All Creatures Great and Small - Apifera Farm

Just a short distance from urban Portland is one of the most beautiful rural areas I know. Yamhill county. A wine lover's dream full of scenic winding roads through rolling hills, and small hidden pockets of forest hiding burbling brooks and small rivers. Vineyards, lavender fields, woollies, horses, cows and chickens share this country with their lucky humans. Heaven on earth. And in a small corner, hidden just around a bend in the road, is Apifera Farm, where artist Katherine, and her husband, Martyn Dunn share their world with three small, but very wise donkeys.

Katherine is a well known artist of primitive and whimsical art which she creates from vignettes of her life at Apifera. An amazing life filled with creatures great and small - a one-eyed pug and a wild eyed chocolate lab. Naughty goats that flaunt their ability to escape through electrified fence, but who run for their pen when caught where they don't belong. Shy cats who run for the hills when they sight a human and old crusty cats that ignore you completely. Chickens chasing each other across the barnyard, as the horse waits patiently for a hug and a treat.

But best of all are Pino, Lucia and Paco whose sad eyes and patient demeanor make them look wise beyond their years. You can't help but reach to hug them as they nibble animal crackers from your fingertips. They're magical , those donkeys, and will teach you a thing or two about life if you listen carefully while you scratch behind their ears.

The garden is winding down for fall as the leaves yellow and fall. You can breath fall in the crisp air ripe with the smell of fallen leaves and wood smoke. The vegetables are in except for a lonely few tomatoes still nestled in the vines. The sunflower heads ready themselves to feed the birds this winter, sagging with the weight of their seeds. And the pumpkins glow orange in the gray misty air, lighting the nooks and crannies with the glow of an autumn sun.

The barn and outbuildings all bear the patina of time and service and have somehow set down roots and become part of the land. The colors of the patina rival that of paintings that artist do purposefully - the hand of nature on a timeworn palette.

Each time I visit this farm, I am reminded of the musical, Brigadoon, where once in a hundred years, a mortal could find and visit a magical town in the Scottish moors. When the day ended, the town disappeared again, but the memory of its beauty and charm were burned on your soul forever. As the day drew to a close, we said our goodbyes and exchanged promises of keeping in touch. The memories of my visit to Apifera will warm my heart through the winter and give me solace in my urban home that these magical places do truly exist.

Art and Soul

How do I do credit in words the experience that is Art and Soul. A week of art shared with friends, both old and new, is beyond the ability of words to describe. There is an incredible atmosphere of creativity and peace. A complete separation from the world outside and for the moment, there is only art amidst the company of your own kind. It's a bit like breathing rarified air and feeling the energy of shared experience bring your body back to life.

The retreat began with guest speaker, Danny Gregory, whose words inspired me so much, that I later journaled on his thoughts on art. Some of his quotes that struck me were, "Drawing is a record of a journey my eyes take. A record of an observation. A slow deliberate journey with a pen". He stated that art is spelled with a small "a", but it can rewire the brain and change a life. Drawing is "in the moment but out of time - a meditation" It causes you to see life for "what it is" and focuses on what is real and not the "demons of fantasy" He said to appreciate beauty and the conciousness of the task at hand. He ended by saying "be good to you". He is an amazing man who began journaling to understand the why of his wife's injury in a freak subway accident that left her partially paralyzed and has a huge following on his Yahoo group, Everyday Matters.

My focus this year was to take classes to improve my painting skills. I began my week with a class from Katie Kendrick, Tales from the Land of Odd. She is such a talented artist and teacher and led us in creating three canvases using the works of known artists to inspire us to create our own works of art. As a watercolor artist, it is very difficult to switch from my medium to acylic, painting from dark to light instead of light to dark. But Katie pushed each of us to experiment and the paintings produced in class by the students were amazing.

The face I completed in Misty Mawn's class. I was happy with it as a first attempt.

Misty's journal cover

My next class was a two day class with Misty Mawn, another talented instructor in which we learned to paint a face and put together a luscious painted journal 7" wide and 20" tall. We learned a wealth of background techniques in the class and she was very generous in the supplies and ephermera she provided. Unfortunately, my asthma kept me from attending the second day of class, and I was disappointed to have missed even a moment of this class.

DJ during class demo.

My journal cover partially finished.

My third class was a two day class with DJ Pettitt and she led us in creating a journal out of fabric and modeling past that was amazing. I felt like I had hit a grand slam with these instructors. They were incredible.
Glenda with her completed copper repousse box.

On Sunday, I was blessed with five wonderful women who joined me in my Copper Repousse class. They were all amazing artists and we laughed and chatted through the class as we created the repousse to mount on our display boxes. As you can see, their work was amazing.

Marie Kennedy with her completed box

All too soon, it was over and I had to return to my "ordinary" life. But the memories made during this week will last a lifetime. Next post: Apifera Farm

Wrapped in the Comfort of Art

So much has happened since my last posting. I have wrapped myself in the warm cozy blanket of art and friends for the past three weeks. To regain my strength and clear my vision when the burden of life becomes overwhelming. And always, always, I find my way once more and emerge with the vision to navigate a new life journey and the energy to surmount all challenges along the way.

First I journeyed to Sitka for the last of my summer classes: Wild Yoga, Wild Art, Wild Autumn. An amazing class led by Andie Thrams, whose nature-based art is amazing.

The morning began with a meditative walk to a clear spot under the sweeping Sitka spruce trees guarded by an ebony figure.

Cushioned with needles, fragrant with the musty odor of forest floor, we spread our mats and began. As we relaxed, the sea breeze caressed our faces and the trees sang and swayed with the wind. And the song of chickadees filled the branches above us, while in the distance, a flicker called.

Once we completed our yoga session, we retired to tables under the pines to begin our art.

We worked on 140 lb. paper and used sticks found on the ground to draw loose sketches of the trees around us with permanent black ink. We then colored the paper with additional ink and tempura like paint and added details with fine black markers. Details and colors were added with pastel pencils. We worked primarily on a long strip of paper, too big to scan into my computer, but my finished project was a tall sitka spruce, from top to roots and for texture I journaled words that captured the moments I worked on my piece and connected with that ancient tree. I sway with the music of the earth, cloaked in grey velvet fog and crowned by the deep blue sky. My toes dig deep into the soil and listen to the tales of this land in which I have long been anchored. My branches are caressed by the ocean's breath and tickled by feathered ornaments that call me home. I stand strong against the winter storms, and yet...sometimes I yearn to fly.

The day ended too soon and it was time to head home and ready myself for Art and Soul. (Stay tuned for the next post on Art and Soul!)

The Next Beginning

We all deal with it many times in our lifetime. Bad news, sad tidings, the gloom and doom of life. We are never prepared for it, no matter how carefully we plan the fulfillment of our dreams. On Monday, I received the news I had been dreading. As a result of a reduction in the work force, I have lost my management position. Demoted to a lower position with a significantly lower salary and status. Removed from the world of team building, problem solving, creativity and possiblilties that keeps me going in a tough field of work. Hard, now, to face my peers, whose jobs are safe. So sad to face employees that have been on this journey with me. Almost impossible to make it through a two hour meeting to carve up and distribute the team I have carefully built over the past five years. I am devastated. I am hurt. I am terrified. I am alone and on my own, facing a future I never imagined. I think I can't go on, hurting as I do.

But after I catch my breath, I look around. At my employee whose wife was laid off last month and he will be laid off soon. At the homeless person sitting next to his cart of belongings, wearing an oversized pirates hat with a bedraggled plume, soggy with the falling rain. At friends who have lost their battle with cancer. At working mothers who can't be there when their kids need them. At the many people you read about each day in the news that through no fault of their own, are visited by bad luck, bad karma, unfortunate events. And I know I must count my blessings, because it could be so much worse. No one asks for this. It is the randomness of life. Equal opportunity misfortune.

So I will look to what I have to be grateful for. I will have a salary, pay my mortgage, have health insurance. My dreams of travel and finding a way to become a full time artist may be delayed, but I will be looking for the next opportunity to make it come true. Life is not over yet. In a way, it is just another beginning, waiting for me to make the most of it. We never know what may come to us next. This may just be the best thing that has ever happened to me. I just don't know it yet.

Art and Soul is Just Around the Corner

Just a peek at the copper repousse class I am teaching at Art and Soul in Portland on Saturday, October 3, 2009 from 9 AM to 4:30 PM. The copper is worked with tools designed for repousse to produce the design in the metal. Traditionally, it can also be done with hammers and shaping tools in a container filled with pitch to support the metal. Copper is a bit harder to work with than the more familiar pewter as it hardens as the metal is manipulated. When it does, it can be heated until red hot and quenched in cold water, to anneal, or soften, the metal. This process produces a residue which adds to the surface design. After the design is complete, you can also apply colored glass frit with a torch or kiln to add color to the copper for more eyecatching designs. Hope you will join me for the class!

There will be designs for the sides and top of the box, as well as wording on the front. The inside of the box is collaged. This box contains an actual nest.

Sitka Center and a Cloud of Chickadees

Several months ago I jumped at the chance to sign up for two heavenly days working in the Boyden Studio at the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology over Labor Day weekend. The studio is housed in a weathered cedar building nestled in the Sitka Spruce forest above the Salmon River estuary. The studio is blessed with a view of distant waves breaking on the sandy spit, where river meets ocean. Warmed by a wood stove, the studio begs you to break out your art materials and create.

Last Friday, I received a phone call that I would have this spectacular studio all to myself, as everyone else had cancelled. I was also asked to pick up one of Sitka’s instructors, Wuon Gean Ho, who had just flown in from London. She is both a veterinarian and a talented wood block print artist and we shared a rainy ride to the coast together, discussing life and art on both sides of the ocean. Since her class would not begin until the following week, we had the opportunity toenjoy two days of shared art, nature, food, conversation and laughter.

The grounds of Sitka Center are filled with unique art in odd nooks and crannies and each time I visit, I seem to find one or two more hidden treasures.

On Saturday afternoon, we hiked down to and along the estuary. We watched the boaters on the river and looked at the detritus of life along the shores – tiny crabs and jellies, as well as feathers and seaweed covered the shore where the tide had receded. Oregon law allows for anyone to hike along the shore up to the high water line, even if edged by private property. But soon we could see the path blocked by an incoming creek, so we attempted to cross 9 feet of dead grass on private property to get to the road. As we tried, we heard a voice from the adjacent property yelling that we were trespassing and, chastised, we returned to the high water line and forded the creek. Well, attempted to ford the creek, as I slid into the cold, muddy water….But we successfully made it up the hill and I was soon in front of the wood stove trying to dry out and recover my composure because we laughed about the notion of trespassing on a short strip of dead grass all the way back.

On Sunday afternoon, after a morning filled with art and conversation, we decided to brave the intermittent rain and hike the Cascade Head trail to view the ocean. The trail begins in coastal rain forest, dark with moss and filled with the calls of frogs and crows. Clown millipedes crossed the path, as well as small brown snails and Banana slugs. Songbirds mill about in the tree crowns and a Douglas squirrel was busy eating a cache of pinecones freshly harvested from nearby trees. The trail was slippery and I lost my footing several times along the steep upward path. The forest is so thick that most raindrops do not make it to the ground, but there was enough accumulation to make the soil almost liquid, in spots.

Suddenly, after what seems like a long upward climb, you leave the tree line and enter the native grasslands of the Head. The sky, which has been hidden from view, suddenly jumps out at you and your breath is taken away by the view of the ocean and river, 500 feet below.

Still above is the top of Cascade Head, another 500 feet beyond, with an even more spectacular view, but at this moment, the sky opens and the rain begins to fall.

I had lagged behind to enjoy the view and now had to hurry back to the shelter of the trees. After I entered the treeline, I stopped to listen to the sound of raindrops on the forest canopy. In the tree above me, I saw a hawk land and perch under a branch to get out of the rain and a squirrel scurry away, not wanting to become dinner. I closed my eyes and breathed deep of the smells and sounds of rain and forest, trying to preserve this moment in the memory of all five senses. Suddenly, I became aware of whispered twitters and the movement of air all about me. I slowly opened my eyes to find myself within a cloud of chickadees, calling out to all that would hear that danger lurked nearby. They passed so close that I could see the detail of the feathers on their breast. I was enchanted by the moment - a moment that filled my heart with the wild wonder of nature.

I stayed with the birds until they flew away and then scurried on to join Wuon Gean, and the warmth of the waiting studio. And all too soon, said my goodbyes and headed back to the city. Wuon Gean and I agreed to work on a small collaboration to celebrate our fateful walk around the high water line. The day was over, but I will hold the memory of this weekend close to my heart and remember it well in the coming grey days of winter.

Finding Peace

The tension in the air at work is palpable now….dreading the worst, yet still believing there are miracles to be had. We smile, joke, encourage and offer shoulders to cry on and listening ears. We are all embarking on a new and unmapped road: both those whose lives will be turned upside down by the loss of a job or demotion and those who will be left. The survivors face the yet, unopened envelope of future duties and responsibilities with the eye of a skydiver leaving the plane on their first jump. We grieve our anticipated losses, feeling powerless, unwilling carried forward by the unrelenting winds of change. We go home to face our families or just the empty rooms where we live alone and seek to ameliorate our fears.

Today I fled to the shelter of the river to shed the worries of the day. The nights are coming on more quickly now, just a few short weeks from fall. The cottonwood trees don’t know this yet; their green shiny leaves still dance on branches, unaware of their upcoming fall from grace. The sun is low on the horizon, slowly descending into the water, leaving smoky wisps of rust and gold to dance on the crest of each wave. In the east, the full Corn Moon rises through the evening stars, shying peeking through gossamer clouds to gaze at her reflection in the water. I watch a fisherman patiently watch his line in the growing darkness, his face lit by the occasional glow of a cigarette ember. Above, the erratic flight of bats and the piercing call of killdeer fill the air. On the beach, a solitary figure huddles close to a driftwood fire and stares without seeing into the always moving waters. I stand and breathe deep of the rich perfume of the ongoing cycle of birth and life and decay….the sheer beauty of the endless cycle of this earth and find my peace.

Can You Feel a Change in the Air?

So often, we spend much of our lives, blind to what goes on beyond the warmth and familiarity of our everyday routine. Snug in our nests constructed of happy memories and the love of friends and family; lulled by the belief that all is well with the world and we have found our way home. And we come to think we can own this life and, with careful tending, live our “happily ever after”.

But this chimera, this dream, dances just beyond our grasp, visited by the winds of change and the inevitable knowledge that ultimately, we have little control over where life’s journey takes us. Sometimes we await these changes with anticipation and the promise of mystery and adventure. Sometimes that reality is an unwelcome visitor, tarnishing cherished dreams and forever altering our road map for the future.

Today, we were visited by the head of our agency. He came to answer anguished questions as best he could from people whose lives have been upended by the signing of legislation making layoffs an inevitable event for our agency. Young people, just married, with new mortgages. Old people, once ready for retirement, whose savings are gone. People who worked hard to climb the career ladder, who now face demotion. All of us facing heavier workloads and new job duties. Six months ago, we were sure in the course of our lives. Now, many of us have lost the wind in our sails and are adrift in an uncharted sea. And there were no answers. Only the date the winds of change will blow: October 1.

The fear and anger, desperation and confusion, were palpable in the air. But little by little, I heard voices raised in possibilities – could we, do you think, what if…..and suggestions began flowing on how we could make this better. How we can survive. How we can make the best of a very bad situation. Side bar conversations after the meeting – this might be the opportunity to live a dream kept on a back burner, long thought impossible because we are so busy trying to live the American dream – a house, the right car, the ultimate vacation…

And you realize….while we cannot control our lives, always, always, we choose the colors through which we view these events as we struggle to find new direction. Rather than look longingly at the past, we can embrace the future with joyous anticipation of new adventures and destinations and be thankful for the opportunity to breathe deeply of the beauty of this world. We can lean on each other and learn new ways of doing things and we can survive. And maybe, just maybe, the future we dread at this moment will become our new “happily ever after”.