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”.

Kayaking the Little Nestucca

I signed up for a kayaking tour of the Little Nestucca River Estuary near the town of Pacific City, OR through the Sitka Center for Art and Ecology. The river travels through the Nestucca Bay National Wildlife Refuge between two shores that see little contact with man and teem with a rich variety bird and animal life. Our guide was Cheryl from Kayak Tillamook County who is also a volunteer for a local animal rescue agency, and she generously shared her rich knowledge of local terrain and wildlife as we paddled the river.

We put into the river just above the Highway 101 bridge - 8 of us in all, including Cheryl, and all of us eager to explore the river. After a bit of instruction on how to handle our sea kayaks (this was my first time in the narrower, less stable seagoing kayak), we launched into the cold, clear water and began our tour. While inland Portland was near 90 degrees, we were rewarded with perfect sunny weather.

The tide was coming in as we launched and we had to paddle hard to maintain our momentum towards the mouth of the river so we savored moments like these to rest a bit and take in the amazing amount of bird life in the tree canopy. Unfortunately, the constant need to paddle restricted the amount of photos that could be taken. And there were so many sights I would liked to have preserved. The osprey that caught a bit of lunch and took to the tree in front of me only to have a crow land beside it and try to steal the fish from the osprey's talons. The crow was rewarded with a swift peck from the crow, who flew a short distance away and watched for a second chance to steal the fish away.

Then there were the kingfishers whose harsh cry and beautiful plumage filled the air with movement. There were so many great blue heron, three and four in a tree. So graceful in the air, but more amazing to watch their landings in the trees that are not made for their size and long legs. Then there was the bald eagle that flew out of a tree directly in front of me; so close I could see the detail of each feather. The small peeping sanderlings poked among the rocks and grass on the shore, while great breasted cormorants swam in still water. The sand flats provided a resting ground for dusky canadian geese, the species actively protected by the refuge. As we stared in awe at the varied bird life in the trees, a harbor seal watched us silently from the water, never showing us more than the tip of his head and a large brown eye.

As we neared the mouth of the river, we stopped for lunch on a sand spit and we had an opportunity to get out and do a little exploration.

From the edge of the clear cold water, we could see a multitude of sealife in the brackish bay water. Sea lettuce that waved in the current.

Small "jellies" (no longer called jellyfish officially per our guide), swam in profusion within the bay.

We found this larger jelly fish among the plant life waitng for food to come its way.

The sand on the shore is held in place by various grasses with beautiful seed heads

In the distance you could see the spray from the Pacific Ocean where the river met the sea.

Deer tracks crisscrossed the sand along the beach.

and the skies were a beautiful blue with clouds that I hoped signaled the end of a very hot stretch of weather.

Small shells formed wings in the sand. Feathers and a bone evidence the life cycles that are part of the local ecology.

Once the tide turned, we headed back towards the highway, once again battling the tide.

On the way back, a deer and a fawn grazed on the shore, barely perturbed by our presence, as we paddled towards shore to have a better look at her. Suddenly, the fog began to over take us.

It did not take long to feel the cold tendrils of the fog clouds seep into our bones and I was glad for the warmth the paddling generated to stay warm.

We stopped and paddle into a backwater, overhung with trees and the weathered stump of a large Sitka spruce tree.

Near the bridge over the highway, the wreck of an old boat gives testament to the ferocity of local storm and the ability of ocean tides to carry something this large and heavy so far inland.

All too soon, we returned and the day came to a reluctant end. Although the paddling was hard, the reward was more than worth the effort.

The blackberries are still in bloom here where it is cooler.

The whole of life lies in the verb, seeing.

Teilhard de Chardin