of me stacked head to foot (18' or so).

who ate my sanding sponge!!

DOPTY!

digital to, omg, super sonic

seventeen units ranging 8 to 1o feet in length digitally (hand) cut with scissors = about six months; about forty units when done ranging from 10 to 18 feet cut with rockwall sonic crafter (motorized scissors) = a smidge over one month. though, unlike the scissors, I haven't figured out a good sharpening system for the sonic blade thus I burn through blades like crazy and in our consumer culture you have to buy a whole new attachment unit and not just the shearing blades! but pretty sure I'll never go back to nonmororized scissors for rubber!.

five blades dulled; three spools of tie wire cut, folded and stitched

more wire prepped to cover a few more hours of stitchery, then back to cutting and folding. figure at least 20+ more stitching hours to complete this ONE PIECE. fortunately other pieces are minimal labor (time). still need to get those silly little 12 foot and smaller balls unloaded. frightening in anticipation; reality will probably be far easier than my ideational fear fantasies.

a slice for him; a slice for her

guess which parental unit has a birthday today!

why is this my normal?

and it is!

contemplating approach and access

oh well. I'll just eat them any way! kind of ten second rule but hands instead of floor.

stop it! and hand over my art supplies

I am trying to get the work done! hand it over NOW! and no that killing of the rubber is not actually helpful just mildly entertaining as you wrastle it to death. back off!

now what? and I seriously need a good wench!

I stopped by home depot to replace my tie down straps that chaffed on the malleable, moving, rusty rebar to the point of popping free (three in fifteen minutes--blowing in the wind). a frightening sight watching the straps pop loose on the freeway. a whole new meaning to rolling down the hwy. picked up plumbing pipe insulation to reduce rebar strap chaffing for my new seriously he-man straps. I tried to pick up a good wench as well to assist in pulling my ... spheres out of the bed, but I couldn't find any that cooked and cleaned as well. they just don't make them like they used to. as I rumbled down the last two mile stretch, watching the smaller sphere slowly rotating within the larger,omg, it dawned on me that I should get a neighbor with his round hay bale lifter tractor attachment to come lift off my load!!! yes! well I kind of like the pieces better as trailer installation--sphere inside sphere with the vivid tie down straps! now that's art!

ummm plumbing insulation and new straps

rebar ate through three straps in 15 minutes. there is something about driving down the toll road while straps are popping and blowing freely in the wind ummm. this kind of freedom is unnerving and not mentioned in the constitution!

rolling. just hopefully not off.

bipedal lip flapping--rants of an aloud processor

I oft wonder if the diet coke is an odd kind of hidden suicidal tendency. the worse the outer stresses or the more inflamed the inner terrain, the more the pops and guzzles become obsessive. I look at the can of artificial body mind damaging fluid and then I slam it back as though it will get me there a moment ahead of time. the mildly mannered balance that remains ensures it is as labeled with no arbitrary additives, no alcohol. my mom has been reported as saying she likes me better drunk, then again, she only witnessed that once and I was seventeen and we were in the height of mother/daughter angst. the mom unit reports the 33 year old liking statement to be a result of the fact that i talk more to her when fully soused. great. how could i talk more?! even the Dopt grows weary and wonders off amid the constant stream of rambling mundane sweet talk and that is straight up sober. I get around two legged bipedals (redundant but I like how that sounds) and I can hardly stop flapping my lips. it's frustrating, embarrassing, awkward, leaves me overexposed, vulnerable. it's best not to get me started for I am an aloud processor, meaning the spring of trivia or untrivia freely percolates and then drains out my lips with no regard as to whether duly censored. the blog helps a tad with all the hidden unposted posts. yet the blog in itself becomes a conversation killer in real space. I visit with one who reads and start a legit ramble and they are like, "oh, I know, I read that on your blog." stone silence. ok. my mouth needs to move for you are bipedal. now what? this leaves me with only the uncensored remnant bursting to stream out. it does. bad kathy. so I go back into the microforest and hope I don't post anything hurtful as I process the noggin aloud in cyberform, but I do. which when realized, only becomes another blow to the inner terrain. and I slam back another caffeinated beverage. it is just good the Dopt has boundaries, takes breaks as she needs, is not easily offended, doesn't hold it against me, and then returns for more.

a concluding chapter statement in my grad thesis from 2006 was ...

I sense loss and I drink Diet Coke like a dog gets excited about going for a walk ON A LEASH.

six years ago strewn with a lot of un recognized foreshadowing and diet coke slamming still an illusive pacifier.

the external:
finish work with a good bit remaining (artwork for I am already prepped for the classroom), harvest trailer, unload spheres, load trailer, install solo show next Friday, academic doubles practice already resumed, new crop of washers enter, political pandering at which I suck, needed, job life cycle wans, renewed hunting and self promotion waxes in an economically shutdown academic market, could stand a resume of paychecks as financially stalled summer's end nears, the next show presses on the heals of this year's close with its work still to be generated. all good things. ok not really. some definite good things blended into that mix--(art)work to be made, exhibitions, WASHers.

the internal: highly censored, attempts at undisclosure, fantasies of the pen to page scratching out ink writing life...

and YES, the weather is fine and could hardly be better, but dang, pass me another diet coke. NOW please!

more important than slicing up sheets of rubber

the Dopt redirects me to the more important tasks of microforest living. stick wrestling, a daily must do, it is even written on her chore list!

lounging on mounds of rubber residue post stick and ball chasing duties and once again under foot but trying to be helpful.

after they nuzzled, she tried to herd them and she did.

and then they came back for another nuzzle.

she obliged them with a kiss and then promptly herded them again. even through the fence, she was highly successful. probably instinctual based on the 50% border collie blood coursing through her veins.

another stroll with my shadow companion ending in laughter. hope the colts come back again and again. they may have bolted at her command but didn't seem overly intimidated by my four legged beast.

I might like the dog Dopt life (or at least mine)

splayed out in her new headlight reflective see me pink collar. I cut and bend wire and she sleeps on in the soft subtle shaded breeze. we like this day of cooler weather--94 instead of 98 is actually a huge noticeable relief.

outside of an hour in the middle of the day in the ac and on MY BED (grrrr)
the black shadow beast has been hovering and sleeping at me feet all day. she usually doesn't hover or be foot fodder this much.

not sure which is worse (the confessions of a creative diet coke acholoic)

that I am stitching tubes while eating goldfish bare handed, fingers plunging into the bowl to fish out a munch, or that this is MY LAST DIET COKE. omg my last diet coke! aaaahgggghh.

aaaagggh! I go into retrieve keys for a diet coke and tie wire run, where is Dopty? why is my bedroom door ajar? WHO IS SLEEPING IN MY BED!!!!!!!! aggh! dopty, get your hair shedding black shadow beast off MY BED! NOW! eeeek. oh plethora of black hair.

foot bound except when grasshopper hunting

an affection hound but if you ask her to wrestle with you, she will kick your butt or lay you out flat grinning the whole time. with her half border collie blood and instinct, I have to remind myself not to instigate rambunctious play. sometimes I forget. and she is so funny with her body slams and nips and grips. its fun and makes me laugh but i definitely loose and it promotes bad puppy patterns. the herd instinct is pretty ingrained so wrestle playing escalates it and I have to stop so as not to promote this behavior. but i will say she can take me down in one body slam (after I started it). and they are hilarious because they occur at torso level because she is a leaper. and ouchy on the bum and rib cage nips which are like these tiny little pinches, just enough skin to Oooouch. these also happen as she hangs midair of a leap. she is a good wrestler but only after i instigate. kathy must not promote this behavior. so I just have to stay with cuddles and no wrestling with the Dopt. I just forget ever now and again and wrestle (to my demise and much laughter).

art foundation teaching docs

teaching portfolio

• project + crit/team systems developed 
• student works [eye candy]
• teaching philosophy plus sample student works (including video) 

online presence

WASH current website
WASH spring 2012 student images
WASH facebook

WASH spring 2011  |  student images
WASH fall 2011  |  includes links to student blogs  
WASH spring 2010  |  includes links to student blogs
WASH fall 2010     includes links to student blogs  

 previous teaching websites

Software for Design UH
Intermediate Graphics UH
Drawing for Graphics UH
Fundamentals of Design UH
2D animation AIH
vector animation AIH

personal process

bio

Upon completion of her MFA in Graphic Communication from the University of Houston, Kathryn transitioned from the two-dimensional realm into being a maker of objects and space. Drawn to the symbolic and formal elements of urban decay and the weightiness of cast off human discards that resonate with the experiences of living, she harvests from the urban waste stream.  She collects, cogitates, and distills. Eventually the formal and symbolic elements of the materials, research and writings merge. From there she moves into making, assembling, sewing, revaluing these materials, moving from spectation into production, not mechanized but sensualized by the hand. The sculptural constructs become a stand in for the shadow self. Concurrent with her making, writing and exhibiting, functioning in the role of Visiting Assistant Professor of Art Foundations, Kathryn passionately teaches and mentors in a unique conceptually driven program, one of a kind in the state of Texas, at Sam Houston State University—WASH [Workshop in Art Studio + History].

the dust lather muffin of love

hovers ever near my feet just waiting for an unsuspecting moment to lunge in for an eeek screaming lathering dripping facial or neck slurpification. I try to block but almost always get nailed by her slurpification of love! that or she just likes to watch me shriek and call out her name, DDDOOOPPTY-yyy-eee! nooooooOOOO! no is her new last name. again she patiently awaits her pouncing moment. I work on, brush the spittle from my cheek and remind myself to get over since my work process involves being grundged from head to toe. I need not worry about my slurpification. perhaps I should consider it the pre-rinse cycle.

certainly not by human hand

the real magic is woven and stitched after I archive the work (lean against a tree, a shed, a ...). oft in a single night. it is non-archival and unrelated to my formal or conceptual habits.

Cinderella demounts her carriage

"Mom dismounting her new carriage, just like Cinderella."--dad

My dad has secured his Cinderella a 2009 Chrysler town and country, 26,000 miles, with a dropdown floor, auto extending ramp, plus all the bells and whistles. User manual, 600+ pages. Though the old dog, new trick metaphor plays out a bit my dad will adapt since he is the king of reading user manuals. I see their life as made a little easier and see an increase in their hot dates out and about town in their new carriage. Yay dad. Good decision.

stitch stitch on new slapped together elevated rig

atop two horses, stretched long, taunt, elevated,minimal back bending, accelerates my sewing process and the number of hours my back can actively participate with out screaming obscenities at me.

I've got a rather large set

of spheres. a big thank you to Troy Stanley and his team for loading them onto my trailer! yay! and I wasn't even there. it was like fork lift magic. now I just have to figure out how to get them off. that shouldn't be too tough, probably prove entertaining. :)

how sweet. oh YUCK!

she can't be close enough. good with that most the time. pet pet licking lunge when i least expect it. not so good with the lathery slurpification! yuck.