As the last warm days of the year fade away I am happy to announce the work is done on loading up the art from my last show, THESE FOOLISH THINGS. Good work takes time, and not just the creation of the work, but the telling of the story and the website design of sharing it is no simple task. Having spent the summer resting my mind, renewing my creative energy and just enjoying the rhythm of every day, I can feel the rumblings of my next body of work. Until then, please enjoy the show under the ART tab.

“REST IS NOT IDLENESS, AND TO LIE SOMETIMES ON THE GRASS UNDER TREES ON A SUMMER DAY, LISTENING TO THE MURMER OF THE WATER OR WATCHING THE CLOUDS FLOAT ACROSS THE SKY, IS BY NO MEANS A WASTE OF TIME.”

John Lubbock, The USE of Life

This morning I was honored to judge a city wide Youth Art Show at Kerr Arts & Cultural Center in Kerrville , Texas. All schools in the area from K-12.Only the 6 through 12 were awarded ribbons for first , second, third, and there were a handful of honorable mentions.

I saw this show last year and it was so wonderful! Just a joy to be surrounded by art so raw and free. And the skill level and point of view of those who clearly have a calling stood out. Here is an interesting interaction I had as I was placing ribbons for the 12th graders. A woman came in who was a retired grade school art teacher. She was talking with the receptionist in the room that housed the upper grades artwork. There were two great pieces that frankly, I had a very hard time choosing between. If there could have been a tie, this would have been the two. One had exquisite execution – lovely draftsmanship. The other had a marvelous story telling essence, and a unique point of view. I knew the obvious choice for this was the technically masterful one, but I came back again and again to the other one. Why? Because it was handled with a sense of abandon and confidence that drew me to it over and again. I knew there was more to come from this young artist beyond the mastery of technique. That was when I heard the art teacher say, ” You mean that other one won first prize?” Clearly she was not only horrified by my choice, but then said, “Is that a CIGARETTE in his mouth?!” Apparently this disqualified the fine work in her eyes. She simply could not get past this part of the subject matter to see the other truly fine qualities and unique style this young artist brought to his work. I admired his nerve, his studied look at all aspects of the composition and color handling. She could not get past the cigarette. I tried to explain why I felt it had the edge, but she was not convinced and it showed on her face. I’ve had that art teacher before. In fact I had one in high school that used to routinely lock me out of her class. We were like oil and water. She even told me I would never make it as an artist.

It’s so important to remember not to crush a young artists’ spirit when they put themselves out there for all the world to see. The cigarette is nothing. The nerve to use it in his work because he felt strongly it was part of the story is what was important. It was bold and brave and he deserved to be rewarded for the energy it took to tell his story.One that went well beyond technique. That ‘art teacher’ felt it was trash based on her narrow view of subject matter which was a tiny part of the larger work. You know how this is going to end now, right?

    ONE MAN’S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN’S TREASURE.

(FEATURED IMAGE – painting by Grace Ann Alvord 5 years old, my granddaughter !)

Five days till Spring is officially here. Spring cleaning coincides with my return to Nevada from wintering in Texas, and it’s time to clean up and get things in order for the drive back in April, right after my show opening of  THESE FOOLISH THINGS.

There is much to admire in the writings of Henry David Thoureau’ , WALDEN. Of late I have been carrying around a tiny volume of the book and diving in and out of it. I found this entry on a ritual called a BUSK a perfect Spring story of a custom from days past.

 ” The customs of some savage nations might, perchance, be profitably imitated by us, for they at least go through the semblance of casting their slough annually; they have the idea of the thing, whether they have the reality or not. Would it not be well if we were to celebrate such a ‘busk’, or feast of first fruits’, as Bartram describes to have been the custom of the Mucclasse Indians?”

When a town celebrates the busk (says he) , having previously provided themselves with new clothes, new pots, pans and other household utensils and furniture, they collect all their worn-out clothes and other despicable things, sweep and cleanse their houses, squares and the whole town of their filth, which with all the remaining grain and other old provisions they cast together into one common heap, and consume it with fire. After having taken medicine, and fasted for three days, all the fire in the town is extinguished. During this fast they abstain from gratification of every appetite and passion whatever. A general amnesty is proclaimed; all malefactors may return to their town. On the fourth morning, the high priest, by rubbing dry wood together, produces new fire in the public square, from whence every habitation in the town is supplied with the new and pure flame.They then feast on the new corn and fruits, and dance and sing for three days,’and the four following days they receive visits and rejoice with their friends from neighboring towns who have in like manner purified and prepared themselves’.

This made me wonder if this custom was a throw back to our modern day ‘spring cleaning’ ritual – without the fire! I never have to look too far when I look to others who sought knowledge and direction on how to navigate modern life . Few will argue that our lives have for the most part, become unmanageable in many ways. A good cleaning and purging helps, and as usual when one season is over…

 TO END IS TO BEGIN, so let’s busk!

(featured image from Catherine Massaro – Meditations on the Hill Country series)

As I said… I’ve been busy with a new body of work. The opening of the show will be in April and I have a series of teaser posts and blogs coming in the days ahead. So stay posted for THESE FOOLISH THINGS!

Before I started to write this, I had to laugh because of how commonplace New Years blog postings have become. I have no interest in making a list, or boring anyone with future plans or last years regrets. But it was with interest that I read a dear friend’s recent post regarding consolidating his many sites and posts from various platforms, all of which he uses to the benefit and encouragement of  himself and others to lead a healthier lifestyle. He is an inspiration and has inspired others, including myself to greater health. His fight has been longer and harder in some respects, but where I see him now and where he has been to get there, I think we see differently. To me, he has moved on and arrived at his destination. To him, he is still ‘getting there’.

A number of years ago, I started a body of work that became , and still is, a long running commentary on living a creative life, observing life and trying to tell a three-dimensional story in collage form. It was an extreme break from traditional art as I had always done, and remains a mystery to most. Every time I try to go back to traditional art as I have done in the past, it’s like putting on ill fitting clothes. I keep making theses art pieces and they continue to teach me, excite me, and interest me … and I have no interest in defending them. I am just compelled to make them. Recently I had the pleasure of a studio visit by a dean and provost from a local university. To my delight and surprise, they got the work immediatly! Even posing the question as they observed some of the works in progress ; when did I know I was finished with a piece? I love that question, because the answer is so universal to bigger moments in life. The answer of course is, YOU JUST KNOW.

During a time in my life when I needed some heavy medication to carry on after a rough patch in life, I asked my shrink, when will I know to go off this stuff? He simply told me, ” YOU WILL KNOW.” As it turns out I knew and remember the very day even after all these years.

Which leads me back to my friend and my title, MOVING ON. The New Year always seems like a perfect time to start over, fresh, anew. But it’s just another day on the calendar of life to me. I see my friend as already having moved on with giant life accomplishments, but only he knows when his moment to stop and MOVE ON will be. Because , you just know…

” In the end, we all become stories.” Margaret Atwood

Forty one years ago I took a cross-country trip from Buffalo , New York to as far as you could get  in the United States –  Hawaii.

It was not planned, possibly very foolish and most certainly under the category of youthful indiscretion at it’s very best. It was exactly what youth is for and all about. I regret nothing. The right trip at the right time with all the lessons I could squeeze out of it without dying in the process. I think we remember these moments better than trips in later years because there is nothing but new adventure ahead, no previous experience to draw on and more importantly, no expectations. Every day was a gift of wonder. National Parks and Forests, a Volkswagen bus, a geodesic dome,  a 30 foot catamaran and any friend who took us in took the place of a house. Life lessons happened on a daily basis. After a few months the country stopped and the ocean appeared. The mighty Pacific Ocean! I thought I would be thrilled. Awed. But we arrived at sunset and to this day my strongest memory of that long travel to end up at ocean’s edge was – loneliness. I felt small, vulnerable, and oh, so alone. Weird, right? I am still not sure why I was so overcome with that emotion, but I suspect it has to do with the space in between. In only a few short months, I had come to some big conclusions about my young life and made some very big realizations. The vast space in between the east coast and the west, the Atlantic and the Pacific, my searching and my finding, my needs and my wants, my past and my future.

It’s funny how we yearn for youth and avoid old age. What we lose in the physical body we gain in spades in our heads and hearts, and that’s the trade off…and I’m okay with that. Those decades of the learning curve of life were long and winding. Little went as planned and much more came from finally accepting. I want to tell those in their 30’s, 40’s  and 50’s that it gets easier in your head right around the time your body says, “this is wearing me out a bit.” To which I say, it’s supposed to. We are all warriors on the road to a final rest.

I love this photo I chose for the blog header. Here I am, some thirty odd years after my first sad encounter with the Pacific Ocean with a very different outlook on it to be sure. And that’s what happens in the spaces in between – we find some joy and peace on the way.

This is the time of year I start to pack up my Nevada life and drive back to Texas for the winter. In truth, I started packing things up over a month ago – anticipation, you see. We all have things that we look forward to in anticipation. Vacations, grandchildren, children, promotions, holidays, weddings and for some, just the next day. We can look forward in anticipation to both big and small things.

For me it’s a road trip.  

I’m not sure anything  compares to everything that leads up to the excitement and pleasure I derive from planning a road trip. This year the trip has the added twist of a scrapbook documentation of  3 days on the road. I find pleasure in those small things as mentioned previously, like the driving snacks, packing the car just right, organizing the maps by each days progress. We all have our little road trip diversions and my husband has an abnormal fascination with mile markers. I like the roadside oddity. Other travel companions I have had love their music library. Researchers say that talking about your upcoming ‘anticipations’ , be they vacations or weddings or the like, increases your happiness level – so I blog on!

The WELCOME TO signs along the interstates and WELCOME CENTERS are another favorite of mine. You can drive across France, but you are pretty much always in France. I love the uniqueness that driving across the United States affords as you pass from one distinctively different state to another, each welcoming you with open arms and also letting you know when you are leaving. WELCOME! You can live here if you want, or just passing through is alright with us as well, so goodbye – YOU ARE NOW LEAVING…

And yes, I anticipate my time spent in Texas. It’s a time to immerse myself  completely in my art. This year I’m beginning a new body of work and I have even more anticipation regarding what that holds. Ideas and visions for the paintings live in my head for now and occupy mile after mile of the upcoming road trip. I’m never bored when I drive and think I would have made a pretty good truck driver in another life.

What else do the researchers say about ANTICIPATION? They say that anticipating the future delivers more happiness than reflecting on the past.

Given that, even if the road trip holds disasters ahead, or the body of work I envision in my head disappoints, I will have had plenty of excitement and positive expectations built up to offset things that don’t quite come to pass.

” THE COLOR OF SPRINGTIME IS IN THE FLOWERS, THE COLOR OF WINTER IS IN THE IMAGINATION.” Terri Guillemets

Enjoy your winter friends, wherever you are.

Did you know there was a time in our history when the simple act of walking was America’s favorite spectator sport? A man has written a book about this:

Matthew Algeo’s ,” Pedestrianism: When Watching People Walk Was America’s Favorite Sport.”

It all started in 1860, with a challenge between two men resting on Lincoln winning the presidential election. The bet lost, the man had to walk for 6 days  from the State House in Boston to the unfinished Capitol building. Competitive walking events ensued and continued for over two decades!

I happen to love walking. It was my favorite thing about living in New York City. I walked to work every day, from Sullivan Street, through Washington Square up to midtown. It was the best part of my day. It was contemplative, and relatively pedestrian free at that early hour – not so much coming home. But it afforded me a chance to unwind and feel my bodies’ motion in a way that both grounded and lifted me out of my ever racing head.

In his book, “A Philosophy of Walking”, author Frederic Gros, calls this contemplative walking. It’s what you do to clear your head. One can also do walking as a form of meditation. I’ve seen race walkers, and  I must say it wears me out to see that unnatural gate. On this form of walking I must agree with Mr. Gros, who declares, “Walking is not a sport.”

As an artist who loves to walk, my favorite assertion from Gros is this.

” when walking, the body stops being in the landscape: it becomes the landscape.”

What more could a painter ever ask of an activity?

” LET US TAKE OUR HEARTS FOR A WALK IN THE WOODS & LISTEN TO THE MAGIC WHISPERS OF OLD TREES.”

I read this recently and was so moved by how beautifully these words were both chosen and written. How much of our days are spent attending to the most mundane activities that eat away time. I myself, spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about health and health matters. This could be time worse spent, for sure, but then there is the question of balance in one’s life. Attending to our heart and soul. The needs of our heart and mind.

I have the luxury of being in very close proximity to the woods of northern California, where within 45 minutes I am so far removed from the mundane activity of modern life, that I have occasion to enjoy this type of walk in the woods with my heart. It’s not about the exercise, though I am grateful my legs still carry me so, it’s that effort it takes to recognize how much our heart needs to be pampered and constantly healed and nourished by things like, ‘the magic whispers of old trees’ ; trees that have been here so very long before generations of us, and will still be here growing ever bigger after we are long gone. We need their silent whispers in our lives, as well as their old wisdom to put us in our place and humble us, and remind us of  how we choose to spend our days. We can race around believing much of what we do matters, or we can respect the fact that much of what we really have to learn, we learn in silence… and the whispers of old trees.

It’s the end of summer and I can already feel it in the morning air. Mostly I sense it in my head. The change of seasons tends to throw me off my usually steady countenance. Pretending it doesn’t just makes it worse for me as I look for ways to avoid the rocky , unsteady way it makes me feel.

I stared at this lovely, perfect peach for 2 days now waiting for it to hit that point where when I walk past it, the smell becomes  so heady, that I knew today was the day. I will eat this peach today and celebrate the end of the summer season and the coming of the next one. The change of seasons seem to affect me differently than other people, and I’m not sure why. They are like ‘little deaths’. I know that sounds strange and sort of dark, but perhaps that is why I like a climate where it feels like a never ending summer.

Time creeps on us all, and while we wait for the calendar pages to go by, always waiting for the next thing, we should not let those magic moments slip by too fast. Those moments when you can smell the peach in it’s perfect ripeness, and look forward to nothing else for the entire day, wherein you finally get to eat it. In another moment there will be only a pit, and I just might have to shed a tear of joy for how wonderful it was, and then one more for the fact that just like summer…it’s gone.

 WE DO NOT REMEMBER DAYS, WE REMEMBER MOMENTS.