Sculpting A Life

Clay Play Day.

2012-01-24T16:56:00.000-08:00

One thing I notice, when I’ve got my hands in, on, or around clay there are no questions or answers. I’m in the moment.

There is no good clay day or bad. Just clay. And when my hands are moving, my mind is not.

(Ok, this was a 'mistake' that wound up being a fun spoon holder)

There is a stillness that sneaks in and wraps itself around my monkey mind like a soft, warm blanket.

There is peace inside. Outside there is rolling, pinching, pulling and centering.

The wonder of winter.

2012-01-17T18:50:00.000-08:00

It snowed today. Here in Portland, snow is major news. Schools close. Traffic snarls. Many people panic. Not me. Born in Michigan, I grew up with white winters. I loved it. I still do. So here I go, with an ode to snow.

Whispering down to the ground, traffic hushed.

Big, feathery, white frozen rain drops floating and twirling.

Black asphalt streets covered in a deep, plush, squishy white carpet showing where every foot has fallen before and after mine.

Ferns fronds bend, rocks hide and creeping thyme freezes in time.

Robins hop across the melting snow looking for food.
And reminding me that after the wonder of winter, is spring.

New Year’s Lesson #1: Success isn’t about perfection.

2012-01-14T20:05:00.000-08:00

I made a New Year’s goal to fire up my kiln and try glazing my own pots and sculptures for the first time. I’ve done bisque firing but never glaze firing. So this was an adventure for me into the unknown on my own. The feelings: scary and exciting. The results: surprising.

Two porcelain bowls came out great. The glaze was smooth and rich with just a little bubbling inside one of the bowls. The other bowls are a different story. Both were stoneware clay with matte black on the outside and gloss red and purple on the inside. The insides came out nice and smooth but the matte black was a big disappointment. It was a dull black instead of a satin black and there was some pitting too. Not pretty.

I had about 6 cups, all stoneware clay except one. I poured the glazes inside each one in red, purple or white and then painted the glaze on the outsides. Again the matte glaze, this time white, was a big disappointment. I put it on the outside of two of the mugs and it looked dull and felt rough. Unless I can put a clear glaze on top and refire them, I can’t see using them. They’re so rough; I wouldn’t want to drink from them.

My two sculptural faces were another surprise. Good and bad. One was red and white marbled clay. I used only two oxides and no glaze. The color came out as I expected, but the forehead has a slight crack. I can fix it but I’m surprised because I’ve used these oxides before with no problems. The only difference here is the clay. The other face, yet another clay body, I layered oxides with two different glazes. I wanted a depth of color and patina. I got 3 cracks, dark color with some metallic highlights.

Yesterday, I was relieved and disappointed. Today, I’m determined and inspired.

I faced my New Year goal and glaze fired on my own. I learned what worked and what didn’t. I found some new glazes to try in place of the matte black and white. And I thought of ways to use the cracks in the sculptural faces to add to the piece.

The results were far from perfect but I did it anyway. That’s success all by itself.

Firing, glazing and patience: A New Year’s Resolution

2012-01-10T20:26:00.000-08:00

I’m used to clay. Building. Throwing. Coiling. Rolling. I’m not used to glazing. I’ve taken classes and glazed some pots, but others, much more experienced than I, handled the firing. This time, I’m on my own. It’s scary. One of my resolutions for the New Year was to do a glaze firing of my own work in my own kiln

First, I did what I always do when faced with a new and challenging task, I researched it. I asked experienced potters. I read online articles. I watched YouTube videos. I visited the local ceramics store and bought glazes and tools. Then, I got to work throwing and hand building, followed by bisque firing, and finally, brushing on those glazes I’d bought months ago.

The glazes were dry. The cups, bowls and masks were ready to load. . So it was time to face my fear.

First, I vacuumed out the kiln and wiped the dust off the kiln shelves. I’ve never done that before but I read about it in a tutorial (it’s supposed to be VERY IMPORTANT), this time, I did it. Next, I gathered all the glaze painted pieces and began the loading process.

It’s a puzzle. Fitting all those mugs, bowls and masks onto shelves so there’s enough space between them while making room for everything. I’m not that good at puzzles and I didn’t want to screw it up. So it took me about an hour.

Finally, it was time to put the cone in the cone sitter, close the lid and turn it on. I went back to the company tutorial to make sure I did everything right. I turned it to low and set my time for 2 hours. Then, I ran an errand.

Everything was fine, so I turned it up to medium for another 2 hours. I was jittery. I dust mopped my floors, washed my down parka, folded laundry and talked on the phone. My timer rang. I jumped up and ran out to the kiln. I looked cautiously through the vent in the lid, everything looked fine. It was time to lower the lid all the way and turn it up to high. I lifted out the kiln vent wedge with an old potholder and turned the knob to high. I held my breath and waited.

Silence. Well, nothing blew up immediately. I took it as a good sign.

I walked the dog. Fed the cat. Cleaned up the dishes. And I ran outside to check on the kiln. Then upstairs to close the shades. Turn on some lights. And downstairs to check the kiln. Again.

It’s still sitting in the same place and it’s hot. It’s been over 3 hours since I turned it up to high and the cone has not shut off the kiln yet. It’s still firing. All I can hear is the buzz of the coils heating. I take a deep breath in and out and go back inside. Even if the kiln shuts off now, right now, I won’t be able to open the kiln until tomorrow.

It’s doing its job firing my pots.
My job is to wait.

So, here I sit and wait and check off a New Year’s goal. I have gone through the loading, firing and glazing process in my kiln for the first time. But perhaps the real resolution is not out there in the kiln, but in here.

Inside me. A new resolve, a small opening letting in a little bit of warmth that shows me how to take a risk and to face my fears not with action, but with patience.

Lighting up the New Year

2012-01-04T20:59:00.000-08:00

Seconds to midnight, torches are lit. People circle around excited and chatting. As the first flames ignite the sculpture, a hush falls over the gathering. Fireworks sparkle up into the dark night along with all our wishes and prayers for the New Year as well as all the things we want to let go from the old year.

It’s becoming a tradition. For the last three years, my husband and I have spent the end of the year watching a sculpture burn.

My friend and sculpture artist, Patrick Gracewood builds a sculpture every year between Christmas and New Year’s Eve to honor the all that’s happened in his life over the last year. Packed with fireworks, it’s built to burn. This year, the fierce gold painted angel held a picture of his mother in law who died recently, along with bouquets of dried hydrangea, gold ribbon and doilies. Alongside the past are symbols for this year, like the 2012 Chinese New Year dragon.

I get different feelings from each year’s sculptures. One year it felt playful and child-like, another year spiritual and somber. This year, the angel figure alongside the dragon felt both strong and powerful. I felt protected and intimidated. Like I’d better watch out and yet, I was watched over as well.

As the dried flowers turn to ash and the angel wings flame and disappear, I feel a part of me letting go.

As the fireworks fizzle, a contentment fills the space. A feeling of peace that comes from knowing that you have all you need, a strong foundation and a guide to help you find your way into the new year.

When all that’s left is smoldering paper, I notice there’s an opening. A clearing has appeared that the sculpture once filled. In that opening, I see the moments, days, weeks and months ahead burned clean and clear waiting to be.

Now into the new year, I can see possibilities lit by the sculpture’s sparks.

A snapshot of the past.

2011-12-31T12:52:00.000-08:00

I took this picture on Christmas Eve. We were driving home after spending an afternoon with my daughter admiring the big decorated Christmas tree and lights and shop windows in Bridgeport Village. Heading through the last of the holiday traffic, we stopped at a red light. I looked into the side mirror on the passenger side of the car, got out my phone and snapped the photo.

I saw the perfect reflection of the sun setting into the darkening landscape.

We’d just passed by these bare, gray trees silhouetted against the sunset but I hadn’t even noticed. I hadn’t seen this wonderful sight. And if I hadn’t looked into the mirror next to me, and seen the reflection, I’d have missed it.

It made me wonder. How many sunsets do I miss every day? While I’m driving through traffic, talking on the phone, checking my email or hurrying make it home?

Today, on the eve of the New Year, seems like a perfect time for reflection.

Time to see the past in the mirror. Take a snapshot of the sunset of this year sinking slowly behind us and admiring the beauty of the year that started out with bare trees and expectation, budded into blossoms and fruitful experiences, then changing leaves and lives; finally, letting go and letting the past mulch, knowing it’s not all about loss but fertilizing our future.

Maybe it’s only by looking backward that we can see how much we’ve moved forward.

It’s been a year of moving forward for all of us. New skills learned. New relationships made. New ideas and challenges. Some things worked well, some things didn’t.

Twelve months ago, it was a new year. I had no idea what it would bring. I was learning to throw clay on the wheel and struggling. I didn’t know why I was playing with clay instead of metal. It just felt right even if I kept doing it wrong. I persisted. My daughter was engaged and there was a wedding to plan. I had forgotten how something so wonderful can get so very complicated and stressful. I struggled to make it the best day for her that I could. My son moved into an apartment. That meant another room was full of memories, toys and dust. I boxed books, washed walls and repainted. The old carpet was ripped up and replaced with new. Now, my home is refreshed and re-nested and renewed. And for my husband and me, our lives together are renewed as well.

We were at a red light. Stopped in the present, I was able to see the reflection of where we had been in the mirror. I snapped a shot of the past. Then the light changed and we moved forward.

Frosting inside and out.

2011-12-22T22:43:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning to the sun glistening off frosted rooftops. It’s such a beautiful beginning to the shortest day of the year. Celebrating the solstice goes back to my celtic roots when people toasted the return of the light with fires and feasting.

Walking through the park with Jilly, I admired natures artistry. Leaves sculpted into shape by the cold and painted with silvery frost. Icy sculptures were everywhere around us, from the tips of the grasses and reeds to the leaves on the pathways. Even the roads were crisscrossed with a plaid embossed by tire treads up, down and across the streets.

The sun burst across the lake. As we walked along the paths, I admired the sparkle everywhere. The ice softened the edges of the gravel and bark dust rendering them as landscape art instead of mulch. But practicality and beauty is Mother Nature’s forte and today was just another of her many wonders.

And some I almost missed. As I was taking another frosty foliage photo on my cell phone, a tall silhouette moved behind the reeds. It was a large, blue heron oblivious to the frosting everywhere, moving slowly and softly in search of a fishy breakfast. I gasped and changed my focus catching this close up photo of one of my favorite birds.
Later cozy and warm in my own home, I enjoyed a different kind of frosting. I heated up the oven and made one of my favorite Christmas cookies, Chocolate Kringles. My Gram used to make these for me and she sent me boxes of homemade cookies when I was away at college. She died years ago, but her recipe lives on. I bake Kringles every Christmas and now, my daughter bakes them too.

And as everyone knows, everything is better with sugar. Especially this time of year, it’s the one time I don’t have to feel guilty about baking. My Grandmother Gallacher taught me to make shortbread from scratch when I was a teenager. I make her Cherry Cake every year, too. But this year, unable to find sweet red cherries, I substituted sweetened cranberries. I hope she doesn’t mind and if it turns out well, I’ll have to change the name to Cranberry Cake.

And change is good. Today, we celebrate the change of the seasons, the change from darkness to more light. With winter’s frost decorating the world and sugar frosting cookies and cakes, we can taste the sweetness of life all around.

Birthdays. Beaches. The flow of life.

2011-12-14T16:14:00.000-08:00

I started celebrating my birthday this week with a trip to the beach. I do love the beach. Watching the sunset. Sipping champagne. Nibbling treats. All while watching the waves roll in and out.

It’s life in an ongoing panorama. The water flows in bringing mussels, sand dollars and seaweed. The seagulls and crows crowd in to feast. Then the tide washes out the cracked and empty shells. I’m not being morose, really. But let’s face it, life gives and life takes away.

And it’s not all bad. I breathe in and out. There are new presents, thoughts, friends and family that come into my life. And there are things that no longer fit, help or work that need to flow out of my life. Some things, like the half-buried seashells stuck in the sand, take a little more time to let go of than others. But, like the shells, the sand shifts and slowly releases them into the flow.

Watching the sunset sink into the sea, I see all the years come and go. I remember the good times and the bad. I’m grateful for the good and hope I learned from the bad. I know everyone says growing older is growing wiser but I’ll have to wait and see about that. Right now, I’m still growing and learning and making mistakes and trying to be kind to myself along the way.

Falling fast into winter.

2011-12-09T18:43:00.001-08:00

Fall came late this year and winter, it seems is early. It’s not officially winter according to the calendar, but it’s here.

Leaves are delicate frost sculptures at my feet.

The lake is a frozen landing strip for the ducks.

The fog rolls in thick over the lake.

And then, the sun comes out blazing. Bouncing off the frost covered bridges and spreading sparkling lights all around.

Winter, even unofficially, is wonderful.

Forest for the trees

2011-12-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

Picture by Martha Benedict

Without forests, we would lose our true roots. We are just one of the wonderful creatures of this big world. Sometimes, I forget that, but I was fortunate this month to be part of a fiber installation, Forest For The Trees, in California that brought attention to the wonders of our wild world.

Sponsored by the Arroyo Arts Collective and Yarn Bombing Los Angeles, this site specific installation is a collection of knit and crochet pieces built on site. Fiber artists from around the world sent knit and crochet trees, ground cover, flowers, even monsters and rare birds.

I contributed my aluminum screening and crocheted mythical bird, Phoenix. I made the bird from recycled materials. I’m proud to have been one of the artists to create this fiber forest installation at Avenue 50 Studio in Highland Park, California.

Ripping up the past.

2011-11-29T17:28:00.000-08:00

The walls and ceilings were painted. The woodwork was scrubbed. And today’s the day to rip up the old carpet. I can’t wait to step on the soft, clean beautiful new floor. But I can’t help looking back as the past is ripped up from underfoot.

There’s an orange stain in my son’s room, about three feet from the wall where the end of his bunk bed used to sit. There was a chair that I used to pull out and climb up on so I could kiss him goodnight. Every night he slept with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling over his head like a celestial night light. One night, after a big Thanksgiving dinner, he got sick from a little too much pumpkin pie.

He hates pumpkin pie to this day, but today, the stain will be gone, once and for all.

There’s a hole by the closet and door in my daughter’s room. It’s about an inch or so deep and there’s fuzz all around it. There used to be a white metal daybed along the one wall covered in a fuchsia and jade quilt with bunny prints on the wall where I tucked her in at night. She always fell asleep with a little purple unicorn tucked under her arm and a night light softly glowing across the room. She grew up and moved out to go to college. A year later, she moved back in bringing her fluffy, white kitten, who loved to dig holes in the carpet in her room.

She still loves her kitty (and so do I), but today, the holes will be gone, once and for all.

There are stains and marks and divots all over the carpet upstairs in my house. I’ve vacuumed and steam cleaned and spot cleaned probably every inch of it in the last 17 years.

This carpet's seen sweet little pajama footed feet grow into big, smelly feet. It’s seen kittens grow into big cats and old cats and die. It’s seen young pups get too old to make it up the carpeted stairs.

It’s seen a couple young and vibrant and sleep deprived cheer children through soccer, band, choir, college and, now, becoming young and vibrant couples, while they become older, closer and less sleep deprived but still bouncing in the cheering sections when needed. It’s seen accidents of all kinds caused by colds, flus, sleepovers, secret stashes of candy, cookies, drinks and, yes, tobacco. It’s seen bunk beds become big beds; toy chests become desks leaving empty indentations in the pile.

But today, all those marks of the growth, the giggles and tears, the sighs of comfort and stress, the sleepless and restful nights will disappear. The past will be ripped up and replaced by new carpet. Shiny. Clean. Unblemished. With no wrinkles or holes or stains or mats left by former occupants or past mistakes.

Underfoot is the present and in this moment, it’s brand new. I sink my feet into the soft support, smell the fresh tang of new fibers and admire the clean slate gray carpet that spreads across the room. Where our steps will lead now, I don’t know. I do have a hope, though, that this new carpet will cushion and comfort the feet that pad and walk across it in spite of the inevitable divots and dirt of life.

Giving Thanks.

2011-11-24T18:15:00.000-08:00

It’s the simple things that make life wonderful. Usually, those simple things just slip by me unnoticed. Not today.

Today, I want to give thanks for all those simple things.

A blue sky. No rain. And a walk around a lake.

Looking up through the birch tree at that clearing sky and seeing a birds nest.

Taking walks with my husband and my sweet dog, Jilly.

Laughing at Terra terrorizing a towel. (No one was hurt, not even the towel.)

Today, like many people I give thanks for my husband, my daughter, my son, my friends and neighbors. A little breakfast delivered with kindness. A cup of eggnog and fresh coffee cake shared with love. A burger and fries and good talk.

Today, for all our abundance, health and love…I am simply thankful.

Horses and Acrobats and Love.

2011-11-21T21:13:00.000-08:00

I saw Cavalia a few days ago and I’m still amazed and charmed by the show. It was all that was promised and more. A unique blend of music, acrobats and horses. . Yes, there were beautiful, well-trained horses and skilled riders. Men and women danced on high wires, jumped, tumbled and flew through the air. Even the horses danced.

It was stunning, amazing, thrilling and lovely. Live music and vocals. Beautiful backdrops and film clips. Playful stage props and costumes. Fast paced action sequences and graceful ballets (done by horses).

But what really stayed with me was the love between the riders and trainers and horses. I watched the riders stroke the horses and the horses nuzzle the trainers. The love story between man and horse illustrated on cave walls began early and despite faster and more powerful transportation, man and horse are still loyal partners.

Cavalia is a beautifully crafted show from beginning to end. But what it really shows is love.

Consumed by Clay: Passion or obsession?

2011-11-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

Pots got trimmed and the wheel got cleaned before the dishes. Bowls were thrown before I showered. The cat had to bump my studio door to remind me it was her dinnertime. The dog barked at nothing to get my attention away from the wheel. Tea and coffee got cold and forgotten. Dinner was leftovers. Again.

Clay seems to be taking over my studio, my day and my life. I don’t know why. Is it passion or obsession?

I’m not a newbie to art or the art process. I’ve taken art classes for 4 decades or more. I’ve made a lot of art, paintings, pastels, collage, beadwork, fiber pieces, copper repousse’, mixed media sculptures and masks. But I have to say that I’ve always been able to leave them, sometimes for weeks at a time. I used to call this the ‘percolation’ process. I always thought that in order to have a good piece, I needed to leave it alone for a while. And the process has worked for me.

Not anymore.

I just can’t seem to do that with clay. I’m organized. I make lists and plans and schedules. Even when I plan, that today, I will get to that cleaning, errand, email, website…all of a sudden it’s 5 pm and I would, but you see, my hands are covered with clay.

My writing that was taking up most of my time last year, is moving at a snail’s pace. Even my beloved blog posts have gotten further and further apart. Because, well, I just have to get to that piece before it gets too dry. Or I just need to add this leaf or handle or texture. Really, I’ll just be a minute…then I’ll run that errand, get the mail, do the laundry. Honest. I’ll check my email, read my favorite blogs, post on Facebook.

And I will answer the phone. Honest.

I do really want to hear from you, but, well, there’s this bowl, cup, platter, vessel or face that just really needs a little water or maybe a little trimming… Maybe you should leave a message…

A Lone Goose.

2011-11-11T20:57:00.000-08:00

I heard the honk from the sky and I didn’t think much of it. After all, geese are quite a gabby group, always honking to each other on land, water or in the air. It makes me wonder what they are all taking about all the time. I hear them honking loudly on the lake almost every day.

In the spring, I can see they’re defending their nesting territory, announcing births and protecting the goslings swimming around them. In the summer, it’s flight school time. I hear nervous parents honking warnings to goslings learning to fly and flight trainers calling out the flight path and landing patterns to the group. In the fall, large v-shaped groups of geese fly above honking loudly in continuous cacophonous discussions. I see the clashing of opinions about landing sights and wind directions as the geese formations shift and move across the sky.

But today, the honking is different. It is not a group, but one goose. The honk sounds once, twice, then silence. I stop, listen and go to the window but I’m too late to see the goose flying by. As I sit back down in my chair to write, I remember what I learned about geese years ago. Geese are very social birds. They live, eat, protect and train their goslings together. They nest in the same area where they were born. There are resident geese and migrating geese. Resident geese, like the ones at my neighborhood park fly 200 miles or less from pond to pond for food, but go back home. Migrating geese flying in ‘V’ formation travel as much as 3,000 miles from their spring nesting place to the winter shelter together honking all the way. I can imagine the discussion, “Are we there yet?” and “The food looks good, let’s stop there.” Geese are an organized, intelligent and social group. They have leaders and followers and teachers, too. And if they see a gosling out of line, even if it’s not theirs, they quickly give it a poke in the right direction. Yup, you guessed it, that’s where the phrase, ‘goosed’, comes from. Unlike ducks, geese mate for life. Once paired, they find a nest, defend it, and share hatching duties. Every year, over and over, for life.

When I heard that one goose flying alone and honking alone, I knew. This goose was alone. What happened to the mate? It could be many things, illness, attack from a predator, an accident between them and us. It doesn’t really matter what happened, because it doesn’t make the loss any less. I looked up at the empty sky, thanking the universe that my own mate is safe, blessing the goose on its lonely fall journey. And I nod my head, seeing that geese and humans may not be so different after all.

New work popping up everywhere.

2011-11-04T19:28:00.000-07:00

As a working artist, there’s pressure to produce. Sometimes, it feels like my pieces just flow out one after another. Sometimes, it feels like a tug of war that I’m not winning.

I’m sure there are artists out there who churn out work with ease and efficiency. I’m not one of them, at least, not this week. But the weird thing is, just when I think I’m not getting anywhere at all and leave my studio in frustration, I come back the next week and there, all around me, are new pieces. And they’re not bad.

I can’t tell you how many times this has happened to me. Honest.

I walk out in disgust and total frustration only to return to a room filled with pieces in process that I find myself excited and pleased about. It seems to happen overnight and I’ve long suspected that I have some very artistic elves living in my house, who while I am asleep or working in another part of the house, step in and nudge my pieces along the right road.

This last week, after spending days working on several pieces, feeling the frustration of coils drying up and snapping, slabs cracking and screening crinkling in all the wrong ways, I left my studio to clean and redo a room upstairs. This week, I walked into my studio to find the bowl and coils had become one, the slab held its shape and the screening was ready for paint.

Amazing.

The process of making art is a kind of magic. It can be wonderfully exhilarating and frustrating and fun and difficult. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. Ok. Maybe I would, but then, what would those elves have to do?

Happy Samhain!

2011-10-31T18:55:00.000-07:00

Halloween is All Hallows Eve, the last day of the year in the Celtic Calendar. And tomorrow, November 1st is New Year's Day. So while the holiday has been adapted and adopted by many cultures, this is a day to honor the harvest of the fruits of summer, end of the year and look forward to the new year with all the rebirth to come.

This is a fire festival, honoring the turning of the season when the sun sets and the moon rises earlier. A time to settle differences, throwing out careworn ideas and making contact with the spirits of the ancestors.

When I was little, Halloween wasn't celebrated at my school. I went to a Catholic school where we were instructed to dress up as our 'patron' saints. There were no parties or candy or games. At home, we had a normal Halloween. I dressed up in a costume, trick or treated in the neighborhood and got a sack of candy.

I didn't find out about the Celtic holiday of Samhain until I started looking into my Celtic culture. I used to be upset by the misunderstanding surrounding this holiday. But now, I love how the Celtic holiday has been integrated and adapted by so many cultures and religions. In a way, the Celtic holiday of Samhain, which represents the end and beginning of a year of life, has had its own end and beginning with all the cultures embracing it in their own ways.

So to all of you, Happy Samhain eve. I wish everyone a happy, healthy, abundant and safe New Year!

Impatiens and Pumpkins.

2011-10-24T22:00:00.000-07:00

A late summer turns to fall. Fast.

This picture tells the story. My impatiens is blooming right next to the Halloween pumpkin. Just last week, it was sunny with temperatures in the 70’s and hot. My roses were still blooming and tomatoes were ripening on the vine. Now, it’s cloudy and chilly with almost freezing temperatures at night.

My roses are forming hips instead of blooms and the tomatoes are ripening inside and it’s time to harvest my basil. It happened so fast.

Green trees are suddenly turning lovely shades of red, gold and orange. Pumpkins are popping up on porches. Squirrels are bustling around the park hiding their supplies for the winter. It’s time to savor the flavor of fresh, homegrown tomatoes and harvest basil to make pesto. I put the fresh pesto in paper cups and freeze it, then pop out the little rounds into a plastic bag so I can enjoy it on fish, chicken and pasta during the winter.

But tonight, I put some of the fresh pesto on hot pasta and added the last of the fresh, sliced tomatoes on the side. We enjoyed the last taste of summer.

I have mixed feelings about the season changes. I always miss the warmth, light and blooms of summer. I love the daylight stretching into the evening hours, eating outside on the patio sipping cold drinks. But there’s something cozy about writing with my feet up on the window seat looking out at the rain. I love the crimson leaves bursting out against the grey skies, sipping hot tea and eating cookies warm from the oven.

One of my favorite fall meals is soup. This Tuscan Bean Soup is a family staple and both my ‘kids’ love it so much, they made sure they had the recipe when they moved out on their own. I made this pot using my garden-grown tomatoes diced up instead of canned. Here’s the recipe.

Tuscan Bean Soup
1 16oz can white beans
1 16 oz can whole or diced tomatoes
1 32 oz carton organic chicken broth
3-6 cloves of garlic whole or chopped
2 teaspoons thyme
1 teaspoon basil
salt and pepper to taste
olive oil
Add a little olive oil to cast iron dutch oven or soup pot, add the garlic and sauté 2-3 minutes. Add drained and rinsed white beans, thyme and basil. Stir gently.
Pour in tomatoes and chicken broth. Bring to a boil, then turn down to simmer for 30 minutes or more. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a little grated parmasean cheese and toasted bread.

Enjoy this warm, cozy soup on your next cold, fall day. While I enjoy my impatiens next to the pumpkins on my porch and watch the leaves slowly spiral down in the cool breeze.

Local author shares her secrets.

2011-10-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

Tuesday night at my local Powell’s bookstore, Laini Taylor, local author and artist gave me an inside look into her writing process. Yes, she was promoting her new book, “Daughter of Smoke and Bone.” Yes, I bought a book. Yes, I wanted to know how one writer writes. But that’s not why I went.

What did I really want to know? That I wasn’t alone.

That first drafts take time, sometimes even years. That the first section of your story may wind up being one of the last chapters. That some writers just write, not knowing what the characters are going to say, do or be, and they discover the story as the story tells itself. And that writing alone in your kitchen can lead to a very clean kitchen but not a finished book.

So, sometimes it’s better to get out and write in a noisy place. Maybe that’s why writers love coffee shops so much.

Laini Taylor was a delight to see and hear with her bright pink hair and polka dot dress. Her little daughter, Clementine, was adorable. And it’s nice to see a creative person admit that sometimes, writing takes a back seat to her family. That doesn’t mean creating and writing doesn’t get done. It does.

Laini has written 4 books, one of which is a National Book Award winner. And the new book, “Daughter of Smoke and Bone” was a finalist for the award this year. It was inspiring to see and hear such a successful writer be so open and willing to share her family life and her writing secrets.

Now, I can’t wait to read the whole book. And get back to work on my own writing.

Empty nest secrets. Revealed.

2011-10-17T17:26:00.000-07:00

I stopped to talk to a neighbor today, and found out both of her children have left home to go to college. Both of my children have left home, too. As we talked on the street corner, we both discovered a few things nobody tells you about having an empty nest.

One, it’s quiet. Very quiet. After years of children laughing, crying, playing, shouting, running, jumping, dancing, drumming, singing and non-stop video gaming going on, it stops. It’s silent. And even with careers, friends, animals and spouses, you’re not prepared for this kind of quiet. As she said, “I’ve never had this kind of time and a quiet house. I can eat whatever I want. I can do whatever I want. I don’t know what to do!” It’s freeing and spacious and relaxing and un-nerving.

Two, it’s a mess. A really big mess. After years of growing babies, little children, teens and young adults playing and eating, going in and out, it’s dirty. Even if you taught your kids to put toys away, clean the bathroom sink and sort their clothes, you’re not prepared for the mess they leave behind. As she said, “It’s good to know we’re not the only ones cleaning, painting and packing up boxes for goodwill.” It’s a fresh start, yes, after a whole lot of elbow grease.

Three, it’s a project. A big project. Remember how much work it was to put together the nursery, redecorate for big boys and teenage girls, well, it’s time to do it. Again. Only this time, you’re doing it for yourself. As she said, “My husband said that this is the last time we’ll have to do this, because they probably won’t be coming back home.” Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes, they leave for a year or two and come back. Sometimes they get a job and lose it or married and divorced and come back home. Sometimes they leave and don’t come back home.

Either way, as long as I’m alive, my kids will always have a home they can come home to, whenever they need it. And I look forward to having them all come over for dinner, holidays and birthdays when they can, and I’ll revel in the mess, noise and confusion.

It was quiet, then noisy, and quiet again. Clean, messy and clean again. It’s home; furnished for entertaining adults, then for kids playing with toys and games, and entertaining adults (and children now adults) again. It’s still a nest, too, cozy and clean. Although it’s not as full as it was before, it’s not totally empty, either. There are two of us, still here. Enjoying newly redecorated rooms, a clean space and quiet…Shhh…don’t tell the kids, ok? (More on re-nesting coming soon.)

Kiln Unloaded. Thumbs Up.

2011-10-11T14:33:00.000-07:00

Waiting is hard. It was a cold, rainy day with temperatures in the low 60’s. And my kiln had heated up to cone 06, which is about 1,700 degrees. So I waited an extra 12 hours to open my kiln until it cooled to room temperature. But it was well worth it!

Here’s a peek I took, very briefly. I was looking to see if there were pieces of clay inside the kiln or obvious cracks in the two faces I’d sculpted. I was so relieved to see everything looked good!

The next day, I unloaded the kiln. I lifted out the first two layers, and inspected. No chips. No cracks. Then, I carefully removed the kiln shelves and stilts to get a good look at the two lower levels in the kiln. Again, no chips and no cracks.

I rolled the cart over to the counter across the garage where I stacked the bowls, colanders, cups and faces ready for glazing. Then, I took a deep breath, sighed with relief and gave thanks to the gods of fire.

No explosions. No cracks. No problems. I am very happy and grateful!

Kiln Loaded. Fingers Crossed.

2011-10-07T17:10:00.000-07:00

Just loading the kiln is a little nerve racking, trying to find places for all the different pieces, making sure there’s enough space in and around everything. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle and juggling act rolled into one. (And I hate jigsaw puzzles.) So, every time I fire up my kiln, I cross my fingers and pray to the gods of fire for help.

I prayed extra hard this time because this is my first kiln firing with ‘mixed’ pieces. I have the hand-built masks/faces. And now, I have a collection of new wheel-thrown pieces such as bowls, cups and colanders. So loading the kiln required more shelves and more juggling. This time, I also had pieces made from 4 different clays from low, mid-range to high fire and some are a mixture of clays. Add to that all the stories I’ve heard of explosions and cracking destroying months of hard work and making functional pieces totally unusable.

And so, fingers crossed, I fired up the kiln.

I turned the dial on low for 2 hours and checked it twice, no loud explosions. Yet. I turned it up to medium and peeped through the vent slit three times, all seemed ok. I turned it up to high, removed the venting prop, closed the lid all the way and hoped all was well. Finally, the kiln turned itself off and I breathed a little sigh of relief.

I’m hoping when everything cools down to room temperature, all will be well. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow. Until then, I’m still keeping my fingers crossed.

The Curmudgeon in my neighborhood: A Tribute.

2011-09-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

The curmudgeon in my neighborhood died a few months ago. We all live in and around people like him, you know the type.

His lawn was a thick, green carpet which he watched over with diligence and whoa be to the neighbor, child or dog who left a footprint upon it. His shrubs, flowers and trees were fertilized, deadheaded and trimmed into perfect shapes. Any stray or wandering limbs, slightly wilted flowers or brownish leaves were nipped immediately. His roof was clean and clear of any leaves or moss at all times. His windows were washed professionally twice yearly. His garage was neat, organized and the floor free of any grease or oil stains and the only thing that moved in and out were his nicely washed cars.

He abhorred weeds, tall grass and loud music. He tolerated children as long as they stayed on the sidewalk, talked respectfully and kept their bikes on the street. If, however, they got too creative with sidewalk chalk, their mothers got called immediately. He would inform the mother how the street or sidewalk was public property and not a private canvas for their children. And as public property, writing or painting on it was considered vandalism by law according to city ordinance. He recommended removal with a hose as soon as possible, so that he could enjoy his picnic without having to look at graffiti (which was, by the way, an accurate American flag with the words, “Happy 4th of July”) from his backyard patio.

Neighbors who did not mow, water or fertilize their lawns found him walking by with information for them on lawn care. Trees that overlapped his fence got pruned. Neighbors whose blueberry bushes were bursting with berries and didn’t have time to pick them, didn’t have to worry, their crop got harvested for them. He loved fresh blueberry muffins. If you had a well-trained, well behaved dog on a leash, he would tell you so and sometimes, even pet your dog. Neighbors whose dogs bark too long or too loud heard about it.

Sometimes, he made the neighbors mad. He made my kids mad. He made me mad.

I miss him.

I know, I didn’t ever think I would, but I do. He might have been crabby and critical sometimes, but I always knew if I had an emergency, he’d be right there. When we were out of town, I knew he was keeping an eye on my house. And when my little boy and girl turned into teenagers, I knew if they managed to sneak something passed me, he’d catch it and let me know.

I knew he’d died, nobody had to tell me. I saw the signs. One day all the blinds were pulled up in the kitchen and living room, he never did that. He only pulled open one blind at a time, throughout the day, depending on the sun and the time of year. Then his lawn had tiny brown spots, his shrub had one branch untrimmed and a few tiny weeds popped out of his immaculate beds.

I’m sad. Because now, when I leave my house, I know he’s not watching. When I walk my dog passed his house, I don’t see him at his kitchen window doing the dishes. I realize now, that it was comforting to know that someone was on the lookout on my street. Someone cared enough to keep the peace and order.

As the years went by, he got more tolerant of bikes, trikes, hockey pucks and sidewalk chalk. He noticed when my dog died and told me, she was a good dog. She was well-trained and he was glad to see I was training my new puppy diligently. When we finally replaced our brown front lawn with new landscaping, he came over to compliment us.

Now there are big brown spots on his lawn. New people have moved in and the screen door is unlatched. He’d be very upset, I know. Yes, he was an old-fashioned, conservative curmudgeon, but he was my neighborhood curmudgeon. And I miss him.

Perhaps, every neighborhood needs a curmudgeon. Because without one, someone important really is missing.

Kindergarten memories.

2011-09-23T18:08:00.000-07:00

It all came back to me as I watched one of the little ones in my neighborhood go off to kindergarten. She was excited about her new classroom, teacher, and taking her first school bus ride all by herself. I watched her bounce off the bus in her bright pink dress and matching backpack. Her mom was beaming with pride at her ‘big’ girl. Looking at them brought back all those kindergarten memories.

I remember it was a huge room with a carpeted area for story time. Round tables with wooden chairs just my size. A hook for my coat with my name on it. One corner was filled with building blocks and another with a small stove, refrigerator and sink for playtime. There was a row of easels with fresh, white paper, brushes and colorful cups of paint. Across the room, were huge glass windows that looked out on the playground with a big grass field, swings, slides and merry-go-rounds. I walked into the room on my first day in my new corduroy jumper and white cotton blouse with the Peter Pan collar and my black velveteen saddle shoes. I didn’t cling or cry. The minute I walked in, I felt right at home. My favorite area was the easels. I just loved the smell of those poster paints, the feel of the paint sliding from brush to paper and the bright rainbow colors.

I remember when my daughter and son went to kindergarten, it was wonderful to see them dash into the colorful, fun-filled room excited to learn and explore. And it was a hard to let them go into the new world of school where I couldn’t be there to protect them. My daughter remembers that the room felt friendly, with little cubbies, a bathroom and a blackboard with the alphabet across the top and the song, ‘Number Rock’. It was the first time she was asked to sing in front of anyone other than family and she loved it. My son loved the blocks, lego table and new computer. I remember my son’s bright, apple green, high top shoes and my daughter’s pink and purple dress. They were both so excited and proud. So was I.

I’m still proud of them both, even though they’re out of school and college graduates, now. My daughter is married and my son has made the move away from home into his own apartment. They are intelligent, creative, loving and responsible people. I like to think I had a little to do with that, but I know that many people along the way have helped in many ways. I also know that kindergarten played a big part, for them, for me, maybe for all of us.

There we all learned to listen, share, cooperate and create. We all learned about letters and numbers and shapes. My daughter learned that she was a good singer and now teaches voice and piano. My son learned he was good at computers and uses those skills every day. I learned to love books. I learned to mix colors to create more colors. And as I remember the smell of those thick, gooey poster paints, time slides backwards to that cheerful, fun-filled classroom.

Ah, kindergarten memories, doesn’t it bring out the little kid in all of us?

What to do with too many tomatoes? Tomato Cobbler.

2011-09-17T16:37:00.000-07:00

Thanks to the last 4 weeks of sunny, hot weather, I have an unexpected, bumper crop of tomatoes. I’m used to having just enough delicious, fresh tomatoes to sprinkle on my salads. This year, I have more than enough and am faced with a new creative challenge. How to enjoy the abundant harvest of plump, ripe juicy fruit?

Somewhere, I heard the words, ‘tomato cobbler’ and I thought what a wonderful idea. I didn’t have a recipe but that didn’t stop me. I’ve made many peach and blueberry cobblers, so I knew all I had to do was use the same idea and make this one savory instead of sweet.

Here’s what I did. Slice up the fresh tomatoes in ½” slices and layer in an 8x8 inch square baking dish. Cut up 6-7 small, fresh mozzarella balls and place over the tomatoes. Sprinkle the top with two cloves of minced garlic, sea salt, pepper, fresh basil and drizzle a little olive oil. Mix up flour, butter, salt, baking powder, add ½ cup of buttermilk and mix with a fork. Spoon the biscuit mixture evenly over the top of the tomatoes. Then grate Parmesan cheese over the topping. Bake in a 375 degree oven for about 45 minutes. Let cool before serving.

I served it as a side dish with grilled chicken breasts. But it would be equally good with fish, beef or pork. And I think, it would make a wonderful potluck dish, too. It was delicious!

29 years later: I still do.

2011-09-12T16:09:00.000-07:00

Song for Susan by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Michael had two of his friends play it to me at our wedding. 29 years later, it still brings a smile to my face.

It’s my wedding anniversary today. Twenty nine years ago, this afternoon, I said, “I do.” Michael said, “I do”, too. I’d never been married before, so I was embarking on a new journey and I was scared. Michael had been through the whole wedding experience before, so I thought he’d be very relaxed and calm. But when he said his promises to me, I saw the deep love in his glistening eyes. And I knew then, that this man loved me and needed me as much as I loved and needed him. This was a big step and a new journey for both of us. I also knew deep, deep down that we were going to make it together.

And we have, indeed, made it through together. As good friends, teammates, parents, and lovers, still, we’ve been there for each other through 29 years of career and life changes. We’ve packed up and moved and built two homes. Raised two children from cribs to colleges to their own careers. Painted rooms, houses and canvases. Remodeled bathrooms and bedrooms. Paid off cars and loans. Learned to bargain, budget, save and, now, occasionally spend a little on ourselves.

After our daughter was born and I wanted to stay home with her, Michael supported my career choice even when friends didn't. When I started back to school taking art classes, painting and sculpting, Michael was there building counters, shelves and rolling carts for my clay, colors and brushes. When he started building RC model planes, I helped him set up a space to work, gave him art bins to hold his tools and bought him gift certificates to the hobby shop. When I wanted to show my art work and teach but doubted my abilities, he was right there telling me I could do it. And I did. When he wanted to take flying lessons after years of wanting to be a pilot, I told him he could do it. And he did. When job and life changes shook us both to the core, we hung on, held out and gave each other hope and encouragement.

A few weeks ago, when our daughter got married, we worked as a team on the details and we walked her down the aisle, together. After watching our daughter say, “I do”, we danced at a wedding once again, in each other’s arms.

Today, on our 29th wedding anniversary, I say, "Michael, I still do."

Art is my lifeline.

2011-09-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

"Summer" (screening sculpture with Jasmine growing out of the top)

My life has taken many twists and turns giving me both exhilarating surprises and heart wrenching blows. But the one thing that’s been a constant through it all is my art.

Ever since I could hold a pencil or crayon, or (oops) even my mother’s lipstick, I’ve been driven to make marks, whether it’s commas or colors. It’s who I am. Even if I wasn’t always sure or encouraged, I was always making something. I’ve taken classes, learned from others or taught myself a wide variety of arts: hand embroidery, crochet, knitting, sewing, beading, jewelry making, fabric painting, watercolor, pastels, oil and acrylic painting, wheel and hand building in clay, life drawing, creating writing classes, journalism for print and broadcast, advertising copy, newsletters, poems, short stories, interviews and podcasts.
New clay cup (picture by Chris Curren)

Even though my art has changed over the years and continues to evolve, my passion, desire and vision have remained a constant.

When I was afraid and laying on a table waiting for an x-ray, I looked up and saw faces in the lines of the ceiling tiles. When I was happy and sitting in front of a beautiful ocean sunset, I saw cadmium red, vermillion and hansa yellow melting into a Prussian blue sea. When I wander around my neighborhood, I hear snippets of conversations that form into dialogues or short stories. When I do an interview, I am inspired by others brave, creative journeys.
Demonstrating at Art In The Pearl (picture by M. Turner)

Now, with my daughter newly married with a new life and my son soon out on his own, my house is very quiet. I am happy and proud and nostalgic and a little sad. After spending a big part of my life, on the lives of my children, I wonder what’s next in my life.
Raku class (picture by Chris Curren)

Then, I sigh, feeling a smile form through the tears. And I know. All I have to do is grab a hold of that clay, gather up those colors, pick up a few fallen leaves on my walk, listen to the whispers on the wind, and type on my laptop. My life question is answered: art. I reach out and find that although many elements of my life have changed, my lifeline has not.

Wedding stress over, and now the honeymoon begins…

2011-08-31T19:48:00.000-07:00

Yes!

My daughter is now, officially a ‘married’ woman. I am now, officially, a ‘mother in law’. I am happy and relieved that my daughter’s wedding went well and is now, over. I am happy to be a mother to another intelligent, sweet and responsible son. I’m proud of all my children. They are wonderful. And I’m proud to have been part of this wonderful day in their lives.

It was a hot, humid, sweaty, very un-Oregon day. We had 6 bridesmaids, 1 flower girl, 1 bride, 1 mother of the bride and 1 hairdresser crammed into one bedroom and small bath. It was hectic as all the girls got their hair done, dresses on and makeup done, and, I as MOB, did my daughter’s makeup and got her dressed for her big day. In between, I checked on flowers and cake delivery, got water for my daughter, handed out baby wipes, breath mints, cut tags off dresses, and set up the Unity Candle for the ceremony. I was a sweaty, hot mess but somehow I managed to send everyone down the aisle, including my beautiful daughter. There were no wardrobe malfunctions, no fell down and no one passed out. (At least not until after the wedding!) Just kidding.

It was an amazing and wonderful and beautiful and heartfelt day. And I have a lot of people to thank who helped me make it all possible.

A bow of gratitude to my husband and partner in crime, Michael, for his support in everything and his expertise with the music for the reception and dance. A big thank you to my friend and hair stylist, Patty Johnson for a super job on bride, bridesmaids and flower girl. Another huge thank you to my other friends, Katie and Laurel for setting up all the table decorations, toasting and cake tables for the reception. And more kudos to Leah for beautiful floral arrangements, bouquets and boutonnières and Eileen for all the handmade jewelry that bedazzled the wedding party. You all made the day even more beautiful with your support, love and talents…thank you all!

And now, it's time to kick off our shoes, let our hair down and relax as my daughter and her new husband(and my new son) are officially off on their honeymoon. My husband and I are on vacation as well. Sleeping in, walking the dog, reading, playing games, watching movies and generally putzing around the house. Sigh. Life is good, very good, indeed.

T minus 5 days and counting...

2011-08-23T11:23:00.000-07:00

It's getting close to the 'BIG DAY'. My daughter's wedding is Sunday and preparations are both ending and beginning and somewhere in the middle or is that muddle? Many things are going well. Really. Honest.

Lists have been checked off. Dress: done. Table decorations: done. Flowers: done. Cake: ordered. Catering: done. Music: done. And, of course, other lists are being made. There are errands to run and practice sessions and details still to do. A gathering of a little emergency kit with lint brush, baby wipes(great for stains on tuxes), first aid kit, breath mints, small safety pins and double stick tape(because you just never know). There's a concern about lighting, and will it get too dark to dance till 10 pm? I hope not.

Because with all the expected running around and pre-planning and re-planning that I need to do this week, I am looking forward to a lovely day. Watching my wonderful, talented daughter marry an equally wonderful and talented man with, I'm sure, tears of happiness running down my cheeks. (Add to list, waterproof mascara?)

And after the ceremony, what do I look forward to? The party, man! I want to sing, dance, laugh, eat and drink and be, very, very merry!!!

Summer delights: Basil and homemade pesto.

2011-08-19T17:59:00.000-07:00

Presto! Summer is finally here in the damp Pacific Northwest and that means basil and that means pesto. Just the smell of my fresh basil plant makes me hungry. I loved pesto for years and when I discovered how easy it is to make, I’ve been making my own pesto ever since.

Ok, you do have to ‘sacrifice’ your plants. There is a part of me that hears a chorus of ‘plant killer’ when I start cutting down these beauties, but that’s what gardening is all about, isn’t it?

After cutting down the basil plants, I strip the leaves off and set them in a sink of cold water to wash and refresh them. I towel them dry or you could use a salad spinner, you want to make sure the leaves are not wet. Here’s my recipe.

2 cups of cleaned, fresh basil leaves
4 cloves garlic
½ cup walnuts
½ to ¾ cup olive oil
½ cup parmesan or Romano cheese
Put the garlic, walnuts and parmesan cheese in a food processor and whirl till very finely chopped. Add the fresh basil leaves and with the processor running, slowly pour the olive oil in from the top. When the leaves and oil are all blended in and you have a nice basil emulsion, you’re done!

I like to use walnuts instead of pine nuts because I like the flavor. It’s your choice. Once made, you can use the pesto immediately in many ways. Spread it on fresh baguette slices, baked or broiled chicken or fish. Make a salad dressing by adding a little more oil or mayonnaise. Use it to make pesto potato salad or this pasta salad.

If you’re not going to use it all in a week or two, you can freeze it in ice cube trays. Once it’s frozen pop the cubes out and store them in a freezer bag or container. I love knowing I can go to my freezer in the dead of winter and find a little taste of summer to add to pasta, potatoes or over cream cheese as an appetizer spread. Yum.

Weddings, Art and Life

2011-08-13T18:58:00.000-07:00

My soon to be son-in-law, daughter and one of her bridesmaids.

My daughter is getting married in 3 weeks. It’s exciting. It’s wonderful. It’s also getting very busy. It’s been a while since my own wedding, which I planned, and things have really changed. There’s so much to choose from, so many more ideas and products out there. It’s a bit overwhelming.

Luckily, my daughter and I are not just MOB(mother of the bride) and bride, we’re friends and cohorts. And we’ve worked out all the details of this important event together. As a musician, she’s handling the details of ceremony music. My husband, as a long-time radio personality is handling the reception music. As an artist, I’m handling reception décor and as mom, I’ve been there through dress selection, fittings, makeup, hosting the bridal shower and other small details, like the flower girl basket/purse and bow.

I lost a little sleep last night with details dancing in my head. Today, I got out my pen and paper and wrote a list. List making is always makes me feel more in control, especially when I get to check off some items that are, indeed, done. Like these beaded charms that I made to go on the candles for the tables at the reception.

My art has taken a back seat to the wedding, this week. And I suspect, it will get put on the back burner while I assemble the rest of the table decorations, run needed errands and generally be on ‘call’ for whatever my daughter needs. But that’s more than ok with me. You see, ever since I gave birth to my little daughter some 27 years ago(and then, my son), my life changed to follow my heart on the path of a mother. My art has been an extension of my heart and my life. So this wedding isn’t just a wedding to me, it’s my heart, art and life twining together and branching out and growing.

Empty to Full.

2011-08-08T13:56:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I finished all my unfinished pieces, got photos taken, and cleaned up my studio. I scraped away all the mess, glue, paint and clutter of creation. Then, I stood back in the sparkling empty space and wondered what I'd create next. And when.

I spent some time baking blueberry goodies, cleaning my house for my daughter’s bridal shower, and reconnecting with friends. You can see more of my blueberry goodies in the last blog entry. The bridal shower and my friends were lovely and wonderful.

This week, I walked into my studio and what I saw shocked me. I felt like Papa Bear from the story, Goldilocks, wondering who'd been working in my studio? There was a new face and 7 new cups and 5 new bowls ready for the kiln. How did this happen?

Really I haven’t been in the studio much at all…been busy with life.

But, you see, that is life. Like seeds planted in the earth it grows and sprouts with just a little bit of sunshine and water. We don’t need to give up our ‘life’ to create, in fact, just the opposite. Living creates more in our life.

And speaking of more in our life, those candles, on the desk have to get done, they’re part of the table decoration for my daughter’s wedding in 3 weeks. I’m not panicking, though, because if cups and bowls and faces and sculpture can appear in one week, these candles will get done, too.

Do you love blueberries?

2011-08-01T18:18:00.000-07:00

I do. And right now, the blueberries are ripe, juicy and delicious. Tasty treats all by themselves or over creamy yogurt or cereal but I love them best – baked. First on my list of baked blueberry treats – Blueberry Crumble Cake. I baked it first by special request from my husband, Michael.

Next was my favorite – Blueberry muffins with lemon. Adding a little lemon curd and sit down with a cup of tea, it’s delicious. I enjoyed many with my morning café au lait, too.

Then there were blueberry pancakes and waffles with maple syrup and French toast with homemade blueberry syrup. Last but not least, I baked a blueberry galette with creamy vanilla yogurt on the side. This was a special request by my daughter, Caitlin, for her bridal shower on Sunday. I don’t have a picture, unfortunately, because it was devoured by all before I thought to get out the camera. If you’ve never made a galette, it’s easier than pie. Just make pie dough, roll it out into a circle as big as a pizza, but your blueberries mixed with sugar, lemon, a little vanilla on top of the dough, then pull up the dough around the blueberry mixture, dot with butter and bake at 450 for about 15 minutes.

Here’s a picture of a cobbler, too. What's even better? It's August and here that means big, ripe peaches are at the farmer's market, combine them with blueberries and it's a double treat. Yum!

Procrastination sucks. Thank dogs for deadlines.

2011-07-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

Last month, my studio was in pieces. Work in progress covered every surface making it hard to find space to work. You know that feeling, right? You know what you need to do and you just keep putting it off. There were bits of clay and paint everywhere. I had 4 new masks needing hangers, 2 new sculptures with heads and bodies needing paint, a stand, glue, patina and copper. I also started a new coiled clay piece and 3 new masks.

The real problem wasn’t space. The real problem was procrastination which is really fear in disguise. Fear of finishing, fear of failure, fear of letting go. How do you get out of that space?

Deadlines are a wonderful thing.

There’s a show deadline zooming up. I want to enter my new work, so I had to pick up those pieces and put them together. I made an appointment to get all the new pieces photographed this week.

I got out the glue and got it together.

Thank dog(god) for deadlines. Because, procrastination really does suck you down into the muck. You know that feeling. Now, I feel so much better. Relief. Release. New energy.

Ok, I still have a new sculpture, 3 new masks to finish. But that's next week. Or maybe the week after, or the week after that?

Sticks and Stones and Puppies don't mix.

2011-07-24T17:42:00.000-07:00

I keep telling Jilly and Apple that sticks and stones are not puppy chow. They chow down anyway.

Here's Apple, my son's new puppy. She is six months old and teething. Warning, do not let her near your nose. Ouch. Take a look at her new prize possession.

You can see she believes the old saying, "Bark softly and carry a big stick."

Here's Jilly, my sweet yellow lab. She is six years old and not teething. But she loves to hunt in the gravel for treats left by my neighborhood cats. Warning, do not let her near your nose. Stinky.

You can see that I've tried to tempt her with a 'good' treat and safe, chewy nylon bone. Unfortunately, it only works when I'm around. If I happen to be 'busy', well, she gets busy and, well, let's leave it at that.

Here they both are together, hanging out in the yard.

While Jilly and Apple do mix well together, I still can't get them to agree with me on sticks and stones.

Fears faced. Clay rediscovered.

2011-07-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

I was a failure. When I was 17, I took a clay class and failed at wheel throwing. So, I headed over to the hand building table and stayed there. In the years since, I’ve made clay sculptures and masks using the slab technique I taught myself. I made some nice sculptures, but never showed them alone feeling that they weren’t good enough. My failure haunted me.

Not anymore. Yesterday, I decided to quit letting my fears keep me from living and doing what I wanted to do. I got determined. I got into a dirty pair of jeans and headed to my garage.

There, you see, was a pottery wheel given to me by a very generous and sweet older man. Three years ago, he and his lovely wife, who own several of my copper repousse’ masks, were visiting my studio when he saw my small clay sculptures. He decided to give me his kiln. The day I picked it up, he insisted I take the wheel, too. I took it, remembering my total failure at the wheel and stuck it in the corner of my garage where it’s been gathering dust.

Until yesterday. I dragged it out of the corner, found an extension cord and plugged it in, figured out how to put the bowl together and turned it on. It worked! So, now it was time to play.

I got out my clay, wedged it, slammed it around, formed it into a ball and slapped it onto the wheel head. I turned the wheel on and, well, threw a bowl. Then, a mug. Stunned by success I’d never had before, I took on my biggest challenge, throwing a big bowl. I wedged a bigger ball of clay, slapped it down. Time seemed to stop for a while but the next thing I knew, there on my wheel was this large bowl. It has a nice even thickness, good smooth sides and top with a little decorative edge!

And, I did it!

Here’s what I know now.

First, I’m ambidextrous. Throwing clay on a wheel, this makes a big difference. The wheel spins in a different direction, tools are held at a different angle and hands are placed in a different way. All this created a lot of confusion for me, which hand was supposed to do what? It was a struggle, and I was about to give up, resigning myself to being a failure again. Until I realized that I’m not just learning to throw on a wheel, I’m learning to be left-handed. It’s like learning to write all over again, so of course it’s awkward and my little bowls came out lopsided.

Second, I am doing it right. Many people around me in clay class hand build the same way I do. I’d never been taught to do pinch pots or coil technique, but I did it, too not knowing that I was, once again, doing it right.

Third, I can throw on a wheel. I can make big and small bowls, and nice sized coffee mugs. I succeeded on Monday, right here in my own home because I was tired of living with my fear and failure.

Now I see, I knew what I needed to know, all the time. The biggest lesson the class taught me was I didn’t need a class at all. I just needed to get out the wheel and clay quietly in my own garage and rediscover it.

Brown thumb turns green.

2011-07-12T21:15:00.001-07:00

As a child, my only gardening experience was pulling weeds, so I grew up thinking that yard work was hard work. Not fun. Not fulfilling.

Not anymore. Today, I looked down at my hand and saw that I have a green thumb. Yes, literally. I had been deadheading my flowers. I had to laugh.

Then, I shook my head in amazement because when I was a young woman setting out for college, my Gram gave me one of her prized African Violets to take with me. I killed it. I was ashamed. When Gram found out, she gave me a cactus and assured me I couldn’t kill it. She was right. That cactus grew with me through college, jobs, marriage, kids, and several homes and finally died after living a very long life. I used to admire other people's gardens and wonder what in the world made them want to do all that work. When the kids were little, the only plants outside I really loved were my roses and only because I could cut my own long stem bouquets.

Now, I only have two rose bushes. Yes, I love them. But I’m not as exclusive as I used to be and I love my plants for more than mere bouquets. I have lemon verbena, rosemary, lavender, basil and catnip. I make basil pesto every year. My cats love their Christmas catnip toys. I have little bags of lavender and rosemary stashed in drawers around the house. My patio is filled with potted flowers pansies, lobelia, verbena, hybrid dahlias and carnations.

My yard has blossomed over the years with an assortment of flowers, trees and evergreens. I have lilacs, holly, honeysuckle, peony bushes and plum, cedar, witch hazel and crab apple trees. This year, in spite of the long rainy season, I have flowers like day lilies, dahlias and clematis all blooming at the same time.

Several years ago, I tried my hand at a vegetable garden. I loved it. Growing my own salad greens, tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers and kale. This year, I started some beets and swiss chard from seed. Last year all I got was leaves and no beets, so this year, I hope I get some to cook up. When dinner rolls around I love making my salad by simply going out my back door.

Yes, I still pull weeds. And, no, I still don’t like it. But I realize now that there’s so much more to gardening than bark dust and weeds. There’s flowers, herbs, veggies and holiday wreaths that come from outside in my yard. And inside I grow begonias, fig, jade, orchids, as well as African violets and a cactus, that I hope, would make my Gram proud. I guess she knew that my brown thumb would turn green someday. She was right.

Good studio days are like good chocolate.

2011-07-07T21:29:00.000-07:00

I savor them. Words flow. Clay rolls smoothly and evenly. Copper heats up to just the right colors. A face begins to emerge from the screening. Silence. Serenity. Life is good.

Today, was not like that at all. The clay seemed to dry up, lump up and refuse to roll. As I sit to write this, I delete more than I keep, typos abound. It’s still silent but serenity is gone replaced by a freight train of frustrated thoughts.
So, as I sigh and try harder, I wonder what I am doing wrong. Why is today not flowing smoothly?

I started my day running necessary errands. I came back to a crying puppy that needed out, a cuddle and lunch. I made myself sit and have a cup of tea trying to get that studio mood back. The phone rang. A good friend and a good conversation were wonderful. I got out the clay, but the phone rang again, another good chat.

In the studio, the clay coils kept breaking. My piece cracked in more than one spot. It was tempting to fling it all in and call it a bad studio day and go eat chocolate. But I’m stubborn, if not dedicated. So, I kept rolling and breaking clay but after a while something happened. The clay started rolling smoothly, the coils stuck snugly and the cracks knit back together.

I’d like to say that I can now share with you the secret to turning a bad studio day into a semi-good one, but I really don’t know what happened. Maybe it was sticking it out. Maybe it was closing my eyes and just rolling the clay. Maybe it was just giving up on getting another good studio day and accepting that today was going to be semi-sweet.

And I don’t know about you, but I love semi-sweet chocolate. Maybe I need to learn to love semi-sweet studio days, too. (Oh, I’ve been deleting about three possible endings, here, so there’s the bitter and the sweet.) I had 3 good studio days this week and, so far, just one semi-sweet. 3 to 1, not bad at all.

Butterflies and Creative Freedom.

2011-07-02T17:31:00.000-07:00

A butterfly crossed my path three times this morning, I take that as sign. As I walked through the park, a beautiful, yellow and black Monarch butterfly flew in front of me and landed on a tree branch. Then, another fluttered by as I walked along the lake. And, yet another, landed on a bright green leaf and sat so still. I tried to get a picture, but, of course, as soon as I had my camera ready, the butterfly flew off.

I felt a bit disappointed. But the even though I don’t have my own picture of the butterfly to share here, I found the one above online uncredited, the one below on the OSU extension service website, credited to John and Karen Hollingsworth, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. They are both beautiful pictures of the Monarch Butterfly, which I found out is rarely seen in Oregon. So to see it 3 times in one day is amazing.

Yes. I see messages here. Butterflies are a symbol of transformation. Starting life in the chrysalis, they grow safely in a cozy, dark place until they are ready to break free and fly. Many cultures see them as a powerful sign of new beginnings, new awareness and rebirth. To me, butterflies mean light, freedom, beauty, color and joy.

But, I felt there was more, here. So, I sat still in my meditation spot and asked my question.

What do I need to know? What is the message?

The answer that came to me is this: Butterflies only come into being by breaking free and leaving the past behind. This is what you are doing. What you need to keep doing. When those mean thoughts start getting louder and worries cloud your mind with fears, anger or sadness, remember the butterfly. It’s beautiful. It’s free. It’s left the past behind. And, so can you.

Contrasts in art and life inspires your creativity.

2011-06-27T19:23:00.000-07:00

It was a weekend of contrasts. But, I love contrasts. Putting black against white, brilliant sunsets against the night sky or solitude against huge crowds, it’s what makes life, well, alive. It’s the contrast of opposites, I think, that attract, define and give art and life balance.

Once again, this year, I had screening sculptures in the Lake Oswego Festival of the Arts Open Show. Coming back to the Lake Oswego Festival of the Arts feels like coming home. It felt cozy and welcoming in the tent.

Seeing other friends and artists.

Taking in all the enormous variety of paintings, sculptures, and fiber art.

Wandering through the park, listening to music and eating ice cream. It’s an annual community celebration of art and music that’s been going on for over 40 years. As a young, nerdy high school student at Lake Oswego High, I participated in the student show getting an honorable mention for my small, weird, hand-built clay cup. Not something I thought much of at the time.

But looking back, I can see that it did encourage that awkward, frightened teenager to try a few art classes. Those first classes in watercolor, clay and design led me to more classes in drawing, painting, fiber art, sculpture and lately, more clay. Now, I show my work in galleries, juried shows and exhibits across the Northwest, teach workshops to children and adults, and do art residencies. In fact, I’ve been taking, teaching or learning about art ever since that first high school art class. (Maybe that nice high school teacher knew something I didn’t at the time?)

This year, I got the chance to do a demonstration at the Festival on Sunday, showing how I sculpt in window screening and copper.

I shared how I start a new copper or screening piece, using my fingers and tools from clay, metal and my kitchen and explained how I color the metal with heat and chemical patinas. The people who watched asked great questions and others who strolled by stopped for help problem solving their own artistic dilemmas.

Today, I’m sitting in my office chair working on my laptop to the sound of my doggy snoring. While yesterday, I had a group watching me create to the sounds of children swinging on the playground and crowds chatting on their way in and out of the festival. Now that’s a black and white contrast. But like I said, I love contrasts. And it was delight to see so many people, so much wonderful art and share my passion for what I do with others. I left with new energy and ideas and hope that I inspired others to give art a chance in their life like I did all those years ago.

Feed your creativity.

2011-06-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

There are times when the creativity is blooming and times when creativity is germinating. Then there are the in-between times when creativity needs to grow at its own pace. Faster some days, slower on others.

It's hard for me to not want to push my self, force those blossoms...right now! But I also know that forced blooms just don't last as long. And why, when I love creating would I want to hurry the process to finish, to be over? I'm sure you know the answer to that question. It's fear.

So that's why this week, I stepped away from the studio. I left my many unfinished pieces, in pieces, and headed to the beach.

Sometimes to feed your creativity, you've got to step away from it. Let it germinate alone. While you feast out in the world, tasting the salty sea air, feeling the sand in your shoes while listening the the concert of the waves cresting and crashing.

Metal screening and Freeform crochet: A New mask.

2011-06-16T20:53:00.000-07:00

With the title, Phoenix, this mask not only fits the show’s theme of myth and magic, but fits my life as well. This mask started out as a tropical bird. But I burned out, didn’t finish it and it wound up in my studio closet gathering dust.

Thanks to the inspiration of the 2011 International Freeform Crochet Challenge, my unfinished bird rose from the dusty closet to be reborn as a Phoenix.
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Although I’ve crocheted for years now, I’ve only recently started to experiment and combine my screening work with crochet work. I taught myself to crochet over 5 years ago using instructions on the internet. I don’t know why I felt the urge to crochet, I just did. And as a studio artist, I kept it a secret. But now, my little hobby has crept into my studio and reformed from hobby to art form.

To me, this beautiful, amazing mythical Phoenix symbolizes living a life with passion and even when it feels as if that passion has burned out, it can be found again.
You can see my 2011 Freeform Challenge: Mythologies, Stories and Fairy tales, alongside an amazing creative global collection of other wonderful pieces here.

Sometimes things have to come apart to come together.

2011-06-12T18:32:00.000-07:00

I’m working on a variety of projects lately. New sculptures in the studio. Clay wheel pieces in class. Crochet and screening mask for an online group show. Writing essays and a short story. Some days, it feels good, life flowing from one area to another. Other days, it feels bumpy and lumpy. And I wonder then, will anything ever come together, let alone get finished.

Getting from start to finish, as any artist or writer knows, is not a straight line. I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I’d just like to get from A to Z without all the fits, starts, zigs and zags. But that just isn’t the way it goes. What really gets it to go?

Falling apart. Picking up the pieces and putting it together. Clay chunk by clay chunk, word by word, crochet stitch by stitch. Concentrating on just that one small action creates, in time, a whole, finished piece.

Right now, these pieces are, in pieces. But I do know, with all my heart and soul that they are coming together. Day by day in their own way.

Movies and nature and sculpture.

2011-06-06T21:37:00.000-07:00

The movie, ‘The Fountain,’ was an engrossing story about one man’s struggle to save his wife’s life. The story spans thousands of years, using the Spanish quest to find the Fountain of Youth or Tree of Life, a modern day researcher searching for a cure for cancer and the birth of a star. Made in 2006, the movie was nominated for several Golden Globes, but didn’t win. I didn’t see or hear about it then, but thanks to Netflix, I saw it this weekend.

Hugh Jackman was mesmerizing. There was a dark, rich quality to the entire film that held all scene and story changes together and the editing was impeccable. The story of a researcher who stumbles on the Fountain of Youth while trying to cure his wife’s cancer, his denial of her death and how the death itself fuels his research into the tree of life. It was riveting.

I’ve doodled in my sketchbook for years with my own version of the Tree of Life and last year, I was commissioned to make a Tree of Life for a local school out of copper. You can read more about it and the process here.

The Tree of Life depicted in the film is a twisted, gnarled tree much like the ones that captivated me on a recent trip to Bryce and Grand Canyon.

The trees I admired on my trip grew up out of the rock. This one looked like it was dancing even in the hard weather conditions.

The Utah Juniper tree has a shredded bark and twisted limbs. Its ability to grow in rock and over the edge of the cliffs is amazing. I admired this tree’s strength, rootedness and ability to grow in spite of broken, torn and damaged limbs. Trees have always inspired me but these trees will influence my sculpture work and my writing now and for years to come. And it obviously inspired the filmmakers in The Fountain, too.

Sculpture by Mother Nature

2011-06-02T21:44:00.000-07:00

Walking through Bryce Canyon, Red Canyon and the Grand Canyon, I am humbled by Mother Nature’s talents.

Sculptures created day by day over millions of years using the water and ice.

Minerals and fossils are the color palette.

Pressure and time are the techniques and tools.

Awed. I am inspired by Mother Nature’s immense talents and her patience.

Blog-cation: Road Trip

2011-05-25T20:48:00.000-07:00

I really needed to leave it all behind…studio, work, home, children and even my beloved dog, Jilly. It was time for an adventure for both my husband and I. See new places. Map our way through unfamiliar territory. Enjoy long periods of the silence and the changing landscapes of the open road.

My husband and I have always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. He suggested taking the trip a few years back, but with all the changes we were experiencing then, an adventure into another unknown was not appealing.

What I didn’t know then, was that he’s wanted to trek to both Bryce and Grand Canyon for decades. And even though he was in the marines, stationed in Yuma, Arizona, he never made it there. So, when I mentioned a few weeks ago that we could take the trip, he was ready to pack up and leave within days. I held him off a week to do a little planning, like book hotel rooms near the national parks, get maps and AAA trip planner at least. Good thing we planned a little because the hotels and parks were crowded with people even though they’d just opened for the season.

Although we had 2 cell phones, 2 laptops, 2 digital cameras, an iPod, and gps with us, we didn’t use them much at all.

What did we rely on? The printed AAA trip and park maps were our main guides. The cell phones got used as additional cameras for the most part with a few calls to check in with kids and dogs. If we listened to music at all, we used the car’s CD player but on the way back, we relied on local radio. What was even better was hearing live local voices talking about live local events in the towns we passed through along with great music.

I thought I’d blog along the way, but it just didn’t happen. What happened was a lot of looking out the window. Watching rolling hills, mountains, valleys, high desert plateaus, canyons, cities and farmlands in Oregon, Idaho, Utah, Arizona, Nevada and California pass by with rain, snow, sunshine and temperatures ranging from 30 to 88 degrees.

I’ll be posting more about the trip with pictures and journal snippets, now that I’m back from my blog-cation.

The Fuzz Factor

2011-05-11T19:24:00.000-07:00

The goslings are out floating in the lake alongside their proud and protective parents. It’s always a joy. I wait for their birth each year, but I noticed something different this year. Maybe it’s because they were floating in the lake on an overcast day, but here’s what I saw: yellow green fuzz balls floating on the lavender gray lake. The yellow-green color just jumped out at me, and I realized that although I’ve been watching and taking pictures of the goslings for years, I’d never really seen their true color.

I wondered.

Why were they this color? To survive. Their yellow green color matches the new grass growing up around the lake, making it harder for hungry eagles, hawks and herons to spot them from above.

That got me thinking.

How many times do I, too, clothe myself so as to mix in with the scenery around me? I can see that to be accepted is really a deep seated survival need implanted in me and not a sign of weakness.

I wondered.

Maybe there’s more here…and then I saw it. The goslings yellow green fuzzy camouflage allows them to grow and develop in a safe environment. When they’ve grown big enough to go out into the world, they shed their fuzz for bold white and black feathers.

That got me thinking.

Creating new work, as an artist or writer, requires a certain fuzz factor. You need a bit of camouflage to protect you from those swooping critical voices. You need a soft fuzzy, solitary space in which to grow and develop your work.

I wondered.

When will I know that my fuzz in gone? How will I know I’ve grown enough feathers to get out there and fly? Notice in the photo below, the goslings are darker, growing out of their camouflage. Maybe it'll happen for me, just like it happens for them. Naturally.

Blog Interrupted.

2011-05-07T17:35:00.000-07:00

I got a new computer. “Yeah,” you say. Well, so did I, believe me. When the abundance of life and a really, really good deal came my way, I jumped and bought a brand new economy laptop.

It was synchronicity. I know it. My old laptop was warning me over and over that my ‘disc space’ was limited. It was taking as much time to make coffee as it was to boot up. And it was running Windows 2003 which was brand spanking new, then. My old computer had 38 gigs and my new one has 500.

Ok, so it was time. But I believed, foolishly I now know, that it would be a snap to go from old to new. No way. It’s been 2 weeks and I’m still mistyping in this new keyboard. My files are still not all loaded from old to new. And although I’ve been using Windows every day for years, the new Windows has so many bells and whistles; there is a learning curve here.

I’m frustrated. I’m no tech pro, but I’m not a newbie either. I’ll tell you, this new laptop has me feeling like I’m starting all over. Every day, I think, this will be the day that it all comes together and all the files are loaded and easy to access and I’ll be blogging away again.

Not. Blog interrupted has not only kept me from writing and posting but also from reading and commenting. All my browser bookmarks are not loaded into the new system and my new internet browser is fighting with my old one.

There’s good news. While my laptop loaded in fits and starts, I’ve been working in my studio to meet a challenge deadline. I’m sure I’ll have photos and get my new laptop to cooperate soon.

Until then, I hope that there’s no blog interrupted in your life and things are all running smoothly for you. Oh, by the way, the reason there's no picture is that I have yet to load my picture software. :)

Heron on guard: A lesson in awareness.

2011-04-27T15:22:00.000-07:00

Walking with Jilly through the park the other day, I almost missed this amazing sight. Why? Outside, it was cloudy and cold, but inside, my mind was clouded too, with all those every day, ordinary, meaningless thoughts.

Suddenly, I looked up and my mind shifted from mindlessness to mindfulness.

There on the bridge was this huge, gorgeous Blue Heron. I stopped and stared. Suddenly, I was still in body and mind.

I've seen many Herons on the lake over the years, but I’ve never seen one perched on the bridge like this before. I didn’t have my camera. Wouldn’t you know it? Luckily my husband, Mike, had his phone and managed to walk slowly up to the bridge and get this wonderful shot within a few feet of the huge bird.

Sitting on the railing, this Heron was surveying the lake like a person sitting on a park bench. Easy. Calm. Relaxed.

I learned a lot standing there, watching. I learned to stop and keep my eyes and ears and mind on what's right in front of me, here and now. I learned to be still and to focus my thoughts with calm strength, regardless of what's going on around me.

What a great lesson in awareness.

Paint the Sky.

2011-04-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

Those are the words that popped into my head as I was driving home, yesterday.
Odd. "Why?" I asked.

I’m not a painter, you see.

“So?” came the reply, “you love the sky.”

I do. I’ve loved the sky ever since I can remember. Waking up in my childhood bedroom, the first thing I did was look out the window, up through the white blossomed Crabapple tree, to the sky.

There's so much to see - the wide range and depth of colors from cerulean and cobalt, to ultramarine and Prussian blue to deep purple and navy to Payne’s gray and black. Then, there are the clouds - puffy and fluffy with rose undertones, light and lacy with creamy yellow, dense and deep with shades of purple gray. Sunrise or sunset adds yet another wash of colors from cadmium red, alizarin crimson to hansa deep yellow and orange. All this color and shape and form moving constantly above me with the wind.

I've watched spellbound as the sky changes from black to blue to black again. I marveled as the shapes appear and disappear. The sky is a moving sculpture. I see clouds forming into faces of women, children and men, animals of all types fly, float and sleep above me.

As a little girl one of my favorite games was twirling. Late on summer evenings, I’d stand on the cool grass barefoot, spread my arms out to my sides and spin. Faster and faster, I’d go watching the houses, trees and people whirl past until, too dizzy to stand up, I’d fall onto the soft green grass. Then, laughing, I’d lie on my back and watch the sky go from day to evening in spinning splendor.

The sky is peace to me. Restful in its beautiful blues and rosy hues. Exciting deep gray greens exploding into thunder and lightening. Mysterious. Soft. Sad. And unending in its possibilities. It is a moving, every changing, never ending art show. Vast. Open. Alive.

I am inspired by it. Awed. Humbled.

Paint the sky? Now I know why…love.
But could I?

That’s the question that set me to work. First, with my camera, I took pictures of the sky. I took the photo for this painting on my phone, so I can't share it here. Second, I primed over an old painting and, yes, I did paint the sky. I think this one if almost done. Now what? Paint the sky, again? Why not.

Where do I want to be?

2011-04-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

I was on my morning walk with Jilly. It was a damp, gray, foggy Oregon morning, nothing special. Jilly and I made our way around the lake. We said our good mornings, as usual, to all the ‘regulars’, people we pass in the park everyday. The only difference this morning was it was just Jilly and me. Michael was resting because he had a cold. I was feeling a little crabby and resentful, thinking of all the housework and chores that didn’t get done this weekend some because of Michael’s cold and some because of circumstances.

As I walked cycling through my resentments, I realized that it wasn’t really about what I thought it was about. It wasn’t about cleaning the garage or putting the knobs on the bathroom cupboards, at all. It wasn’t about feeling burdened by household chores, nope. It was about death, loss and fear.

I wasn’t really angry or resentful at Michael for having a cold. I was afraid. I realized there and then, I get scared when he gets sick. Why? Because he’s my husband, partner, best friend and I love him. I don’t want him to lose him. I don’t want to be in this world without him to share it with.

And he knew it, too. Because he said, “I’m not going to die, you know. I just have a cold.” Right. Everybody gets colds. In fact, my daughter had one last weekend and complained about the same symptoms. She’s fine. He will be, too.

So I saw my fear and nodded at it just like I nod at the ‘regulars’ I pass on my walk everyday. I felt my fear pass by me as Jilly and I walked on, too.

We passed the geese grazing on the grass and ducks swimming under the bridge. Jilly stopped to sniff the leafy mulch under the trees and I gazed out over the water to the foggy horizon. As we entered the woods, I started down our usual path intent on my usual routine – stopping by the birch clearing to do my stretches and onto the Be Tree- but I stopped. Ahead of me, across the path was a downed branch, partially blocking my way. I started to walk around the branch, but again, I stopped.

I went back to where the path was blocked, turned to face the downed branch and looked around me. What did I see?

To the right of the main path, was an open path. I decided to take it, and soon found myself at a cross roads. One path ahead led down to the lake, the other wound around to the birch clearing. On the path to the lake is a big, strong birch tree that I’ve passed many times, reaching out to it for balance on the slippery slope down to the water. It’s an old tree. That’s obvious by its height and width and deep roots. It has history in these woods, a connection and wisdom far beyond my short years here. And so, I decided to pay this tree a visit.

As I leaned back against the wide, strong trunk, thoughts ran through my head, lists of things I needed to do, places I needed to go and, of course, worry about my husband’s cold, health and happiness. My busy thoughts were, once again, covering up my real feelings, my fears not about life, but about death.

Then, one thought came up through the crowd and formed a question, “Where do I want to be?”

The wise Birch Tree answered, “Be where you are.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding and sighed. I didn’t need to do everything or go everywhere to escape my feelings of fear. I didn’t need to worry about my husband.

All I needed to do was follow the words, “Be where you are.”

I could see that right here, right now, everything and everyone is fine, including my husband. I smiled. I thanked the Birch Tree for her wisdom that brought such simple clarity to my day.

Where do I want to be?
Be where you are.

And Jilly and I walked on, along the open path, through the birches and home.

The Bread Has Risen!

2011-04-06T16:11:00.000-07:00

Last week's flat top loaf was a let down. But I decided to ‘rise above’ it(sorry, bad pun intended), make another one and figure out what went wrong. This week's loaf was much better.

I used the same recipe, same type of yeast, and the same rising time. The only thing I changed was the baking method and container.

Yep. It was the pan. First time, I put the bread dough in an unheated pyrex glass casserole in a pre-heated oven set at 350.

Second time, I put the enamel cast iron casserole into a cold oven set at 400, let the casserole and oven heat for 30 minutes. I took out the casserole, put in the bread dough and baked it covered for 30 minutes, then, uncovered it and baked till brown.

The result: A crunchy outside and chewy deliciousness inside!

Here’s the recipe I used:
1 pkg. quick rise yeast
1 TBSP sugar
1to 1-1/4 cup warm water
Mix together and let sit until the yeast bubbles.
While that’s happening, mix this together in a large bowl:
2 cups flour(I like bread flour)
Note: you’ll be adding 1-2 cups more during kneading
1 tsp salt
Flavorings if desired such as minced garlic, grated cheese, rosemary, coarse pepper, basil or oregano
Stir the yeast mixture into the flour mix in bowl. Add more flour by the cup full to make a sticky dough. Shake more flour onto the counter top, kneading and adding flour as you go until the dough forms a smooth ball. Butter a bowl, roll the dough ball around to coat it all over, cover and let rise about 1 hour. Punch down the dough, cover again and let rise until double about 1-2 hours. Thirty minutes before the loaf is ready, place covered enamel cast iron casserole inside the oven and set to 400 degrees. After 30 minutes, take the casserole from oven, place the bread loaf inside, cover and bake. In 30 minutes, take the cover off the casserole and bake the bread until brown, about another 20 minutes.

I know preheating the casserole in the oven is a chore, but it does produce a nice crusty loaf of bread. I think it’s worth the trouble. Enjoy!

Playing With Fire

2011-04-02T16:31:00.000-07:00

Scary? Yes. Fun? Most definitely! Firing up the kiln and putting in my newest clay faces is always risky. You just never know...will it explode or crack? Will the oxide stains I rubbed into the clay and painted on the details come out the way I hoped? Or even better?

I put the four faces into the kiln on Wednesday, fired up the kiln and watched through the peep hole. Turning it up from low to medium in 2 hours and from medium to high in another hour, then look for the cone to bend and shut off the kiln. There's nothing I could do but wait, and that always feels like the hardest part. Especially, when due to the cold weather outside this week, I had to wait until the kiln was completely cool. Which meant waiting until Thursday morning to open it up. I didn't want to be too eager and risk cracking a piece because the garage was colder than the inside of the kiln.

Ah, the wait was worth it.

Every face came through in one piece. The Penny Mask iron oxide color came out beautifully and the black I added brought out the details. The only problem was the nose, it had popped off at the bisque stage. I wasn't sure how it would take the second firing, but it came through fine, no big shrinkage, so I can just glue it back in place later.

The big surprise was the Oak Leaf face. The raw sienna color I'd rubbed into the background really faded. That's a disappointment. I'm not sure if I'm going to add more stain or not.

The other two faces, Molehills and Spring came out much nicer than I thought they would.

So even though I was nervous playing with fire and impatient to have to spend the day waiting on the kiln, it was, indeed, worth it. I can't wait to try this with some other new pieces.

Moss Gathering

2011-03-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

A picture’s worth a 100 characters.

“A rolling stone gathers no moss”
Wise words true
But
Maybe
Moss gathering is good
And wise and true too

A sporadic writing exercise based on the quote, “A picture’s worth a 1,000 words. I thought I would try it based on today’s technology. I snap a picture and write 100 characters about or around it. Want to join in the game? I’d love it, just leave a comment, write a 100 characters about the picture as a comment or on your blog and I’ll put up links as we go. Let’s have some fun!

Making bread...bad looks, good taste.

2011-03-26T16:00:00.000-07:00

Most of the time, I cook without recipes. Sometimes, I just wing it combining recipes and ingredients. Sometime, it turns out. Sometimes, not. This time, I got a little of both.

It was cold, blustery afternoon and I wanted a warm, homemade loaf of bread to go with the stew I was making. I just didn't want to go out into the storm to the store for bread. I got out two recipes for bread, one from a favorite James Beard cookbook and one from The Oregonian Foodday(back when they actually had recipes). The James Beard recipe called for regular yeast and normal kneading but the Foodday recipe called for an 18 hour slow rise and no kneading. I wanted bread in 3 hours, so I got creative.

I used the basic recipe from James Beard, but substituted quick rise yeast from the Foodday recipe. I got out the flour, water, sugar, yeast and mixed up the dough. I grated up some Parmesan cheese. Then I ran outside to snap a few springs of Rosemary from the garden, as the cold rain dripped down my back, I was glad that's as far as I had to go.

I kneaded the cheese and rosemary into the dough and let it rise for about an hour. Punched it down. Reshaped into the pyrex bowl and let it double for about another hour or so. Instead of putting the casserole into the oven at 400 and then adding the bread according to the Foodday recipe, I just put the cold pyrex casserole with the bread inside into the oven.

The result: Flat top bread. It tasted good, especially with the cheese and rosemary baked inside. It did a great job of sopping up the stew, but, well, fell a little flat. Next time, I'm using the cast iron casserole for the bread baking instead of the stew. Or maybe it's time to buy another cast iron casserole, so I can make stew in one and bread in the other?

The Joy of Walking

2011-03-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

The sun is out today. It’s peeking out between the thick, deep gray, rain clouds that filled the lake to the brim last week.

Without my knowledge, these gray, dull overcast days clouded my soul. But today, as I walk with Jilly to the park, the clouds have cleared both inside and out. The sun is shining and I see hints of blue sky. The air is so fresh.

Up on the rooftop, a dove calls out to me. I hear the tweets of the red-wing blackbirds and caws of the crows. A gaggle of geese feast on the grass and robins swoop in dining on the worms flushed out by the storm.

I smell the spring, at last. The crisp freshness flows over my face waking my senses, my mind, heart and soul. I am out, feeling my feet on the path, stretching my arms and legs under the trees, leaning into the energy of the Douglass Fir tree. And, today, instead of closing my eyes as I meditate against the tree, I open them and smile and see the sunlight streaming between the bare branches highlighting the new, tender, yellow-green buds.

Putting the fun back on the social media playground.

2011-03-16T21:57:00.000-07:00

When I blogged about social media pressure, I found out I wasn’t alone. Many people feel pressured, overwhelmed, distracted and left out of the social media playground. Yep. A lot like those playground games from school. But I wanted it to be different. I wanted, for once, to be the cool kid in school. Don’t you?

Well, once again, you and I are not alone. I listened to 4 experienced women talk about social media on a teleconference called, the “Self care, mindfulness and social media.” On the call was Jennifer Louden, best-selling author; Tara Sophia Mohr, Huffington Post columnist and coach; Marianne Elliot, writer, yogini and human rights advocate; and Bridget Pilloud, writer and intuitive life shifter. The call was led by writer and lifestyle design expert Tara Gentile. It was an interesting and informative and soul-full hour.

They talked about the need for social media as a way to connect and feel less isolated writing from home offices, to push their business, expand their network and get the attention of publishers. While each woman had her own approach to social media, they all desire more kindness, friendship and try to approach it with awareness and grounded mindfulness.

Ask yourself where am I today and why am I going on social media? Ego validation, connection or distraction? According to Jen, if her ‘mean voices’ are too loud that day, she makes sure she doesn’t sign on. Bridget puts up post-it notes with a question for herself and sets up her ‘Tweet Deck’ to send out pre-written tweets throughout the day, so she can concentrate on her face to face work. Tara did a blog survey and found that one of the things her readers liked most about her blog was that she didn’t post too much. Her mantra: less is more.

That doesn’t mean none of these women are immune to a bad case of ‘cool kid’ envy. And comparing stats, followers and tweets makes them feel as tense and anxious as the next person. What do they do?

Jen suggests spending the day filling your own well, a good writing day makes her feel strong and up to the facebook challenge. Marianne pointed out that social media is designed to create an adrenal response in your body, and when you’ve absorbed too much, it’s time to take a break. Breathe, put on some music and move your body, then you’ll be able to approach it with a playful attitude. If you feel a bad vibe from someone, Bridget suggests, take them off your list because you need to set firm boundaries in all areas of your life, including social media.

As far as facebook, the women are divided. Two women see it as a business and marketing site. The other two are changing how they use facebook, making their lists smaller, a more intimate place for family and friends to talk to each other without long distance charges.

One thing they all agree on...people will not forget us if we’re not on social media. Stats show that only 7% of the population is on Twitter. That leaves 93% who are not on social media. So to really connect, we need to get away from our computers and out into the world.

Even though I had a cold that day and couldn’t get out into the world, I was able to listen in to some wise, fun and insightful advice from 4 very wonderful women. Now that’s the kind of playground I want to play in!

A moment of insignificant silence.

2011-03-12T19:03:00.000-08:00

Watching the waves rush over the fields and streets and cars and houses and people and dogs and cats in Japan, I was shocked, saddened and scared. All those lives, just washed away and all I could do was watch.

I offer only my own moment of silence...small and insignificant... silence.

In honor of every life lost.

In honor of every struggle to live.

In honor of fear and determination and survival.

In honor of love.

Remembering reading about plate tectonics, subduction zones and continental plates as I edited my brother's college physics papers. As I corrected spelling and punctuation, I learned, not realizing, the lessons would be needed in my lifetime.

We may have dodged this tsunami bullet, here in the Pacific Northwest, but it was our Pacific plate that was involved in this earthquake. Not insignificant.

I take a breath and honor in silence the preciousness of life.

Face Time or Face Book: Facing the pressure of social media.

2011-03-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

This started out as a blog about taking a digital sabbatical, which I was going to take over the holidays. I didn’t post the blog. I didn’t take the sabbatical. But I’ve been playing duck and cover with social media for several months, now, and I haven’t been quite sure why.

I love my blog. When I started Sculpting A Life, I resolved to post at least 3 times a week. Now, I’m posting only 1 time a week.

I was enthusiastic about Facebook at first. I saw it as a bright, new way to be on the web, maybe meet some new friends, share my art and writing. I posted about all my shows, events and linked my blog to it. Now, the only ‘status’ update that I do is my blog.

It all just started to pile up. I wasn’t sure why I was hiding while everyone else was Facebooking away. Inviting everyone to Facebook events, sharing YouTube videos and funny photos. Was it too much info, from too many sources? Too much pressure to post my status as much as the next person? Too much me, me, me? Could be.

I know I’m not alone on my social network island. In the interview I did with Jennifer Louden here, she talked about the importance of putting parameters around social networking and the internet, including using anti-surfing software programs to keep you from wasting hours clicking mindlessly around the internet. She’s taken several digital sabbaticals so she could spend more face to face time with her family instead of Facebook.

Lately, I’ve read a few other blogs about how to survive social media madness. Here are their ideas: Set up your own Social Media 10 Commandments like Tara Sophia Mohr in her guest post about using social media sanely. I really liked her ideas on comparisons, judgments and the need for following your life out in the real world with face to face. And Bridget Pilloud's ideas here about trusting your gut, not your laptop, is wonderfully bold and true. Bridget points out that if you feel uncomfortable with some site or post or facebook friend, listen to your intuition and remember your boundaries.

I love the internet in many ways. I’ve made wonderful connections, shared ideas, created art, been helped and hopefully, helped others as well. My favorite part of the internet is right here, my blog. Sharing my creative journey with all its ups and downs with other like-minded creative people out there makes the studio and writing desk a lot less lonely than it used to be, that’s for sure.

I know that as an artist and writer, I need the internet, social media and email for marketing. And I love it for reading blogs, articles and finding information at my fingertips. But it can be intrusive, overwhelming, and start to dominate your life. Some days, my laptop feels like a ball and chain. Maybe taking a digital sabbatical would take the weight off. The problem, I see is, it would all still be there when I got back.

Let’s face it; Facebook was created as a way for a guy to ‘market’ himself to girls. So, it’s not surprising that its become the place to try to impress or market your work, family or life. Maybe that’s why I’ve avoided jumping on everyday to do a status update on my life.

I need to set parameters, of course. But I don’t want to become an internet hermit, either. Maybe what I’m looking for is more heart. Not more marketing.

As I write this blog, with my thoughts about the nature of the internet, I’m sitting in my chair feet propped up on pillows, my laptop in my lap keeping me warm on a cold winter day, a thought occurs to me…could this be the modern version of a cabin in the woods?

Am I writing from my cabin to yours? The only difference is it doesn’t require paper or printing and it gets from me to you, by mouse click down the digital highway instead by horse and carriage down rutted, dirt road.

I’m wondering this: Is it possible to create a digital Walden Pond? One where we could all wander, wonder and write? One where our spirits get uplifted, supported, our creativity supported, our imaginations stirred?

Now that’s my kind of space on the internet…how about you?

Is a picture worth a 1,000 characters?

2011-03-02T14:32:00.000-08:00

I’ve been musing about this idea for a while, now. Setting up a challenge for myself and any of you out there who’d like to join in, to write 1,000 characters about a picture I put up on my blog. I’m not sure how it’s going to work out. But I thought it might be a fun way to share our words, thoughts and pictures together.

Here’s what I’m thinking: I post a picture, my own words about it, then you write about it, post a comment linking to your blog. We all get to share.

What do you think?

I love the sky. The ever changing colors painted above my head. I see the clouds as a constantly changing sculpture in shape, color and form. It stirs my imagination. When I was a little girl, I loved to spin around and around on summer nights watching the summer sky whirling above me.

Blue sky wishes
On a cold, rainy day
Wading through dishes
Coffee on its way

White clouds floating
Not a sea of grey
Deep water bloating
The lake
Geese fly away

(Everything above this sentence adds up to 1,000 characters exactly. It took me a few tries, and I’m surprised how many words I can write with 1,000 characters. What about you?)

Hoorah! Snow Day

2011-02-24T20:28:00.000-08:00

This morning big, wet, beautiful snowflakes swirled down covering the landscape in a fresh coat of sparkling white. I couldn't wait to get out in it. Jilly and I headed to the park enjoying all the sights and sounds of our little winter wonderland.

Shuffling softly over the bridge at the park and through the woods.

Jilly patiently waiting for me to quit taking pictures and move on.

Discovering spring blooms covered in snow.

And warm weather palms frosted, too.

Outdoor art covered with nature's medium: Summer in winter.

And lilies in snow.

Hearing the shouts of children throwing snowballs, pushing sleds and enjoying their 'snow' day. No one's on the swing, yet.

Back at home for fresh, warm homemade bread.

And chicken noodle soup.

Alas, it all melted away by mid-day, but it was a beautiful snow day anyway!

Writing for the love of it.

2011-02-17T20:07:00.000-08:00

I love writing.

I love the soft sound of my fountain pen flowing across the clean, white page swiftly following my thoughts as they race from brain to fingertips into words. It’s a sort of magic, really. I see my pen as the magic wand, drawing on mysterious energy. And even though my penmanship is awful and sometimes very hard to read, I don’t care. It’s the process of writing that I love. The ability it gives me to see what goes on in my mind, my heart and my soul that might get stuck there in some walled off space but with pen in hand and an empty page, thoughts, feelings and dreams flow through pen and ink magically taking shape as words on a page.

When I don’t get time to journal, I get very crabby. I feel off centered and scattered and lost.

Writing has always been my way to navigate my life. Journaling, for me, is like a well-worn path on the road of life that always takes me home. I started writing as a young teen in high school, in my “Dear Diary”. But this process followed me to college, where in the wee hours of the morning when sleep would not come, I had my journal and pen as my confidant.

When I sit down to journal, I usually don’t know what I’m going to write. I just put the pen on the paper and watch it move across the page Sometimes, I might start with one thought, event, problem or dream and by the end be in an entirely different place. Many times over the years, I’ve started a journal session with a question. I learned early on that when questions came swirling into my mind with no answers in sight; I could take it to my journal. Writing down the questions there, I would leave a space and sure enough, the answers would somehow magically appear. I have used this process for many years. Over and over, I’ve watched my problems solved in the pages of my journals.

Most of the time, I just keep my pen to paper writing what comes out until the pen stops. Then I’m done. Sometimes, I put my pen down, take a deep breath and read it all from top to bottom. Sometimes, I read it a few days later. Sometimes, I just close the book with a feeling of clean contentment that you might get from meditation.

What I find – and it always surprises me – is that my question, problem or difficulty has, unbeknown to me been answered, solved or eased.

I grew up figuring that everyone was this way. That everyone could write their way to their right path. That when they were upset, confused or tired, they only had to put pen to paper for awhile to feel calm, centered and rested.

I know now, it’s not true from everyone.

Although, I am such a deep fan of this amazing process, I often feel like a woman on a mission trying to convert everyone to journal writing. Not everyone is open to it or convinced of its value.

Hard as I tried, I haven’t even been able to get my kids to use a journal to help them navigate through the jungles of adolescence into adulthood. I gave them pens, notebooks and encouragement. They tried, maybe to please me, but never filled the journals or asked for new ones.

Once, in a desperate attempt on my part to help my young teenage daughter process her feelings, I suggested we journal together. So, for a while, she would write to me in her journal, leave it by my door and I would write back to her. I hoped after a while, she too, would fall in love with this kind of writing but she did not. She did write many wonderful stories, but not in a journal. My son drew comic book characters in his notebooks, which I loved and encouraged, giving him sketchbooks and colored pencils. But writing in a journal was not for him, either.

I remain the sole scribbler even in my own family. That’s just something I have to accept. For me, writing in my journal is a path to self illumination, spiritual awareness and creative problem solving.

I love writing.

Playing with colored chalk.

2011-02-09T18:46:00.000-08:00

I always loved the scene in Mary Poppins when Bert, Mary and the children jump into the chalk drawings on the sidewalk and emerge into a beautiful countryside. I wondered how Bert was able to draw like that with chalk. The only chalk I knew was used on blackboards by nuns in black habits. One day, I was with my mother in the hardware store. While she was hunting down nuts and bolts, I was sitting, staring with fascination at a box of colored chalk. She bought me the box of NuPastels even though all I did with them was open the box and drink in the colors.

Wherever I went, they went with me to different states, high schools, college and eventually to my own apartment and home. Some 30 years later, I started using them to draw. I loved smudging and smushing them with my fingers like a kindergartner with finger paints. I made a few drawings and then, I stopped. I put away my pastels, by color in separate zip lock bags and stored them away. And I put my creativity into clay, copper, screening and paint. I didn't think I missed it.

One day, I interviewed Kitty Wallis, a well-known pastel artist, and mentioned that I used to love drawing with pastels. But I'd never successfully been able to layer paint and pastel, the papers I had just wouldn't take it. She got up, went over to her big drawers of paper and gave me a piece of her famous Wallis Sanded Pastel Paper. She said I could paint the surface and still have enough tooth for lots of layers of pastel colors.
It took me 2 years to get up the nerve to use the beautiful paper Kitty so generously gave me. But Kitty was right. This paper can take it and then some. I had a great time playing with it. It took several layers of acrylic paint. Then I drew and drew and drew with pastels.

Some days the clouds at the top of the drawing got darker and thicker. Other days, I'd start drawing and somehow the sky would be blue and the clouds would be gone. Then they'd reappear and disappear again. Finally to come out light, white and bright. Just like life, right?

Thanks, Kitty for helping me rediscover drawing with chalk. It's just too bad I can't put it on the floor, and like Mary Poppins, jump right in.

Cleansing: What was lost is found.

2011-02-04T15:19:00.000-08:00

“Cleansing,” was the word I heard when I leaned against the big cedar tree the other day. It wasn’t a surprise, because I’ve been cleaning out closets, drawers, cabinets and shelves for the last month. What was surprising was the tone; it had finality to it. A sense of closure. It felt reassuring, like when you’re packing your bags from a long trip for the journey home.

Home. I love my home. But the changes and events of the last 3 years have shaken my sense of home right down to the foundation. Why is it when you’re worried about having a home at all that you take the least care of it? Maybe, when you’re afraid of losing something you love as much as your home, you create distance with clutter and disorganization. Or maybe the fear of not having enough led me to hang onto everything around me like a little kid hangs onto the monkey bars with white knuckles or stashes Halloween candy under the bed.

It’s a new year, now. Life has changed again, this time for the better. Job gains have replaced job losses. We are adjusting to a new routine, a new normal.

One afternoon, I went looking for a crochet hook and next thing I knew I’d cleaned two shelves and rearranged the others. Lately, I’ve found myself cleaning out drawers and cabinets all around the house. I didn’t make a list. Or set it up as a task. It just started happening.

Another day, I opened up the pantry and the next thing I knew I was sorting, re-filing and throwing away recipes. Then, it was my studio shelves, desk and easel. I threw out old work and put out new work. Next, it was the master bathroom, utility room, main bath, kitchen drawers and cupboards and hall closet. In every place and space, there were things to be thrown out, cleaned up, repaired, rearranged and donated.

Questions ran through my mind like a non-stop bullet train: Was I avoiding the studio? Was I afraid of email? Was I running away from writing? Was I covering feelings of self doubt with dusting and scrubbing? Was I becoming my mother?

My train of thoughts sped on while my hands were busy scrubbing, tossing, repairing and discovering. As I worried whether I was lost, I found things I’d forgotten I had.

Boxes and boxes that held jewelry gifts, now empty. A container full of silk paint and tools. A book on writing and publishing, something I’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t done, yet. Old art books. Old car stereo cassette plug-in that my son wanted and I thought was long gone. Grandmother Gallacher’s shortbread recipe. Photos of my 8 year old cat, Terra, as a kitten. Five oil paintings that I’d done years ago and forgotten, literally, came out of the closet and tears came out of my eyes when I saw them again.

Answers were found as well: I am creating freshly washed, open space for new creative ideas. I am re-arranging my life, my priorities, and my thinking. I am finding a new way to enjoy my home, my home life, art, and writing.

Cleansing. Yes. I am cleansing my fear, pain and sadness. I am hearing deep thoughts and feelings that I thought were lost and finding my way back, not only to myself, but to my heart and soul as well. Like a blank canvas, fresh with white gesso, I am beginning again, at home, and moving outward to find my true joy.

Cowl Crazy

2011-01-29T17:45:00.000-08:00

Knitting or crocheting a cowl or infinity scarf is the big new craze. There are patterns in magazines and on the internet. I love to crochet, so I decided to make one myself. I'm crazy about it.

It was fast and fun to crochet. I picked up the 2 balls of yarn at my local JoAnn's craft store on sale, $4 a ball. I just chained long enough to drape, slip stitched to form a circle and started crocheting in the round until I ran out of yarn. Easy.

But here's what I really like...it's soft, snugly and warm and it can be worn three different ways. I can wear it draped as an infinity type scarf.

Drape it over my shoulders like a shawl without the worry that it will slide off.

Double it over to cozy up around my neck when it's really cold.

Three scarves in one with two balls of yarn for only $8! What fun!

Thankful Thursday: Cerulean Blue and Sunshine.

2011-01-27T20:35:00.000-08:00

I'm thankful for many things in my life these days. And especially today...for blue sky and sunshine in Portland...in January. Staring up at the beautiful clear cerulean blue sky, I wondered about the origin of one of my favorite paint colors.

According to Wikipedia, the word cerulean is derived from the Latin word caeruleus, "dark blue, blue or blue-green", which in turn probably derives from caelulum, diminutive of caelum, "heaven, sky". The cerulean pigment color, made of cobalt(II) stannate, was discovered by Andreas Höpfner in 1805, was first called corruleum or coeruleum and sold by George Rowney in England. Now, cerulean is made of cobalt chormate.

The first time I brushed cerulean blue across a wet piece of watercolor paper, it was like magic. I felt like a fairy waving my wand and creating a beautiful, summer day with my paint brush. Take a little cerulean on one edge of your brush, a little cobalt on the other and voila, a sunny summer day.

Start with a brush of cadimium red, wet into wet, on watercolor paper, follow it with a brush of cerulean and you'll get those blue, grey clouds that gather at sunset.

"Don't just do something. Sit there."

2011-01-20T20:25:00.000-08:00

I read this quote in a book this week, "Everyday Sacred" by Sue Bender. In it she tells a story of her husband's sabbatical year in which they traveled around the country and Europe without a plan, project or goal. At the end of the year, Sue observed her intelligent husband had somehow gotten smarter.

What had he done? Nothing.

I've observed this phenomenon working on my children, too.

My daughter, Caitlin, a professional singer and musician, has taken voice lessons since she was 15 years old. One year, she decided to take the summer off. When she went back, her voice teacher was amazed at how much her voice had grown. She was singing even better than before.

What had she done. Nothing.

My son, Kyle, a musician won several competitions in high school and taken lessons at a university since he was 16. When he entered college, he gave it all up. A few months ago at a party, he joined in with some friends on the drums. He picked up the sticks and played right along. They were amazed how well he played after 5 years 'off'.

What had he done. Nothing.

What did Caitlin, Kyle and Sue Bender's husband discover? That stopping, resting, sitting it out for a while isn't bad. It's good. Some times, it works like an invisible wand, magically making us even better than before.

Why, then, do we fight against it so hard? When sitting still is its own reward for our body, mind, spirit and creativity?

I don't know.
I do know this - here is where I can learn a lesson from my dog, Jilly.
She sits. Anytime. Anywhere. She always gets a reward, too.

Maybe that's the secret.

Walk in the Park: Empty Nests.

2011-01-13T21:08:00.000-08:00

Today, the sky is soft, velveteen grey with slivers of light making it through the dense clouds. The path is wet and dotted with little puddles of rain and melted ice from yesterday’s frigid temperatures. But it’s not raining now as Jilly and I walk along the lake. We pass groups of geese gathered to feast on the remaining green grass. There are ducks swimming in the water, mallards and common goldeneyes, quacking away. It was cold, but now, this afternoon, it’s almost ‘balmy’ at 48 degrees. I don’t even need a hat or scarf; it feels so much warmer than yesterday.

But it is still winter.

As we walk along, I admire the bare, black branches of the trees silhouetted against the slate grey sky. There’s no snow or ice or lights or leaves to cover the bare tree branches today. I love seeing their bone structure, all the branches from the largest to the last smallest twig. But there’s something I’ve haven’t really noticed before today.

Bird nests.

There are bird nests perched in the branches up high in the trees. Dark, twig baskets sit nestled between tree trunk and tree limb. Empty.

Some trees have only one nest; others have as many as four, making some trees single family homes and others multi-family apartment complexes. I’m fascinated by the number of them, in so many trees, all around the park. In these twig cribs, babies are born, grow up and fly away, yet the empty nests remain, sheltered in the branches. Then the leaves fall away, revealing the nests, as dark silhouettes against a grey winter sky.

These are big nests and well made. They’ve stood the test of winds and rain and sleet and snow. The crows that live all around the park, even in winter, visit the trees but leave the nests alone. The nests sit empty.

Empty nests. A cultural cliché, I know. But I don’t see them as empty at all. I see openness, opportunity and potential. Waiting.

And as I walk by, so am I. Waiting.

Although I walk through the park, along the lake and by these trees twice a day almost everyday, I’ve never noticed the nests before. Yet, the nests are always there. Waiting for these bare branches to burst with buds, leaves and flowers, for the busy crows to mate, renovate and fill the nests with new life.

Winter reveals the beauty of the bare branches and empty nests waiting to flourish and be filled. Again.

New Years Intentions: Good Idea or Bad?

2011-01-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week about goals, resolutions and intentions for the New Year ahead. First, that gets me spinning back over the old year, evaluating what worked and what didn’t. How I can do better. What I shouldn’t do again. Helpful? Not.

A better idea is to make a list of intentions.

How is that different from goals or resolutions? A resolution is really about doing something different, implying that something in your life is wrong or bad or needs to be changed. Hint: That you are not good enough, just as you are. Ouch.

A goal may set your focus, but it also might set you up for failure especially if you set it up too tightly or unrealistically. You know like all those ads shout out; lose all body fat without ever exercising again, eat nothing but fiber, win millions, become more famous than facebook. I loved Jennifer Louden’s blog on goal setting and how it sets you up for a no good, terrible, very bad year.

Reading Susan Tweit’s blog, Walking Nature Home, I felt the power of her intentions for the New Year. And clearly, having intentions vs. goals are very different. Intentions set a tone or a parameter for your life. Intentions give you some room to breathe, by being more open ended. That creates space for you and your life to develop as the year goes on.

Here are my intentions for this year: to create, trust, open up to new experiences and more quality vs. quantity in my life, a balance of solitude and silence with connections and collaborations that put my heart into my life again allowing playfulness and freedom and, yes, imperfection. I’m going to look at my life as perfectly imperfect.

These intentions can be used in every area of my life. And, for once in my life, it’s not a ‘to do’ list but a ‘be’ list. Good or bad idea? I don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to live it out, one day at a time, and see.

That’s my intention, anyway.
What’s yours?

The Fire of Intention

2011-01-03T21:36:00.000-08:00

The week before New Years, an artist friend was hard at work sculpting a huge altar to set on fire. Patrick Gracewood has been making and burning his work for over 30 years now. His intention is to provide closure to the old year and energy to the new.

The sculptures have taken on many diverse shapes and themes over the years, including griffins, peacocks, wizards and tigers. This year, the sculpture was an altar shape with a large white and green cake made of a tube iced with joint compound behind it was a green and gold stenciled 7th century Buddhist flame symbol for awareness. Patrick said, “It’s a wake up for this year.”

Arriving at his studio on Friday night, the mood was cozy and inviting. But soon, the mood changed as strips of paper were passed out. There were questions to answer: What did you want to let go of from the old year? What did you want to welcome into your life in the new year?

A silence surrounded the room as one by one, adults and children chose colored paper strips and wrote out messages, wishes and prayers. Then, each person pushed them through the holes drilled into the cake sculpture or tucked them into a large fireplace pinecone that was placed on top of the altar. A little before midnight, the sculpture was wheeled out the door of Patrick’s studio and onto the concrete patio/pathway.

Talking and laughing, we all followed from the warm lit room into the dark, cold night. Somehow, it seemed fitting, leaving the light of the old and known year and stepping into the dark of the unknown new year. Everyone waited excited and anxious to see the first sparks fly from the fireworks. There was a 10 second countdown to midnight. Cheers went up. Hands clapped.

And then, it grew quiet as we all stood, huddling closer to the warmth and light of the sculpture fire. Pieces fell into the flames creating dancing lights of orange, yellow, red and blue. Other pieces crumbled into black piles of ash. The bright pieces of paper with messages from the past and wishes for the future had become like smoke signals spiraling up into the night sky.

The excitement of the fire gave way to silence and in the end a deep sense of peace. As the flames died down, the guests left slowly, shaking hands, giving hugs, blessings and wishes for the New Year to new and old friends. I can’t think of a better intention for the New Year than that.

Simple Pleasures. Simple Gifts.

2010-12-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

Finding the magic, fun, laughter and joy in this holiday season, that’s what I really wanted for Christmas. Simple gifts can get a bit complicated with all the demands and distractions on and off the internet.

Earlier this month, I was part of a teleclass from best selling author, Jennifer Louden where the focus was on setting COE’s for your holiday. What are COE’s? Conditions of Enoughness is a tool created by Jennifer Louden to help put a few boundaries around your life.

How do I do that? Jennifer has 4 steps:
1. Name what is enough in simple facts. What you will actually do in a measurable doable fact.
2. Include a time element. By when, how long, etc.
3. Ensure they’re dependent only on you on a normal day.
4. Declare you’re satisfied when your conditions are met.
(Even if you don’t feel satisfied, that it’s enough, it is.)

So how do I create magic and joy using these steps?
Here’s my attempt:
1. Make a ‘fun’ list that includes joyful connections.
2. Take at least one day a week to do one ‘fun’ thing.
3. Be open to magic by being spontaneous in and around my normal life.
4. Put my list away and let light, life, magic and joy dance in and around me. The more spontaneous I am, the more I declare I’m satisfied.

Here’s a few of my fun, magical, loving things:
Walking through zoolights with my sweetie.

Tasting new seasonal ales at the holiday brew fest.

Lunch with my dear friends.
Bake my shortbread, cherry cake and other goodies.

Decorating the house for the holidays.

Making a warm, easy meal to enjoy after a hectic day.

Dressing up in the beautiful textures of the holidays.
(This is my child wanting a little velvet and prettiness)
Writing my thoughts, reading blogs I love.

Notice anything missing?

Trolling the internet, facebook and email is not on the list. I’ve seen a number of people taking digital sabbaticals lately. In fact, Jennifer Louden is on one now until the New Year. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to try to go off the internet cold turkey, yet. But I’ve decided to limit my time to blogs I love and blogging, checking my email every other day, and taking the holiday ‘days’ off from being online.

So far, this simple list of simple pleasures has brought me fun, magic and loving connections. And that’s what I really wanted for ‘Christmas’ this year!

The Christmas Sock Mystery.

2010-12-25T15:39:00.000-08:00

Today, as my husband and I were getting ready for the day, I walked back into the closet and there on the floor was a sock I’d lost years ago. It was lying just inside the closet door on the floor. Odd. Because I’d just been in the closet dressing and it wasn’t there. My husband had dressed in there, too and it wasn’t there. But just as we were both ready to leave and I’d gone into the closet one last time, there it was on the floor.

“What the heck?” I said to my husband. “Did you see that?” He came over and looked down, then shook his head. “Nope.” He hadn’t seen it in there until I pointed it out to him. “Where did that come from, I lost it years ago.”
I looked up toward the ceiling, the top shelf, the rest of the shelves, then down to the sock on the floor. Nothing was out of place, nothing else had moved from the shelves. A few months back, I’d cleaned and organized closet shelves. I didn’t find any stray socks, then.

This sock isn’t just an ordinary sock, it’s special. It’s a Christmas sock. Not a stocking, a sock. I remember vividly when I bought them. It was about 4 years ago on Christmas Eve. We had little family tradition that on Christmas Eve, we would spend the afternoon downtown, seeing the big Christmas tree all lit up, drinking a special eggnog latte, going around to the downtown shops taking in the window displays and maybe buying a few small last minute gifts.

One year, to the delight of my, then, small children, I bought a package of Christmas crackers for them to pop at Christmas Day dinner. This particular year, I was looking for a few pairs of bright, warm socks to put into my daughter’s stocking. I lucked out and found these wonderful red and black wool socks at The Gap. They were on sale, so I bought a few pairs for both of us. We both loved them and wore them a lot. So, I went back the next year to buy more socks for our stockings only to find out they didn’t sell them anymore. We were both disappointed.

But my daughter and I still had a pair or two from the last year. And then, I lost the mate to this red, black and white snowflake pair. I remember, because I loved the socks so much that I put the one sock on my closet shelf hoping that I’d find the mate someday soon. Years went by and I never found it. So finally, last year, I got rid of the single sock.

Now, this year, its mate showed up on my closet floor. There it was, lying by the doorway on December 21st, just 3 days before Christmas Eve. I’d already gotten my daughter and I a pair of new socks for our stockings. I wasn’t planning on a trip downtown this year. Our children were grown up now and they grew out of our Christmas Eve field trip tradition quite a few years ago. I’d also finished all my Christmas shopping.

Why now? Why did I find the Christmas sock on my closet floor? When I’d lost it years ago?

I must admit, I called out loud to the spirits of the house, “Ok, having a little fun with me? Am I going to find the other one, now?” Or, I asked myself quietly later, is it a message? Or just a way to remind me of our old tradition of Christmas Eve shopping? Or is it just the way life is…the minute you think something you love is lost, you find it. And in the most unexpected places?

As I write this, I sit looking at this old, red and black wool sock and I see it in a new light. It is a Christmas sock. And it’s empty. Perhaps, it’s here waiting, like we all are, to be filled on Christmas Day with joy. I know one thing for sure, I still love that old wool sock, red and black with its white snowflake, still warm and cozy after all these years.

Maybe the biggest lesson is the most obvious:
Whatever is lost, can be found. Again.

But maybe the key to finding it is in being able to finally let it go.

This Christmas may you and yours find all the mystery and magic of the season to enjoy.

Gifts of courage, hope, faith, spirit, love and joy.

2010-12-22T20:51:00.000-08:00

In the last 2 to 3 years, my life has been full of challenges. Some good and some bad. But when the bad challenges threatened to drown me in muck, some very good people pulled me up and out. What a gift they gave me.

During this special time of year, I wanted to give something back to them. Of course, I’m there for them like they were there for me. But I wanted, somehow to let them know just how much their support meant to me in my time of need.

I could only think of giving them something I love, to reflect theirs.

I love metal. I love leaves. I love words.

So I made them each a metal leaf inscribed with a word that described the support I felt from them. Words like love, faith, hope, spirit, courage and joy.

Here’s a picture of one of the leaves that went to my darling daughter. It has the word, joy, etched into the copper. Her presence in my life is a continuing source of joy and during the last few years, she found special ways to bring joy into my life when I needed it most.

Some of these people I didn’t even know a few years ago, much less know well enough to share difficult times. But they were there for me. Especially at this time of year, I wanted them all to know what a gift they gave to me. Knowing I was not alone, gave me the gift of courage, hope, spirit, faith, love and, yes, even joy.

Fill up.

2010-12-16T18:22:00.000-08:00

This is the rock that I picked out of a box at the end of a writer’s retreat recently. The small purple grey rock had a message for me, “Fill up.”

It’s a nice, positive, abundant message, right?

Then, why did I want to drop the rock and run?

All of a sudden, I felt overwhelmed. Pressured. The last thing I wanted or needed was a message to ‘fill up’ my already overflowing life. I know that sounds bad. Doesn’t everyone want a life overflowing?

That depends on what it’s overflowing with…abundance, love, health and creativity or job loss, fear, and no health insurance? For the past several years, it’s been a constant race to fill up my life with as much business as I could, as fast as I could, so I could help fill up the cupboards at home with as much security as I could. My creativity was pushed to the limits to produce, to sell, to show, to do, do, do and do some more.

The power of the universe is an awesome and wonderful force that never ceases to amaze me. Because just when the flood of busy-ness was about to drown me, life changed for the better and the pressure was off.

So the last thing I wanted that day at the retreat was to get a message to 'fill up' when what I really wanted was to let go, empty my bucket and lighten my load.

I looked around me another interpretation of that message. One woman felt it meant that I could fill up with more, that I was capable of handling a multitude of things. I nodded. I know I can multi-task with the best of them. But I’ve always seen life as one step at a time, one project at a time, one type of creative work at a time and that doing too many things at once was a recipe for disaster. And I didn’t have flood insurance.

After years of having people all around me, all day eating, sleeping, playing video games, watching TV, on the internet; I was alone. Alone to create, write, sing out loud or lay down on the floor with no one to see or stop me. So what did I do? My first reaction to the new was to do more of the old. I got busy. I cleaned and organized. I threw out the old and worn out. I made lists, shopped and restocked.

Then at the retreat and I reached into the box for a rock and got a message I didn’t want. But just like the Rolling Stones lyrics, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need."

I did. After the retreat, I retreated. In my studio, my writing room, my creative cave, I sat day after day in silence.

“Fill up.”

Solitude. Silence. Empty space. This is what I needed to ‘fill up’ on. I needed to be alone and meet myself again. I needed silence to hear my own thoughts and feelings. I needed to fill up with empty space in which to explore, rediscover and create room in my own heart for more love, new ideas and creations.

At times, I felt lost in the space. Adrift in the sea of unstructured time and my fear wanted to organize it, push it and produce. I've fought against my fear to fill up with busy-ness and instead listened to my soul ask me to fill up, instead, with openness and silence and solitude.

This holiday season, I want to 'fill up' in new ways. I want to enjoy the season and welcome the abundance that's part of the celebration. But I want to remember to 'fill up' with heart, laughter and creativity and openness, to leave room to let the silence of the season 'fill up' my soul, too.

Questions are her life's work - An Interview with Jennifer Louden.

2010-12-06T21:55:00.000-08:00

Best selling author and The Comfort Queen,Jennifer Louden, talks about success, digital stress and answers to her life questions.

It was a series of endings that started Jennifer Louden on the path as a best-selling author, spokesperson, workshop and retreat leader. Her boyfriend broke up with her and his friend wrecked her car. Her dog bit her. She was on crutches recovering from a skiing accident, moving from a house to a very small apartment, and trying to finish a screenplay. Her agent was getting disinterested and she was suffering from a huge case of writer’s block.

“And I couldn’t write. I was rewriting the same two pages of this screenplay over and over again,” said Jennifer.

If anyone needed comfort at that moment it was Jennifer, “Inside this voice was saying, Honey, you just need to take some time off. You need to take care of yourself. You need to maybe go work in a bookstore for a while, or you’re interested in some gardening. It’ll be ok. And I said, Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll listen to all that when I sell the screenplay.”

But instead of finishing her play, she was helping and comforting another writer.

Jennifer said, “I was very jealous of a friend. I had taken care of her, given her advice, a space to work. She got a better agent than I did and she was just off and running. Here, I was drying up. And, so, I called to tell her I was going to quit writing for a month. But really when I said it, I meant I was going to give up. And that was when the title for my first book, popped into my head as clearly as a voice said to me, The Woman’s Comfort Book.”

At first, giving up her writing and creative life, felt like a huge relief. But the book title kept coming back to her, like a call that wouldn’t go away. Jennifer asked herself, “I wonder what did it mean to comfort myself? And then I began to think about writing a book and that book was very successful and launched everything else.”

Jennifer wrote a series of best-selling books starting in 1992 with The Woman’s Comfort Book, The Couple’s Comfort Book, The Pregnant Women’s Comfort Book, and Comfort Secrets for Busy Women, followed by The Woman’s Retreat Book, The Life Organizer Book and companion CD. Even though she’d published successful books, Jennifer still had problems seeing herself as a real writer. That inner critic was saying to her, “Well yes, you wrote a book and it sold hundreds of thousands of copies, but it’s a ‘self help’ book. It’s not a ‘real’ book. It’s not literature.”

Every book was a ‘self-help’ book for Jennifer. By looking for the answers to questions in her own life; Jennifer helped herself and many other people, too.

“I think that’s why so many of us write anything or create anything because we have a question. And somehow we are directed or constructed, or both, in a way that we don’t just do it for ourselves, said Jennifer.” “There’s something about the conversation that is huge for me. That’s what I love about the internet, and my blog, creating products and doing teleconferences, retreat calls or both, there’s feedback back and forth. And that sparks more learning and questions for me and then I get interested in answering questions for other people, too. But it’s got to be that sweet spot between the two.”

Life, according to Jennifer, is a question of balance and asking yourself, “Am I present enough to know what I want and what is needed in the moment?”
Add the internet to the demands of ordinary life and many moments can get eaten up with what Jennifer likes to call ‘shadow comforts’, “Email for me is the big time suck. I was given a writing retreat by the Fetzer institute in April and my intention for that was to be unplugged.” This made such a difference in her life, she decided to use her own tool, ‘Conditions of Enoughness’ to take a digital sabbatical in August.

“The sabbatical did bring me a huge gift, said Jennifer. “I’ve had a question for years now about what I want to do next and it really made me realize how much I want to be an active part of helping save the world. I think we’re on the edge of disaster and we don’t have a lot of time left. And I don’t think I could’ve done it if I was checking email every hour.”

Jennifer uses a computer program called, ‘Anti-social’ that prevents her from checking email, twitter, facebook or other sites for a set amount of time each day. But although she admits that comments filled with bragging, competition and comparisons can make a bad day worse, sometimes she realizes that it’s not always the sites themselves.

Jennifer said, “I can go on twitter on a bad day and feel horrible about myself. And I can go on twitter on a good day and feel like I’m at the spiritual water cooler. So I go on with limits. Am I feeling good enough to do this? Can I make a contribution or am I going on there to give the mean voices some ammunition? Then I’m not going on.”

What are your Conditions of Enoughness for the internet? According to Jennifer, that’s a question you have to answer for yourself, with many more questions.

“Why are you on there? What’s your intention, asks Jennifer, is your intention to run away from your marriage? Your creative work? Dysfunction in your kids? From the fact that you didn’t exercise today? Or is it, wow, I’d just really like 20 minutes to check in and look at what your friends are doing? Or is your intention to build your business? And are the other live people in your life getting enough from you?”

Jennifer knows that she’s not alone in these questions and now she wants to explore answers in a different way, taking the personal to the global level. After 10 years, she’s saying good bye to the Comfort Queen website, the place that’s sold her books, retreats and workshops. She is designing a new website and blog. Is this a bold move for Jennifer? Her way of changing the world or just her world? Or a little of both, perhaps?

Jennifer answers, “I’ve listened to the mean voice that said, ‘You got lucky with the success of your books, so you need to keep doing the same thing over and over again because you’re not going have anything else.’ And I’m at the point where I don’t want to believe the mean voices anymore and if they’re right, I’d rather go open a cheese store. I’m a person who likes to learn. And I think of the one thing that defines me, it’s learning and changing. So I have to keep doing it or what’s the point of being here. I’ve got to create.”

Jennifer’s not sure exactly what this creation will be yet. Even though she feels strongly about taking time off from the internet, this project will require internet involvement using her blog. Again, Jennifer starts this new project with more questions.

“How do you do enough of your passion that you make a living and savor the world and save the world? And what’s the sweet spot between the three? Because that’s my question, I need to work. I need to make a living,” Jennifer said.

Jennifer Louden has been making a very good living since the beginning. First it was traditionally with publishing advances, book sales and international rights, workshops, retreats and speaking engagements, but with the boom of the internet, Jennifer has creatively diversified her work and products. In 2000, she launched her Comfort Queen website expanded with virtual events, tele-classes, comfort café memberships and digital products. Now her income is made in a wider range of diverse products instead of the larger chunks from her book publishing past. Does this cause her to feel her life is too complex, that she’s stretched too thin? Maybe.

“One of my fantasies is that my life would be a little simpler, Jennifer said. “I don’t know if that’s a possibility so I live that question, sometimes I do feel a little spread thin. And the truth is, I don’t like to do just one thing. I like to do several things at one time.”

Jennifer feels doing the same thing over and over is like answering the same question over and over. And to some degree she feels she’s been doing that with Comfort Queen.com and she needs to explore new questions. How does Jennifer see this new work and life coming together? Right now, she’s not sure. Jennifer has been successful in the ‘self help’ field for decades, but she still has her share of fears and fantasies about future projects.

Said Jennifer, “I may wake up in the middle of the night petrified, but right now it feels great. And I’ll start to have fantasies that I won’t contribute. I won’t get to create. Nobody will listen to me. I’ll be poor.”

Has Jennifer finally learned to comfort herself writing successful self help books? Or not? “It has been an ongoing exploration of….what does it really mean to take care of myself. And I think that’ll be a question I’m living my whole life. I think that’s part of the role of a creative person is to be able to live in the question. I love questions, but I want answers.”

Jennifer Louden has made asking questions and seeking answers for her own life, her life’s work. Whether she’ll find all the answers and learn to savor and save the world is yet, another question. But she has to try, even if it means she has to open that cheese store after all.

“The key is loving the questions, said Jennifer. “Loving the fact that there are so many questions in life. How can we be in that place of curiosity?”

If you'd like to hear Jen talk about her life, listen to the podcast interview on Voices of Living Creatively website. And visit Jennifer's blog at Comfort Queen

Thankful Tuesday

2010-11-29T21:11:00.000-08:00

(Jilly in the Park)

An ongoing series...Be Thankful Everyday.

On Thanksgiving Day, Jilly, my yellow lab, and I took a walk in the park with a special intention. I wanted to visit some trees in the woods and thank them for the support and energy that's helped through these last two very difficult years. Leaning against one of the large Douglas Firs, sending my thanks I heard the whisper, "Be Thankful Everyday."

Here's my list of Everyday Thanks:

Everyday Thanks...Tuesday: A rainy day, a hot cup of coffee, savoring the soft silence of the pen across the page, writing.

(My hand built mug, a little wonky, but it doesn't leak!)

Everyday Thanks...Monday: Piles of crimson leaves.

Everyday Thanks...Sunday: Making swags at Patty's farmhouse in the country. Smell of fresh cedar. Hot cocoa, sweet treats, chatting and creating among friends and family.

Everyday Thanks...Saturday: The patience of a truly dedicated teacher who sat beside me and helped me out of frustration and into creation.

(Ok, a short, wonky bowl, but I love the horsehair firing)

Being Thankful Everyday

2010-11-26T17:40:00.000-08:00

This may be the day after Thanksgiving, but I don't want to spend all my thanks on just one day. I have so much to be thankful for this year. I want to take the advice whispered to me yesterday and try to be thankful every day for the whole year.

Today's Thanks:
I'm thankful for my family. The love we share and the support we give each other. Managing to do what we love and be who we are and pay our bills. Especially, in the last 2 years, we've pulled together part time work, gigs, classes and studio sales to keep paying our bills despite recession and job lay offs.

Yesterday's Thanks:
I'm thankful for this table covered with good food, fine beers and sharing it with my husband, son, daughter and her fiancee. And a special treat for my sweet Jilly sleeping on her doggy bed in the background.

Now the challenge for me: Be thankful everyday. Can I remember to see the every day moments and small things and stop and be thankful? I don't know, but I'm going to try. I'm starting a journal today. I'll post some of them here,too. I'd love to have you join in...here's what we can do. Put a Be Thankful Everyday post on your blog, let me know here, and I'll put a special link here.

Art works by Mother Nature.

2010-11-23T18:07:00.000-08:00

It snowed last night. This morning, I found my copper patio fountain had been transformed by Mother Nature into an ice sculpture.

The leaves in the park were sculpted too, with layers of ice and soft, white snow.

The chard looks festive with its red stems and green leaves contrasting against the white fluff.

All of these ordinary things become extraordinary art works in the hands of Mother Nature. And, Jilly agrees!

PMM: My daughter, the teacher.

2010-11-20T19:14:00.000-08:00

Caitlin started singing when she was five. Today she's teaching children and adults to sing and play the piano. It all started for her in the backyard, where she belted out 'Part of Your World' from The Little Mermaid movie holding the rain sprinkler head like a microphone. She was so good, the neighbors wanted to know where she got her great voice. She did not get it from me.

In 6th grade, Caitlin had the lead in the school's Gilbert & Sullivan operetta. She started voice lessons at age 15. She auditioned and received a college scholarship in vocal music and graduated with honors and a Bachelor of Music. She's sung in operas, choirs, and toured Europe.

Now she's taking her love of music and passing it on. These are pictures of her with her new students after their first recital of the year. As an mom, I'm proud of my daughter's hard work, dedication and talent. As an artist, I'm proud of the fact that she's passing on her skills and love of her art to others.

I think the best thing we can do as humans is give our best to each other, pass on our talents, shine a light into the dark and help someone else find their way. I'm proud to see Caitlin's light shine the way for herself and others.

A phone to save us from our phones? Really?

2010-11-17T19:45:00.000-08:00

Not.

A better question is: Why do we need to be saved from our phones?

Watch this youtube of the commercial for Windows new phone.

Then ask yourself, how a better phone is any better than the other phones?
Do you really need a 'smart' phone or would it be smarter to turn off the phone entirely.

So you can look up at the clouds, down at the fall leaves, around at the, well, each other? I'm hearing more and more people complain about the burden of the internet, email, twitter. I just finished an interview with Jen Louden who has taken 2 digital sabbaticals this year and is planning another for the holiday season.

Now that's something that really could save us. Stay tuned for the interview and podcast with Jen. Till then, save yourself first and turn your phone off.

Student to artist to teacher to student again.

2010-11-12T17:06:00.000-08:00

Learning is a life long process that circles from learning to doing to teaching and for me, back to learning again. In my last blog I wrote about taking a writing workshop. I'm also taking clay classes. And even though I've taken clay classes, produced clay sculptural work, written professionally and taught classes, I love being a student again.

First lesson learned: I throw clay left handed. I write right handed. Yep. That's why all those years ago in ceramics class, I could never throw a pot, bowl, cup or anything straight. In fact, I was so bad, even the teacher suggested I should stay away from the wheel. Ok, to be fair, my clay had the habit of spinning off my wheel at a high speeds and hitting the wall. But, really, I was trying to do it the right way. Now, I know what was wrong, thanks to Jan, my new teacher who watched me and asked me, "Are you left handed?" "Sometimes," I replied. So, she stopped the wheel, flipped the toggle switch up instead of down and finally it felt right.

Second lesson learned: Potter's wheels turn counter clockwise for right handed people and clockwise for left handed people. Amazing. I never knew there was a choice. And to be fair, I wasn't given a choice. I was to be right handed, period. I've found as an adult, that I do somethings well right handed and somethings well left handed and sometimes I can just use whatever hand is handy.

Third lesson learned: I can throw a bowl. And it isn't horrible, a little wonky maybe, and I needed instruction on some of the steps. But I was able to get it centered and pulled up and pushed out all on my own. Left handed, of course.

Biggest lesson learned: Knowledge is not only powerful but empowering. It's never too late to learn and turn a failure into a success.

Now, I can't wait to learn more about glazes, slips, raku and oxides...oooh what fun!

Walking into Fire: A day for writers.

2010-11-09T20:00:00.000-08:00

(Women who write enjoying some munchies with Patti Digh)

Last weekend, I had the pleasure and opportunity to go to a retreat for writers with best-selling authors, Jen Louden,(The Comfort Queen's Guide to Life and 5 other books) Patti Digh(Life is a Verb and 4 other books) and Susan Piver(Wisdom of a Broken Heart and 4 other books) at Portland's Kennedy School.

Sitting in the old school gym, I wrote and meditated, stretched into my fears, laughed, drank coffee, laughed and wrote some more. I learned how to write with my fear beside me instead of in front of me blocking my way, to use my senses, stay on my own side and keep my hand moving. There was down and dirty talk about how to get that draft done. Then, more exercises to keep the energy and the words moving. Free writing questions and a long sessions of sitting and writing.

Lunch was delicious, but meeting the other participants was even better. Listening to everyone's story was amazing and comforting. There were people there from Oregon, Michigan, North Carolina, San Francisco, Seattle, and beyond, but most important was knowing that no matter where they lived, they wanted to face their fears and write. We may be from different places, but here we found we were not alone.

Thanks to Jen Louden, Patti Digh and Susan Piver, I learned to say, "I write." And most important, "To sit the hell down and write."

I'll be writing more about the 'Comfort Queen', her life and writing in an upcoming interview and podcast with best-selling author, Jen Louden. So, stay tuned.

Studio vs Sunshine

2010-11-04T20:20:00.000-07:00

It's November in Portland, Oregon which typically means drizzle and rain followed by rain and drizzle. Surprise...and now for something completely different...sunshine, blue skies and temperatures in the upper 60's.

I'm working on new work in the studio, have pieces to deliver and classes to organize. It's all good and wonderful work to do.

But...there's SUNSHINE outside! My inner kid is jumping up and down, racing to the window and pointing. Look!

What to do? Well, what would you do?

Right.

Outside I went with Jilly bouncing at my heels. First, I sat drinking in the blue sky, light fluffy clouds and sunshine.

Watch the shapes in the clouds overhead.

Admire the leaf silhouettes on the side of the house. Then, I started tidying up the garden for winter, pruning my roses, camelia, heather and pulling up tomato plants, harvesting beets, catnip and lemon verbena. I still have more to do to put the garden to bed for the winter and in the studio but it will get done. Another day.

Today - is for drinking in the sun in November.
And, oh, playing ball with Jilly. Of course!

Happy Celtic New Year!

2010-11-01T17:29:00.000-07:00

Today, November 1st, is the first day of the Celtic New Year. Samhain(Sow-when) is one of four Celtic Fire Festivals that mark the turning of the seasons. This festival begins at sunset on Halloween, October 31st goes through sunset on November 1st.

Traditionally, it was a time to make contact with ancestors and spirits, make peace and settle disputes, and let go of old ideas. Growing up in the Catholic church, it was called All Saint's Day. Some cultures call it, The Day of the Dead. But it's all one in the same idea. It's a way to acknowledge the past, honor memories of family and friends, and move into the new year.

Celebrating Samhain for me, is a celebration of the bounty and beauty of the season. Enjoying newly ripened pears and apples.

Lighting candles and pumpkins. Putting out my spooky witch banner.

Making ghost cookies.

I also make time to reflect on the past year. Take a look at where I've been and where I hope to go. Sending loving thoughts to my Gram, Dad and Aunt May who loved and helped me. And I try to let go of any sadness and anger the past year has brought me, so I can be open to more love and happiness.

Happy Samhain! May the Celtic New Year bring you much joy and happiness!

A new writing contest and a birthday present.

2010-10-26T12:03:00.000-07:00

Carvings done by Erwin A. Thompson

Fellow blogger and author, Janet Riehl wants to give her 95 year old dad, Erwin A. Thompson, a unique birthday present and you can help.

Janet has come up with an essay contest and an award that's dedicated to her father's birthday. Janet writes, "My birthday present to him is to establish an annual Second Mile Award. The holder of the 2010 award receives a $500 honorarium, a certificate designed by my niece, and publication on Riehlife of the nomination essay. The deadline for nomination essays is November 9, 2010--my father's birthday. He'll join me in reading the essays to determine the holder of the 2010 Second Mile Award."

Picture of Erwin A. Thompson

What is the Second Mile Award? The Second Mile Award honors Elders 75 years and older whose dignity, character, creativity, and connection to community have quietly contributed to the world around them.

If you love to write and have a special Elder in your family, life or neighborhood, this is a chance for you to bring your 'loves' together. You write an essay describing how the Elder person has contributed to you and your community. Then send it to Janet's link. You could win a $500 honorarium. To find out more about how to nominate an Elder, enter your essay, the award, the meaning of the Second Mile, and Jane'ts father's life at Second Mile Award.

I think this is a wonderful birthday present, don't you? If you're a writer, and have a special Elder in your life, I hope you'll join in giving Janet's Dad a very special present this year.

Dribbles and Scribbles

2010-10-20T19:35:00.000-07:00

Sometimes getting back into serious studio work requires serious play. Focus is great but all work and no play, not only makes me dull but my art as well. How do I know when that happens? Good question.

The biggest clue for me is SAS or Studio Avoidance Syndrome. Ok, silly, I know but I've noticed it's a pattern for me. When I push myself and my art to work harder and better and faster, I also find myself getting busy with too much busy work on the computer. That makes me very crabby.

Time for serious play. So, this week, after writing long hand with a pen in my journal, I decided to doodle. I got out this wonderful pastel paper that was given to me a year ago (it's very expensive, so, therefore, precious but I got it for free), and decide to make a mess of it.

I painted all over the paper with washes of acrylic paints in cerulean blue, cobalt blue, warm and cool reds. Then I added drips of pink ink.

After it dried, I got out my old pastels and scribbled. I haven't used any of these pastels in over a decade. I dabbed on light blue clouds. Then I scribbled all over that too. Smooshed over the scribbles and called it done. Fun.

Dribbling and scribbling, it's not great art. And that's the point, really. I finished with hands covered in pastel colors and a smile on my face. Just what I needed...not serious art but some serious fun!

Desire - Delicious and Scary.

2010-10-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

Why is the word, desire, so delicious? Because it's such a sensual word, one that I feel to my very core. It creates visions of little birds hatching, fragrant flowers blossoming, water trickling in a fountain, hearty soup simmering, love shared, words written and said, copper and clay and paint and yarn and wire and beads and chocolate...well, you get the idea.

Desire is something I desire. I just didn't know to use that word until the other day when I read Jen Louden's blog post. Do I allow myself to feel it? Sadly, not very often. Why? Desire is a word that also scares me to my core. After I read Jen's blog and the comments, I saw I'm not alone with my desire of desire and my fear of it, too.

Here's are some quotes from Jen's blog about desire:

Lorin Roche, from The Radiance Sutras:

"When a desire arises in you, let it flow. Sense the sparkle and flash as the desire springs up. Put your whole attention into that flashing energy. Seeing desire in this way brings tranquility and equanimity. As you absorb the energy of the desire, you glow with satisfaction."

Jen wrote, "I do not want to miss out on life because I was afraid to desire. It burns, it hurts, it beckons, it seduces, and most of all, it’s here. Why waste time resisting?"

I commented, "I realize that I keep my ‘desire’ down because it scares me. Even the word, desire, shakes my soul and brings up the mud of guilt. Now, maybe, I can let it in a little, see it for the goodness that it is and can be?"

Molly Gordon shared this quote by Buddhist psychologist, Mark Epstein:

"Desire is a teacher: When we immerse ourselves in it without guilt, shame or clinging, it can show us something special about our own minds that allows us to embrace life fully… If we are out of touch with our desires, we cannot fully be ourselves. In this way of thinking, desire is our vitality, an essential component of our human experience, that which gives us our individuality and at the same time keeps prodding us out of ourselves."

What is desire to you? How does desire feel to you? How can we all move toward our desire, embracing desire without guilt?

I can see already, that just using the word desire, a sparkle of light, a shimmering tingle and a shy smile has started to peek through my serious busy-ness in spite of myself. I even let myself 'play' with paint today. I let myself desire fun and mess instead of perfection. That's not so bad, is it?

The SCRAP Challenge: Making something out of nothing?

2010-10-06T13:59:00.000-07:00

The Result: A Mask!

It was a collection of 'nothing'...yarn, electrical wire, screening, raffia, rope and a steel ring. And the challenge was to make a mask for the SCRAP Incognito Auction and Art Show. SCRAP is the School & Community Reuse Action Project, a place that takes materials donated from schools and individuals in the community, puts it in a warehouse and sells it to be reused.

I accepted the challenge and then, after seeing all the options, I wasn't sure what I'd do. I looked it all over and made my choices: Yarns in sparkly white, feathery black and several shades of blue; red raffia, blue rope, multi-colored speaker wire, a steel ring, and steel wire. At home, I added from my stack of window aluminum window screening that I use in making my masks.

After sculpting and painting the screening into a bird, I got out my crochet hook, crocheted around the steel ring in blue yarn and attached it with some of the electrical wire. I crocheted the 'feathers' out of yarn using a spiral stitch technique, then wired the spiral feathers and attached them to the ring adding raffia and rope and more wire.

I must admit it made me happy to be able to combine so many things I love to do in one mask...sculpting, painting, working with wire and crochet! Maybe that's why I name this mask, The Bluebird of Happiness.

Two boys, a hole to China and a Willow tree.

2010-10-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time there were two little boys digging a hole to China. They dug and dug, day after day, scooping out the earth with their shovels. The hole got deeper and deeper. The hole got so big that one boy could stand in it and just barely see over the top. The boys were proud of their deep hole, but even after all that work, China was nowhere in sight. So one day, the boys just stopped digging. When the rains came, the hole filled up with water making a nice small pool in the yard.

Walking along the street after a huge wind and rain storm, the Mom spotted a Willow branch laying by the sidewalk. She picked it up, carried it home and put it in the hole filled with water. She'd always loved curly Willow trees and wondered if this branch would grow to fill the hole her son and his friend had dug.

Sure enough, the Willow branch sent out shoots and rooted itself in the big hole in the yard and grew. At first, it grew tilted so much to one side that it had to be propped up. But its trunk grew stronger, its roots longer and soon the little Willow branch in the big hole became a big Willow tree in the ground. Sometimes in windy or rainy weather, the smaller curly Willow branches would snap off. But it didn't bother the tree, it just kept growing.

Until one day, the tree was twice as tall as the house and its branches grew to cover the roof, the chimney and the next door neighbors roof as well.

The boy and his friend grew too. Over the years, like the tree, their limbs got longer and they got taller. Growing from little boys digging a hole to China and riding bikes to teenagers driving cars to college graduates. Yet through all those years, the boys remained friends.

And even though the days of digging holes to China were long past, they didn't forget the curly Willow tree. But they could see that the tree was getting too big for the yard, and had to be trimmed.

So one day, they climbed up into the curly Willow tree and cut her branches back. They attached ropes to her branches and sawed through the bark. They guided her branches safely off the roof, away from the chimney and down to the ground. Up and down they climbed into the tree, along the branches and onto ladders and the roof. They talked and laughed and worked, once again, together in the side yard in the sun. The curly Willow was trimmed and out of danger from the seasonal storms. There was much more sunlight streaming into the backyard garden.

The Mom smiled at the boys, who once upon a time dug a hole that maybe never made it to China, but who were now making their way in the world as strong, gentle young men yet, still happy to be working and playing together. And she wondered if there was another Mom out there with two little boys digging a hole to China who might like a curly Willow tree in her backyard because now, she had her own stack of branches.