Upset > All Set!

I leave off yesterday heading I don't know where, entirely content not knowing. 

Hahaha! Good thing I don't know!  

Yesterday, in mere seconds, I shift from a demanding to-do list to totally happy art-play. 

Today, I sit with pen in hand and, in mere seconds, create a mess totally not to my liking.

Noooooooo!

Lived experience reminds me I've rescued almost every mess I've ever painted myself into, but still I suspect I'll most likely pitch this one and call it a day.

Eventually, though, I think to call on my trusty paper cutter to isolate a found composition, and I set to work with tweaks and tiny touches of magic. Fascinating process, I gotta say!

The Day Was Still Warming Up 4 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, oil pastel, and collage, mounted on card stock abstract 2022

Psalm Sequitur

Look what falls into my lap while poking around a file for something else today:

“I once knew this little girl,” 

Father Barry was saying, 

“who had to do a reading in church. 

She’d memorized the Twenty-third Psalm. 

And she got up, 

all confidence, 

and she began, 

‘The Lord is my shepherd ...’ 

And she was stuck. 

She tried again. 

‘The Lord is my shepherd ...’ 

And she couldn’t remember another thing. 

And so she just looked out 

at the congregation 

and said, 

‘Well, that’s enough for now.’ 

And that, I think, 

is going to have to be the way 

we all approach this ...”

The words of that little excerpt from Jacquelyn Mitchard's A Theory of Relativity turn out to be just the right words for me, right here, right now.

bookmark

Mark Making

The Bible is a collection of religious texts sacred to Christians, Jews, and others. It contains 66 books, one of which is the book of Psalms. 

The book of Psalms contains 150 Psalms, one of which is Psalm 23.

Psalm 23 consists of six verses, the last of which rose to the surface of my mind several days ago in reference to my writing about mondegreens.

Yesterday, words from Psalm 23, line 5—my cup runneth over—came to my attention in a text message from my daughter.

Psalm 23 is thought to have been written some three thousand years ago (three thousand!), in Hebrew, by King David of Israel, though most of what is known of David comes from biblical literature, the historical authenticity of which is uncertain. There is little detail about David that is concrete and undisputed by historians.

But someone felt called to create, to put into form, and to share this sacred song, without knowing if or how making the marks of it would 'make a mark,' so to speak.

And so it is with all of us; we are called to create, called to make marks. 

I Shall Not Want
4.5 x 5.25" postcard; acrylic and ink on paper
abstract floral
2021

Way to Go! (part 2 of a miniseries)

The way the most delicate

beech tree twigs send out little candles

of buds waiting for the sun to ignite them

so they can flame into leaves;

the way a loose strap on the outdoor grill cover

moves in the wind, beating a tattoo 

with the musical industry of a woodpecker;

the way a sparrow answers with its beak

as it furnishes the birdhouse under the eaves

of the garage—hanging art on the walls?—

even though starlings will

soon enact an eviction, 

as they never fail to do;

the way pale gray-white catkins fatten up

furry and sleek, showing off

on the pussywillow beside the back deck;

the way the internal work of winter

materializes out of hiding:

way astonishing!

A Soul in a Physical Vessel That Is Tiny but Strong
5 x 7"; acrylic, ink, pastel, and collage, mounted on mat board
abstract
 2021

The Way

The way one raindrop

acts as an image-disrupter 

of branches reflected in a puddle,

leaving the branches 

just enough time to reassemble

before another raindrop

starts a fresh shimmy;

the way, after months of winter,

birdsong suddenly 

accompanies me

on a predawn walk

in the last darkness of night;

the way the slightest of breezes

sets a desiccated oak leaf

skittering like a mouse

across the path on which I walk;

the way one thing ends

and another glorious thing begins:

astonishments one and all.

They Was a Little Breeze Stirring
4.25 x 5.5" greeting card; acrylic, ink, pastel, and collage
abstract
2021

More Open to the Possibility

Earthworms

    by Lynn Ungar

Imagine. The only thing that
God requires of them
is a persistent, wriggling, moving forward,
passing the earth through
the crinkled tube of their bodies
in a motion less like chewing
than like song.

Everything they encounter
goes through them,
as if sunsets, drug store clerks,
diesel fumes and sidewalks
were to move through our very centers
and emerge subtly different
for having fed us — looser somehow,
more open to the possibility of life.

They say the job of angels
is to sing to God in serried choirs.
Perhaps. But most jobs
aren’t so glamorous.
Mostly the world depends upon
the silent chanting underneath our feet.
To every grain that enters: “Welcome.”
To every parting mote: “Be blessed.”

We Can All Use a Little Illumination
3.5 x 5" postcard; acrylic, ink, collage, and oil pastel on paper
abstract landscape
2021

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (8)

On my nightstand

Think of a ballet dancer
at the barre.
Plié, 
elevé, 
battement tendu.
She is practicing,
because she knows
that there is no difference
between practice and art.
The practice
is
the art.

Dani Shapiro, Still Writing


On my easel

detail with dictionary collage
work in progress, 18 days in, 5/6/20
24 x 48" canvas

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (7)

On my nightstand

Straining to know the whole of the story before you set out 
is a bit like imagining great-grandchildren on a first date. 
But you can start with the smallest detail. 
Give us the gravel scattering along the highway 
as the pickup truck roars past. 
The crumb of food the wife wipes from her husband's beard. 
The ripped bottom of a girl's faded jeans. 
Anchor yourself somewhere—
anywhere—
on the page. 
You are committing, yes—
but the commitment is to this tiny corner. 
One word. 
One image. 
One detail. 
Go ahead. 
Then see what happens.

Dani Shapiro, Still Writing


On my easel

detail
work in progress, 16 days in, 5/4/20
24 x 48" canvas

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (5)

On my nightstand

The walls were still not painted, he saw, 

the floor was still not refinished or sanded, 

and the window had yet to be replaced. 

But where the camp bed had sufficed 

for her to sleep inside her sleeping bag, 

a real and blessedly normal bed stood. 

A floor lamp stood next to it, 

and a box served as a temporary bedside table 

with a clock and a glass of water upon it. 

But the only point was the bed itself, 

and it was large, 

not king-sized 

but more than enough 

for two people to sleep quite comfortably in it. 

Together.

Elizabeth George, A Banquet of Consequences

On my easel

detail
work in progress, 12 days in, 4/30/20
24 x 48" canvas

Reckless Conditions

… the point is
that not only does time fly
and do we die,
but also
that in these reckless conditions
we live at all,
and are vouchsafed,
for the duration 
  of certain inexplicable moments,
to know it.
                               —Annie Dillard,
                          Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

Vouchsafed
3.5 x 5" postcard; acrylic and ink on cardstock
abstract landscape
2019

Steadfast

These homesteaders fought long and hard to get and keep a toehold on this patch of land, fending off wreckers, developers, and other bullheaded, short-sighted demolitionists hell-bent on 'progress' and 'improvement.' With patience and the long view they turned the earth, seeded, reseeded, tended, cultivated, and protected, called to steadfast stewardship, never wavering when it appeared that all might have been lost.

Everything There Seemed to Belong Where It Was
4x6" postcard; acrylic, pastel, and collage on drawing paper,
mounted on card stock
abstract landscape
2019

Portal

Another postcard—second one developed from a section of a larger start painted a year ago June in a cottage on Lake Champlain.

I am slack-jawed in wonder yet again by the mystery of creating a whole world in a plot of real estate that measures no more than four by six inches. I pick up brush, or pencil, or pastel, or collage, and find myself somewhere else entirely, in an expansive realm without boundaries.

Small Acts of Kindness Bond You Over a Lifetime
4x6" postcard; acrylic, ink, oil pastel, and collage on drawing paper, mounted on card stock
abstract landscape
2019

Hiding in Plain Sight

Pulled out an 18x24" start from my June 2018 Lake Champlain vacation—with brisk lakeshore breezes still embedded in it.

Headed for my paper trimmer.

Cut out a 4x6" patch.

Played around with the found composition.

Postcard!

Can you locate the unimproved 24 square inches of real estate in the original larger piece?

18x24" start
June 2018

Forgiveness Could Be Child's Play If You Knew the Ropes
4x6"; acrylic, ink, oil pastel, and collage on drawing paper
abstract postcard
2019

Another Circuit

Another circuit
around the sun. Glad I am
to celebrate you.

Firecrackers & Festivities
4 x 5" greeting card; acrylic
abstract
 2019

In Like a Lion

A week or two ago I put paint on a page in my sketchbook. After a short while, what sat before me was irritatingly ugly.

I cut the page in half. Hoped to extract a pleasing composition.

Nope.

Irritating. Ugly.

I picked it up today. So little lost if I tossed it—a 4x5" patch of paint on paper.

But, really, throw away a start?

Now, a postcard on its way to my dad : )

Tell the Stories that Come Through You One Day at a Time
4 x 5" postcard; acrylic, collage, and pastel on watercolor paper
abstract
2019

And That Is All

As a youngster at Camp Takodah, my nephew Stuart, along with his fellow campers, had to produce a 'meal ticket' to get into the dining hall for Sunday evening dinner. Said ticket took the form of a stamped addressed envelope holding a personally handwritten letter home to parents. One of those sweet letters, delightfully well drafted by Stuart, ended with the words, And that is all I have to say.

Little did he know he was penning what would become a frequently-invoked and highly-valued stock family sentence for ending any kind of missive when one reaches the point, no matter how early in the game, where there is nothing else coming to mind.

And that is all I have to say.

I Can't Change Where I Come From
3.5 x 5" postcard; acrylic, pencil, collage, and pastel on watercolor paper
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

The Holidays

My prayer this afternoon: Let me live every day as a holy day.

Ha! I'm not there yet. Went to take a photo after painting today. Battery dead in my phone. Charged it. Went outside to catch some late afternoon sun for light. My phone had no storage left. Zero. Could not take a single photo. Waited for Dave to come home so I could use his phone. Sun had gone down.

All I could say was, Holy moly.

---

Sometime last week, I took the start that I first posted on November 29 and cut it into quadrants. I continued developing one of those quadrants today, and then played with putting it under a mat and into a frame. Right now it's perched on a dresser and each time I see it, I feel as though I'm looking out a window.

work in progress

Found Friends

I found these gals one by one in December, and then they found each other and became fast friends.

They insisted that I take a photo of them together, even though it was all they could do to come anywhere close to standing still long enough for me to get a shot!

What a dynamite way to begin a new year, eh?—dancing straight in, full of energy and high spirits.




                                                           

                                                                             

Slapstick 12/28/17

In recent weeks I've done some of my most exciting work, and some of my least satisfying.

What d'ya think—the two might go hand in hand, might go with taking more risks?

---

Funny story: I got going with an idea here that seemed doomed to irretrievable ugliness, glued its parts onto a handpainted scrap from my collage box, sandwiched the whole mess between two sheets of plastic with the weight of a few books on top, and wrote the opening two lines above while I waited for the glue to dry so I could assess the damages—sure I was writing about a total fail.

But no.

Complete surprise. I love this piece!

I'm still in shock. I actually achieved the effect I was aiming for but not at all in the way I'd set out to do so.

Golly!

Flight Behavior
4x5"; acrylic, India ink, and pastel on paper
abstract
2017
[gift]