Coming up for air

It's been a long time, but who is counting? The month of August was spent in dutiful letting go, lightening the crush that surrounds us. Betwixt and between the papers, memories were found. Pounds of paper reduced to smaller bunches but why no increased elbow room? Why? No doubt we will have to do this again. I have not been ruthless enough. Raised by depression era parents - my excuse.

There have been some moments of pure bliss. Times spent in pleasant play. It was summer after all and the blackberries were ripening. One afternoon was spent making and playing with blackberry ink. Unfortunately it is light sensitive, but what fun to use for a harvest festival invitation.

It comes out different colors on different types of paper.



 

Then there was the one afternoon when I had had enough with making decisions about OPS

(other people's stuff) and got silly.

I used some limbs to make this cheeky sculpture.

Perhaps I was delirious - but they look like the feminine form to me.

With the celestial skies in the background maybe they are Roman goddesses?

 

 

I spent one weekend this month at a workshop -

Expressing your ideas on Paper and Cloth.

 It was taught by Deborah Greenwood, Lucia Harrison, and MalPina Chan, 

all members of the Puget Sound Book Artist group.

What a wonderful experience.

We printed using handmade gel plates, paper lithography, and making hand printed book cloth, plus a dozen or more side track paths of learning.

Needless to say, I came home prepared to get busy.

I made big chart with a long list and immediately started cranking stuff out.

 

 I have always used water-based printing inks - that is up until this class,

because of the possible mess.

But watch out now.

After instruction from MalPina clean up could not be easier!

I am now a double fisted printer. 

 A tube of oil in one hand, water-based in the other!

The oil ink just slides right over the wood blocks.

 

 

Today I spent the WHOLE day in the studio.

I used rice paste and glued my rusted pellon.

I used two different types of rice paper just to test the process.

I think the pieces will make beautiful book covers.

The surface of the pellon captured the shiny rust and it

shimmers and is all purpley

(what you don't know that color?) 

 

I haven't tried gluing the fabric onto boards yet,

but I am pretty sure it will work well.

 I know... famous last works, I probably shouldn't have said that.

I've had a grand time burning wood rounds and ends,

printing over waste papers and gel prints.

Doesn't sound like work at all, does it?

I will have to figure out a way to keep the block in alignment... or not. We will see.

Frankly I am a little spent, but nothing a cup of tea won't cure! 

The smile of contentedness will surely be there for some time.  

Letting go

With Dad safely on his spirit journey I asked myself, "Now what?" I deliberately did not try to rush back into things too quickly. I wanted to sit with the moment, the memories, the quiet. It wasn't long, however, before the normal day to day stuff called attention to itself, but I rebelled. Rather, it seemed important to restore, to respond to my own spirit and needs which branched out into this:

 and this:

and that: Hand printing with the real objects-the study.

 

 

And yet something was still working at the edges of the "letting go." So, I let go of his clothing and made Tibetan flags. They flutter now in the copse of trees near my land bound crannog.

Quietly the muse stepped into the space with new inspiration for the materials recently "let go" by grieving family of Marie, a weaver and artist, friend to my friend. Maria was a consummate collector of paper making fibers and rusted objects. Many things magically found their way to me? Was it magic or by design? 

 

Together, the muse and I, with Maria on high, created a sculpture that signifies some of my recent lessons. I call it - "It starts with the hook".

 

The hook (hard to see), is innocent like a question, but it's not. Grating thoughts (grater) quickly follow. This naturally puts a wedge in between oneself and others. It makes one either feel like you have been pulled through a key hole or you are screwed (drill bit). For sure it is the devil's work (pitch fork tines).  I understand it is all about the E (energy) but when thoughts gather force the M (momentum) can overtake the situation. I understand now if you don't get the thoughts under control the emotions will grind you up (like a meat grinder) and life will spit you out!  Okay sculpture, remind me if I forget.

 

With rusty hands I let go of "those" thoughts and think of new ones.

 

 

Paper and pellon, a collaboration and sharing moves the letting go process into a new form.

 

And yet...

There's more personal 'letting go' to do.

I go to the places where the past is buried deep. 

I immerse myself in it.

It is the right time to do so.

I sort through all that has been cherished and saved for years and years.

I am reminded of what was,

and then with a knowing,

I let go.

I take a photo and wonder if it can't all go? If not why not?

Or do you do let go of as much as you can, stage by stage?

More pondering.

The practical side of me says - throw out all that watercolor paper? Eeeech such a waste. I imagine repurposing some of the discards. Okay... I will make an effort to make something out of one sheet to see if it is even possible. If not, then out it goes!

But, I must say, it hasn't been all hard work this past month. There have been good times. High Tea at Low Sea was a wonderful event. Perhaps you would like to see what that is all about: http://veritetacoma.blogspot.com/   Making the handmade gifts for those who made it happen brought out the whimsy. It is fun to play with child-like abandon with no limits on your creations.

Immersed in the waters of Goodwill we feel the oneness and we are thankful.

May your circle always be open, with someone always reaching out.

 

What was made is now ready to be 'let go.'

May the momentum of good feelings follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A quiet passing

It has been quite some time since I last posted. There was acreage to mow, weeds to be whacked, trees to be trimmed, wood to be stacked for winter. Every day it was up early and every night it ended with a medicinal small glass of wine to keep the muscles relaxed. Since it doesn't take much - snoring quickly followed.

When the majority of the place had been 'touched' at least once I made a decision to run down to Oregon to see the granddaughter and her parents. It  had been too long since the last visit. Caregiving my father in law kept me away, but as it looked like things could go on and on as they are I simply had to go. It's a 5 hour drive. I had only been traveling two hours before the first phone calls started - he's got pneumonia and a UTI  (two of the few 'outs' for Alzheimer's patients.) Very quickly it became apparent we were on a new trajectory. Hospice was engaged.

I guess the most important thing to say about all of this is it is possible to have a peaceful passing if enough folks hold it in their minds long enough to create it. And we did.

His boots may be empty, but his spark carries on.

 

 

Remembering

We have returned from a needed get-away. Two nights away with no phone calls! Yeah! We traveled east to dry land and filled our eyes with the openness hoping it would offset our feelings of being overrun by vegetation.  We appreciated the rolling land with the crisp well-maintained farms where you can see the edges of  "everything."

Before we left town I turned in my donation for Marie Watt's Blanket project: http://www.tacomaartmuseum.org/Page.aspx?cid=9539

My blanket (quilt top) donation came via the Goodwill. I had stopped by the Goodwill (by the pound) this past week for potential art materials. It is unlike any other thrift store. I am not sure why I find the place so jarring. As I watch others paw through the mountains of "stuff"  I go into research mode. I have so many questions, it is like a social experiment in progress. I want to write a book complete with photographs about this unique environment but typically I forget because of the stuff I find. This week I found an antique quilt top thrown into the fray. I snatched it up as you would a child running into traffic. I was surprised by my reaction. It was so immediate and  strong. The quilt top shouldn't have been there! It was out of context. The stars had been lovingly stitched from fabrics worn thin by their previous life. The quilt was soft and muted; so unlike the quilts of today made from new cloth. I looked through the bin for more clues. Often when a person's life is up-ended into the bin the pieces fall there together. Yet there were no more clues. I had no personal need for this quilt top, but I just couldn't let it lay there to be thrown from one bin to another with disregard or worse yet to be bailed up and shipped off to some unknown destination. Surely being bronzed would be a better fate? I am not sure if it will meet with the artist intention or not but on this Memorial Weekend I pay homage to this unknown woman who stitched by hand these pieces worn thin by life. I pay homage too to the women before me who worked so hard to fashion a life out of what they were given. There on the hills of their little communities we found evidence of their lives, buried there with their tiny children. I prefer this to remembering all the wars.

Genesee Valley Lutheran Church and Cemetery

 

 

 

 Saint John's Lutheran Cemetery and Saint Mary's Catholic Cemetery

 

The signs say a lot, don't they?

The view was grand and the wind constant.

And the best part -

  we weren't caught in any traffic -

well, until we got closer to home.

But after consuming a 44 oz nobody better get between me and the barn door.

Side tracked on 6 acres

No art this past week. The sun came out and I hurt from stem to stern. I've been reminded every May is this way. Scratched, bruised, sun burned and sore. Keeping up with Mother Nature in May is a difficult task. For weeks and weeks it has rained down on us - in great big buckets. It was upsetting because you could hear the grass growing the whole time. So when suddenly it was nice out - holy cow! Get out the machete! My whole life changed - big swaths of time were dedicated to one purpose. To restore order and a path to the house!  One day was spent mowing hill and dale, the next it was  trimming trees (which was suppose to be weed whacking but the shade was preferable - since my skin hadn't seen sunlight in months). I mean, the sun was soooo bright and hot! For two days I picked up limbs and trimmings which I constructed into this lovely above my head brush pile berm on the edge of the pond very artfully arranged I thought. I hope the winter rains will reduce it down eventually turning it into soil (in my lifetime?)  As I dragged the last load to the pile this 'voice' welled up inside me and said "that is enough of that! It is time to play!"

OMG! I play as hard as I work, but this morning when I had my first cup of tea out there - it was pretty wonderful. With my imagination on fire I studied the situation from the inside. I brought with me a cut up milk jug. Thinking it might make a nice outer covering. It would let in the light yet be strong. I do think the covering for my little land bound crannog should be from some sort of recycled product. Although if I don't get to weed whacking soon I could cover it with shocks of grass. But, oh my... it is so lovely to look out in all directions. If only I could have it be transparent. Any ideas out there?

So, that's my story and I am sticking to it!

Under the shade of the old plum orchard...with clippers, long loppers, short loppers, chain saw and weed whacker.

After:
I know it is hard to imagine you can make a pile 15 feet long, 5 feet high from this little spot, but you can.

 

You have seen those etchings of old women hauling sticks on their back, right?

See me dragging sticks up the hill to my little crannog.

My little crannog is a 'land' crannog surrounded by a wall, rocks dug out of the pasture by hand, thank you very much. I got tired of chipping them down with the mower. Did I mention I needed a new mower? Yeah, that part hurt too. I know the Scottish built their crannogs over water, but if you use your imagination you will see the green as a pond filled with beaver dams in the distance (actually they are more brush piles). There's at least 5 brush piles that are 4 - 8 feet high. The blackberries are trying my spirit and my skin, and trying to take over the pasture as are the nettles, thistles, and thorny prune plums. I ask does everything have to have a thorny needle? No, there's ivy and privet and apparently grass made in hell. Just ask my 7th weed whacker.

But really, when you sit there in the little crannog, tea cup in hand, ignoring the jets flying over and Gorge the goose who apparently has assigned himself the job of waking the neighborhood, it is pretty darn nice. They say it will rain today. Maybe grass would make a nice covering?

 

Snippets in dry point

In mid April I took a needed break from course work on my linoleum reduction printing. I was getting frustrated.  So, I redirected my studio time to dry point printing. This time I set myself a goal... to make a book with several images. It always starts off so innocently, doesn't it? I limited myself to 1" x 3" disposable scientific slides and one color - Charbonnel Prussian blue (I love that color!)  I stayed with a vertical format for the final project even though I tried doing a couple horizontal designs. Here's what I came up with - 30 prints later. (Some obviously didn't make the cut.) I call the book Snippets.

 

 

 

 

 

They are soft and tender looking. I printed the images on Kozo paper, mounted them on Copper Plate (the accordion book part), and the folder is Cason 120lb watercolor paper. It was a nice diversion from the lino love - hate thing.

All calmed down I thought I would attempt the reduction printing again. But it happened again. I just don't know what's going on, but about the 4th color... my mind turns to mush. Is this the positive or the negative? Do I cut this or keep this? I feel lucky to get anything in the end of what is usually a two all day effort. I call it Verite Tea Cup. Verite is a lovely 38 foot Admiral's Gig.

 

But the good news is my little nest is feathered with prints and paper,

 presses and ink... and I am out there most every day.

 

See the lovely sheer apron I found at the Goodwill (the store I go to sells stuff by the lb.)

Oh, if only this wispy white cloth could tell me where it has been.