Mind of Winter
Sometimes I catch myself thinking (with frustration)– what is the next great idea I can come up with for my work? Then I remind myself that paying close attention to the ordinary, the common things– that this is where the magic resides. And this is how I open my eyes.
I was disturbed by the "tree eating machines" that were taking down our ash trees, stricken with the Emerald Ash Borer, and went out for a walk. I went off the path in the woods and found a fallen ash tree lying across the field. When I removed the bark, I discovered these beautiful patterns:
Invocation to the Night
This morning the full moon is on the floor of my sitting room– making me reluctant to turn on any lights. There is no other light like moonlight.
I look forward to this time of year, heading toward the winter solstice. It is the pull toward night, seeing the stars and milky way, and the silence of the desert that draws me back to Ghost Ranch, where I have been going for over twenty years.
In Honor of Galway Kinnell
Galway Kinnell died this week at 87, in his home in Vermont. His death was the same day as the birthday of my best friend from first grade, and the birthday of a student who just had her second baby. It is the anniversary week of the death of my friend and mentor, Angeles Arrien. Birth and death. They are the same door.
But what does it mean?
Last night we got to hear Tin Can Buddha in Frankfort, Kentucky. There were 17 musicians and perhaps one rehearsal before their performance at The Grand Theater. They played music– (and were so playful together)! The spontaneity, skill and liveliness was intoxicating. The joy from the musicians finding their way with each other in the moment infused the audience with their exuberance. We did not want it to end. To stop and ask what it all meant would have deprived us– we were in the experience (of whatever it meant) with them. We were "inside the song".
Let the Image Find You
When I am beginning a new series of paintings, I struggle to find an image, a theme to ground me and tie the pieces together. I get impatient, and wonder at how long it takes. I feel an urgency to go out and seize an image, to make something happen. I remind myself that it works better for me to be indirect, to allow an image to alight and make itself known. This is not as esoteric as it may sound. I set an intention to be receptive, to show up each day, and begin. I pay attention to dreams, and to waking life as if it is a dream. Each detail is important. What captures my imagination? I took a walk in the woods and carried paper and a chunk of graphite. I began rubbing the bark of elm trees. There were figures in the bark. I let images suggest themselves.
On Time: It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all. –James Thurber
Perhaps a more accurate title for our class in Italy would be: Sketching, Watercolor, Wine and Loafing. This photo is taken on the streets of Orvieto, as we sat and listened to these lively musicians, sipping our cappuccino. We were stopping along the way to the duomo, which has (among many other overpowering delights) a black and white zebra pattern to the marble.