Some folks just hate the teddy stuffing out of Valentine’s Day. They want to spit the caramelly nougat soul of the holiday into Cupid’s rosy cheeks. I like any reason to celebrate unnecessarily, so I’m ok with it. Still, I want everyone to be tickled, so I’ve made us all a half dozen alternatives.

All I’m saying is: It could be worse.

In other relationships, I’ve been commitment-phobic in painting, throwing my affections around all willy nilly. Paint-by-number style landscapes? I adore them! Painfully exact moon jewelry? I’m enthralled. Cheery but hopefully not-too-Disney-looking reinterpretations of Bellingham Parks? Well, I’m trying. We’re in counseling. To be successful in the art-commerce-world, one is supposed to nail down a style and stick to it. Sigh.

Here are some of the nice, polished pieces I’ve made out with recently:

And now,

LOVE POEMS! They’re brief. Don’t fret.

Here’s a fuzzy picture of my mug doing baby selfies which is what happens when I’m not slobbering up a painting. Cosimo is 6 months old on the 14th!

If you happen to be in Yosemite from Feb 22 - May 5, one of my compasses is part of an exhibition at the Yosemite Museum Gallery about which I am inordinately excited.

And with that I scatter my besos to the four winds and bid adios til March.

Lub,

Khara

(C and I met in Rockaway Beach, Queens the day before Hurricane Sandy slosh-banged the coast. I was wearing woodshop goggles and a face-handkerchief while distressing wooden signs in his backyard. Then: massive storm which he survived taco’d in a futon. Then: some collaborative clean up. Three years later: he makes me fried green tomatoes while Rosario Dawson and fam are over for dinner, and the rest is history).