Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Palm Tree Sunset- Oil on Canvas
Island off the Dunedin Marina.......Dunedin, Florida.
oil on canvas
8x10
Earth in Oil
I always wanted a nice painting of the world...so I made one myself! I am aware that I am missing much of Asia...oops..... I should have used a more rectangular canvas.
oil on canvas
30x24
The Persistance of Memory- Salvador Dali--COPY
My re-mastered master painting, The Persistance of Memory, by the incredible surrealist Salvador Dali.
Oil on Canvas
16x20
Palm Pavillion-Clearwater Beach, Florida
oil on canvas
18x24
Monday, May 7, 2012
"Within These Walls"
It
was my first night sleeping over as an employee and not as a guest. I
worked the late shift at the front desk and I usually got off at 11
pm., but we had almost a full house and I didn't get off until
midnight. I was conveniently scheduled to work at 7 am the following
morning so my manager arranged for me to stay in one of the out of
order rooms. We had about thirty rooms out of order, most of them had
no visible reasons for being out of order, but that was just it, no
visible reasons. I stayed on the second floor in the south wing in
one of the petite queen rooms. We called it petite to make it sound
nostalgic in the sense that the room was built that way over a
hundred years ago and it wasn't even a queen size bed, it was full.
If we told people the room was about 100 square feet, no one in their
right mind would ever rent it for $90.00 per night.
The
hotels construction started in the summer of 1895 and was completed
in only two years. At that time there was not a lot of development in
the coastal town of Belleair, Florida and the building proved to be a
Victorian gem of architecture. The hotel itself is 842,000 square
feet with a basement, five floors, and three wings. She was built
from Florida Yellow Pine and painted white with a green shingled
roof. Huge porches line the exterior of each wing and are the only
place to sit and watch storms roll in over the Gulf. The beauty of
the exterior reflects the beauty and design of the interior. The
basement is a series of tunnels that travel beneath the entire
structure with small, narrow staircases only a few feet wide that go
all the way up to the top floor in each wing. These tunnels and tiny
stairwells were used by servants and those lucky to be employed at
the grand Belleview Biltmore Hotel. Until 1940 these servants and
employees were only allowed to travel through out the hotel using
these avenues as they were not allowed to accompany guests in the
main hallways.
The
first floor is most grand with hallways fifteen feet wide so the
ladies of the time would be able to freely pass each other in the
halls without their dresses touching. The ceiling is fifty feet high
on the first floor with vents above each room to allow plentiful
airflow. Only the wealthiest could afford to stay on the first floor.
The year she opened, a room on the first floor cost between four and
six dollars. The first floor in the main promenade held three
ballrooms, the Tiffany, the Starlight, and the Candlelight. The
Tiffany by far is the most grand with a ceiling a hundred feet high,
chandeliers made of glass and crystal, and enough room for a thousand
people to dine and dance. The Candlelight ballroom was half the size
and holds golden candle chandeliers and wall fixtures with a wall of
windows looking out over a courtyard to the Gulf of Mexico. The
Starlight was dark, with a stage and a rounded ceiling. Within the
ceiling are tiny lights giving the illusion of looking into space at
the infinite clusters of stars. Further down the hall is a grand
ballroom with luxury furniture, priceless art and a grand staircase
comparable to the Titanic's.
From
the first floor to the fifth, the ceilings get shorter and shorter.
The fifth floor has air vents only inches high and were used for only
for the nannies and servants of those wealthy staying on the first
floor. The rooms up there housed many and they shared the few
bathrooms that were in each wing. The lower four floors had various
sized rooms and suites, but the first floor south wing had the most
luxurious sun parlors. Opening the door to a sun parlor is a long
hallway, about twenty feet, that opened into a bright living space
with windows ten feet high. The sleeping quarters could be accessed
by french doors on either the living room side or the hallway. These
rooms make it easy to forget anywhere else exists.
The
petite queen rooms neighbored the larger two bedroom suites and were
only meant for nannies or servants that were needed close by at all
times, the rooms never changed after over a hundred years. The
Belleview Biltmore holds thousands of memories within its walls –
some more mysterious than others.
During
its construction it has been said that a man fell from the fourth
floor to his death down the elevator shaft. This
elevator was operated manually by a large lever and the door is an
iron accordion and behind that door is another. Ten years
later, in 1906, a wealthy man and his family came to the Belleview
Biltmore on holiday. This man also brought with him another woman.
Rumors change over the years, but from what I know, jealousy overcame
her and she poisoned his wife and his two daughters. Either way, they
never made it home to the Carolina's. Years passed without a
tragedy, but then in 1940 the Belleview Biltmore was transformed from
a place of escape, fine dining, and relaxation. World War II
interrupted her peaceful landscape. The hotel became a military
base, housing more than 3,000 military personnel. The hotel is large,
but even for this amount of people it can seem very small.
For
five years the hotel was a place of sadness, a place of loss, and a
place to die. The fourth floor in the east wing became the medical
ward. Many died from injuries suffered over seas, but even more died
from tuberculosis. In the final year of the war, a nurse, perhaps
overcome by tragedy, hanged herself on the fifth floor in the south
wing. Standing in that window she looked out to the Gulf searching
desperately for a soldier and the father of her unborn child. The
horizon tormented her and that was the end, or at least that is how
the story goes.
Over
the next forty to fifty years a few old souls succumbed to nature and
passed away warm in their rented beds, however in 1974 another broken
heart took her own life. Her name was Sharon, she was 27 years old
and to be married. The ceremony was going to be on the west lawn, the
bridesmaids dresses were yellow, and the cake was red velvet. Sharon
was marrying Greg in May on a Saturday afternoon. Sadly, the car Greg
and his best man were riding in blew a tire and slammed into a palm
tree. Greg died on impact just hours before the ceremony. Before
hearing the news, Sharon was sitting the presidential suite getting a
few more curls ironed into her hair. After receiving the tragic
news, Sharon leaped from her fourth floor balcony to the flagstone
walkway below, also dying on impact.
These
were the stories that were running through my mind as I laid in my
bed watching TV on a set that was going on two decades old
technology. The TV was drowning out the noise of settling wood and
dripping water from the sink. I stared at my closet door wondering if
recent guests stories were true. Some checked out in the middle of
the night because they claimed a man was sitting in the chair near
their closet and he would occasionally open and close the door. “He
would just sit there and watch me,” one guest said. She stayed for
two nights out of a five night stay and was nearly in tears when
telling me she had to go before a piece of her could never leave.
Another guest claimed that
every morning their closet door would be opened wide, but each night
they had closed it so tight that the swelling wood would keep it from
opening for anything other than an aggressive pull.
I
had never been alone in any of the rooms before. Before I worked for
the Belleview Biltmore, I would stay there with my mom for a week
every summer for six years. Although we only lived a few miles away,
the Biltmore let us feel as if we were on the other side of the world
. I rarely felt fear when I had company behind those doors, though I
had my suspicions.
I
chose to ignore the fear and I left my room to make some tea, I
thought it would help me sleep. I opened the door to my room and the
hallway was surprisingly quiet, even the sound of my own breath sent
a chill down my spine. I walked slowly down the hallway looking up to
the plumbing that ran along the ceiling. I opened the employee door
to the old hidden stairwell to take me to the basement. That is where
the employee lounge was and the only place to get anything to drink
after 2 am. As I approached the basement lounge I searched for the
light switch, but the darkness didn't allow me to find it. I felt
along the wall with both of my hands, one foot stepping over the
other and started to feel like I no longer needed any hot tea, but it
was too late to turn around now. When I finally entered the lounge,
the only light came from the fountain machine and it was duller than
a small candle. I approached the tables against the long wall to my
right and picked up a foam cup to fill with hot water. For the first
time I felt that I was really being watched by unknown eyes. I could
see to my left a shape blacker than the darkness moving painfully
slow along the adjacent wall , to the wall behind me, and then to the
wall on my right. I froze completely and I thought if I stayed still
it wouldn't know I was watching him - watching me. I picked up a
Lipton tea packet and struggled to open it as I held my cup with my
left hand. As I pulled the tab and string, my hands shook
uncontrollably and I felt the pressure on the right side of my face.
It was right next me, I felt my neck pulse and I froze again. I
prayed to God and counted to three when I turned to face what was
tormenting me. Like the haze generated from overwhelming heat it
slowly vanished and I ran. I went through a tunnel over a fifty yards
long with one 60 watt light bulb and headed for the exit. I lost half
my tea in the run and pushed the door open with incredible force. It
took me to the back of the hotel and I walked nearly a quarter of a
mile around the property to enter back through the front lobby. I
returned to my room shaken and laid in my bed. The settling wood
started to have a pattern in its noise, like footsteps pacing from
one side of my bed to the other. I reached to my end table and
grabbed a few tissues to stuff in my ears. The temporary deafness and
hiding beneath my sheets allowed me to fall asleep. When the sun came
through my window I felt the fear disappear and prepared for another
shift downstairs. I didn't tell anyone for weeks, until I assured
myself it really happened and I wasn't crazy.
A
few months later a guest from the fourth floor called down to the
front desk around 10 pm and asked if we could send someone up to the
fifth floor to ask if they could quiet down. They claimed that it
sounded like someone was moving furniture around and talking loudly.
I apologized and informed the guest that the fifth floor has been
closed down since 1983, more than 20 years ago. In addition to it
being closed and locked off, there was no furniture, no carpet, no
electricity, and no people. I offered to move them to a lower floor
and they more than gladly accepted. At the end of my shift I asked
Butch the security guard to come with me to check out the fifth
floor. We took the old elevator, the original one. The newer
elevators only go to the fourth floor. When we opened the doors and
looked out in the emptiness, each of us had a hard time sticking our
heads out. The hallway was more than two hundred yards of opened
doors and empty rooms. We quickly shut the doors and headed back
downstairs. I didn't go back up there for almost six months.
About
a year after I started working there, myself and another coworker
went up to the presidential suite when we got off work. Some rich guy
checked out that afternoon and he had left all the complimentary
booze in the refrigerator. This suite is 1600 square feet with four
bedrooms, four bathrooms, a full kitchen, formal dining room, and
huge living room and balcony. The same balcony Sharon had jumped
from. We flipped on the TV and it was not long before we both heard
the sound of furniture being dragged across the wooden floor beams
and large foot steps directly above us. We both abandoned our drinks
and nearly tripped over each other running down the hallway to the
staircase. As I walked to my car that night I turned back to look at
the window above the presidential suite. The darkness seemed opaque
and it was like something was hiding behind the clear glass, peering
down at me.
I
eventually got used to the feeling of being watched, they never hurt
me, though some nights I would return home feeling as if I still was
not alone. I found myself recalling memories I had never created
myself. I started to frequent the fifth floor more often, and the
fourth floor east wing. The entire floor of that wing had also been
closed since the 1980's and the eerie silence and the mystery of that
silence intrigued me. I wanted to know more about those who perished
within these walls. I was told by the bartenders that some nights
when they were closing down, when their backs were turned, bottles of
booze would be moved to their shelves and glasses seemed to clean
themselves.
After
the many years of being attached to the hotel, I felt like I was a
part of it and it was absolutely a part of me. The hotel was
eventually sold to a real estate tycoon from California who wanted to
level the place and turn it into condos. Fortunately, the historical
society of Belleair kept him from tearing it down. It closed after
being open for 112 years.
I
went back for the first time after a year of it being abandoned.
Butch still worked there as the only employee. He stood watch alone
in that giant building and I swear he had gone mad. At the least he
was disconnected from the living world. He allowed me and one of our
old co-workers to return and look around. It was sad, the whole place
looked dead. The carpet had been removed, the art was gone, and the
chandeliers had all been sold in an auction. The hotel was scary
enough in the summer months when occupancy was next to nothing. Now
it was truly a place to learn fear and mortality. Butch walked us
around and told us about a little girl. She was no longer shy and
came out every night to play. Butch said he would sit in the halls in
the dark just observing the movements and the whispers. He said there
was more of them than anyone had originally thought.
Every
hall of every wing on every floor was gray, black, and devoid of
life. We walked down these halls searching for something, but praying
we would find nothing. I entered a room while Butch followed and when
we came out every door in the long hallway was opened. Frightened I
turned to go back, but I could not go alone. I didn't know if I would
make it out with my sanity. Butch called out a name, and another. I
witnessed three round shapes, one on top the other, peering out from
behind a door frame and then they all started appearing, door after
door they stepped out. I took a step back and felt my heart beating
faster and faster. I turned to find my old co- worker and she was no
where in sight and I was too scared to call out her name. I turned
back to grab Butch and get the hell out of there, but he was gone. I
panicked and ran to the old elevator. I felt temporary relief when I
closed the elevator doors, but feared having to reopen them.
When
I reached the first floor and I opened the doors, I was greeted by
lights and clean carpets. A man stood there and he seemed pleasant
enough. He asked me if I was alright and I can't remember if I
responded. Confused, I walked down the hall towards the exit.
Everything looked new and the sun was shining through the window in
the door ahead. I turned back to look at the man from the elevator
and the hall grew black and the floor was bare. I ran out the door
and remembered it was midnight now, the sun had been down for hours.
I saw my old co-worker standing by the car and she asked me what it
was like up there. I didn't know what to say, I thought she was
there. I told her I left Butch up there and she asked me “who is
Butch?”
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Synopsis of Short Story- "Rescue TuTu"
Lauren C. LePoidevin
Synopsis of Short Story
My short story will be narrated from
the heterodiegetic narrator, or third persons, point of view.
This story takes place in Tampa,
Florida and has 1 central character and 2 minor characters. The
central character's name is Carol and she is in her mid 20's, is a
full time student, and works part time. Carol is best friends with
Paul, the 2nd character, and they spend most of their time
together in a platonic way. Although their friendship is solid and
just a friendship, their has always been some underlying feelings for
both of them. The third character is Emily. Emily and Carol met
working at the mall together and decided to become roommates. Emily
is young, only 21, and she is a serial dater. From one boyfriend she
received a boxer puppy. After the arrival of the puppy, conflict
begins between Carol and Emily. First Emily makes a move on Paul and
they begin to date, leaving less time for Carol and Paul to spend
time together like they used to. Paul lives 45 minutes away and Emily
rarely comes home anymore to take care of her dog. Carol now has to
pick up Emily's slack by taking care of Tutu; feeding her, walking
her, taking her to the vet, buying food, cleaning up after her
messes. Carol starts to keep track of the length of time Emily
neglects Tutu and confronts her after about a year of taking on her
responsibilities as a dog owner. Carol had to give up her own dog in
the past to her mother because she did not feel she had enough time
to dedicate to her dog and did what was best for her. Now that she
has been taking care of Emily's dog, she feels she could have been
taking care of her own dog instead. Nevertheless, Carol forms a deep
bond with Tutu and starts to despise Emily for not only neglecting
her dog, but taking away her best friend Paul. Emily treats Paul like
just another boyfriend to toss aside whenever she is sick of him, and
this too causes tension between the girls. Emily dumps Paul and
starts dating someone else, again neglecting Tutu. Carol has finally
had enough and reminds Emily each day she needs to come home and own up
to her obligations and priorities. Emily is immature and only ever
argues with Carol about the dog and claims she does take care of her
and if Carol does not want to help then not to worry about Tutu.
Carol explains that at the end of that years lease she would be
moving out and asks if she can have ownership of Tutu. Emily denies
her ownership and Carol is left to wonder about Tutu's welfare after
she is gone. Carol moves in with Paul temporarily while she finds a
new apartment and the two of them start to devise a plan to rescue
Tutu from Emily.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Number 6 and a Side of Crab Ran-goon
Lauren C. LePoidevin
The Number 6 and a Side of
Crab Ran-goon
Chinese food is a rare craving for me. I can never seem to get the thought out of my head that I might be eating a cat. The thought of a poor kitty falling victim to the dreaded Chinese restaurant owner makes me cringe and slightly depressed. I know it wont happen, at least in Wisconsin, but the urban legend still lingers in my mind. I always get the same thing – crab ran-goon, sweet and sour chicken, and white rice. I tried an egg roll once and I thought I had eaten decayed vegetables and grease. Gross. After that I decided not to stray away from my usual order, they are the only items on a Chinese menu that wont make me hurl.
I walked through the front door of the
empty restaurant. It had the usual decorations; a giant photo of the
Great Wall in a golden dragon frame and bamboo center pieces at each
cheap food court table. I was greeted at the front counter by a nice
Asian man and what I assumed was his wife. They were speaking to each
other when I came in, but I haven’t the slightest idea what they
were saying as they both looked at me. I always feel judged when
people are looking at me and speaking another language. I never know
if I should be offended or just go with it. So I went with it. He
said something to me, I assumed it was hello and I responded by
saying hello back.
He said, “No, how tall are you?”
“6 feet even.”
“Wow! You must be basketball player.”
I hate when people assume I play basketball because I am a woman and unusually tall. I tried not to make it obvious that I was offended and let out a fake chuckle so the situation didn't become awkward.
I said, “No, I actually play golf and tennis.”
People tend to react disappointed that their assumption is completely wrong and unimpressed with the sports I actually participate in. I don't think people who ask me if I play basketball realize that height is also an advantage in these sports. I actually hate basketball. Its about as interesting as a sewing contest. Before the Asian man could respond I blurted out my order.
“Can I have a number 6 with white rice, crab ran-goon, and extra sweet and sour sauce?”
“Okay, number 6, white, crab ran-goon, extra sauce. It will be done in 15 minutes. You sit and I bring to you.”
“That's okay, I'll wait outside.”
I don't like to wait inside where there are no other customers, it's weird. I paid him, walked outside and lit a cigarette. As I stood there smoking, I thought about cats again and watched a squirrel try to cross the two lane road. He succeeded after about 7 tries. My squirrel observation became interrupted when this guy walked out of the barber shop next door. His pants needed a belt, his hair needed less product, and his cologne needed to be seriously toned down. He lit a cigarette and had his phone glued to his ear. He was about 10 feet away, far enough to not have to say hello and close enough to hear him talking to a friend that I assume was a carbon copy of him.
He said, “Hey man, what's good? That
girl won't stop texting me, how do I get rid of her?”
He was quiet for a moment and he sat down on a bench.
“She's only good for one thing,” he said. “ And she cooks me dinner like every night. She's so desperate for a boyfriend, its pathetic.”
I rolled my eyes and pretended I couldn't hear his stupid conversation.
He then said, “If that girl didn't give it up every night, I would kick her ass to the curb. She's boring and needs to lose 10 lbs. She thinks we are dating just because we hang out and have sex. I never let her spend the night, when is she gonna get the hint?”
I couldn't believe my ears. Everything this guy was saying just kept getting dumber and dumber. Not to mention more disrespectful as the minutes passed. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. Ugh! What a creep. I kept praying he wouldn’t try to talk to me. I am not as blind or nice as the girl he apparently “courting”.
“Hey, let me call you back. There's a chick out here, I'm gonna go say whassup.”
Jesus Christ! I thought, my lucky day.
He walked over to me and made a sad effort to strike up a
conversation.
“Pickin' up some dinner?”
“How did ya guess?”
“What's your name?, he asked.
“Tabitha.”
I never give my real name to people I don't feel are worthy to know it. Tabitha was the first thing I could think of. All the thoughts of cat meat in my Chinese food made me think of tabby cats.
He said, “Oh that's a real pretty name. You go to school around here?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, well can I get your number and we can get something to eat sometime?”
“Um – not gonna happen.”
Just then the little Asian man brought my food outside in a white plastic bag with a smiley face on it. I never thought I would be so happy to see him again.
I said, “Thank you so much.” With a cheery smile and tone.
“Your welcome, come again.”
I put my cigarette out and started walking to my car. The tool was following me. I turned around and looked at him.
I said, “ Are you serious, take a hint buddy.” I got into my car and drove away while he stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Animal/Environment Sketch Edited
Animal/Environment Sketch
Edited
After a day of jam-packed obligations, I finally pulled into the driveway. As the garage door closed, I heard clawing coming from behind the once scratch-less wooden door. As I turned the knob and opened the door he jumped to his hind legs to give me a hug. I used to be able to pick him up with one arm and carry him like a baby; a furry baby. These days he stands up and rests his paws on my shoulders, gripping them so he can lick my face. He gathered his composure and we headed into the kitchen. Boesky stayed attached to my hip while I made some coffee and a peanut butter and raisin sandwich.
I opened the squeaky basement door and headed down the stairs to get some homework done. Before I reached the last step, a giant black and white arctic fuzzball flies passed me. He made his less than graceful landing on the concrete floor and lost his traction. He was running in place like Tom chasing Jerry around a tight turn. After he regained his footing, he started a game of “let me see how many things I can run into”. He ran as fast as he could through the gym equipment, under the stairs, into the studio, and around and around again, occasionally making U-turns and sliding into storage bins. I egged him on by giving chase until he crashed into my easel, knocking it and a canvas to the floor. I didn't scold him because the accident was my fault. So I picked up the easel and sat in the corner of my studio.
This space is one of five corners and is about as comfortable as it is going to get. My chair is an old ottoman with an oversized pillow leaning against the wall. The cold brick foundation is concealed by mismatched drapes and the studio wall is still unfinished. The insulation is covered by a plastic tarp stapled to wooden beams. At least 25 charcoal drawings are secured to the tarp with safety pins and serves as my own personal gallery. The space heater is just barely enough to keep me from going back upstairs, even with wool socks and a loose fitting sweat shirt.
Boesky kept himself busy playing with his toys while I wrote my paper. He buried his head into his toy basket and pulled out a giant tire toy that could be the spare on a Honda Civic or a Smart car at the least. He shook it violently and tossed it up into the air just to jump up and catch it; I think he believes it's alive. After testing and defeating that toy, he buried his head back into his toy basket to find his next victim. Just as I finished my paper, Boesky stood in front of me staring blankly. I think he expected me to know what he wanted. I could have called out any one of the fifteen words in his tiny little brain and he would have reacted the same way. Nevertheless I took him upstairs to go outside.
I clipped him to his cable line and he
took off like a maniac for about thirty feet before he started a
revolving circle of imaginary bunny chasing. I bet myself it would
only take about fifteen seconds before he wrapped himself around the
tree. It only took ten. He always thinks the only way to escape is to
chew through the tree for a few minutes and then sit and wait for an
adult. When I freed him from his own stupidity, he acted like I just
saved his life. He jumped from all four legs to his hind legs, back
to four legs and started twirling in circles. He followed me back
inside and I prepared my second cup of coffee.
The two of us headed back to the basement and I returned to my studio to sketch some ideas for paintings I might never get around to painting. My table is covered in dry paint, charcoal, dirty rags, and unfinished projects. Half-done paintings sit with dust and stacks of drawing studies are taking over. I tried to organize a little bit before I sat down with my sketchpad and then I started craving my nicotine. After my fix I sipped my coffee, sharpened my pencil, and put on some quiet music. Just as I made my first mark on the page, my husband walked in the door. Boesky acted like he hadn't seen him in decades and knocked over my coffee during his little outburst. After throwing a few dirty rags on the spilled coffee, I put the pencil down and returned to the above ground world to start dinner. I'll try again tomorrow.
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