some photos

 arm art in traffic, updates on van, ('glory be! I cannot beleive I forgot to post them!' in oldschool southern ladies accent) and walt disney world reconstructed. jk. its a church. w/ Reverend Mickey. no jk. really.

the picks of the pics

arte

above: a collaberation @ the 5 spot (tabletop art @ it's best)

above: another collabo, this time with a 5 & 7 year old...Anna & William

above & below...sketchbook wonderfuls!

Tamara's box

*that's narsty

I picked my nose today. ( I can hear ya’ll now…"congratulations…emily. way to go") In the car, while driving. I was stopped at a red light, with the same mindset as everyone else, “no one’s looking right now…of course they aren’t, no way…I’ll just get a quick pick on, a little dig goin, just real quick, while no one can see me. In broad daylight. Motionless at a red light, surrounded by several other motionless vehichles.” 

Well, perhaps I am the only one who thinks such thoughts, but I doubt it. I’ve  found, on several occasions, in numerous ways, that I am not unique. At least not as unique as I like to think I am. I mean, there’s not another Em Kempf out there (at least I think not) tailored exactly as I am, but there are many many others cut from the same cloth. And all those from this same cloth and some other cloths of varying thickness and pattern and material are all sewn together willy-nilly in this big ass quilt. That Gramma Creation quilted in a rockin chair on the front porch of the universe made of stars and air while Grampah Almighty played the banjo and ate sunflower seeds.

            It was a biggun. The perfect pluck. Only took a couple deft scoops of the index to secure. The precious cargo was almost out when something went horribly wrong. I just knew it in my heart of hearts, something had gone array.  The crustacian was, it was..it was..missing. Gone. MIA. The tip of my finger, naked. Bare. Vunerable. Without booger. Where once perched a proud nugget of glory, there was but air. (haha..butt-air) 

My co-worker just asked me what I was writing and I told her.Oh pickin’ my nose, God, the universe and stuff. She might have thought me to be sarcastic or attempting funnyness. But no, oh no. I was as exposed to her with my honest reply as the doomed nostril tidbit was to the elements. She could not relate to my experience of pickin in public. I asked her if she felt the same triumphant rush when she caught others 'pickin out loud' so to speak.  Catching them in the act and thinking “ YAHHAH! I see you! I so saw that man..you are NOT alone my pickin friend! YAHAHHAHA!”  

No, no relation.

((HEAVY SIGH))

wait no, no more like a medium sigh.

((MeDiUm sigh))

Panic overtook me as I glanced frantically around for my fallen morsel. The light turned green. My eyes scanned chestal section, seat belt, lap, arm, finger? Dammit! I wiped my face. I wiped my face again. I accelerated. I thought to myself , this can probably wait, I’m driving. Driving’s more important than this. But..FOCK! Whereisitwhereisitwhereisit? Whereisit?

((HEAVY SIGH))

wait no

(((SUPERDUPERHEAVYSIGH)))

What if I never find it? And it’s like on my cheek or hanging off an eyelash or on my neck. Grinning at the world and just seething with plans to mortify me in front of my peers with grossness and akwardness. What if I am talking to someone later today and it’s perched on me somewhere super noticable and they just stare at it and fail to tell me because they think it’s a mole. They are to embarrassed to face the unpalatable awkwardness that would be sure to follow if they mention I have a massive boogey on my chin when in actuality it turns out to be  permenant feature that I am extremely sensitive and insecure about and and and. And! 

Because that has happened to me. Sort of. This guy I know, name undisclosed, had a, what I thought was a jellybean, but turned out to be a mole, near his armpit/collar bone. I tried to pluck this “jellybean” from it’s strange resting place and was ABSOLUTELY FUCKING mortified to discover in a cold sort of chill that it was NOT in fact a jelly bean, and that it WAS in fact attached to his body. I froze and then burst into laughter (to keep from sobbing) and profusely apologized and turned bright red. Which I do so very often. I could sell embarrassment in a bottle and make a fortune. Or is it humility?

I found it. I plucked it delicately from it’s nesting place on my carseat and crushed it into tiny flaky little crubs of it’s former self.

When I was a small child I used to wipe all my boogers on the wall beside my bed. And one day my dad and I moved my room around and the wall was exposed in the process. There was a rectangular blobbish patch of hardened boogerness cemented to the area, once hidden by my bed,  now out in the open. My father turned to me repulsed and professed his dismay and disappoint in my narsty "collection". I giggle now just thinkin of it. I really saw no problem with the whole thing. It didn't seem strange or disgusting to me. Tissues were suggested and today I am proud to say that I do not wipe my boogers on the wall anymore, I roll them into little rubbery balls  b/t thumb and forefinger and let them fall as they may. No evidence. No hardened snot cemetery.  

it is sunny outside and I feel my brain turning to zombie. so i am going to go play in the sun and leave this story to marinate. 

FIN! (or is it....)

dooh-dles

FILM # 10

and more from the ongoing

one sided saga

of a crush.

1.	to press or squeeze with a force that destroys or deforms.

2.	to squeeze or pound into small fragments or particles, as ore, stone, etc.

3.	to force out by pressing or squeezing; extract: to crush cottonseeds in order to produce oil.

4.	to rumple; wrinkle; crease.

5.	to smooth or flatten by pressure: to crush leather.

6.	to hug or embrace forcibly or strongly: He crushed her in his arms.

7.	to destroy, subdue, or suppress utterly: to crush a revolt.

8.	to overwhelm with confusion, chagrin, or humiliation, as by argumentation or a slighting action or remark; squelch.

9.	to oppress grievously.

10.	Archaic. to finish drinking (wine, ale, etc.).

–verb (used without object)

11.	to become crushed.

12.	to advance with crushing; press or crowd forcibly.

–noun

13.	the act of crushing; state of being crushed.

14.	a great crowd: a crush of shoppers.

15.	Informal. a. an intense but usually short-lived infatuation. b. the object of such an infatuation: Who is your latest crush?

some scribbles

THE TEXAS FILM (it's a longy)

FILM # 9

TO: LOVE

{a letter in motion}

daily sketchness

little beautifuls

more beautifuls

beautiful things

BEEPBEEP! FILM # 7

DEEPdarkWOODS

(in sexy voice) for a good time...go to BEEPBEEPGALLERY.COM 

HARHAR! YAY!

Put on your hoods, grab your axe,

and follow the bread-crumb trail

because March 29th-April 20th Beep Beep Gallery

presents:Deep Dark Woods featuring new work by 

Lisa Kemp,

Baxter Crane, 

and Kim Feigenbaum. 

This show focuses on that unknown expanse of forest

that makes up the geography of folk-lore and fantasy,

from the Baba Yaga and Grendel

to the Big Bad Wolf 

and the Witch in the Gingerbread House.

While each artist varies greatly in styles

and materials, the work they've created for this show

is linked by a common thread of child-like wonder and awe. 

For information on the artists, visit their websites: 

http://lisakempart.com/

http://darktreestudios.com/

Baxter works for us, and is really talented, but doesn't
have anything online except for this from a previous Beep
Beep show:
http://www.beepbeepgallery.com//index.php?option=com_easygallery&act=photos&c...

Sketchie poos

sketchbook work

"WANT" FILM # 6

I made this and felt naked having it on my blog...so i took it off..and decided to bring it back. HERE I AM! the good and the bad. the smelly, the messy, the beautiful, the snotty, the sticky, the bewildered, the selfish, the tragically dramatically normal, the human. just like you and youandyouandyou.......
or as my mom puts it: "the hormone-soaked tea bag"

also:
MUSIC by WHITE MOON song title ELI