Invoking with Ink and Brush

A golden light glows in the October forest, and my energy - like honey - drips down
to the roots. September left me worn and worried and dreaming of routine and  
normalcy, but finding an ocean of intensity to navigate. My dear Mum went back 
into the hospital in early September for a second cancer related surgery. Being 
already weak from surgery in early June, the second surgery was risky. Her recovery
is slow and her spirits are low and its difficult to be far away, difficult to feel bowled 
over by the autumn color as I usually am. 

I've needed to be quiet, to find strategies to cope with anxiety, startling the 

first few weeks after Mum's surgery when the phone rang. I've needed to sink into 

roots, to invoke stories of guardian spirits and wise women and dreamers in the earth

with my brush. It occurs to me that if a collector who owns one of my minimilast 

landscpaes were to happen by, they might be shocked at the shift in my work. 

But my work has always been a deeply storied invocation to spirit, whether or not 

a gallery or collector sees it as such. Drawing these spirits into being right now is 

something I must do. 

They began showing up in my journal pages a few years ago, coming and going 
with a kind of seasonal flow. Today in the studio I began exploring them with 
a bit more of a commitment. With sepia and yellow ochre ink, pen and brush, 
I spent an afternoon in the root realm. Seeing them here and editing the photos 
helps to see what else is possible. 

Another image in the margins of my journal of late is ferns. I've been obsessively 
decorating the pages with fern patterns, speeding through my word entries to 
get to the drawings. A few days ago I played with fern patterns and bleeding, 
and will continue with this obsession as well. 

Leaves drift quietly to the earth, and a muskiness scents the breeze. On my walk 
to the studio this morning I felt a bit of the heaviness leaving me as the beauty 
of the changing forest moved me.  

My sweet, dependable friend has found a new place to focus these days. He 
spends much of his time staring with such intensity to one spot in the garden. 
One morning I walked outside to greet him, but he did not move an inch as I 
approached. I like that he is so close by, so that when I wander out to the studio
steps and call his name, he's there in a flash to sit with me while I drink my tea. 

Woodland Wander and The Spring of Many Luna Moths

Wandering out of the studio door, I am gently hushed as the stories of the morning 

fall like leaves to the soft forest floor. My traveling companion beckons me to the 

fallen hemlock with a glance and a swish of his feathery tail. 

Closeby, a hermit thrush sings his magnificient song, while the calls of the tree frogs
transport me to another realm. Pasha is content to stroll along the mossy trunk while 
I bend low to greet a fellow wanderer.  

Small bands of travelers duck under sticks and clamber up steep mossy inclines on 

the way to somewhere. 

I munch a few new hemlock needles, the citrusy, tangy taste staying with me for a long while. 

One small mushroom gets my attention... all alone on the edge of a cliff. 

Orange and green is a theme today, so unlikely yet exactly suited for here. 

Thought I'd share a bit of our walk... 

Back in the clearing, the California Poppies are another orange focal point,  

while the tiny geraniums add a touch of pink. 

Further afield at the river, a stone face magically appears to me, 

while the enchantment of the evening is offered by the luna moths.

I send the magic and healing of the forest creatures to my mother, who is recovering from surgery in the hospital. (feel better Mum!) Just at the moment I type this, a luna moth begins to flutter at the screen behind me. I have never had so many luna moths in one season. They gather, three at a time at the front door or careen around the windows in the evenings. I shut off the light in hopes they will wander off to the woodlands, to hide away amongst the green leaves and sweeping hemlock boughs. 

Whirling Water and Tinkling Drops

Its been weeks since Pasha and I have been for a wander in the forest, but today, 

in an afternoon break from relentless rains, we steal away amongst the sparkling 

mosses and dripping branches. We pass the garden, a flattened mass of tall flowers, 

duck under the sweep of hemlock boughs, and enter a glowing world of greens and browns. Pasha leads the way on the well-worn path, his excitement is apparent in 

the bouncing of his gait. I can feel the forest's ancient embrace wrap around me, a 

voice gently whispers that I've been missed. Off to the west, the river's gushing roar 

joins with trickles of the small streams, not a human-made sound can be heard. 

We pause at a small pool just as a gentle breeze shakes drops from 

the branches. Glass wind chime-tinkling sounds and 

  whirling patterns on the water's surface - gifts from 

the forest's unseen pattern-maker. 

I walk now, with an eye to spinning, whirling patterns.

Pasha springs upon the whispering stone, as is his way, 

pausing to scan for creatures. 

At my feet a mound of moss wears horns of white fungi. 

A different assortment of mushrooms has bloomed 

in the forest, I'm amazed by the variety. 

The patterner paints more magic on the surface of a swelling pond. 

Always, as we walk, we find each other's wildness. 

Back in the garden, 

a very wet morning glory gently folds in 

on its starry center. 

By tomorrow, the blue will shift to red 

and the delicate translucency will melt away.