So my winter migration is complete and I have settled back into my Texas home /studio.

When I’m here, I get to reconnect with printmaking, an art form near and dear to my heart. I actually started out as a printmaking major and was 2 years into the program before I started painting. I ended up with a double major, not being able to choose. I must admit, choosing a major was a real botheration to me as I wanted to keep on playing and exploring as many creative processes as I could. I loved photography and ceramics and it seemed limiting at the time to focus on just one, but that’s the way school works. So I chose painting primarily to learn about color as intimately as possible. And it helped with my printmaking, because you need to know how to mix colors and what layers of colors are going to do to understand what will happen on a print. Unlike painting, there is a great deal of thinking ahead and I liked the process and discipline of that thought process. My favorite form of printmaking is the monotype – the most painterly of printmaking types, and that makes sense for me, considering my love of painting. The spontaneity suits me, the painterly feel as well. But unlike a painting, the surprise element when you pull a print off the press ,for better or for worse, it’s never quite exactly what you thought you were going to get. And when it’s better than  what you anticipated, it’s like Christmas morning – both  a wonder and a surprise.

These are the things I most appreciate about making art and it’s a mirror of how I like to live my life. Filled with wonder and surprise. Migrating back and forth like this shakes  up my routines , forces me to be in a different mind set and environment, seeing again with fresh eyes. We need to give ourselves time and space to play and expose ourselves to a place or space where the unpredictable can happen.

” For whatever you’re doing for your creative juices, your geography has a hell of a lot to do with it. “Neil Young

Today was the annual Italian Festival in downtown Reno. There are numerous ethnic festivals throughout the year here, celebrating the Hispanic culture, the Greeks,  and more, but the Italian festival is the last big street fair event of the year before the town rolls up the streets for the long winter ahead. In my 5 years here, the event has always been lucky enough to have had a simply gorgeous Fall day, and today was no exception. Before you even park the car you can smell the garlic and food preparations and hear the music. There is of course a ‘best of ‘ cook-off for sauce, and fresh pesto is being made from one end to the other with giant vats of sauce  bubbling up and down the street,  all competing for the honors.

The smells are nothing short of heaven.

My father was a first generation Italian and the Italian side of my family was how we leaned . It was large and wonderful, teeming with Aunts and Uncles and a small army of cousins. Family mattered when I was growing up  as a child and  nearly every Sunday was spent at Gramma & Grampa’s house. I have nothing but wonderful ,  sweet memories of that part of my youth. Gramma spoke hardly a word of English, though it didn’t matter to her or us. Her goal was to make sure we were fed as often as possible before we left her house in spite of my mother’s protestations of, “Ma, they just ate! ”

There was always room for another bowl of my Gramma’s pasta.

I have only two dear Aunts left now, and all but one of my cousins. Sadly, I hardly ever see any of them, and when I do it’s to hear of yet another passing of these lovely people who made up such a big part of my young life. I’m sad to have grown so distant from my cousins and regret not being in touch as we now grow older.

They say every journey begins from home. I ventured out into the world as a young adult very confident of who I was and where and who I came from. I had a  solid home base as a launching pad in life. I had a culture and a family with a history to relate to. They gave me so much by simply  being there. I’m sorry that so many are gone and I no longer have the opportunity to thank them for that. And if they were here,  I would let them all know, that  family mattered  – very much.

(featured photo , canvas collage – WISH YOU WERE HERE , by Catherine Massaro)

I was watching my favorite channel, The Western Channel, for my back to back late afternoon fix of first Gunsmoke, then Bonanza. My favorite Gunsmoke shows are the ones with Festus Hagan, an erasible, but lovable  hillbilly.

Festus was conversing with a friend who mentioned it was her birthday and asked Festus when his birthday was. Festus said he had no idea, as his family never celebrated such events. He said this.

                               ” You were just borned…and then you just lived.” Festus Hagan

Ah, the wisdom of Festus.

I considered the simplicity of this as well as what celebrated events birthdays are in our modern lives. October is such a big birthday month for so many people I know and love. Four dear friends, my son, brother, father and niece . My son was born on my brother’s birthday – a double birthday hit. I start making sure cards and gifts are organized by the end of September to make sure it all happens on time. If you grew up in a family that celebrated your special day, as I did, it seems important to mark that person’s entry into life and make note to both them and you that you are glad they are here.

Now long distances in miles and in some cases a loved one’s passing, keep me from celebrating in person with any of these special folks.

So I send them all this modern technology birthday cake and wish them again, another trip around the sun…till next year.

And oh yes, as Festus would say… JUST LIVE!

Do you have a map somewhere on your wall? A world map? A map of the country you live in?
I have both, and I look at them often, both to see where I’ve been, and where I’m going next. Maps are for dreamers I think. After all, they are nothing but an abstract creation of a concrete world, and when I am looking at my maps, I’m dreaming about where the next visit, adventure or experience might take me. My map is covered with pushpins and strings that connect and crisscross across the country in a crazy nonsensical pattern that somehow illustrate my love of travel and a certain wanderlust. It illustrates my wide and varied friendships and those I never want out of my life for too long, while it also shows all those I miss and want to see in person again and again. There never seems to be enough time or money to get to all those people and places, but that does not stop me from traveling on.

Maps remind us there is a big world out there that’s ours for the taking. Everyone loves a map, but what good is a map if you don’t go somewhere new, and turn that abstract flat world into a 3 dimensional life experience? Maps are flat, but your life does not have to be that way – take a trip, big or small and give your life some dimension.

(featured image canvas collage SEE AMERICA 1ST by Catherine Massaro)

Tomorrow I’m off on a little trip taking my very favorite form of transportation – the train. I have a long standing love affair with the train, having been stricken at one time in my life with a terrible fear of flying incident. It was a situational phobia, brought on by the death of my father. It took me 2 years to get over it and almost cost me my job before I got a handle on it. Fear & phobias are close companions.

Anyway, back to the train, which even more than a road trip, allows you to watch the landscape go by at your leisure without the worry of the guy passing you on the right, or the tailgater moron. You can read, muse, sketch, and in a word, relax without the stress of airplane aggravation and sardine confinement of same. Not to mention, getting up and moving around whenever you want – freedom.

On this particular train, the route provides the added benefit of the ‘tour’ guide conductor who provides a running commentary on your trip from the Sierra Nevadas into the Sonoma Valley – a delightful geography and history lesson as you glide through the western countryside. Be it planes, trains or automobiles…

GEOGRAPHY IS BEST LEARNED WHEN IT IS LIVED

Just returned from a trip back East. Family, friends and business all jumbled into one great experience. It occurred to me that in the past, it was important to ‘shop’ for things to bring back from trips, and while I still love looking at new and different things, now my focus has shifted to sharing what I am seeing and experiencing via my iPhone or camera. I am not alone in this for certain, we are all ‘sharing’ more with this great technology.
Maybe what is happening is a collective movement to invest more in experiences than in things.

What a wonderful world it would be…