Andy Warhol Inspiration

I made this Andy Warhol inspired quilt a few weeks ago.  I wanted to experiment with using ModPodge Transfer medium so I could "print" (really copy) a photo onto fabrics of various colors. I found it workable although I was not happy with everything about how the pictures turned out.

This is the simplest of quilts. Each square was printed individually, I sewed them together, added a layer of fleee as "batting" and a piece of fabric for the back. I sewed it together "pillowcase" fashion and did a narrow row of sewing around the edges.  I have yet to add a  three inch sleeve for hanging to the back.  I think if Andy Warhol were alive today he would find Hillary just as worthy of his multi-picture treatment as ever were Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Taylor and far more inspiring than Chairman Mao.

I showed it to a group this morning and one woman who will be volunteering at the local Democratic Party office suggested I make another one or two that could be displayed at the office.  She suggested the simple little quilt could be sold with the proceeds largely going to  presidential campaign. Fine with me, I will make another couple in the next week and let her take them there.  I am happy to donate that much of my time and my quilting ability to what I hope will be the election of the first woman President of the USA. 

I am of the generation of  (formerly) young women who were enlightened and inspired by The Feminine Mystique, by the wave of feminists that immediately followed.  I think it's way past time for us to have a woman in the White House and it's clear to me that Hillary has the background, the smarts, the prestige in the international community to be the best President we could possibly elect at this time in our very needy history. 

Cartoon I'd love to show

I'm afraid it would be infringing on a copyright of cartoonist Patrick Chippatte to show his cartoon here:  I believe he drew it for either the NY Times of for the New Yorker.  It struck me as especially timely  -- and scary. It shows Trump sitting under the Presidential seal with a mallet in his hand and on the desk two pegs he can hit with the mallet,  One says "Twitter" the other says "Nuke."

I read the article  in the current (July 25)  New Yorker magazine which is an interview with Tony Schwartz by Jane Mayer. Schwartz was the ghost writer of "The Art of the Deal" the hugely successful book about Trump  that lead to his TV show, The Apprentice, and which, Schwartz feels, with much guilt and grief, is adding credence to Trump's bid  for the presidency.  In the interview Schwartz specifically refers to his fear of nuclear disaster if Trump ever has access to the "code" (or whatever it is that's needed -- the red telephone?) to launch a nuclear bomb.

As it happened Schwartz was pretty good deal maker too and got a very good agreement on his pay for ghost writing (Trump wrote not a word, he says). He also bargained down brilliantly when Trump wanted him to pay have the cost of a lavish book launch. He is now giving all proceeds from his book (it put him on Easy Street back then), to charities Trump opposes (mostly having to do with immigration).  Schwartz' personal read on Trump, and his story of the way he had to essentially invent a likeable person is enlightening. His remorse is well earned and sounds honest.

The Armageddon idea is very alive and well among younger people. I think most older people think a great deal less about nuclear disaster. I know it has not been on my mind. Much as I disliked the Bush adiministration I never feared GWB would, in a spontaneous moment of irk, anger, bully-impulse, spite or desire to display the extent of his power, launch a nuclear weapon. The more I find out about Trump's infantile reactions (see and hear them) the more frightening this vision becomes.

In time for the RNC convention

"Tater", my friend Patti's best friend thought about walking in the Barnstable, MASS 4th of July parade  impersonating you-know-who.  In fact Patti felt that was not the best idea (we don't need to go into reasons). 

Tater's is not in full cariature mode because he's keeping his mouth shut -- that's because his own persona is sweet, clever, honest and loving. He really doesn't have it in his heart to carry the  personification beyond the superficial.

Meanwhile I am smugly happy that I am a TV-less person and do not have the craziness of the convention blaring at me several hours a day.

I must say that comb-over is a restrained blond -- no carrot color in it. 

Picturesque Indiana

This covered bridge has always been one of my favorite landmarks near Versailles, Indiana. Some years my school bus route took me through the bridge both going and coming. I'm happy it has been well maintained.  It is at the entrance to the local state park and I'm sure is often photographed.

The court house is not limestone as I stated previously, it's brick.  But it stands with some dignity on the town square. Our only brush with the civil war, besides sending some soldiers into it, was a pass-through by Morgan's Raiders who cross the Ohio River making a brief foray into Indiana -- gathering some provisions, I believe, and rode back to the border river having done no serious damage.  At a "wide space in the road" town a few farmers gathered to confront the raiders but thought the better of it. The place has since been called Farmer's Retreat. 

I was a bit lazy with my camera and thought that I would not be able to get a meaningful photo of the way the county side has widened -- opened up-- because many small farms have become parts of larger ones and old houses and barns have been torn down.  I could often see, off in the distance, a clutch of new aluminum silos beside the usual barn and house sitting under their big shade trees. Change has come, a couple of farmers from my class now own hundreds of acres (and one leases even more).  Of course they also own (or are in debt for) hundreds of thousands of dollars of farm machinery too.

However, when I sat on my brother's deck reading, I heard more kinds of bird calls than I thear where I live.  I'm afraid all those birds were unable to eat up all the mosquitoes. The nasty  little biters will be bigger and fatter for having had a sip of my blood.  I hope they make a tasty dish for the birds.