Love the garden in the spring morning sun.
Paint me home...
Mt. Sanford and the Copper River Basin is a successful rescue project.
I started the piece years ago in a Spokane basement studio and it was almost finished. The studio was a favorite hangout for some nasty spiders so we had regular pest control. At the time they used a spray and while I saw the potential risk, and asked the service person to be careful, I didn’t follow my intuition and move the piece. The result was bug spray dripping into the pastel. There was no point in being upset at anyone but myself since I clearly didn’t listen to the discernment prompt.
Fast forward ten years.
It’s been sitting in my studio and I have no idea why I didn’t put it to rest in the recycle bin since it looked pretty bedraggled with nothing left to lose. Decided to experiment to see if I could reclaim the work. Sprayed a couple of coats of Spectra Fix Degas Pastel Fixative lightly over the surface and the droplet evidence disappeared. Normally, I don’t use a fixative on any pastel work, yet this allowed me to go back into the nearly completed painting and revive it to the point I’m happy with the result. Since I don’t know to what extent the insecticide affected the archival quality of the work this will remain in my personal collection.
Intention and Carrots
The carrots in the cold bed garden are sprouted and at the stage where shoots differentiate into the ferny stalk we recognize and stop yanking out as another annoying weed.
Poke a seed into the ground when it’s cold, dark, deluged with rain and there’s a reluctant nagging doubt spring will ever arrive.
Abide. Hope.
Imagine the seed becoming a carrot. Or a beet. Or an onion. We have no guarantee of what’s transpiring beneath the surface of the soil while we wait for germination to construct the end result.
Intention is rather like a carrot.
The smallest kernel of an idea or desire, sown in the gloom of uncertainty where we can’t know for sure anything is happening. Time. Meditation and prayer. Then a tendril of manifestation so small we could mistake it for random coincidence. Patience. A gradual recognition of stirrings for the next step and glimpses of a propitious design. Intention aligned with universal movement and fruition.
Flow.
Sacajawea I'm not...
The other night, I was lost yet again in Portland. Getting into town is slick. Leaving is harder. The one-ways and closed streets are easier to navigate with repetition, however, about the time I congratulate myself for having expanded my horizons in the metro area, I’m sucked into the vortex and traipsing like Moses in the wilderness ~ except I’d actually ask for directions if anything was open. Yes, I do have a neurotic GPS.
Wandering around in the fog and dark like ET trying to find home, I stumbled across a bridge and spilled out onto Martin Luther King Boulevard. Breathing a sigh of gratitude for the familiar touchstone, I considered on the remainder of the drive how people like Martin Luther King or Cesar Chavez provide a directional star for so many of our efforts.
I’m grateful for the people who courageously conduct their lives with integrity and provide us with a compass of truth to guide our own endeavors.
There’s a street sign somewhere in Pennsylvania bearing the family moniker. I’m not sure the patronymic will become as famous as Martin’s or Cesar’s, yet I hope somehow what I contribute to the planet will provide illumination and direction even if only one person finds their way back to themselves.
As we continue into the new year we might encourage ourselves for the ways we contribute to our community and the planet.
Making "it" work...
Trying to force fit a situation because it “should” work out is like brown bagging pastrami sandwiches to a Buddhist retreat and believing the dichotomy will be successful in the long run.
Some days are like this...
Or weeks.
Or months.
On occasion in any relationship, a time out is beneficial. In the exchange between the artist and the painting there are definitely times to step back. I could be the one to wear a bag to shut out the dissonance. Since I have opposing thumbs, I’ve chosen to muffle the work for awhile. It’s like throwing a blanket over a parrot cage. The squawking and yammering goes blissfully silent. When I come back to the easel, the image will be fresh and the intuitive message clear about how to proceed.