Confessions of a Florentine Pet Sitter


No Way
mouse-in-mouth_blondie2_blog

No Way that fix-it guy is going to get my mouse!

Blondie has been going crazy with the tiny toy mice that I send her. She exhausts herself playing with them. Before taking her nap, she hides them in various places. After her nap she digs them out from under pillows and furniture and begins playing again. She carries them around in her mouth. She wakes her mom up by sitting on her chest, staring at her, Wake up! Wake Up! Wake up! Four in the morning is a startling moment to wake up with anyone sitting and staring at you, nonetheless with a cat sitting on your chest inches away from your face, staring at you with a mouth full of mouse! Willing you to wake up, wake up wake up!

I woke up in the hospital bed one night after my surgery and as I rolled over I became aware my night nurse was standing about four feet back from my bed, quietly staring at me, listening to my breathing she said. Willing me to wake up first probably, because the last time she woke me up I was combative and socked her in the face! It was a strange feeling to know someone was staring at me while I blissfully and fitfully slept. Did I snore? Did I talk in my sleep and give away ungodly secrets?

​Regarding Blondie, I am just delighted that she is enjoying my gifts so much!

This cartoon developed one day when her mom had a repairman out to fix her clothes dryer. She said Blondie sat in the living room with the mouse stuffed in her mouth the whole time he was there working.​ The image stuck with me, couldn’t get it out of my mind. I just had to give it a try. Hand-drawn first, I then scanned and computer manipulated it.  I had in mind this image of Blondie sitting upright, tall, still, prim and proper like a princess, with her tiny cheeks bulging with a black mouse, and anxiety in her eyes wide-open; how long, how long, how long was she going to have to suck on this soggy mouse? When could she breathe? When could she get a sip of water?

There was no way she was going to let this fix-it guy steal her mouse. But, she may also have been hiding the mouse, and feeling remorse, thinking it would give away her secret…that she had quietly secreted away another mouse behind the dryer and it was the cause of the strange noise her mom had heard.

I tried to get the character of Blondie’s stubbornness and the strain of having to hold something in her mouth for so long – she couldn’t swallow, the mouse was undoubtedly soaking up her saliva, drying out her tongue, making it feel fuzzy, and her eyes would get wide and buggy with the stress of it all.

Poor kitty, all she had to do was spit it out, but maybe she didn’t have any spit left.



Bully Tai
March 15, 2015, 10:58 AM
Filed under: art, cat paintings, cats and dogs | Tags: , ,

Tai_surveyor_BlogTai the Terrible
Pencil Drawing by Susan Canavarro

Tai the Terrible steals food from Brillo’s dish even before Brillo has walked away from it. As soon as Brillo takes a bite and turns his head away from his dish to chew, Tai extends his front leg with cupped paw over into Brillo’s bowl and scoops out a piece. If I admonish him to wait for Brillo to finish eating, he walks away in slow misery, sulking, licking his paw. I often wonder if Brillo turned away to chew just to give his brother the opportunity, perhaps like a symbiotic relationship of odd species where one helps the other survive.

They have one small pot of chewing-grass growing by the back patio door that they both like to munch on first thing in the morning. It is cool and damp with morning dew and tastes mighty good after a long dry night. Tai, in his typical Tai manner, bullies his way up to the grass where Brillo is chewing. He wants the grass from that very same spot. He pushes Brillo away. Noses his way in to the pot of grass, and begins gnawing away it it thirstily. Brillo paces looking for an opening to reach the other side of the plant but other potted plants block his access. He sits patiently waiting for Tai to finish quenching his thirst on the green dew-covered grass. I can’t stand to see Brillo bullied and dying of thirst. I slide the other plants away from the backside to make room for him. He scoots in. With gluttonous delight Brillo finally quenches his morning-dry-mouth.

Brillo gets a lot of attention and Tai wants more. When they are inside, they get into rousing cat fights. In slow motion they stalk each other, watching each others every movement, and suddenly with lightening-speed one will pounce. Tufts of fur fly, and the off-white carpet is littered with clumps of black and cream-colored cat fur. I pull out the vacuum again.

Most of the time it is Tai that is the aggressor because he is jealous, but recently I’ve watched Brillo initiate fights like he has had enough already. I’ve also seen him steal food from his brother’s bowl. There is a theory that animals learn behaviors by watching others in their clan. That is happening here with Brillo; he is learning from Tai, albeit very slowly, how to be the aggressor. They have become tit for tat cats now—you bully me and I’ll steal your food!

Sadly, Tai the Terrible was not able to defend himself against the real aggressor outside—a coyote grabbed him and  dragged  him off into the woods. He didn’t have a chance.

Brillo wandered around the house looking for him, but he eventually relaxed and settled in as the only child. He is soaking up all the attention he ever wanted. No guilts. No worries.

Unfortunately, soon after Tai’s death, he also passed away. Like a few long-time married couples, when one spouse dies, the other will fade off soon afterwards. It is sad. These two cats had been a family with their owners for many years.

© 2015 Susan Canavarro



Bridge Bones (1)

The act of imagination is the opening of the system so that it shows new connections. Every act of imagination is the discovery of likenesses between two things which were thought unlike. (Jacob Bronowski)

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Bridge Bones, Acrylic on Canvas, 30×40

I like the above quote and believe it applies to much of my work. I look for connections, not while I am painting, but after, when I am sitting and looking and wondering what it’s all about. Why is this painting important to me? Why did I want to paint it? And should it matter to the viewer, or just to me?

Okay, I have to admit it. Man-made constructions set against a natural environments fascinate me. In my mind, what we build isn’t always ugly, and it isn’t necessarily unnatural, for after all we humans are a part of a natural system. We are alive. We live the natural world all around us.

I enjoy juxtaposing the natural with the man-made in my paintings. I find the contrast exciting, even though I don’t always like what we do to our landscape and not all buildings are beautiful, not all changes, natural or man-made, in our landscape are beautiful, but the two things work in conjunction with each other, creating a foil for composition and concept. The contrast of man-made and natural environments provides a built-in subtext to my landscape painting—it is more than just a landscape.  I admit, this is a subjective view.

Bridge Bones is a painting of a small part of the Siuslaw River Bridge overhead structure (in Florence, Oregon). It is a span from one arch to the other of crisscrossed beams that create triangle and parallelogram shapes, allowing the sky to fall through. Structure is important because it holds the bridge up, and in that sense this painting reminds me of a spine, the part that gives it strength to survive since its completion in 1936. Seventy-eight years and more to come, most likely. More than I will ever see. Born ten years later than the completion date for this bridge, I am now sixty-eight years old, and though my spine has crumpled and hunched a bit, I am still held upright by it. It gives me the strength to move around on my feet, to bend over and pick up items that I’ve dropped on the floor in my new-found clumsiness since my chemo treatments. Items like spoons, forks, paint brushes, pots and pans and really big sharp knives just seem to fly out of my hands these days. Considering all that danger of sharp things flying around, not of my purposeful volition, the bridge will certainly outlive me!

Besides holding us up and giving us physical strength, the spine is also a metaphor for emotional and mental strength. I learned during my cancer experience that I am emotionally strong. And I had a great support structure of friends which gave me more strength. They had my back the whole time. I had spine.

I also like that once I am crossing a bridge, I see more. I see more of the beauty I may not see behind the roadside trees and mountainsides, and behind the buildings. A new world opens up, like when you are traveling by train or boat, suddenly great vistas are open to you. Riverbanks reveal pastures,  farm lands spotted with sheep, cattle, horses, barns and fences, and urban interiors. Mountains divide and open up their deep canyons and rivers. Mountains you’ve never seen, appear before your eyes. Have you ever walked or driven across a bridge and expressed awe at the sight of a magnificent view suddenly opened up? First there is light, then the sea and crashing waves on one side, then steep gullies and canyons, reaching deep to the river beds. I’ve seen it. And there’s no better experience that brings a reverence for our natural world than crossing that bridge, being one with that bridge, and feeling as if there are no boundaries between me and the rest of the world.

Looking through the railings, posts and beams of a bridge defines humankind and nature in a whole new perspective. We are not opposed. We are nature, and in that sense, we are beaver builders, bees building beehives and spiders spinning webs. What we build is just as much a part of nature as that which the wild creatures build. (Maybe that’s why spiders, shiver, haunt me so often!)

The simplicity of it for me is that I enjoy the geometric designs and patterns of bridge structures. Set against the backdrop of a clear dome of blue sky, or shroud of dense fog, or floating cumulus clouds high above, or distant muted rocky mountainsides, or crashing ocean waves, the bridge bones make my experience more intense. It’s the bridge juxtaposed with the natural. You can’t have one without the other.



After the Storm, Before the Next
September 25, 2010, 5:17 PM
Filed under: art, Paintings -Inspiration | Tags: , , , , , ,

After the Storm

 

In the morning, I woke up to a vision of gulls and terns swarming over the beach, hundreds choreographed by instinct to move en mass like a gaggle of geese flying to Southern shores. Up and down the length of the waterfront they flew, looking for tiny crabs, clams and other sea delectables washed up by the night’s storm. Simon and I stood together. Mesmerized, we couldn’t stop looking. Simon loved to catch a sunrise with me.    

As the early morning sun rose, lighting up the tree tops in a pink glow, the bird’s wings turned into glitter, as if some unknown force had picked up a handful and threw it into the sky. Dazzling. Unreal. It hovered there, defying gravity. An illusion, but no, it was real. It was the physical phenomenon of sunlight bouncing off their wings as they glided along in their faceted oval ring, some flying south, others, north.    

The sun floated up into the dome, glittering wings disappeared, tree tops turned green again, and a new day was here. But it was a new day with another storm hovering on the horizon, setting the backdrop for this sparkly theater of nature. Even darker and more dramatic, I knew the morning after would surely reveal a monumental feast for the seagulls. A feast for Simon’s and mine eyes. But the new storm passed right by us. Never made land.    

This painting, a large square acrylic canvas, is my attempt to capture all that glitter. All that sparkle. I caught the feeling of birds flying, but not the magic. Magic is fleeting and elusive.    

Using the device of dark brown horizontal bars across the top and bottom serves to create a picture plane within the plane of the canvas itself, creating a greater illusion of deep space. A few of the gulls are flying right out of the picture plane at the viewer. I want to duck my head as I walk by it.    

 © 2007 Susan Canavarro ~ After the Storm, Before the Next Painting.
© 2010 Susan Canavarro  “Confessions” All Rights Reserved. No copying or use of text or images without written permission from the author, Susan Canavarro.




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