If Death Were a Spice

Is death a flavor, a spice to living? If it is a spice, it is one that comes with a sense of fear, chili perhaps. It is the spice that inspires us to do the things we want to do–before it is too late. Have the big art show. Write the novel. Sail around the world. Go to Burning Man.

I see the fear. I see the goal. Do not let the fear consume the goal. Do not let the fear consume.

If death is a spice, what does its bottle look like? Dark? Dusty, skull and bones? Or filled with light brighter than the eye can see. Angel of deliverance. Angel of deliverance. Suffering’s end.

Where do we go? My uncle died and visited my father. They talked for hours. “How are you here?” my father asked.

“I am everywhere,” my uncle replied.

He is now particles, dispersed–everything suspended in the dust that blows around the earth. Free from suffering. Free form existence.

Distracted, my eye wanders to the bubbles in the glass, levitating to their death. The short life of a bubble in a carbonated beverage.

Somewhere someone is allergic to wheat. Someone’s a gravedigger in a small town. Someone young has leukemia. Someone is dying, their particles beginning to disperse. Quickly, we must remember why we are here. Before it’s too late. Before we go somewhere, nowhere, anywhere.

I don’t mind talking about death–however, staying there may be too much for too long.

How do we keep death at bay? We sing. We dance. We create to combat its unmaking. We must make, make merry.

The star that won’t be dimmed.

What are we?

Part bone, part hair, part flesh, part soul, part laugh, part cry, part stone, part ocean, part mountain, part sky.

 

Simplify

Take these thoughts and transform them into gold. Rumpelstiltskin them. Spin this grey day into silver. Gather weariness into a diaphanous strand of longing. Take these desires and spin a gossamer gown. From this dullness, weave a pair of wings. I’d like to wear a mask. I’d like to dance. I’d like to fly.

via Simplify

Bewildered

she wanted somewhere to hang her hat
he was not a coat rack
she wandered around aimlessly
a thread loose here, a thread loose there
she was a voice, listening
knowing of a certain luminosity–
and the time it takes to get there
looking now and then behind the curtain
a thread loose here, a thread loose there
gathering leaves and flowers to make an offering–
wandering

via Bewildered

Puzzled

her hair was a knot
no one could untangle
there were passages where the sun never shone
no comb braved these tresses
there was a great and unreachable depth

the nests of song birds
the damp mosses
it was a forest
and she was proudly lost

 

via Daily Prompt: Puzzled

From Refuse to Reverence

There are certain materials which have always appealed to me, and thankfully, some of them are upcycled or recycled. One of my very favorites is cardboard. Ever since the days when I would help my mom make theater sets out of cardboard, I have been fascinated with its texture and construction capabilities. It is stiff and needs to be cut in the exact shape you wish it to have, but at the same time it can be broken down into a more flexible and paper-like substance. It is likely that my fascination with cardboard comes from my fascination with paper, and is somehow connect to wood, which is ever so tentatively connected to my love of plants and growing things.

Is it possible that I love one thing and all other interests stem from that one fascination? The natural world is a most fascinating place for me. It is amazing to see a seed create a plant and that plant, in turn, create a fruit which can be consumed. If my materials can imitate any event in the natural world, I am grateful. As I sand the wood, the grain becomes apparent. As I work with a piece of cardboard, it becomes softer and more organic, but still has a memory of its life as a box. This memory creates an unpredictability when I work with it, an unexpected lack of motion that I collaborate with.

It is important that the creation of art does not destroy that which it depicts and upholds. If I paint a landscape, but use materials which are not sustainable, then I am doing a disservice to the very landscape I am depicting. Thankfully, trees and plants can be re-grown as long as it is done in a conscientious manner. I also like to use wood that has had another life as cabinets, drawers, or bookshelves.

Note: I also love Altoids tins. They are great for little paintings.

Do you like upcycled or recycled materials?

How do the materials you use influence what you create?

Why do you think you like the materials you work with?

What memories are linked to those materials?

Plein Air Where?

When I started plein air painting a few years back, it was all chaos and heavy things. It is still a bit chaotic, and there are still some heavy things, but I have learned along the way. Here are some tips and ideas in case you are interested in oil painting in the great out doors:

The Location (subject)

1. You are going to need something interesting to look at. Vistas are good. Roads draw the eye through a composition pretty easily. Fences can be fun. Abandoned buildings are something to consider. You will probably encounter trees and get to know them well.
2. You need to park off the road.
3. You may need shade. The shade may move as the sun changes position.
4. Lovely nature sounds can be inspiring. I once painted next to a golf course that had a lovely tinkling fountain. I felt like I could stay there all day listening to the water.

Comfort

1. Posture and comfort matter. If it is absolutely important to have back support when you paint, you may be lugging around a largish camping chair. I found that if I was not comfortable, it effected my ability to paint. The desire to sit in a comfortable chair is one reason I don’t venture too far from the car.
2. Temperature matters. If it is going to be really hot, try painting in the early morning or late afternoon. That’s when the light is the best anyway. Sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, and water are a good idea in the summer. If it is winter, you may want to experiment with layers, insulated pants, down jackets, and painting in a car. Once I start painting, I don’t move a lot, so it can get very cold.
3. Bugs can be seriously treacherous. I paint in Kansas a lot. Kansas has chiggers, mosquitoes, and ticks. You do not mess with these critters because you could get really itchy or worse (Lyme disease). Usually, I am all into natural things, but I get covered with chemicals and clothing to avoid bugs. If anyone out there has found something that really works (especially for chiggers), let me know.
4. Always try to bring less stuff. French easels are cool looking, but sorta heavy unless you have one of those mini ones. My friend paints out of a hunting bucket seat. Although I have not yet converted, I think he is pretty cleaver. He puts his paints and supplies in the bucket, and sits on the cushioned lid. Lightweight aluminum easels can be good too, but then you must consider the wind. You can lay out your paints on your palette ahead of time, so that you don’t have to lug them with you.
5. The wind can be very strong. If you have hair, you may want to secure it. If your easel is lightweight, you may want to weigh it down. Also, make sure your painting is clamped tightly because there is nothing like having it go face-down in the dirt after hours of work.
6. Snacks make it fun. It is nice to have a high-protein snack after painting.
7. Have fun! I love being outside, especially when I am well-prepared.

What are some of your favorite places to create?

Do you like to create in nature?

What are some of the obstacles you have encountered, and how did you work around them?

Have you ever been bitten by chiggers?

Cats in Bikinis

 

When I was a kid, I used to draw cats wearing bikinis. The cats were sunning themselves on towels. They all had Cleopatra haircuts, umbrellas, and a tall glass of lemonade. I knew that cats had six boobies, but it looked odd to give them three bikini tops, so usually they only had one bikini top, like a human. They were drawn in pen on the back of my notebooks along with the other thing I loved to draw, which was an eye with impossibly long lashes.

Yesterday, I was talking to another painter, and somehow we got on to the topic of my cats. I have always been sort of embarrassed about that time in my artistic career, but as I began talking about the cats, I started to realize they were pretty cool. The other painter made the suggestion of dressing them in vintage one-piece suits to deal with the nipple problem, which is a great idea. Now I am thinking, cats in swim suits! How original! How cool! I think I will write a book about it.

It is also important to note that most cats do not like water, so putting them in swim suits seems like a crazy idea. I never actually thought they would go swimming, even though turquoise tropical waters lapped the shore nearby.

What did you draw when you were a child?

How do your childhood subjects relate to what you create today?

How do you keep your inner child alive and well?

How do you find your inspirations, or connect with the imagination?

Where are you from?

I am originally from a small town called Taos, in northern New Mexico. If you are familiar with this place, you will know that it is full of artists and many other creative types. Many people ask me how and why I came to the Midwest. My answers vary, but basically many small steps eventually lead to the larger step of living in the Midwest. It was not where I thought I would be, but I didn’t really know where I would end up after all, and the Midwest has been good to me. It is quiet, and everything tends to run the way you expect it should. People are very polite and helpful.

However, it is odd that I find myself learning to play a didgeridoo. I am pretty certain that I would not be as enthusiastic about this instrument if I still lived in Taos, as there are plenty of didgeridoo players already in Taos. If you do not know what a didgeridoo is, it is a long hollow wooden instrument from Australia. You blow on it while making a raspberry with your lips, which produces a low vibrating hum of sound. My choice to be an artist, is a very Taos thing to do. Often, I find that the subject matter in my work has a mystical/spiritual southwestern theme. My enthusiasm for the didgeridoo just proves that you can take the girl out of Taos, but you can’t take Taos out of this girl.

What parts of yourself are influenced by where you come from?

Is there something in your creative life that relates to the place you were raised?

Is there somewhere you have traveled that has influenced your creative life?

How does location play a part in your creative practice?