Wildflowers in My Hair

1967. Babysitting. Canoe Brook Parkway, Summit, NJ.

What I don't remember:
• who the family was,
• who the kids were,
• how I knew them, or
• how I landed the babysitting job.


What I do remember:
• modern architecture and furnishings,
• 50¢ per hour,
• a stereo turntable, and
• Judy Collins's Wildflowers record album.

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Six or seven weeks ago, I sat in the Cabot Theater in Beverly, MA, as part of a full-to-capacity audience whose average age was roughly 67 and who may or may not have worn flowers in their hair and smoked a little weed during the "Summer of Love" in '67—all of us gathered fifty years down the road from the Summer of Love on a cold almost-winter night while Judy Collins offered up a transcendent concert that transported us with her timeless voice right back to our youth.

There is a whole lotta magic in this world.

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I dipped into a different then and now today. Picked up another one of the free canvases I acquired over the summer and started noodling with it.

Back in the then of last summer the canvas looked like this:

free canvas #3, as picked up from a neighbor's collection of pass-alongs

Now, I've performed just the littlest bit of black magic (ha ha!) by covering the whole surface with black interior semi-gloss enamel latex house paint and letting myself indulge in free play with various paints, brushes, texture sheets, crayons, and mark-making tools—roughing up this canvas for who knows what next.

Amusingly, the black background, with these colors on it, evokes strong sensory memories of the fabric of a sassy swishy dress I wore in 1967!

free canvas #3
18x24"
work in progress

Moseying into Monday

I've got one eye open, my nose sniffing the air; I'm just starting to stir after my self-crafted hibernation of the past two weeks or so.

Yesterday a post from Nicholas Wilton landed in my inbox. 

I went to delete it because, well, because I was hibernating, ya know? But I noticed the title: HOW TO START AFTER YOU HAVE STOPPED. 

Wilton made mention of having to regain buoyancy and momentum.

Indeed.

I play with a postcard today—tear and cut some collage paper painted awhile back, tear some pieces from a calendar page, get my hands sticky with glue.

Might just curl up and take a nap now.

Into the Great, Wild Dark
4x5"; acrylic, pencil, ink, and collage on stock paper
abstract
2018

Tucking In

Year after year I talk about wanting to hibernate during the cold and dark of winter.

It occurred to me recently that neither the culture at large nor any one individual is going to make space for me to do so. I am the only one who can make that happen.

So I said to myself, Just do it!

Myself has listened: I am going to slow down my pace and dial way back for the next two weeks or so. No painting (did I just put that in writing?!), no blog, no Instagram, limited email, gentle yoga, simplified routines, fewer lists, more follow-my-nose puttering.

I'll see you on the other side!

detail from a snowscape
2015

Placeholder

When our wild-child Bomb Cyclone Winter Storm was forecast last week, I wasted not one second before securing essential supplies—made an immediate beeline to my local library (not the grocery store for this gal). Because do not ever leave me without a stack of books at the ready.

Ever.

Transported my satisfying haul back home and indulged in a favorite followup activity—pulled out my stash of handpainted bookmarks and matched each book with just the right placeholder.

So satisfying.

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Painted a new bookmark today. Actually, to be more precise, I took handpainted collage papers and cast-aside painting studies and collaged a bookmark.

Don't You Cut Your Visit Short on Our Account
1.75x6.5"; acrylic, oil pastel and collage on paper
abstract
2018

Curiouser and Curiouser

Curiosity was the name of the game with this originally-Pepto-Bismol-pink canvas.

What if?

What if?

What if?

I don't know what to think about where I've landed after today's time in my studio. The words of Lewis Carroll's Alice keep coming to mind: "Curiouser and curiouser!"

Here's my current what if—what if I prop this piece in a snow bank, snap a photo in late afternoon January sunshine, entitle it Without Wondering Where the Bottom Will Turn out to Be, and let it be complete in this moment?

Without Wondering Where the Bottom Will Turn out to Be
8x10"; acrylic, latex, ink, and pastels on canvas
abstract
2018

When I Paint, I Come Home to Myself

A patch of winter sunlight coming through the window.

The scritch and friction of an old brush I haven't used for over a year.

Visual surprises on my canvas.

Drips of ink.

The tactile satisfaction of smoothing a piece of collage in place.

The patterns my body traces in space as I move through my studio while painting—an ephemeral companion piece to the one on canvas.

The sanctuary and solitude.

The collaboration of mystery and magic.

free canvas #2
8x10"work in progress

To Unfold Exactly

Deep inside, almost from day one, I've trusted my art to unfold exactly as it will unfold. 

My shallow outside, however, gets a little antsy and doubting at times, wanting to direct and control more than trust. Wanting to hurry things along or achieve a particular result. But for the most part, it is also surprisingly trusting. 

Really, what else can my art do but unfold exactly as it will unfold?

Jane Davies recently wrote about painting studies she'd done, saying: To me, it is important that these "studies" have no pressure on them to BE anything other than the result of a process. If they went directly into the wood stove now, it would be fine; their purpose has been served. I've made them, and I've looked at them.

Those words stopped me in my tracks. I might trust my art to unfold as it will unfold, but I do get attached to outcome.

I would LOVE to experience what Jane describes, to engage wholeheartedly and fully in studies that need be nothing other than the result of a process, to generate pieces that could go directly into a wood stove having served their purpose, with no backward glance from me, no pang of indecision, no grasping. 

My first impulse? Make it happen! do it! set it as a goal! start now! …

Oh.

Yeah.

Trust.

That experience will either unfold in my life or it won't.

Today I painted happily and freely, wonderfully open to intuition and play and experimentation. I was so content in quiet timeless flow in my teeny studio in my little house in the deep cold of winter.

free canvas #2
8x10"
work in progress