Presence

New each and every time, the way painting a tiny bit of paper real estate permeates me with here and now. 

I am fully in my body.

Courtesy of an overhead fan, breezes cool my bare arms and legs. 

Color dances in front of me. 

The mail truck traces up and down my neighborhood on its stop-and-start route, its engine distinct from all others that travel Prospect Street. 

Sharpie pens and later Krylon Triple Thick Clear Glaze High Gloss Aerosol Spray (I know, I know, my bad for using indoors) fill the air with their signature scents. 

Lightning-speed traffic buzzes on the information highways of my body, connecting hand, eye, brain, arm, paint, water, ink, oil pastel, and a way teensy brush appropriated from the box in which a bottle of essential oil was packaged.

From nothing to something. New each and every time.

Most of My Research Surprises Me
and Kicks My Ass
1.5 x 6" bookmark
ink, watercolor, gouache, and oil pastel
on a Funk & Wagnalls dictionary page
abstract
2022

This Is It

This is it, I think, 
this is it, 
right now, 
the present, 
this empty gas station, here, 
this western wind,
this tang of coffee on the tongue, 
and I am patting the puppy, 
I am watching the mountain.
                         —Annie Dillard,
              Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

This Is It, I Think
3.5 x 5" postcard; acrylic, ink, collage, and pastel on card stock
abstract
2019

Sure Enough

A poem from Ted Kooser's collection, Winter Morning Walks—

December 17

Clear and twenty-four at sunrise.

A cold wind out of the west all night.
Where our row of Norwegian pines
lines the road, there were lots of joined pairs
of needles this morning, blown over the grass
and onto the shoulder, every pair
an elongated V, coated with frost,
and each pointing east-southeast,
where, sure enough, the sun was waiting.

I wish to be still enough to notice joined pairs of Norwegian pine needles blown over grass, present enough to notice that each pair points to where the sun is waiting.

And so I am setting an intention to slow way down. My unfinished paintings and I plan to hibernate for a bit, to step back and see what unfolds.

Then, in the new year, sure enough, we'll stretch our limbs, shake our sleepy heads, and take stock.

naptime

Transposition

About a year ago I posted a rhythmic chant from camp days that periodically comes to mind:

Left foot, left foot,
Left foot, left foot,
Left foot, left foot,
        Right right foot!

As was the case a year ago, the words today transpose themselves, this time to the following:

Bookmark, bookmark,
Bookmark, bookmark,
Bookmark, bookmark,
          Post post card!

I'm feeling feelings today, yielding to many transpositions swirling around me.

Responding to intuition, to what I see in front of me, to what pops into mind.

Pushing Like a Storm Surge into Unexpected Places
4 x 5 "; acrylic, India ink, and transfer letters on drawing paper, mounted on cardstock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Taking Note

For a number of days now, I have been especially thought-full, noticing alternating current in my day-to-day living, noticing the back-and-forth in play between peaceful engaged presence and agitated internal chatter as I created this piece.

In a Hurry has become a visual meditation: a reminder to breathe, a signifier of the space between an in-breath and an out-breath, an invitation to move at a slower pace, a nudge towards mindfulness.

In a Hurry as the Babysitter's Meter Ticks
7x7"; acrylic, latex, India ink, and handpainted collage on canvas paper
abstract
2018