While I’m a whole lot steadier than I was before physical therapy, I’m still not ready to get out the tripod and the 150-600mm lens and shoot the moon. I’m afraid I’ll start to feel unsteady and trip over the tripod. I’m still using my 18-400mm lens for moon shots.
Next, I added magic.
I’ll use the shots for fabric designs.
My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
My shop Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I seem to be having a mixed episode where I get to be simultaneously manic and depressed. So far today, I walked into a shit storm and got viciously attacked. Next, I made the mistake of believing someone who said they wanted to understand. Hah! Found out the hard way the person wasn’t serious. I have a good reason for being depressed. I can’t solve the problem my myself and I’m the only one who wants to solve the problem. Alternative options aren’t ones I’m willing to pursue – mostly because the options are irreversible and likely worse than the original problem. Although I try hard to handle customer service issues via email, that’s not always possible. I had no choice but to make a phone call. Naturally the customer service number on the website wasn’t the correct number. I did get the issue resolved, but there’s no reason for it to be this difficult to rectify a simple matter.
So. What do I do? I don’t feel like making art. I don’t feel like reading. I don’t feel like doing anything. I had to force myself to take my psych meds. I wish my dog were fully trained to be my service dog. I know she could help me if only she had learned what smells needed her attention. We’ve just started the service dog training. At present, she’s learning how to navigate Hobby Lobby and JoAnn’s.
I feel like eating everything that isn’t nailed down, but that would only make me feel worse. And it’s Passover so treats are difficult and I don’t feel like driving to the store to buy chocolate chips so I could make matzoh crack.
And so I sit here feeling depressed, miserable and not finding a viable solution. Today, being bipolar sucks.
I’m having a peripheral neuropathy flareup and the only reliable painkiller is to make art. I’ve been making lots of art.
One of the claret cup cactus clumps is blooming. We have several clumps, and each one blooms at a different time. The clump that is blooming now always blooms first and always has the most blooms.
Because the vertigo is under control, I can do more night time shooting. I prefer to shoot a less than full moon because I think smiley moons are intriguing.
I’ve been making jewelry and I’m s….l…..o….w….l….y getting the pieces put into my online store, Deb Thuman Art. The problem is it’s hard to tell if the entire necklace is in the photo online. I have to put an item in my store, write up copy, and then check the store to see if the entire necklace shows in the photos. So far, I have to reshoot one necklace.
Deep blue tiger eye, creamy pearls and Swarovski crystals. Swarovski is no longer making crystal beads. I do have a stash of Swarovski crystals, but once they are gone, I can’t get any more.
Agate and quartz. What the gem looks like depends on what flies out of the volcano, where it lands, and how fast or slow the lava cools.
I couldn’t resist buying these iridescent glass leaves.
These three necklaces are in my on-line store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I don’t often make jewelry for myself. I gathered all my favorite gems – smokey quartz, malachite, rhodochrosite, pearls among others and made a necklace for myself.
I have a Spoonflower store here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
Put Your Foot Down 183 here: https://fortheloveofgeese.com/put-your-foot-down-183/
An Accidental Finish here: https://alyciaquilts.blogspot.com/2023/03/an-accidental-finish-and-finished-or.html
I’ve finished five ketamine treatments and have one to go. My original goal was to be able to decrease the dose of my psych meds. I was trying to find a dosage that was high enough to be effective and low enough that I didn’t turn into a zombie.
Ketamine is supposed to cause the brain to form new neural connections. And it does. After I had a ketamine infusion in 2021, my brain felt full and illuminated by a golden white light. Suddenly, the debilitating depression was gone. I was hoping at home ketamine would be as helpful.
I’m using ketamine from Mindbloom https://www.mindbloom.com/?utm_source=adwords&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=PM_Search_Branded_Exact_12.2021&utm_device=c&utm_content=634257646790&gclid=Cj0KCQjw2v-gBhC1ARIsAOQdKY3DwvUHrMYjpVEMOfzeIRw_Vp33LvOZiZEw9mBxC2bj0EcZkQ7l1nIaAvhDEALw_wcB, an on-line treatment for depression. Instead of the Magical Mystery Tour with hallucinations, I was merely relaxed during the ketamine session. My brain would daydream. And progress was made without hallucinations.
I’ve been able to decrease the dosage of lamictal and wellbutrin. I have less brain fog. I still lose words and thoughts, but not as often as before ketamine.
There have been some interesting effects I hadn’t expected. Sixteen years of child abuse followed by 18 years of being treated like crap left me with complex PTSD. While I don’t remember the last time I had a repeating nightmare, I still had flashbacks. The flashbacks were no longer debilitating, but they were unwanted and irritating. After struggling with flashbacks for more than 50 years, the flashbacks are gone. The memories are now powerless. I feel stable. Freedom from complex PTSD was unexpected, and wonderful.
I find I’m eating less. My misery with food has a history. The earliest memories are about my grandmother making me toast and a soft boiled egg for breakfast and my mother making pancakes on a weekend. The pancake memory features me sitting in a high chair. A month before my 4th birthday, my mother married, and my life became confusing hell in which I tried to stay quiet and small enough that I wouldn’t get hit. I was never successful. My mother didn’t eat breakfast, so she refused to feed me, or my siblings, breakfast. I remember sitting in school being so hungry and waiting for lunch. Food became a symbol of love. As I tried so hard to get my mother and her husband to love me, all I had of love was food. And fear of fat. So I ate. Or I didn’t eat. Am I “cured” of emotional eating? I don’t know. I just know I’m not eating as much.
My sixth and final dose of ketamine will be sometime this coming week. I haven’t yet scheduled the session. I have options. I can do nothing and watch my emotional responses. I can go to the next step, going deeper, and have another six sessions. I haven’t yet made a decision although I’m leaning towards going deeper. I don’t want to lose the healing momentum.
is dlíodóir atá ionam
Literally, it is a lawyer that is in me and would be the response to a question about what I do for a living. I believe language is a reflection of a culture. Gaelic is the language of a story teller.
Used to be, I thought St. Patrick’s Day was a great day if one was Irish and an excuse to get drunk if one was not. Then, when I was 34, I discovered I’m Scot-Irish. I was right; St. Patrick’s Day is a great day if one is Irish. The first St. Patrick’s Day I spent knowing I’m Irish was special. I celebrated who I am and who I always was. A friend and I ate at McGinty’s in Buffalo, NY. I had corned beef and cabbage. Once a year is about how often I can eat corned beef and cabbage. It’s not haute cuisine. I washed it down with Guinness. If I ever get to Ireland, the first thing I want to do is walk into a bar and order Guinness. I want to know if Guinness in the US tastes the same as Guinness in Ireland.
After surviving Moot Court in my second year of law school, Jim, Subrata – my moot court partner, and I celebrated at Sean Patrick’s. I should have figured out I wasn’t in an Irish restaurant when I read the house special in the menu: spaghetti. Still, I asked the waitress if they had Guinness. “No. What is that?” It should be a felony to try to pass your establishment off as Irish and not serve Guinness.
Last year, for the first time, I managed to make edible Irish soda bread. The other recipes I had tried were dense and salty. No, I don’t remember the recipe I used last year.
This is spring break, so Jim and I have the painting studio mostly to ourselves. I’ve finished up a self-portrait as viewed from the inside and I think I’ve finished a social commentary painting.
This is the self-portrait as viewed from the inside.
Social commentary.
It’s spring in the desert and the claret cup cactus is blooming.
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
Today, we spring forward. Bleah! I detest daylight savings time. Just when it’s starting to be light out when I have to get up, the time changes and I’m back to getting up in the dark. When it’s light out, my brain tells me it’s time to get up. When it’s dark out, my brain is convinced it’s the middle of the night. As for permanent daylight savings time….it’s like ripping off a bandage. Put it in place so people can see for themselves what a dumb idea it is – especially when their kids have to wait for the school bus in the dark – and then permanently get rid of it.
Spring in the desert is a little different from spring in the north east. No crocus. No tulips. No iris.
I’m not sure what this is, but it’s growing in the back yard.
Claret cup cactus buds. They should be open in about a week. There are several clumps of claret cup cacti in the yard, and each clump blooms at a different time.
I’ve been working on fabric designs.
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
Anywhere she wants to be.
Today is International Women’s Day. When I entered the workforce in 1970, pregnancy was mandatory, women needed higher grades to get into college, and help wanted was divided into: Help Wanted Female; Help Wanted Male.
Many years, many fights, many lawsuits later, we still have a wage gap, pregnancy is once again mandatory, and we have a generation of women who have no clue how long and how hard we had to fight so they could have more opportunities.
When I was in college majoring in biology, there were two women professors in the biology department. One allowed students to address her as Mrs. Wilson. She had the same doctoral degree the men had. They were Dr. She was Mrs. A chemistry teacher, male, after refusing to answer my question, told me I was incapable of learning. The next chemistry teacher, also male refused to answer questions women asked….until the day I had enough and we had a battle in the middle of class. No one won. In a physics class, I was confused about something or other. One of the male students told the professor: Come on, answer the girl’s question. The professor ignored him, too.
When I entered law school at a notoriously liberal law school in 1990, mine was the first class to be half female. It only took 101 years to achieve that.
When I started practicing in 1994, I was stuck in the Women’s Area Of Law. That would be family court dealing with abuse, neglect, custody, and all the crap that two people can hurl at each other. I knew I had to get out of family law the day I decided the best way to handle custody disputes was to throw each parent off the roof of the courthouse. Whichever one bounced the highest got the kids. The sick part wasn’t my idea. The sick part is the parents would have agreed. The other half of Women’s Area Of Law was sex crimes – especially sex crimes against children. I managed not to get stuck in sex crimes.
It’s been a long fight, and a long fight remains.
No matter your age or experience, pick up the torch and carry it. What lifts one of us lifts us all.
Mine is the last generation that will see magic in the night sky. Ancient people looked up at the sky, and saw stars arranged into constellations. Legends were created for these constellations. Escaping slaves followed the drinking gourd which pointed to the north star as they traveled along the underground railroad. The moon was made of green cheese. People counted, and some still do, time by the phases of the moon. There was a Man In The Moon. The night sky was filled with magic.
In July 1969, the magic died. The instant Neil Armstrong’s boot touched the surface of the moon, we exchanged magic for knowledge. We lost more than we gained.
I took Brady out to pee, and looked up. There was a smiling moon and a bright venus. I tried to put magic back into the night sky by making the moon out of green cheese.
Life. This one surprised me. Although it was not my conscious intention, there’s a Hebrew letter here. It’s called “shin” and the letter makes the sh sound. It’s also the first letter of one of our most important prayers and the letter that adorns a mezuzzah.
Gestation.
This is the first in a series of three paintings about life. When I was little, I tried hard to remember where I was before I was born. I couldn’t access the memory but I knew I existed before I was born. I eventually came to understand the concept of a soul. The soul exists long before conception and long after death.
Life.
Death.
I need to clean up the edges on this one.
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
My store is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
After a couple false starts, the Magical Mystery Tour commenced last week. I had to be put on blood pressure med only because my blood pressure was reliably in the dangerous range. Now, it’s in the normal range. That’s the good part. The bad part is that it’s taking way longer than I would like to get through med adjustment. I’m exhausted. I have flutters in my chest. I will be so glad when med adjustment is finished.
The ketamine dosage for the Magical Mystery Tour has been raised because I had minimal response the first Magical Mystery Tour trip. I don’t expect ketamine to cure bipolar disorder, but I’m hoping I can get by with a lower dose of my meds.
I’ve been reading Dean Ornish’ book UnDo It. He writes about lifestyle medicine and has about 40 years of research to back up his assertions. Years ago, I had a nasty cholesterol result and a friend recommended I read Ornish’ book abut reversing heart disease with a low fat vegetarian diet. I dropped my cholesterol 40 points in 6 weeks. I know his lifestyle plan works. Now, we need to go back to low fat vegetarian eating. Jim has clogged arteries and I need to get rid of inflamation as well as getting rid of more weight than I like to admit. Yes, there will be updates. Hopefully good updates.
I’ve been working with a physical therapist to banish my vertigo. Turns out, there are crystals in my ears and the crystals got stuck in a particularly difficult place from which to dislodge them. Two sessions, and I’m significantly steadier. I was steady enough last night to shoot a crooked grin moon.
I used focus merge and cropped the shot because I didn’t think I was stable enough to use my 150-600 mm lens so I stuck with the 18-400mm lens.
Then, I started playing.
Remember when the moon was made of green cheese? The magic of the moon disappeared that day in July 1969 when Neil Armstrong’s foot touched the surface of the moon. We learned, but we lost the magic.
I’ll be using these to work out fabric designs.
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
I have 126 new designs in my Spoonflower shop here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
Painting class has started and I’ve picked out some photos that I’d like to turn into paintings. I suck at realism, so I’ll be doing some landscape paintings.
A special place in Aguirre Springs, New Mexico. It’s where I decided to live.
A special place at Rushford Lake, Rushford, NY. It’s where I buried the ghosts.
Rock formation on the south side of the Dona Ana Mountains with the mountains shrouded in clouds. Dona Ana, New Mexico.
I’ve been editing photos for Jim, and I started playing around. I may paint this eerie view of the Dona Ana Mountains.
I’ve been working on jewelry and have four new pieces in my store. I’ve been using up my stash of Swarovski crystals. Swarovski has discontinued manufacturing beads so once my stash is gone, I won’t be able to buy any more crystals.
Swarovski heart.
Swarovski leaf.
Pyrite and other semi-precious gems.
Smoky quartz – one of my favorite semi-precious stones.
My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
Fifty years ago today, the US Supreme Court said my uterus was my business. I no longer needed to worry about an accidental pregnancy. This past June, the US Supreme Court hijacked my uterus and said my uterus is the government’s (read fundamentalist Christians’) business. Men who hate women – specifically the governors of Texas and Florida inter alia – have hijacked my uterus. My uterus no longer belongs to me the way my kidneys belong to me. My uterus belongs to the government. I can keep my kidneys, though.
Now, we can relearn what to do with a coat hanger. Now, we can relearn on which kitchen table we can take back our uteruses. If I break my leg, I have medical privacy. My uterus has no medical privacy. Now, we can keep a list of states where abortion is legal along with a price list for abortions. When I had to worry about an unwanted pregnancy, the price of an abortion was $180.00. Now, the cost is about 8 times that not including travel expenses, lodging and meals.
Life begins at conception in that the product of conception is living tissue which may or may not become a human being. Human life begins at birth. Women who have a miscarriage are denied medical care because doctors are terrified of being charged with performing an illegal abortion. A doctor has been vilified for performing an abortion on a 10-year-old child.
The part that galls me the most, is the voice that has been silenced is the voice of the unwanted child. Although I’ve submitted letters to the editors of newspapers telling what it’s like to be the unwanted, hated and abused child, not one newspaper will print my letter.
My uterus doesn’t belong to me. The abuse that happened to me growing up doesn’t belong to me. My life doesn’t belong to me.
No human should have to grow up being hated, unwanted and abused. But let’s not talk about that. Besides, all those women who don’t want to be pregnant will change their minds once the baby is born. Yeah, right. My mother sure didn’t change her mind and welcome me once I was born.
Shhhhh…..that’s a secret and we must never talk about it.
Holidays growing up were horrible. The Drunk would pick a fight – usually with me – and wouldn’t stop until someone – usually me – was crying. My mother would be screaming, literally, that we didn’t spend enough time eating after she spent two days cooking. The Drunk would complain because my mother used boxed mashed potatoes and would tell her she had three daughters so there shouldn’t be boxed mashed potatoes. Notice that my brother, who could have crapped in the middle of the living room rug and it would have been okay, didn’t have to do anything. Many times, I got the flu a couple days before Christmas. Being too sick to notice the hell that was going on around me was good. Very, very good.
Every year, the deep, unrelenting depression and nightmares started the third week of November and lasted until New Year’s Day.
I was the odd kid out and I was 34 before I knew why my mother and The Drunk hated me. Turns out, while my younger brother, sisters and I have the same mother, I’ve got a different father. One Christmas eve, my younger brother said The Drunk’s advice to him was to have fun but be careful. I was appalled and said that kind of advice leads to someone knocking on your door 20 years later and says s/he is your daughter/son. The Drunk said, I mercifully forgot what, caught himself, and said that might happen to him. That’s when I knew I was someone else’s kid.
It’s not easy being someone else’s kid.
Finally, Jim and I decided a solution to the hell that is Christmas was to take a vacation and be gone at Christmas. We traveled to assorted places. Kentucky is closed for Christmas except one truck stop in Lexington that served the best biscuits I’ve ever had. One year, we stayed at a resort in West Virginia and the resort restaurant, decent but not memorable food, was open. Another year, we stayed in Freeport, Maine. The only place open was LL Bean. No restaurants. Jim found a convenience store that was open for a few hours and bought us day-old sandwiches. We sat in our hotel room ate day-old sandwiches and watched A Christmas Story. I thought how pathetic it was that being in a hotel room eating not quite stale, forgettable sandwiches was far better than being with family.
Then, I moved 2000 miles away and there was no more Christmas Hell.
I thought.
I was wrong. The misery of complex PTSD is that it’s hard to treat and the flashbacks last a lifetime. I’ve been married for 50 years and gone through nearly 20 years of therapy and if there was a way to stop the flashbacks, I’d have found it by now. The flashbacks are no longer debilitating, but now they come in clusters.
About 20 years ago, I discovered that my grandmother’s really bad German was actually Yiddish. And who spoke Yiddish in 1888 when the family left East Prussia and came to the US? Not German Lutherans which is the story the children and grandchildren were told. There’s an unbroken female line from my great-great-grandmother, who left East Prussia with her husband and 10-month old baby (my great-grandmother) to me. I am Jewish. Formal conversion, which I call reversion, was 11 years ago. I’ve celebrated Hanukkah ever since.
Still, the flashbacks come. Jim and I love to binge on baking contests. While I enjoy seeing different ways to make things, watching the Holiday Baking Championship can be painful. Sometimes, the contestants explain the inspiration for whatever they just made is a lovely family memory of Christmas past. Where do the producers find these people? Or are the contestants lying? Or do I have to live in a cave to avoid the flashbacks? I insist on having a normal life and not running from the triggers. I refuse to give the triggers the power to contract and constrict my life. That helps, but doesn’t cure cPTSD.
I detest Christmas.
I’m 70. I’m no longer 22. Acne notwithstanding, I don’t look like I’m 22. Since then, I’ve put myself through college. I’ve put myself through law school. I’ve had a lifetime full of experiences. I’m not the person I was at 22 and don’t want to be that person.
So what’s the problem? The problem is what I think people expect. I watch TV and see anorexic women. I have to tell myself these women have eating disorders. They aren’t at a healthy weight. What they are doing to their bodies is going to catch up to them.
I watch TV and see women who have obvious facelifts that they deny having. Their faces will again fall. I see women who have had way too many facelifts and they look terrible. I see women who have obvious breast implants and lifts. I see Jamie Lee Curtis wearing a low cut dress, and her breasts jiggle just like mine. I see her gray hair and wonder why I am not that confident.
I was 25 when I started college and 30 when I graduated with degrees in biology and journalism. I started law school on my 38th birthday. I appeared before the US Supreme Court when I was 44. I moved 2000 miles across the country while Jim stayed behind to sell the house when I was 47. I argued the first of three times before the NM Supreme Court when I was 50. When I was 54, I began a nine-year fight to keep a job I loved. I retired when I was 63.
It took me a lifetime to achieve what I’ve achieved. Now, I look at my face in the mirror, and new lines form each day. I have lines across my forehead. I have weird lines going from my nose to my chin. I’ve considered botox, but I think I’d be even more upset when the lines come back – and they will come back – than I am now that they are arriving.
I’ve watched myself go through life changes. I was 38 when I realized my life is mine and no one else should run my life. When I was 39, I realized I could learn anything I wanted and my life was incredible. When I was 50, I went a little crazy and got my bellybutton pierced. When I was 60, I spent the next few years realizing my life is finite and worrying I wouldn’t get everything done that I wanted to get done before I died. I was 60 when a client told me I’m a kind woman. I had never thought of myself as kind. When I was 61, someone who is much younger than me found me sexually attractive. I turned 70 and suddenly, I can do anything, learn anything, achieve anything. It’s like how I felt when I was 40. A few weeks ago, I realized I’m almost finished writing the novel I started writing 8 years ago. I also realized that if the entire story can be told in 44,000 words, I would be foolish to try to turn a fast paced interesting story into an 80,000 word boring story.
It has taken me a long time for my hair to go gray. It’s still not gray, but there are more gray hairs than there used to be. Once, when I was about 53 and after dying my hair flaming red, someone told me that color was much better than the color I had before. The color I had before was my natural color. I decided if people wanted to think I dyed my hair, I’d dye my hair a color that doesn’t exist in nature. I’ve been a woman with flaming red hair ever since. Now, I dye my hair because I’m upset at the few but ever increasing number of gray hairs I see.
My face reflects my life. It has been a good life and I achieved more than I ever imagined I could achieve when I was 22. So why am I so upset about the lines on my face? Why do I think I’m no longer attractive just because I’m developing lines on my forehead?
What does it mean to be attractive? Is carrying my life on my face attractive? Interesting maybe, but I don’t know if I’m attractive.
Why the hell do I think lines on my face, gray hairs, and not being anorexic matter?
There’s a quilt in here somewhere and fuzzy ideas are forming in my brain.
I bought Affinity Designer and Affinity Publisher to go with Affinity Photo. I can use just a few of the things in Photo. I tried Designer and Publisher and can’t figure out how to make them work. The problem with Affinity is it’s not intuitive. And there’s no manual. I can go to youtube, but that means having youtube on my iPad while I try to work on the laptop. Bleah!
I’ve been putting new necklaces into my store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.DebThumanArt.com
Making jewelry is relaxing. I can forget about the world, and just work with color.
I put 126 more designs in my Spoonflower shop this week. https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to get photos of my designs into the blog. To see the newest designs, go to my Spoonflower shop, click on “new” and the latest designs will appear first.
I’ve been working in the painting studio, and I’ve finally gotten two of my paintings photographed. Eventually, I’ll shoot the rest of the paintings.
I’m not good at realism, so I decided to push myself and paint one of my sunset photos. The painting does not look like the photo. For some reason, I kind of like how this came out.
I don’t work with solid backgrounds, so I gave that a try. I used my iridescent paint sticks for the design. The design means something to me, but I’d prefer not to share that. I’d rather hear what you think.
I’m linking with Nina Marie http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/
The vertigo continues and I’m disgusted with health care in Las Cruces. First, I had to wait 3 months to see and ENT. Next, I have to wait a month and a half to get balance testing and two months to see a nurse practitioner in a cardiologist’s office. Maybe someday, I’ll actually see the cardiologist. I’ve decided that the next time I have to make an appointment and I’m told to wait 3+ months, I’ll ask the person who answered the phone to recommend another specialist because I’m tired of farting around with this.
I now have a handicap hangtag. It’s difficult to push a walker between parked cars, and I need the extra space available in the handicap spots. One nice thing, I can now park anywhere at NMSU and I don’t have to buy a parking pass. I don’t even have to put money in a meter if I park in a metered lot.
I’ve been working on new fabric designs.
I got proofs back and put 168 new designs in my Spoonflower shop here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I missed the eclipse, so I got a full moon shot the next night.
I’ve got new jewelry in my online store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.debthumanart.com
I’ve got two sunset photos that I may turn into paintings.
I know that looks like a red lake. It’s not. It’s a red sky.
My online store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
My Spoonflower shop with 168 new designs is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman
I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com
Deb's Art 