Duff Earrings

[sterling silver, copper, brass, montana agate, chrysoprase, turquoise, larimar and silk — featuring an electroformed thistle pod]

[sterling silver, copper, brass, dumortierite, carnelian, larimar, montana agate and silk]

[sterling silver, copper, brass, montana agate, larimar, carnelian, sponge coral and silk]

[23 karat gold, sterling silver, copper, brass, montana agate, larimar, dumortierite, sponge coral, carnelian, turquoise and silk]

Like when I was walking in timber two days ago, early in the morning, when the blue light came streaming through the soft, drooping whiskers of the fir trees and the chickadees were teasing each other with their happy, clacking songs.  I reached down and scooped up a handful of duff from the forest floor, lifted it to my nose, inhaled and caught the scent of the world turning, the mottled and scabbed scrub aspen spitting gold into the atmosphere, the cinnamon and sugar of the ponderosa pine needles, a thousand rose hips rising through the sky in the bellies of birds, a tiny trace of the curious cologne worn by the man in the moon, a cow moose and her calf striding through beaver ponds like their legs are late afternoon shadows, the twist of the sub-alpine fir in the fists of frost, one fat queen bee, sleepy seeds, chinooks streaming, a glorious rupture of spring creek and a colony of ants marching.

Slumping Sun

[Slumping Sun Necklace :: sterling silver & 23 karat gold]

light turns blue
as days grow short
under a slumping sun
a bear
fat on summer
seeks a quiet place
to grow thin
once more
————————————————–

Things to love about this piece:

*the simple, modern lines of the pendant – the little story this piece tells is obvious and unobstructed

*a super dooper romantic chain length — the pendant hits between breast and belly button

*the specific way the pendant wiggles and sways from left to right to the rhythm of my locomotion — it looks like the bear form is actually lumbering across my trunk…I call that unforeseen, accidental magic

I am not a painter.

I am not a painter.  I am learning to paint.  I don’t want to paint like anyone else.  I want to paint like myself.  Like me.  There is no other me.  Why would I want my paintings to look like someone else made them?  Why would I want my paintings to look like something that has already been painted?  Why would I want to stand in front of a canvas and paint from a dishonest place, swipe paint with a liar of a hand and a dishonest heart?  I want to paint like myself and no one else.  This doesn’t mean that I want to make something that the world has never seen before.  I don’t care about that.  I’m not sure that’s possible.  But I want the work to be original to me, as in, it truly wells up out of me, unaffected and true.  I am private about my painting.  It is a selfish pursuit.  I’m also afraid.  I think I am private because I am afraid.  I am afraid to make ugly paintings but I know I will — I just realized this fact two days ago.  I will probably paint one hundred ugly, meaningless paintings before I paint just one good and strong painting that is honest and true.  If I can make that single honest painting after painting one hundred awful pieces of trash, I will be on the threshold of heading in the general direction of perhaps being a painter some day.  But there’s something else you should know.  I want to be honest about the entire process of learning to paint and I do not want to rush that process.  I want to take all the time I need.  I want to wade through all the failure that comes with the small successes and I want to see the breadth of my effort, appreciate my effort, appreciate the honesty of my effort, and I want to work hard and stay humble (which is harder than you might think).  I might not make a wholly beautiful painting until I am eighty years old.  That’s ok.  I loathe the idea of rushing success, of being obsessed by success, of not putting in my time, of not working my heart out, of caring more about achievement than the actual creative work.  I think rushing towards success creates bad habits and meaningless work.  I cannot abide by that.  I want my work to have meaning.  I want to paint.  So I am painting.  As honestly as I can.  I am as patient with myself as I can be.  I don’t really know how to begin, I’ve been beginning for a while now, so I continue to start small, as I always do.

I do not want to make the marks I have seen others make, no matter how much I like their work, no matter how beautiful those marks might be.  I want to realize what my own marks are and use them when I am painting.  This means taking the time to loosen myself up, play, create like a child does.  This means pastels!  This means late at night, I sit down on the living room floor with my big sketchbook and I simply play.  I allow myself no more than two or three minutes for each page.  I unbind myself from self-consciousness and I literally scribble in oil pastels, chalk pastels and charcoal.  I randomly draw shapes and forms without allowing myself to think too much.  Sometimes I reach out and smear it all to heck.  I roll my sleeves up higher on my arms and go crazy.  I work for an hour.  I create thirty pages of zaniness and freedom.  I feel happy and poured out.  I look over the thirty pages of work and try to notice any preferred forms, shapes, colors, smearing and shading — little details that catch my eye.  I don’t take anything too seriously.  If something is ugly, I don’t take it hard, I remember I gave myself two minutes to pour color out on a page and if the page turned out ugly, it’s ok.  If ten pages are ugly, it’s ok.  Ugly is ok.  Ugly is part of it all.  Ugly can be honest.  It is what it is.  I have, for the moment, unshackled myself from my fear.  I am free of it.  As I look over the pages of work, maybe, on some tiny section of one page I see something I like.  Maybe I see something I love!  That tiny thing that I notice, that tiny honest thing was worth the thirty pages of work.  I am elated.  So I do thirty pages more.

The work is worth the work and someday, I might be a painter.

Ahem:

[poetry excerpt from my full length poem Vox]

Tonight is  the Visions of Verse show opening at the Confluence Gallery in Twisp, Washington — our summer home.  I am represented as a poet and an artist in this collaborative show which is a huge honor as the local talent in the Methow Valley is off the chart incredible!!!  That’s not false flattery either.  The Valley has a rich and diverse art community.  It’s a little mind blowing at times.

This piece is hanging in the show and was my response to a poem by another poet:

[The Mountains We Are Made Of Neckpiece :: copper, sterling silver, Oregon beach stone and Snake River of Idaho river rock]

If you are in the Methow Valley this weekend, you should head on over to the Confluence.  This isn’t a show to miss.  I wish I could be there in person as this is my first official participation in a fine art gallery exhibit!  I’ll pour a glass of wine here tonight and maybe nibble on a cracker smeared with goat cheese while I mutter some fancy art jargon under my breath in celebration (actually, I don’t know any art jargon, I may have to Google some highfalutin phrases).  Yahoo for me!  And thanks to Nicole who is a wonderful gallery director.  She hangs some awesome shows, people, some truly beautiful awesome shows.

 

Green River, Utah

I’m currently writing a personal essay on river travel and water.  It’s not ready for publishing here (and frankly, I may save it for something else I am working on).  However, I think these images tell the story of our Green River trip quite well!  I would love to say that it was a trip of a lifetime, but the fact is, Rob and I are going to run this river over and over and over again.  Sometimes a place changes you, gets in your heart and soul.  Some places are unforgettable, little homes away from home.  The Green River is one of those places for me.  I’m tethered to it now, for all of time.

Please note, any images that I appear in are courtesy of my husband Robert.  I didn’t take a single self portrait on this trip!  Unusual for me!  I must have been in vacation mode or something…