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. 

Songs Without Words/ A Day with the Mosses

A day came when I had things to do... but when I stepped into the garden and 
felt the sparkling sunshine and listened to the high-summer buzz, a deeper need 
sent me to the forest. Drum in hand and small friend by my side, I set out along 
the path. I thought maybe to walk to the whispering stone, or the faery pool, but 
not far into our journey, I bent low and stretched out on a patch of moss amongst 
trees and mountain laurel. Drizzle the day before had set the mosses a-glow and 
nearby in the clearing, a gathering of dragonflies darted this way and that, silvered 
wings flashing by. 

Far off a raven squawked, and all around the rhythmic chirping of crickets

comforted me. I'm not quite sure why cricket songs are so soothing to me - 

the constant hum brings me to a quiet, listening place. 

Lying on the mosses, looking up at the sky, I listened for a long, long time. It is 
so absent of human-made noise here, that one can truly sink into dreaming and

remembering...

After a time, I sat up, gathered my drum and my voice and my deep gratitude for 

this place and sang songs of trees and mosses and dragonflies and wind. Closer now, 

the raven answered and wondered, I'm sure, about this strange woman who sings 

songs with made-up words, more sounds than language... or maybe I am singing 

in that ancient tongue - you know, the one that is spoken of in the old stories, 

from a time when humans and animals shared a language, and knew better how to communicate. Perhaps the raven knows what I am saying, even if I do not. 

When finally it was time to return, I noticed, as I always do, how the quiet 
listening, the drumming and singing and dreaming had shifted me. In 
my expanded awareness, stones and trees and creatures each spoke to me with
their particular forms and gestures. Maybe this is the communication the old 
stories tell of. Perhaps the language is not lost, but it is a language of the senses
that is not spoken, but felt - mumbled to us by the shape and texture of a stone, 
the particular bend in a tree, the flash of light on dragonfly wings. 

Summer in the Studio and Stalking Chipmunks

I wandered around the garden with my camera a bit today, realizing that I 

was speaking to you. So it seemed that I might need to write a post, as 

the many stories of my days are piling up and some are too old to want to tell here. 

Its been a very full month. I can say with confidence that I was more social these 

few weeks than during the years I spent dreaming and manifesting the new 

studio. Gatherings, my dear friend Katja's wedding, the Daughters of the Earth Gathering, and genrally making a point to see friends filled me up while 

the heat, humidity and mold spores flattened me. I even found time to 

work in the studio where I explored the continuing theme of light and branching 

in the forest. I worked with a bit more layering of branching over the atmospheric 

washes and bleeding this time which I especially like in the top drawing. 

Full days in the studio began with writing in my journal, sinking into the space 

and listening to the sounds of the forest. Often I shift into drawing spirals. I 

now have a sketchbook dedicated to them, and recently words have been 

spilling out onto the bottom of the page. 

The words above are:

Listening to the wind today....

So many stories float by in the infinite. 

I am called to presence

watching the dance of tall grasses.  

Here the words are: 

It can't be long, can it be? 

Until hearts are shattered into a million pieces 

and the shining 

can begin. 

( I wonder about the punctuation here, but left it as that is how I wrote it)

I framed two of the drawings and hung them. They are some of the

first things I have committed to hanging on the pristine walls. 

Pasha has figured out how to come in through the bug screens,

and must check in throughout the day on breaks from stalking chipmunks

nearby.  Stalking is an exhausting pursuit, he tells me, and short naps on the 

studio chair are needed to keep going. 

A dear student, Sarah Pollock, sent me a sample of some of the 

ecodyeing she has been continuing with after I introduced her 

to all of you amazing fiber folks out there. She learned so 

much from all of you and especially India Flint, of course, 

who inspired her to no end! Below is her cloth which is 

now hanging in the studio... I know only that that one 

wonderful stripe is a rusty pipe. I think it relates quite well 

to the forest theme here!

With more expansiveness to my days recently, I decided to finally 

re-organize my upstairs, and especially my bedroom. I'm not sure 

how it happend that I hadn't completely settled in there even though 

I moved here in 2003. I found a wonderful old, wicker rocking chair on 

Craigs List - an online listing of all kinds of stuff for sale, trade or sometimes even 

for free! The rocker wasn't free, but it was a very good bargain at 

$40. Better still, I love it and so does Pasha. 

I framed a couple of older forest drawings and hung them, 

Found a table, finished it and now have a nice place at 

the foot of my bed for important things like sticks and stones.

 I think I am close to a decision about wall color - a light ochre...  

 My constant companion has been very relieved that my travels 

of late last only a few days. He very much enjoys when Boo or Kessie come 

to visit him while I'm away, but he would much rather visit outside than 

in. I'm starting to get the message, too, that he isn't always fond 

of the camera pointing at him.  

Lastly, I've been watching the slow transformation of a lovely 

spider web on a downstairs window. I can't help notice the 

relationship to my spiral drawings. The last image is quite 

a magical doorway to travel through, I think....