February Love Story #3

It’s another week in February and another way to focus on love. 

Welcome to week three of February love stories where I’m focusing on things in my life that make me happy in body, mind, heart and soul. It’s so easy for me to go through my days in a kind of work haze: to do, do, done and more to do. 

While I love to be busy creating with my hands in clay, I don’t want to forget all the connections I make in and around me that bring peace and joy. And places that open my eyes and inspire ideas. 

Life is a walk in the park. 

I know, since 2020, nothing has felt that way. Right? It’s not been an easy three years, but  even on my worst days when fear surrounded me, my park was there. 

Calm waters waiting. Green grass growing. Peaceful reflections. 

Leaves changing. Geese migrating. 

Deer and fawns running through the woods.

Sun, snow or rain. 

No matter what the weather, I walk. Even when water is dripping down off my hood, there is so much beauty around to see. I’ve seen more otters swimming in the lake on rainy days. And geese landing with a slide across the ice. 

Snow covered tree limbs and bridges.  

Heron hanging out and flying closer to the path.

The best of all medicine: Laughter. 

Yes, even during covid, there were little feet running around the park playgrounds. It’s one of the things that lifted my heart and soul. When schools were closed, the park was open and  children were learning. 

Swinging. Sliding. Climbing. 

Exploring the bridges. And playing in the woods.

Natural inspiration. 

Walking is, of course, great exercise. It’s a great workout for my muscles and my heart. But it also strengthens my imagination. And stretches my creativity, loosens my feelings and brings new ideas to the surface that grow into new pieces of art. 

I love my neighborhood park.

   

Shadows and Light

As I look out my windows at the amazing display of fall color, I’m mesmerized today by shadows and light. Right now, the bright sunlight paints a bush brilliant golden yellow on one side and the shadows add deep greens on the other. A bright red maple shines in the sun while the shadow leaves turn from burgundy to deep purple. 

I marvel at the views. And I wonder, what would the world look like with just light and no shadow? Or just shadow and no light?

Life without contrast.

There are many days of gray in the Pacific Northwest. Rain and clouds. Overcast skies. And I love those days as much as today’s sunshine. There’s a softness to the clouds. The leaves on the trees seem to blend on the edges, and yet, still stand beautifully against the sky. 

Looking at the trees in the rain, I see beauty in the softness. Mystery in the shadows. 

Living with too much contrast.  

Thinking back on this last year all I see is contrast. Masks vs no masks. Pro-vaccine and anti-vaxxers. Stay at home, then go back to work. Far right and far left. Lies and truth. 

In the midst of confusion and fear, it seems many want to fight while others flee or hide. While I understand, many times I wish for less contrast, more softness and silence and patience. Perhaps what I need is just what I see out the window today. 

Light alongside shadow. 

Looking out again, the sun has moved and I can’t get a good picture of the contrast outside my window. The bright yellow is now a muted goldenrod and the cadmium red leaves are now a deep burgundy. 

Perhaps, it’s time to stop trying so hard. Time to stop pushing for one way vs another. Let go of right vs wrong. And let the light move like the sun from bright to softness.

Accept that life is about both light and shadow. 

Both are needed.

There’s no need to fight. Or flee.

Just see.   

Change

 

When I look in, out and around me all I see is change. Whether it’s the leaves on the trees, the election, covid case counts or new restrictions, everyday brings new information and adjustments to my daily life. 

I don’t know about you but it’s taken me a few weeks to get used to everything that’s happened around me. The election took its toll on me. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath, worried that somehow things would go sideways. And let’s face it, it’s been a bumpy ride. I might now like it, but sometimes life is like that. 

Deadlines and deliveries. 

In the studio, I’ve had a lot to do. I admit I was surprised to be firing up my kiln twice in one week to meet a deadline. I usually get my work done well in advance. I’m a planner and a list maker which I realize doesn’t fit the artist stereotype. 

But I’ve learned that clay has its own timeframe. Cooler, rainy weather means it takes longer to dry. I have to wait to paint the colors, bisque fire, add glaze and do the final firing. While I’d like to hurry the process and force the clay to dry faster, I’ve learned with porcelain, that leads to cracks, bubbles or blow ups. So I watch it, feel it and work with it knowing I’ll be glad I did. 

This time, I was working with a new clay. I wasn’t really sure how long the drying cycle would take. I would’ve liked to wait a little longer to be sure, but I had a deadline. So I had to change my work routine and timing. 

Time to learn.

In order to glaze the new dove clay ornaments, I had to come up with a way to hang them in my kiln without letting them touch each other or the kiln shelves. I ordered heat resistant wire and bent it to fold in and over my kiln posts so each ornament hung in a separate groove during the firing. I slid each ornament into the groove, turned on the kiln and crossed my fingers. 

I opened the kiln the next day and let out a sigh. It all worked out. The ornaments were glazed on both sides, still hanging from the wires and now with a lovely pearl finish. 

Peace. 

 

I let out a huge sigh of relief that day. And I realize sighs of relief have been flowing out of me for days now. I sighed after the first big storm hit and my new roof and skylights proved strong and safe. I sighed when the election results finally came in. Yes, I sighed when I opened my kiln to see dove ornaments fired and fine.  

Throughout all of these changes surrounding me, I was hopeful, scared, doubtful and finally, relieved. Now, I hope these changes will bring peace and a change to come together, listen, learn and help each other.  

Seeing Faces in the Trees.

As I sit here staring out my window at the cedar trees, I don’t just see green fir boughs. I see faces. Sometimes, there are wise, thoughtful faces and other times smiling, silly faces. I see cute dogs and cats, sometimes bears, foxes and crows, too. (I outlined a few in the photo above. )

Do I see these because I’m an artist? Is it the gift of an active imagination? Or am I crazy?

Believe or not, this ability is called Pareidolia. It’s the ability to see faces in unusual places. Examples of this ability abound all across the globe including, the Shroud of Turin,  the face on Mars from Viking 1 mission, Mother Teresa on a cinnamon bun in Tennessee. 

I am not alone. 

Many people have pareidolia. Carl Sagan wrote that the ability is tied to survival and the need to recognize human faces in difficult conditions. Leonardo de Vinci noted the ability to see a scene in spots on a wall as an artistic ability. Some artists use Pareidolia as a creative device in their work. 

Even psychologists use it in Rorschach tests, asking patients what they see in the indiscriminate ink blots, as a way to test their state of mind. (Here’s my Rorschach test: find the elephant in the photo below. Hint: right lower quadrant)

Does this make me special? No, not really. 

At first, I figured everyone could see it too. And when I pointed it out and they didn’t, I figured they just weren’t looking hard enough. Science bears me out on this, as 65% of us have this ability. 

Has it influenced my art and writing. Most definitely. Many of my early sculptural pieces were all about stories of animals, people and the magic of the natural world that surrounds us all. My fascination with creating masks is influenced by pareidolia. I’d say my functional ceramics are a departure into the normal world but then, I see how the patterns and shapes mimic tree leaves, clouds and, yes, faces are imprinted on some pieces, too. 

As a kid, I thought I was odd because family and friends didn’t see these faces around them.  But I also remember feeling comforted staring up at the clouds or into the trees. I loved sitting in stillness and quiet and peace. 

I still do. It’s my little corner of beauty and I don’t have to go anywhere special to find it. All I have to do is stare out my window. Any day. Any time. 

Listening.

The world hums along all day, all night. But do I really hear it? 

Of course I hear many things around me everyday. We all do. I hear the news on TV or music on Pandora or the latest episode of Netflix. I hear my neighbors hammering, the gardeners mowing, car honking and planes flying overhead. 

What I also hear is the sound of my own thoughts, not silence. Oh, it might be silent around me but what I’m listening to is that critical voice inside my head talking and talking and talking. 

I want to stop hearing and start listening. 

I tried it this morning before I got out of bed, I laid there and listened. Somewhere a dog barked. A bird chirped. Tiny squirrel feet scuttled overhead. There was a buzz somewhere in the room which I’d never heard before and no it was not a bee or a fly. It’s the speaker for the TV which seems to make a high pitched noise even when the TV is not on.  I found out, I can turn it off, when I did, something inside me breathed a sigh of relief.

So many things inside and outside I may hear, but clearly I don’t listen. I don’t take the time to stop and just take it all in. And maybe, that’s ok. Because there’s so much noise in and around us all the time, taking every noise in would be overwhelming. But on the other hand, maybe it’s a matter of choice. 

Tuning out to tune in. 

Obviously, there are things I need to tune out. My TV sound bar is one. The drug commercials on TV. Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, shrub trimmers are not fun sounds but neither is my non-stop mind chatter. It’s time to work on tuning out that voice, too. 

Maybe the best way to tune it out is to tune in. Let the world in by listening. Even though I hear many things all day long, they don’t connect me to the world. Not the living, breathing, organism that is our world.

The chirps. Crinkles. Scuttles. A whoosh of the breeze. Sound is a language all it’s own and this beautiful world is speaking to me and you all the time. 

Now I need to do more than just hear it, I need to be really listening.   

This Week is a Walk in the Park.

Last week was a whirlwind of activity getting ready for my open studio.  I made new work and got two demos ready for visitors.  I cleaned my studio from top to bottom, arranged the shelves neatly while my daughter staged some of my work around my home.  It was a wonderful weekend.  I met wonderful people full of curiosity and great questions about how I do what I do.  And I watched my work find new homes.  

It's hard for me to take it easy without feeling lazy and unproductive.  But after a weekend of meeting and greeting and show and tell, I need a little walk in nature.  

Nature nurtures my spirit.

I walk everyday.  Rain or shine.  And where I live, it rains more than it shines.  But I actually like walking in the rain.  The ripples in the lake.  The drips on the leaves.  The soft sound as the rain lands on the hood of my coat.  I drink it into my body but even more deeply into my soul.

One thing I've noticed again and again.  There aren't many people walking in the park in the rain.  I think that's a shame, because they're really missing so much.  Although, I like having this wonderland all to myself, I want and need to share the wonder.  

Wonders from my walk: Spider webs with bejeweled rain drops, a birch tree figure, the eyes of birch bark close up, a garland of spider webs on the bridge.

  

Moving.

There's been a lot of moving happening in and around my life lately.  My daughter has moved from eastern Washington to southern California.  My son has moved from the city to the suburbs.  Although, I'm physically in the same place on the map, my past and present along with my mind and heart has moved all over the place.  All this illustrates clearly that moving is more that physical or spatial, it's emotional and creative, too.

Moving over mountains.

We all know it doesn't matter whether you're making a move across town or country, it's a lot of physical hard work.  Packing and unpacking.  Lifting and hauling.  This time there was a piano and an organ to move along with the usual beds, dressers, desks, chairs, couch and big screen tv.  Add California or Oregon sunshine and temperatures in the 90's and it's a real work out.  

We all made it and I have to say, it made me realize how important my daily walks and yoga classes are to my overall strength and endurance.  I'd been taking that for granted,  but I'm not anymore! I love my walks and yoga and I love how it makes me feel: strong and healthy.  

A moving experience.

Moving brings up many feelings for me.  It's sad to leave the old, exciting to greet the new and frustrating, tiring, inspiring and, ultimately, a relief.  I've designed homes and lived in rentals along the way and each time, I find a certain satisfaction in creating a new living space in a new place that fits my life and my family.

It's always been hard for me when my 'kids' moved away.  It didn't matter if it was 5 minutes, 20 minutes or 4 hours away, it felt like they were on another planet. I missed hearing them rustle around in the morning.  I missed seeing them come home at night.  I wondered and worried.  I felt a deep space kind of loss. Now they are their own planets spinning in their own orbits with their own share of storms coming their way.  All I can do is listen and help out a little and hope there are no black holes in their path.

New moves.

In my creative life, I've moved around a lot, too. As unpacked my own boxes and cleaned out my closets, one thing became really clear to me: I am and always have been creative.  I was born that way. From writer to artist, words to paint to metal to clay, my media has definitely changed over the years. Removing  the dust from my closets revealed an amazing amount of work I've done over the years that I'd completely forgotten.  

What I'm beginning to see is that some of my new creative moves aren't really that new at all.  They're just different lines or colors or textures layered onto my evolving creative life.  And that, I think is what moving and living is really all about.