Day Tripping.

Sun.  Surf.  Waves.

A day trip to the beach today was just perfect.  Hot coffee for the drive up across the mountains and nibbles along the way.  Views of Douglas Fir gave way to craggy, wind swept trees and the sound of the surf.  And the smell of the ocean, ahh, it's the recipe for relaxation.

Walking and walking and walking.

That's one of the things I love most about going to the beach.  Long stretches of sand.  Waves rolling in.  Crisp breezes.  The feeling of endless space and time.  I love to walk and I walk everyday, but walking on the beach with the ocean as my sound track isn't a work out, it's a vacation. 

I guess, sometimes, you just need to get out of town!  Go for a really, really, really long walk on the beach.  And breathe in some new inspirations.

Re-Nesting.

It's seems to be a theme in my life, lately.  The process of nesting signals change on the most basic level throughout the world for animals and humans alike.  It's such a diverse and, yet, shared activity happening constantly that it's become almost invisible to me, and maybe to you, too.  Until recently, I knew there were nests all around me, but I just didn't really notice.

Robins everywhere.  

Late this spring into early summer, nests just seemed to keep appearing. First there was one under my patio cover on the right side.  Mama Robin fixed it all up, sat in it and then, left without laying any eggs.  Next another nest was built under the patio cover on the left side.  This time, Mama Robin stayed and laid eggs and fed chicks and when the chicks flew away, she left.  Yet another time, in a space under the roof near my laundry room window, another Mama Robin made a nest and nurtured her brood until they flew away on their own.  

More nesting.

I didn't see the significance of these nesting events at the time.  It just seemed a happy coincidence to have 3 mamas and 3 nests with babies surrounding my home.  I loved watching the process of mothering and feeding and growth of the little families. I saw the babies fly and leave the nest, never seeing the pattern in my own life or art.  My children left the nest years ago. Or did they?

My daughter graduated college and got married and then, moved to get a master's degree.  In June, she and her husband graduated and moved to California where he's getting a doctorate.  I drove with her from here to California, helped her haul boxes and unpack feelings.  My son graduated college and is working on a master's degree as well as holding down a stressful job and parenting his new baby daughter.  Just last week, he moved as well to his first place as a homeowner.  I drove my car filled with boxes, babysat, bought groceries, made sandwiches and listened while he unloaded as well.  I see, I'm like the Mama Robin, flying back and forth helping my children grow into bigger and better lives.

Re-nesting.

As the robins built their nests and my children moved theirs, I was doing my own version of nesting without realizing it.  For these last 5 months, I've been cleaning out closets all around my house.  I've unpacked and re-packed and cleaned out everything from baby clothes, books and movies to old paintings, fiber art, sculptures and advertising portfolios.  

I've also re-arranged or re-nested my studio, hallway, patio, front entry adding new equipment, wall art, flowers and cushions.  I've added 'baby' shelves to the kitchen and bathroom for my little granddaughter's needs plus portable toy boxes filled with much loved books and toys.  

Just last weekend, I bought a new rug for the great room.  I'm planning to add new chairs, ottomans and a couch soon, replacing the family sectional couch that has been our family nest for 20 years.  My 'babies' have their own nests now.  

And, I guess, it's time for me to move on, too, and find things that fit my life now.  Re-nest!

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.

Back in the Studio Again.

For the past several months, my studio time has taken a backseat to life.  Not that I've been living in the fast lane, but it seems like this summer has flown by and my studio routine has flown out the window right along with it.  I'm not upset about it in the least.  I'm glad. 

Life(and art) is what happens when you're making other plans.

Or, in my case, doing other things.  I've spent the last 5 months taking trips out of town for joyous events in my 'children's' lives.  I've spent many days watching my daughter perform, graduate with a master's and last but not least, be her travel partner on her new life road to L.A.  I've also spent many days watching my granddaughter grow from baby to toddler and helped her learn to walk and talk. 

Studio guilt?  Or fear.

In the past, any change in my studio routine or creative process led to a lot of guilt and fear.  My mind would reel with questions and accusations.  How could I call myself an artist if I wasn't making art, constantly?  How could I have pieces to show and sell, if I wasn't in the studio everyday?  What would happen if I stopped making for any length of time?  Would I never go back to my art?  Would I, (oh no) become a 'hobbyist'?

Fear doesn't create art.  Love does.

And love, also creates life and 'a life'.  And I want it all.  Yes I do.  

And what I've found out by taking time off from the studio is this: work gets done.  Really.  Pieces get made, painted, bisqued, glazed and, yes, miracle of miracles, sold.  Even while I'm on a road trip with my daughter to L.A.  

My art waited for me, patiently.  There on the shelves in my studio were pieces ready to be bisqued again.  There were new pieces ready to be under glazed.  There is a load in the kiln right now, waiting for me to unload it and get it ready for final glazing.  Show labels are made and ready for my next show.  And I know, next week, I'll be back in my studio with my hands in fresh clay again.  

Surprisingly, I'm not feeling either guilt or fear. My life is and always has been about making whether it's making an ad, a family or a new piece of art.  It's not the thing that matters, it's the heart.  And, I truly believe, there is no art(or life) without it. 

A Study in Contrasts.

This last week, I traveled from Portland to Los Angeles.  Flying home with the sun setting into the ocean, I was captivated by the bird's eye view.  The changes in the landscape below me was an ongoing study in contrasts.

All different.  And all the same.  

Buildings, houses, schools and shopping malls began and ended the flight.  In between, were large expanses of green fields growing food.  There were wide rivers, flowing lakes and forests.  Brown mountains stretched for miles and miles looking like sculpted, brushed copper in the setting sun. Then came greener and greener mounds as I flew closer to Portland.  I was struck by the expanse of the world below me that I only get to see in bits and pieces in my daily life.  

Oregonians vs Californians.    

California and Oregon may share the same ocean but that's probably about all.  Our two states are very different in many ways. And while that's fine, it's sometimes really funny.

Freeway driving speeds:

Portland:55

LA: 75

Freeway turn signals mean:

Portland:  "Hi, there!  I'd like to change lanes, please."  

LA:  "Look out! I'm moving over!!"

Going out to dinner:

Portland:  Let's walk to the local pub.

LA: Take two freeways, 1 hour by car, wait 20 minutes for a table.

TGIF:

Portland = Thank God It's Friday

LA = Thank God I'm Fabulous

What can I say?  I'm who I am and they are who they are.  It's not good or bad.  Now it's time for something completely different. And that contrast is what makes the world the wonderfully creative place for all of us.  

Life as an Olympic Sport.

Watching the Summer Olympics, I marvel at the grace, strength and determination of each and every athlete.  Yes, I cheer for the USA.  But I also cheer for the tiny gymnast from China when she makes her vault.  The Australian swimmer who won his first gold.  And the 41-year old woman gymnast at her 7th Olympic Games.  

It's not all about competition.  I see it in each and every face out there.

They started out learning something new.  They grew to love it.  They wanted to do it more and more and more.  And as they did it, they got better and better and better.  They joined groups to learn to be even better from teachers and coaches and others who loved the same thing they did.  They had people who loved and supported what they loved to do.  

Doing what you love is hard work.  And it's doesn't always work out.

They get up and do their work everyday.  Some days are good, some not.  Sometimes they make the jump, sometimes they don't.  They know what they want, how it should feel and when they don't do their best or it doesn't go right, you can see it on their faces.  But even when they're disappointed in their work or themselves, they get up and do it again.

Life and art and the Olympics are the same.  

It's about making and creating.  It's more about completing than competing.  It's about doing what you love everyday whether it works out the way you want it to, or not. 

 

Watch them.  You'll see it.  And maybe, like me, you'll see it in yourself, too.

Curious, isn't it?  I'll never win a gold medal, of course.  But I never in a million years thought  I had anything in common with an Olympic Athlete, did you?  

Happy Thoughts.

As I sit here on the window seat, a cool, sweet breeze flows past me.  The sky is blue.  The clouds are white and fluffy just perfect for seeing faces and animals and daydreaming about the stories of their lives in the sky.  

Do they know it's summer? Are they bored just floating up there?  Do they ever do anything?

As a child, summer was vacation.  Summer was riding my bike through the woods all day.  Skating up and down all the streets in my neighborhood.  Swimming all day in the neighborhood pool.  Going to the store to buy candy.  Summer was reading on my friend's covered patio from the stack of books I collected weekly from the local library.  Learning to embroider from my friend's mother.  Summer was playing ghost in the graveyard after dinner in the dark.  Or playing the Game of Life.  Little did I know that Summers for the rest of my life would never be the same.

Long, lost summer.

It's a slow process from child to adult and summer gets lost along the way with tricycles and stuffed animals and Nancy Drew mystery books.  We all go through it.  We go to work.  We have children.  We watch them play all summer as we fold the laundry and make sandwiches.  I loved watching my children play make believe in the backyard.  I helped them make pirate ships and castles to sail away to their very own wonderlands in the clouds of imagination.

Now, I want mine back.  But is it even possible?

As I sit on the window seat feeling the fresh, sweet breeze I'm curious.  And I wonder, why can't I have my summer back? Why not be a modern day, female Peter Pan?  Travel the world in my imagination where I am captain of my own ship.  Where is Tinkerbell when you need her?

Poof. 

I am captain of my own ship.  Yes, I am.  I walk in the woods everyday in my own neighborhood.  I still read book after book, usually at night.  Instead of embroidery, I throw and paint clay.  And every night, I sit on the window seat and watch the sun go down eagerly awaiting the time when the sky turns Maxfield Parrish blue with rose silhouetting the hills and trees in the distance.   

Think happy thoughts.

My summer isn't lost after all.  I can sit on the window seat and read and sip ice tea and look at the clouds and dream. Maybe what I need to remember is not my childhood summers but Summer's now.  And how easy it really is to just sit and be.

Happy Thoughts.  That's all it takes, doesn't it? And, maybe a little help from Tinkerbell.