IV Infusion

Investigative 

vulnerability. 

That's the infusion that penetrates the cells in my body as I conduct my surrender experiment. I move organically and intuitively from mark to color to splatter to snip to adhesion to completion. 

I generate a rectangular tiny-art painting and then cast about my messy studio for materials with which to create finishing touches. I mount the painting on black paper just barely larger than the painting itself so as to contain the composition by outline. Then, in riffling through a bin of potential collage material, I bump into a gardening calendar page featuring up-close-and-personal, larger-than-life Gerbera daisies.

Bingo!

A frame!

Telegram From the Heart: Sit Out in the Sun
4 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, pencil, ink, and collage
on canvas-textured paper
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 11

Now there were even more threads to gather up and spin onto bobbins.

This idiom, previously unknown to me, charms me as I hear it expressed in a lovely and distinct British accent in the audio recording of a novel set in post-WWI Depression-era London. 

Is that a delicious little sentence or what?

Even more threads to gather up.

And spin onto bobbins.

Yes! Gather up those threads! Spin them onto bobbins! Everything in order! Everything in its place!

I say it aloud more than once as I move through my day—it is such an eminently usable assertion.

…

Have you seen my bobbins anywhere?

Even More Threads to Gather Up
4 x 5.5" postcard, acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 10

I find myself reflecting on the art of correspondence as I engage in the art of creating a postcard this morning, on the sacred and enduring place that written co-respondence with others holds in my life.

Two sentences embedded in Jane McCafferty’s novel One Heart catch my one heart and my notice. I parse them into a smile of a poem.

And I like checking 

the mail each day 

because it turns out 

Gladys is a letter writer. 

She doesn’t write so often, 

but the letters she does write, 

it’s worth the wait, 

if you can read the penmanship.

Clean and Sharp as Pepper
4 x 5.5" postcard, acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 8

Here's my Inauguration Day story. 

We have Dan the Man, a trusty tile guy (same guy who did a bathroom renovation for us), installing tile in our mudroom which directly abuts the kitchen where I usually eat. Because I want to watch/hear inauguration proceedings without tile-installation noise, I set up my lunch on a tray and take it to my study. 

I place the tray on the table there and start to reach for my laptop to get it set for inauguration viewing. The tray slides off whatever I perched it on, and almost everything on the tray slides off the tray, making more cacophony than any tile installation. 

Homemade soup (broccoli, chicken, kale, carrots, olive oil, bone broth, snow peas, and spinach) in a 20-ounce handpainted bowl; half an avocado; a serving of homemade cole slaw on a favorite ceramic plate; a small bowl of dried pumpkin seeds; a 16-ounce glass of water.

Onto a fabric-covered chair, an open heating grate, a pine floor with spaces between boards, and a decorative metal bowl filled with river stones and three votive candles.

Soup bowl loses a big fragment; plate breaks into pieces.

A peaceful transition of power. Go, Joe! Go, Kamala!

No Other World but This One
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

Turn Me Into Song, Sing Me Awake
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 7

It can be, and often is, tremendously difficult for me to get past my own defenses to discover, identify, and fully own what I'm thinking, and then to let go as indicated of either resistance or clinging.

How is it that this difficulty, this resistance, this clinging can still surprise me?

How is it that I can still hide from myself so capably?

I Hear the Children in the Yard
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 6

Coming up empty today—nothing to write.

Let go. 

Let in.

Downy Woodpecker Percusses an Improv Solo
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

 

After Flinging My Coat on a Chair
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 5

I cut snippets from an acrylic skin I created several years ago. The skin consists of free-form scribbles made with fabric paint, dried thoroughly, over which I spread gloss gel medium, also left to dry thoroughly, thereby creating a plastic sheet or 'skin.' 

sample acrylic skins

I cut my snippets without knowing how or if they'll bring cohesion to my starts but, magically, they do. The random bits of scribble offer up something different from what I'd ever think to—or be able to—draw in context, and I can move them around first without having to commit. Win, win.

Though Not the Way You Planned It
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 4

Saturday evening I collapse into several minutes of wholehearted full-bodied therapeutic cathartic tears-streaming laughter in response to the closing scene of Episode 10, Season 1, of Ted Lasso.

Grace on a day otherwise grouchy.

The Most Ancient Language
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

Close Both Eyes to See With the Other
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage
abstract
2021

(Parenthetical Project) 3

This, then.

The unmistakable beat

of beak on bark,

riveting me in place

to search out

the compelling provider of percussion,

my eyes and ears collaborating

in a pas-de-deux

until I locate

the whole world

in a downy woodpecker.

Where the Best Poems Grow
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and collage on paper
abstract
2021

Postcard Art

The word consolation came to my notice recently and found a resting place in me.

Consolation.

Alleviation of misery or distress of mind, mitigation of grief or anxiety; from Old French consolacion: solace, comfort, delight, pleasure.

All of the above! Turning my full focus to developing this 4 x 6" bit of real estate—a lovely rectangle of high caliber card stock—alleviated all that which needed alleviating, replaced all distress of mind with delight and pleasure.

I started this postcard while in a place of angst and melancholy, and I experienced some discord and disappointment at points during the early stages.

However, working small, which might seem to imply fussy or finicky or confined, proved to be heart-opening, expansive, and infinite—consoling beyond measure. A welcome happenstance!

Open to Whatever the Heavens Have on Offer
4 x 6" postcard on card stock;
acrylic, fabric ink, pencil, acrylic skin, print collage, and tissue paper collage
abstract
2020

Can you see the eensy weensy print collage pieces enlarged here?
Even magnified, none of the words may be readable,
 and if you look back at the piece as a whole
(top photo, unmagnified)
you may not even be able to tell that you're looking at typeface,
but those six little snippets of print collage
so delight me!

Learning Style

Although I did well as a student when in school, I had a metacognitive epiphany after I finished my formal education and could step back to think about learning: following my own nose and lived experience are far more engaging to me than following a pre-established curriculum set out by someone else ever was.

So it's no surprise that when I took up painting a few years ago, I just started mucking about, trusting that I'd learn by doing.

Every now and then, though, I wonder what I've retained of the countless in-the-moment lessons that have come from my studio time. What have I come to know about 'how to paint' that is so deeply internalized I don't know I know it even though I put it into practice intuitively?

In any given moment, it feels to me as though I don't know much of anything! I just paint.

And that is fine by me.

A few days ago, however, I had the fun of discovering that I have learned at least one solid lesson that I'm able to consciously put to use. If I don't clean a brush thoroughly, or forget it altogether and let it dry out with paint-loaded bristles, soaking it in Murphy's Oil Soap for 24-48 hours dissolves the paint and returns my brush to good as new …



… which was especially helpful knowledge to have at the ready when I painted An Unrolled Bolt of Raw Feeling and looked down to see that in the process of expressing my raw feelings I had dripped a bunch of white paint on the recently-purchased jeans I was wearing.

They Began to Sing Very Softly
3.5 x 5" postcard; acrylic, oil pastel, and canvas and paper collage on card stock
abstract floral
2019

Welcome to the World

on this april day
sing a song of joy! of birth!
of celebration!

Some of the Hymns Reached into Me
All the Way to the Bone
4 x 5" greeting card; acrylic and collage
abstract
2019

(Forever) New Love

New Love

I am telling my hands

not to blossom into roses

I am telling my feet

not to turn into birds

and fly over rooftops

I am putting a hat on my head

so the flaming meteors

in my hair

will hardly show.

                           Eve Merriam

Flaming Meteors
4x5.5" valentine for my Valentine; acrylic and pastel on paper
abstract
2019

Perspective

I'm captivated lately by shifting perspective, those experiences of suddenly seeing through new eyes, whether spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, and/or—more literally—visually.

Today I start with stuff. Stuff in drawers and baskets, stuff in boxes and folders—a transparent acrylic skin made in October, a painting exercise from 2016, calendar posters from 2014, a black envelope that came in the mail who knows when and bearing who knows what.

Cut a snippet of the acrylic skin, cut the painting exercise, cut the envelope, cut the calendar pages.

Blink.

Through new eyes unrelated stuff becomes two elegant greeting cards, completing a quartet whose other members stepped out together yesterday.

I think [s]he saw art 
where other people
saw nothing,
but that's the nature
of the artist
in the first place,
isn't it?

-Elizabeth George, For the Sake of Elena

Moon Lifts, Sun Drops, Pines Pirouette
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, and watercolor pastel
abstract
2018

Lasso the Flames and Sparks If You Can
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, collage, and watercolor pastel
abstract
2018

On Notice

Noticing.

Noticing how much of every day is given over to reacting.

Noticing how I see experiences as 'good' or 'bad.'

Noticing all the stories I make up.

Noticing how I attach myself to the good, the bad, the stories.

Noticing how tremendous is the challenge to let it all pass through.

---

I did paint a few times while in our log cabin in West Virginia. Today, I took one of those starts and made it into a finish—a bookmark!

Thornton Isn't the Only Place Anymore
1.75 x 6"; acrylic, latex, and collage on watercolor paper,
mounted on card stock
abstract bookmark
2018
[sold]

Beauty Is Only Skin Deep

I love transparent acrylic skins: when I make them, I scribble freely and intuitively, and when I put them to use in a painting—often months later, and usually as a finishing detail—that carefree energy plays out all over again.

I could have scribbled today in real time on my nearly finished painting but I know I would have felt tentative and tight at that point in the process. Instead, I pulled out three pieces of acrylic skin and had the freedom to try them in various positions without having to commit or feel tight or run the risk of "messing up."

When I found a fit that felt right, I glued them in place. Done!

The Swishing Whisper of Brocade
4x6"; acrylic, India ink, collage, oil and waterbased pastels
abstract
2018

Receptivity to Wonder

More resonant thoughts from Lyanda Lynn Haupt's Mozart's Starling:

Receptivity to wonder is not economically productive, marketable, quantifiable. The rewards, also, stand beyond such calculation. But it is in such receptivity that we discover what draws us, and along with it our originality, our creativity, our soulfulness, our gladness, our art. Mozart found inspiration in the presence of a common bird. For us, too, the song of the world so often rises in places we had not thought to look.

I wandered way into wonder, gladness, and complete absorption while adding finishing touches to this patch, embedding little secrets en route.

The Song of the World So Often Rises
in Places We Had Not Thought to Look
5.75 x 6.5"; acrylic, ink, and collage
floral
2018
[sold]

detail

Stu-Art

Today's piece is the child of a parent piece painted last August as I prepared some starts in happy anticipation of attending Takodah family camp where I would spend a bit of time painting each morning.

Parent:


Parent dressed in finery:


First child:


Second child:


Third child:


Fourth child:


Speaking of anticipation, as I did above, twenty-four years ago I had the great honor to be one of the people supporting my sister Lauren while she was in labor before delivering her second son. Those were hours of great anticipation followed by the great excitement of welcoming Stuart to the world.

And, speaking of welcoming new life, as I just did, let me announce the birth of the fifth child of the parent piece I created last August—a bookmark I painted for Stuart for his birthday this year!

Happy birthday, Stuart!

Squinting Into the Darkened Pine-Scented Interior
5x1.75"; acrylic, ink, collage, and pastels on card stock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Birthday Gifts

I set the bar way too high way too soon: When my dad turned 24 in 1950 I gave him the birthday gift of my own birth!

What to give him for his birthday this year on May 13, 2018?

More years than not, we bookmark our shared day with a father-daughter photo.

Bookmark, 1951:

Bookmark, 2018:

This year I'm further bookmarking our joint birthday with a handpainted bookmark. I love picturing my dad's going off to the library, as he often does, to get a new book to read, and then keeping his place in the book with this little bit of love from me.

Captured by Gratitude
5x1.75"; acrylic, ink, collage, and pastels on card stock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Decluttering

I'm pressing pause in the development of my current Core Values patch to tell a side story.

---

Earlier this year, I went through an internal tug-of-war with decisions related to clearing my house of items I no longer need or use, often feeling emotional pangs that were at odds with practical wishes to lighten the load and make space. What to do with the aerial photo of our house that I purchased for Dave 27 years ago, the 1000s of Lego pieces, the archives of a former entrepreneurial business of mine, the delightful lid to the now-broken-and-long-gone sugar bowl that was part of our wedding china?

Concurrent with my decluttering, I happened to be reading the historical novel This Road We Traveled by Jane Kirkpatrick about an extended family that sets out on the Oregon Trail during westward expansion in the United States in the 1800s to travel roughly 2000 miles in covered wagons pulled by oxen. I was particularly attentive to the many decisions this family has to make.

While loading their wagons before departure: What to bring? What to leave behind? Far along the trail, with scarce food and declining strength in both humans and animals, and miles and mountains yet to traverse: What to continue conveying? What to leave beside the trail? Something as small as a Bible, or smaller, might need to be discarded because the cumulative weight of even thimbles and sentimentally-cherished letter openers exceeds the ability to transport.

This story comes to mind again as one of my friends prepares to put her house on the market this summer and move to a smaller home. What might I give her for her birthday that won't feel like one more thing to pack, one more thing that will take up space in her new place?

Two answers:
• the gift of a beach walk and cup of coffee on a sunny blue-skied spring morning in May, and
• two handpainted bookmarks : )

Whistlings, Warblings, Wildness, and Joy
5x1.75"; acrylics, ink, and oil pastel on card stock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Pull at the Quill Pen, Tip the Ink Bottle
5x1.75"; acrylics, ink, and watercolor pastel on card stock
abstract
2018
[gift]