Walking Inside my Dream

"Mountain", watercolor, 2012

I wonder if there is anything quite as rewarding as feeling oneself deeply aligned 
with the work one does in the world. As the weeks roll gently and swiftly by, the
studio has become more and more a place of sanctuary and inspiration. Three 
groups have now gathered here, the young women, my blessing circle, and last 
weekend my Myth & Symbol class. I am now walking inside the dream of this space
held for so many years, and I am expanding into the possibilities of the work here. 

There are weeks when I am not yet able to spend much time making art, but I know 
this is the fallout from the continued work on promotional materials and web site 
and all that goes in to setting up shop. With the end of school just a few weeks off, 
I will have more time for painting. I catch a few hours here and there, enough to 
keep the cauldron brewing and to feel the stirrings of what might be next. One 
morning, stressed and in a dark mood, I entered the studio and felt myself instantly
lighten with the simple beauty of the space. 

My pinboard is filling up with work, and even with only short moments to give to my 

process, I am getting somewhere new with the distant views. I think growing up in 

a home filled with Chinese and Japanese paintings is important for the work I am 

doing now. I saw something in the way I painted the mountain in the top image in 

this post that reminded me of those paintings. Its a particular way of seeing and 

depicting volume and space with minimal detail. Its something to strive for again, 

I've been more obsessed with tree lines and mists than the distant hills, but this 

painting demands that I pay close attention to the mountains. (the color is really off 

in that image, I need to take work outside to shoot, I'll be back with that 

sometime soon!)

I continued with the book of spirals, inspired by the 

bleedthroughs as much as the spirals.  

The book is now full, but another one will probably start soon. 

Outside, trees that gave themselves to make room for the studio 

call to me to notice their rings and rays.  

I know I've shared this before on this blog, but its worth repeating. Before I had 
this camera, I didn't understand the flower paintins of Georgia O'Keefe the way I 
do now. I've always loved her work, but I never SAW flowers the way she did - 
until now. There is something wonderful in knowing a person's work for many 
years and then one day understanding it on a much deeper level. She must have 
had macro lenses in her eyes... really, she saw such fine detail, astounding. 

 

Living here at RavenWood, I am just as much engaged in the contemporary world 

as everyone else, though choices like heating with wood and living on the edge 

of the wild keep my toes in a faraway world. But there is an unmistakable mystery 

in the forest, and magic is everywhere, if one has eyes to see it. Maybe as O'Keefe 

had her macro lenses, I have lenses to see magic and mystery. One day, shortly 

after I moved here, I saw a stone man looking at me from the moss hill. He 

comes alive when the light is just right, and speaks to me in low whispers that 

tingle in my bones. This is my one hundredth blog post, and also a day when the 

light is perfect to share some magic with you....

The Whole World in Tree Rings

On afternoon walks with Pasha, my pace 

is slow, reverent, my voice, hushed. 

My small friend's enthusiasm is contagious.   

On a cushion of moss, the remains of a mourning dove.

I wonder if it was one of the pair that often 

pecks around in the garden.  

I wonder at the vibrancy of the moss, 

even though we've had months of drought.

We have our places: the places where we always pause.

 The huge split boulder is a favorite. I call it the 

"whispering stone", because when I sit there, I whisper. 

 Its where we first met the barred owl the year we moved here. 

A flash of white in a tree, then she was perched on a 

branch near us - watching. Pasha saw her, too, as he 

rolled on the soft forest floor near the pond. I got up 

to move closer to him, just in case, but knowing he 

was much too big a critter for her. I thought that would 

be the end of our visit with the owl, but she didn't 

mind my movement at all. We sat, all three of us in the 

same, small circle of hemlocks for an hour. Me not 

wanting to lose a moment of encounter, Pasha hanging with 

me because that's what he does, and the owl because this is

her place, I guessed. She jumped around from limb to limb, 

focussed on the ground, and very little on us, until 

the blue jay came and pierced the silence with 

loud warning cries.  

Towering hemlocks hide all kinds of 

creatures, and only if we don't seem threatening, 

do we get a glimpse. Root systems

wrapped around stone ledges - dark 

hiding places everywhere. 

I took a slight detour on my usual path and found my 

drawings in the scars of an old tree. I thought of all the 

things you wrote in response to my drawings - 

time, tree time, finger prints, labyrinths, and suddenly 

you were all with me on my walk... you from Australia, 

England, Wales, Atlanta, South Africa, Canada - the whole 

world in the rings of a tree...

A tree shouting red through branches - 

releasing the fire of summer. 

Back in the clearing, 

only a small bit of wood left to stack. I stacked 

a cord one day and that got me over the hump. 

I'm waiting for a slow moment in my work-life to get

 back to fall tasks. I find comfort in a stocked shed and the 

clinking sound of well seasoned wood. I think 

the squirrels know what I mean.  

Mums dress up the front step, and the nicotiana is 

tall and hanging on until the first frost which the 

grocer said is coming this weekend. 

Our owl friend came to visit the other day, briefly.

I haven't had a good visit with her in years, so 

I was excited when I saw her perched in her spot 

in the dead hemlock. Folks say I should cut that tree 

down, but I know she likes it. 

She stayed until someone made a racket on the road 

with a loud truck. The moment she tucked in her head 

just so, I knew she would fly....