Niyas Place

Hot Pink Toenails, Salsa and Suspense

It starts out innocently enough.

I'm in St. Helena mining through a girl store. NO, not what you think, I doubt St. Helena has anything like that. Nah, just a store with shampoo's, barrettes, nail polish and perfumes that smell like summertime. And, I leave with bright orange, hot pink and lime green nail polish. I rotate them daily on fingernails and toes. 

When I ran out of nail real estate on me, I started on the bunnies. They didn't like it much. And it got on their fur. But it made me wonder...pierced bunny ears? 

Luckily, I had a Salsa class that night and forgot about the whole thing. 

How do you not knock knees in Salsa? You dance like a gypsy, close, and in prayer. And, you focus on your hot pink toe nails--sort of like patterns in a circus act; or fireflies that lead your legs away from injury and into the dance. I love Salsa. 

But summertime in Sonoma is a little too nice, so beautiful everyday. Great smells in the air, the sound of the creek just beyond the fence in my yard, bunny rabbits in the morning waking me up. Wine in the air and conversations. Intoxication by association. Or, maybe the wine farmers are lacing our waters; a strategic ad campaign. There is a lot of competition here in the twin Mediterranean region of Sonoma. 

I seek suspense. Which takes me back to the page. As I approach a strong editorial phase of my screenplay in dead center of sweet Sonoma summer, and after seeing the film 'Wanted', its pretty clear what's needed. If my lifestyle, work and overall situation doesn't allow for me to sit on top of buildings and curve bullets to take out the bad guy standing on an X', that's probably not such a bad thing. What is a bad thing is a story arc in my own film writing that doesn't hold enough tension and suspense; even if the suspense is the surprise of the actual words that come out of the character's mouths.

Danny Strong, a TV writer for HBO (who likely has never had hot pink toenails) says that what blows him away in great story is one that exposes the chain of events from many different perspectives and goes all the way with it. I like it.

And, it makes me think...

Beyond and beneath all this summertime bliss are many stories happening all around from many perspectives, each one as valid as the other. Perhaps the windy road to suspense is to probe a bit deeper, and see more perspectives of the ongoing stories all around us.

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Dakota says if I pierce his ears he'll box mine with his big feet.

He would have loved the movie, 'Wanted'

KSVY Sonoma Interviews Niya

Just in case you missed it. It begins with Ken Brown saying 'that smells good' when I was walking in. It was a fortunate day when I remembered to shower.

What fun!

Download NSisk-KSVYSonoma.mov

Sonoma: Notations of Ironic Style

Sonoma Life? 

I have to write this with a wry smile. From Chris Reed’s stand up comedy at the Sonoma Market (where people would rather wait in line at his register than miss it) to the fact that no one bats an eye when I walk downtown with a rabbit or two in a stroller. 

Sonoma is ironic ready. 

In the hardware store last week as I searched for small firewood pieces for the pot belly stove I bought for the recent housewarming party, I over heard a man say to a woman, 

“Mam, what do you need?” 

“A husband.” 

“We don’t sell husbands, Mam, and we don’t take them back as returns either.” 

She said, “I’d like to speak to the manager then, young man.” 

Such scenes are a daily occurrence. Things look normal. You see people walking down the street looking fairly day to day, and then suddenly, they break out into song…a comedy routine, or a complaint about their dear old dog, wife or husband who slobbers too much. Or... they quite literally break out into song, as I’ve seen a few times while minding my own business in a restaurant or shopping in a market. 

Sonoma folks are ready to laugh and ready to share. 

The theme of sharing is a big one! And, it appears to come from the grapes themselves. I mean, we do live in the valley of the moon with more grapes per square foot than freckles on my face. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone here is always a tad tipsy from the fumes alone. 

This weekend at my housewarming party Marilyn Monroe (performance artist: Diana Dawn—Fabulous by the way) made a surprise appearance. All the therapy I had gone through that very day at the clothing store about a camisole I intended to purchase for the party that was a tad low cut went out the window. Some of the men had a funny dazed look on their faces. Their food got cold, (probably cold anyway when you cook for 35 people that can happen) and they all wanted photos taken with her. I did too. 

I also wanted better shirt therapy and to add a French Poodle to my collection of furry creatures. 

The party was a huge success. So many amazing and talented people enjoying the large deck, the rose bushes, palm tree, redwoods, huge oak tree and all that great wine they brought. I was flooded with the most special housewarming gifts as people came in. Even a framed photograph of my little Dakota with a shadow of his grand ears. My neighbors came, they brought wine, oranges, and lots of Sonoma sarcasm. 

The winemaker and photographer Rick Bolen of Bolen Family Vineyards who I’m designing a wine label for came with his wife and a half case of his wonderful Pinot and Merlot. My clients and their families came. Simone Cox, blues and gospel singer led us in a soulful harmony of Summertime. 

The list goes on of entertaining events and warmth. But one thing is for sure, the Sonoma spirit of sharing was alive and well, even Marilyn shared her ample offerings from the grave. 

• • • Dakota is still sharing, but just his grumpiness because it reminded him of being at Burns Feed Store as a baby with all the kids coming in and out wanting to hold him. Though all that attention impressed upon him what a handsome rabbit he is, he’s simply a one-woman rabbit and it was all a bit much.

On Chroma, Cows, and Christmas

“How would you suspend 500,000 lbs of water in the air with no visible means of support?” Answer: “Build a cloud.” — Bob Miller, Artist

A couple hundred years ago the art of Painting went from trade to profession. Color became a scientist’s tool for uncovering important information about our molecular structures, and artists were given the power to infect culture from the prestige of the wealthy and the critical thinking of academics.

Today, a similar infection of culture—emissions offsets, environmental commodities.

Today, the announcement of the scientific discovery of Kangaroo bacteria having the power to curb the methane expulsions out of a cow’s rear end, has a similar fashionable shimmer to it as Monet’s announcement that he is certain that the color of the atmosphere is violet, and that in three months everyone will be painting the sky in violet hues. To imagine a time where a painter’s intuitive discovery of color was as exciting and new then as today’s magazine advertisement to give the gift of an Emissions Neutralizer—Co2 offset credits, depending upon value can range from stocking stuffer to full blown big (green) boxed Christmas gift, is so fun to think about.

But why am I thinking about it?
I’m snowed in for one thing without a lot to do today but look out at what Delacroix called ‘no color’ –the white, blanketed earth. But I look for the color, because everything we can see and call color is an illusion of contract. We can’t see it out of relationship to other colors. Just because white isn’t a primary (or black) doesn’t make it not exist. That seems obvious to me, but I’m not a Delacroix. I’m a Sisk who paints in bold, bright and what the museum community calls regressive colors, because of children’s toys. And more directly, pertaining to often destructive, regressive events in our history and now, like war. A language system that uses bright colors to signal assertions of belief, threat, and what they are fighting for.

But white? The bright blanket of stillness I see out my window?
It’s the neutralizer, the non-message, the blank space, the place where light refracts upon itself. I have to say-- it’s not neutral to me. The way the bright white doesn’t break and color is hidden somewhere underneath and somewhere above the clouds—to me, is anything but neutral. It’s overwhelming being forced to see the world around me as one monochromatic stretch. Now, if I could make a bed of tulips that would survive in this snow—along with a heat lamp on my deck and the ability to serve Christmas Dinner out there, this would be paradise.

When I was a skier—for only a short period of time, as I pummeled too many people on the slopes from my clumsiness—I felt no differently, blinded by white everywhere--happy though for the contrast of buildings and people around. How did the Eskimos do it?

Back to the exciting environmental explosion. Here we are, the world is breeding environmental tools, solutions, ideas like dust mites to dirt. How much is commodity, how much will save our planet? I wonder if 18th century Europe thought impressionism would save their lives—as it tickled their economy, serving royalty, created renewed energy in the church telling their stories within the architectures. Art may have saved lives at this time in history.

Back again to the environmental thread (see how it keeps becoming art?)

I design product interfaces for a living.
I’m designing one now—a really large and complex environmental bank that our government, corporations and energy generators will use to offset and manage greenhouse gases and energy. It’s an exciting space to be in. And I’m struck by the newness, the innovative conversations with my colleagues. I’m struck by the opportunities to say—the atmosphere is violet and see how the thinkers and doers organize their efforts around perception, need and business acumen, into environmental technology that helps save the planet and tickle our economy in new ways. Of course with that comes corrupt ways as well. But hey, there was Monet and then there was Van Gough. We seem to have learned from both in different ways.

• Dakota takes his usual contrarian posture with me. Give me snow, give me snow, I love to roll around in and dig in the snow. Who cares if your overly sensitive painter’s eye needs more color and contract or that you can’t get out of the garage to get food. I have food, I have snow, I have a warm girl bunny…get a grip! *

• Dakota is now three years old. I’ve given up on him changing his personality, so I throw snowballs at him. He thinks it’s a game. Yeah, right!

Related links to the essay:
Cow Painting is from my collection. To see more: www.niyastudios.com
If you are interested in immersion into a wonderful and brilliant blog on color—mosaics, photos, discussions, essays—you must go to: www.athenadreams.com

ver·i·ta·ble dolphin

Swimming the other day a man in the lane next to me said, “You are a veritable dolphin, it’s way cool”. The word, 'veritable' felt like the water—lyrical, mutable, changing with movement. The music of the word itself made me happy. But due diligence pulled me to the dictionary and I was pleasantly surprised by its meaning.

ver·i·ta·ble
absolute: used to emphasize a figurative concept.

Honestly being an 'emphasized figurative concept' made me feel like a Superstar. But then again I am abstracting a bit here. The thing is, swimming is a discipline for me. Something I connoisseur – (ie. the daily choices; which suit is best for sprints, which goggles, the best hair goo to fight the chlorine, etc) into action almost daily. It’s a place where I mitigate input from the outside world. It’s a place for play and cheating in gymnastics because gravity has no say or influence in the kind of disasters that would otherwise happen out of water doing the same somersaults and back flips. It’s a freedom; forgiveness of the hard things in life; the soothing mother of hard objects and knotted thoughts.

I suppose part of my addiction to swimming and water in general has to do with old pride. I never learned to swim as a child, and was challenged by a roommate years back in Palo Alto to join him in Masters Swimming at Stanford. I was a disaster. But once I realized the swimmers were hitting my feet to pass me in the pool not because they were picking a fight in water (really? some new martial art?) I got mad enough to be competitive and then I couldn’t stop until I learned. The coach was a sweetheart. He worked me twice a day. I was swimming 3-4 hours per day, going through a suit every two weeks. Now when I see people at the pool wait for their own lane I’m a little disoriented. I guess I got the Chinese version of swimming society in my first years of swimming. Very crowded; an ecosystem of sorts.
So, if I’m being languid, veritable, dolphin-esque it’s because I feel spoiled rotten by having my own lane. It’s like going on a date with someone really hot, who adores me and whom I adore; being taken to dinner, ending up in Venice Italy where there are no cars, and having my favorite silk robe delivered to me. Adn then wearing it to sit cross legged on the bed and talking all night while munching on yummy Italian food and wine, and waking up knowing I have the full freedom of a day or more without structure and I'm where I want to be with the person I want to be with. Okay, so I went a little overboard on that metaphor. I started writing and my fingers got out of control. Typical!

Swimming is a great luxury in life. I doubt I’ll ever stop. It reminds me how much reward comes from discipline. Because even after ten years of swimming 4 + times per week, I still drag myself down there and avoid it as long as possible before I go. But once in the water I don’t understand why all of life isn’t this way.

I did swim with a veritable dolphin once, in the most absolute sense of the word. I swear it was a boy dolphin and I swear he was messin’ with my head (in a good way). It was in Hawaii and I lost my group in the ocean. A school of dolphins came to them, I could hear them screeching about it but couldn’t see them. Suddenly something very soft and gentle was nuzzling my toes. I thought it was a shark being coy and screamed. Then he came out of the water and laughed the way dolphins do. I looked down. He was doing circles around me. I tried to out-swim him for fun. Yeah right! He was having a blast though. He’d get within inches of my face and blow little bubbles and then come behind me for a little surprise nudge on my calf or ankle. I pretended to drown to see if he would save me, he just kind of hung out and looked at me like I was silly. You can’t fool animals.

When I told the group this story they were jealous. I guess none of the dolphins hung out with them and that’s what they were really after. “Maybe he was a sheperd dolphin, sheperding me back to the group”. “Or maybe” said this guy in our group “he was just a guy in the water flirting with the girl in the tight suit”.

Anyway, Dakota our fearless rabbit says “Fish stink but if you need an identity that bad, I’ll go with Veritable Dolphin for a time, a very short time”.

I can live with that.

Niya's Exhibit News

The Boulder Co. Arts Alliance completed the juried selections for the 2007 selected artists. I've been chosen as a featured artist to exhibit 'The Girl Series' for the month of May. Boulder County features a local artist at Barnes & Noble every month for The Art on The Walls Series.
However, I have 48 linear feet of wall space to cover. So, all other things put aside, it's time to paint, paint, paint!

The Artist Reception is: May 1, 5:30-7pm.

On another note, I recently met the people who make it all happen at the BCAA at The Black Cat Restaurant opening. Not only was the Morgan Chardonnay out of this world, but I had a strong feeling that the wine spinning around in my head didn't make these people anymore interesting. It's a wonderful organization, full of energy and alacrity. I'm very honored and excited to be a part of it in my first year in Boulder. So, come if you can to Art on the Walls! You may even meet Dakota in his best fur.