Sancturary In a Room of One's Own

"Mists", watercolor, VClaff, 2013

For one reason or another, the world hasn't felt like a friendly place of late. 

Journeying through these months of grief, I feel like a raw egg without a shell, 
and not as able to let the unconsiouss and lately downright unkind behavior of 
others slide off me. My studio has been a sanctuary of inspiration and solace, 
I am so grateful to have this room of my own. For those of you new to my blog, 
you may not know that I received a grant to build the studio, and my gratitude 
for this gift is ever deepening. (as always, click on the images to see them better)

"Winter Marsh", watercolor, VClaff 2013

I continue to explore the forest paintings with great enthusiasm, experimenting 

with bleeding techniques, layering and both the square and long rectangle formats. 

Each painting unfolds mysteriously as I watch how the first wash layer dries and 

suggests mists or light or something altogether undefineable, which is fine with me. 

"Mystery", watercolor, VClaff 2013

"Winter Trees", watercolor, VClaff 2013

"Trees - study", watercolor, VClaff 2013

Study, watercolor, VClaff 2013

Study 2, watercolor, VClaff 2013

Study 3, watercolor, VClaff 2013

The image below gives you a sense of the scale of the smaller paintings I begin

the day with, and below that, some of the larger pieces on the pinboard. A full 

sheet of watercolor paper is 22 x 30", and the largest I have made these so far. 

(BTW - the paper in the above images is NOT pink... I think I need to re-shoot these!)

Last week I slowed down my production of larger work as I waited for an order of 

watercolor paper to arrive. I took some time to sit outside and listen to the wind, 

watch the sunlight move around the studio, and dream a bit with the stones. 

Pasha and I sat outside the backdoor, finding a melted spot to enjoy the sunshine. 

Warm days but very cold nights has made the snow melt very slow, but I am beginning 

to see the tops of stones long buried. 

I thought I might try to get one of those "Artist in the Studio" pictures, in case I 

ever need one... I'm wearing my favorite wool hat that a friend gave me in graduate 

school many years ago. It seems to be a standard on studio days, and I'm sure you've 

seen it before. 

Today I ventured out into the forest to dump the ash from the wood stove. 
The snow had melted just enough for Pasha and I to walk a bit, avoiding the deeper 
snow still up to my knees. We were called to sit on logs and listen to the joyous singing of chickadees. Pasha, as usual, clambered up a tree and enteratained me as I sat and listened to wind and birdsong and the roar of the distant river, full with spring melt. 

Sitting listening on a mossy log, I was inspired by the texutres and colors and 
noticed a little owl face looking at me from a tree, do you see it?

Pasha went off exploring, but came to my whistle when I found a very large 
paw print in the snow. I must be a bit rusty with my tracking these days, as I 
can't quite identify this track. Its old and a bit melted, but looks maybe like 
a large cat who had long since passed through. 

Just as we were thinking of moving on, a chickadee came to a branch quite close 

to sing a bit. We stayed and listened as more and more birdsongs filled the forest. 

It may be cold and still quite snowy, but the birds are full of enthusiasm and 

I think they may be letting us know that warmer days are just ahead. 

Water & Stone

Over fields it comes - the sound of rushing water - winding through lichen-covered

trunks, silvery branches and mossy stones. I bend to earth to free tulip shoots from beneath a dense layer of oak leaves, images of spiraling whirlpools, fast moving 

water and smooth, rounded stones dancing in my imagination. 

The water calls to me, to share in spring exuberance. Deep muddy ruts make

the road to the swimming hole almost impassable, and a new log here and there - 

remnants of recent torrential rains. 

Winter ice flows and the spring melt have re-arranged the beach. The wind is calm, 

but the river's rushing dictates the excited mood down here. 

Once the river turns the bend, the banks widen, the water slows and begins a gentle  meander towards the gorge. I am fascinated with what's below and how the light 

moves on the water's surface. 

Wandering the beach, I fill a bag with stones, trying to hum the overtone I 

hear the river singing. Light, water and flow patterns fill me with wonderings. 

Back in the moss garden, patterns marked on stones echo the forces that 

shaped them, before a giant plucked them from the shore and spirited them 

away.....

The forest emerging from winter shares the flow patterns, but not the pace. 

Slow growth and emerald greening is a quiet contrast to the distant rushing river 

sounds. 

Deep in the woodlands, still water collects in pools, and asks me to 

sit and reflect a while. 

I am grateful for winter's generous snow-offering this year, a few piles still 
cling to shady northern spots around the yard. Finally, though, it seems that 
spring has sprung. 

I've been in a mad dash to clear away the leaves, as many of the tulips pierced 

right through them, strangling themselves until I released them from bondage. 

They are a bit dented in places from plowing through on their reach for the light, 

but, I muse, aren't we all? 

Post script: I've listed several sets of "Ancient Whisper Stones" from my river 

journey in my Etsy shop, including the ones shown above. They are packed with 

a bit of forest moss and magic and waiting to bring some spring flow to you or 

your garden.