In the mood, finally

It has been a long time since I last checked in. Frankly, it has been a strange spring. I don't even have the words to express it. The only explanation appears to be  - it wasn't in the stars. I believe that these unusual (?) star alignments have affected others as well. Many of the bloggers I follow just haven't been very talkative either. Perhaps like me, others are hunkering down, going inward, seeing what there is to see, observing, reflecting, taking note. It hasn't been bad to do so. It has seemed to be really important. New thoughts about life have come to roost much like the little bird in the nest outside in the tree. I scrunch down in my seat with a wiggle to show myself exactly how that looks and feels.

During this intense period of reflecting I completed an artist book which I call Below the Surface, Reflections from the Underground. Hopefully life wont get too weird between now and the end of April so I can enter it into a show. I will have to set aside my insecurities to do so though, but that isn't a new thought. Just one of the many old beliefs that have to be examined and reexamined. As part of that process of self examination I recently took a workshop "Seeing What's There" with Marilyn Frasca. Using the Ira Progoff method of journaling she used various techniques to help us connect our lives with our art work. It was one of those significant moments where a light bulb forms over your head and an O shape forms on your lips. It was deep yet easy to forget due to old patterning. It fit in perfectly with the reflecting feeling that apparently is still in the star forecast.

I put these images out there in 'etherland' so I can see them reflected back to myself to see "what's there." If anything... do you see how hard it is to keep the commentary supportive? Where did that prickly little burr coming from? (This is probably why it is important to be quiet during self discovery ... otherwise you act and talk like a raving lunatic!! Giggle.)

The show this is intended for is called "Dirt" and will be exhibited at the University of Puget Sound Collin's Library at the end of summer. The imagery I created was about under the ground, but I found  a strong connection between going deep within the soil and going deep within the mind . Somehow it was all connected. If anything, this quiet time has only reinforced the notion that "it's all connected" - every last little thing.

 

It's not for trying

It has been a strange couple of months...

Sounds like the beginning of a story, doesn't it? It is.

When I joined the Puget Sound Book Artist group a few years ago I slowly discovered that artist books were more than simply joining paper and glue together in new and interesting ways. Artist books are really about the "story". I mean, I knew that, but I didn’t really KNOW that. I was so focused on making books that I didn't always pay attention to the story I was creating. (Actually you don’t really have to even think about it unless you decide to exhibit your work. Then is when you have to explain yourself!) It was last year during the PSBA program Conversations with the Artist I heard myself saying things like: “The muse made me do it”, and other similar cop outs. I was spinning a story. OMG! What other stories have I been telling myself and others? Awkward --- so, rather than focus on myself (do you hear -chicken cackling?) I started listening to other people’s story-telling.

Like a drone hovering over the surface of the earth, I listened with a enlarged ear. I was really surprised to hear the feeling with which people told their stories, repeating them endlessly and each time with more em-pha-sis. Frankly, most of it was excuse making, but some of it was just plain self-destructive. Being raised a good Christian woman my heart went out to them. Things needed to be fixed. Unfortunately this couldn't have been farther from the truth. It was definitely a wrong notion. Truth is - people like to be stuck. They like suffering. They seldom want a way out. As you might imagine this epiphany was difficult to accept. It forced me back to listening to my own story.

As I was saying... it has been a strange couple of months. Last fall I was having great fun – burning wood, making prints, digging up roots and experimenting with all sorts of natural objects. My first attempt resulted in this:

 

I was so thrilled with the results that I held all resulting images to that same feeling. See the downward spiral? I kept trying to 'master' the results until the holidays came. It was easy to be distracted by fresh storytellers and activities designed to "take you away."

 

All January I boxed my feelings about last fall's printmaking work. I tried a new project. I changed up the medium and methods but there it was again, something was bogging down forward movement. Was it the realization I would have to come up with a plausible story about my work? I thought perhaps that was it so I gathered other people's words, thoughts, philosophies to try and describe my work and my message (story).

 

 

Prayer wheels with sound, coverings with images of the air, tree of life and earth.

 

For a while I thought it was working - I was creating. I thought I was in the flow... but then burned fingers, torn paper, damage requiring a re-make. I am not a perfectionist, really, more of a one shot artist so this should have been a sign. Fortunately there was no one to hear the words emanating from the studio: shouts of "What is your problem? What is going on? What's the story (excuse)?" If there were folks around they wouldn't have been able to hear the shrugging of shoulders in response. I didn't understand why. I cried, "Where was my muse?"

 

Eventually recognition of resistance came to roost. Gotta love resistance. Not totally ignorant, but a slow learner, I finally understood that when you meet resistance you should change course. So I did. While sitting in hot water it came to me - FEAR! It could be fear, the root cause of most resistance! Words tumbled through my head; a book took form. Dark and foreboding, black and white images took shape. Book and words created and completed... still that didn't quite seem to be the reason either.

 

When in doubt check them out - the stars and moon that is. Maybe it is something beyond my control? Indeed I am scheduled for an 'interesting' year, but there were pockets of hope as well. So what was my problem? My star sign really doesn't take well to others telling me what I can or can't do... so I persisted. Yet, I not totally stupid - I know that meeting resistance head on is bound to hurt. So instead I go out in nature. Nothing like nature to restore one's senses.

 

 

I walked past the flags I have hung in remembrance of my mother.

She taught me that all struggles eventually pass. I continued down the driveway

to see the daffodils who have pushed their heads up.

 

I look around. There at the edges - the blackberry is creeping it's way across the pasture. Even in winter the persistence with which this plant grows is admired. With a big sigh, yup, today is the day. It is the day to go out there and learn "resistance is futile" from the master - the blackberry. I might as well, nothing is happening in the studio!

 

I gird my loins and layer up. So many blackberries so little time. Realizing it may take the rest of my lifetime to see green pastures again! But this day the the dead canes are softened by winter rains. I may have an advantage. For three hours blackberry and I were deep in combat. Within minutes she whipped her cane across my face. Softened with rain my ass! (Sorry, I thought the story needed em-pha-sis). My bad - my attack was on blackberry was too direct. Live and ... dare I say learning. The showers came and went while we were locked together in an uncomfortable embrace. Words were exchanged.

 

So I guess this is how it goes. This is how the story is created. You just get 'out there' in the mud, thrash around in the underbrush, learn to use a side attack to reach your target or suffer cuts and bruises. Gee, sounds like the story of life, doesn't it. I guess that is the basis for all stories.

 

Realizing this, I think I will sidle out to the studio and play.

 

 

Winter's Solstice

Father Sun, Mother Earth...
the season ebbs and flow around me in mysterious ways.

Winter Tide

A warm wind howled through the trees this day.  I looked up to see a murder of crows flowing on waves of wind, each darkling darting, dancing, and roaming free. My spirit soared skyward for a few brief minutes till a gust swayed me as if I were a tree.  It would have been hard for even the most distracted to not notice something was different about this winter tide day. Many will embrace the balminess and call it good. I will call it a new becoming and exclude judgment.

 

I still wish for a winter like those of my childhood. The ones where all motion stops. It is only then do you hear the silence nature offers. It is the kind of silence that restores one's soul. Instead I will use other artificial methods - mood music while staring into the open flame of candles or fire to find the space in between all the busyness.

 

I wish for you the restorative feelings that come from nestling down deep. I imagine a little hole deep in the earth. It is lined with sweet grass and bunny down. It would smell sweet of earth and grass. It would be warm and toasty too.  We would hunker down and tell storiesfor it is the time of remembering and releasing all that has built up over the year. Can you see the white of a new clean piece of paper? A new page on which to write our dreams.

 

Happy dreaming.

October's passing

The web - it's all connected somehow - holding the new grandbaby, traveling, mowing the pasture, winterizing the outdoor pipes, picking up wind fall branches, knitting socks, washing clothes, cutting blackberry canes while they aren't so prickly, creating a new kind of winter stew, sewing a new pattern, rowing on the Verite in Commencement Bay. One thing flows into the other. The spiral keeps adding a fiber. The days just pass by one after the other. It's all good.

 

On the Misty Moisty Moors

It has been a lovely autumn. I probably should have spent this past dry month in the garden rather than the studio. Instead I have been researching and experimenting with charred wood and sticks and mono printing a variety of natural and manmade materials. I'm searching of the right imagery to depict soil (the theme of a show next year). I have been using the hand pulled prints to make digital images that I can layer in Photoshop. Line over color, lines over lines. I have lost hours, days and now weeks in the process. My shoulders have been up around my ears as I hunch over the computer in search of just the right mix. Artist seldom talk about ergonomics but we should.

This past week the mornings started out misty, moisty, dewy, drippy. The cobwebs bejeweled and more spectacular than ever. I couldn't help but turn my attention to them. I wondered if I could use them somehow in my project? After all it is the web of life that I am trying to capture. Yes its perfect!

So, this is how I catch the webs.

The best time to collect a web is early of a dewy morning. The web can't be too bejeweled with water drops or it won't come out clear - as you can see from the second picture.  I use black cardstock as it has more body in the damp air. I sneak up behind the web (make sure the spider isn't in it) and gently push the paper onto the web creating a slight bow so the web flattens against the paper. You will probably have to carefully break the fibers that extend beyond the paper. Typically these are the guide wires that hold the web in place - they are extra strong. It is a delicate operation so the web on the paper doesn't move. I return to the house where I carefully sprinkle the surface of the paper with white flour using a sieve. I want it to gently fall onto the paper. I make sure all the web lines are covered. After a few more seconds or so I tip the paper and tap the flour off. Yeah, cool! I spray the whole surface with a clear acrylic spray. I use care so I don't over spray the surface.  I do one web at a time so that the moisture of the web doesn't damped the paper too much (otherwise it will attract the flour). This method will give you a web that will last for years. Each web is unique. I do however, limited myself on my collecting as it means somebody will be going hungry that night.

The above image is a geli mono-print image with

a spider web image over the top. 

For the web I used the digital effect - invert so the lines are black.

 

I guess the next thing to do is find a spider willing to have her picture

 taken for the center fold.

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.