morning light


most mornings.

I like to–

to the watch the trees dance. their lives outside my window.

sometimes-

I go out and breathe them in. let the wind cup my face like a long lost lover.

this morning-

I woke up singing a song that I have forgotten the words to…but know the melody by heart. it’s in my head and won’t let go as I sweep the floor.

right now-

talking under my breath.forgetting to put the coffee filter in the pot. the *light knocking on the window.

*the irony of all the paper is not lost on me but they all went to a good home. maybe one day I will write something called in defense of paper or not…

hope in my hands

I’ve been at it again. collecting books from the library that I really have no time to read. I really can’t help it though. stacks of books are like a comfort food for me. I think it’s because growing up I was surrounded by them.

I can remember the first time I went to the public library in my town. I really had no idea what is was…this place full of books. as I was a little kid, I was like a one of those yippie pups, with all the energy and mischief. I remember getting into the librarians stamps amongst other things.

the Texas prisoners built our fancy new library one summer, I think. it’s hard to say because Texas seasons kinda look all alike in my mine minus the trees.

I remember the orange jumpsuits or were they stripped and the chains but maybe that was a movie. isn’t it funny how reality and fiction merge in our memories?

I think the first books I officially checked out where baby-sitters club books. I love the babysitters club. I tried to start one up in my neighborhood but seeing that me and my friends were only on primary school that didn’t go to far. I also loved the sleep over friends and nancy drew.

one day I discovered Virgina Hamilton in a school book and fell in love. it was so nice to see stories with people like me…although I do like to read stories of people who are different…I think that reading those stories young though imparted on me that it’s okay for me to write things. of course that got complicated as I went through school and learned to write for the test and the teacher.

in my heart reading and writing are closely linked and they are both comfort foods. I would not call myself a good reader or writer but I do enjoy doing both as long as I can do them from the heart.

somehow in all this internet stuff that part got lost for me…when you write with one eye towards an audience…it takes some of the life out of for me.

I think it’s because rarely do I write what I know. I write to understand and heal and that is often non-linear and messy…I am not sure if it’s easily digestible.

these days, I roam the library not with not much in mind. I am not a fan of popular books because the hype makes it almost nerve racking to read unless it’s Louise Penny (and then I know I will likely be happy). I am usually just looking for something that catches my eye and my heart.

I don’t read to learn. although that can be useful( and does happen). Mostly, I read to know…to know others and myself…for the stories…to get inside a world language and be inspired to dive deeper into my own world.

I am inspired by pretty covers and a variety of subjects. mostly, though I am inspired by that little girl with wonky plaits and very bad fashion (that was me) pouring over the titles in a small one room library finding out that life was bigger than she ever thought.as she/I huddled her precious pile and loose change to pay her mother’s library fines ( yikes…I guess this trait run in the family) and headed by home..which was complicated place and word at the time.

if I am honest, I forgot all about that library until now. all I remember was the feeling of walking through the back fields of town, to my small world, with hope in my hands.

and the sun was shining, too

I am writing this with a face full of sunshine. it has been an early morning. I actually went to bed at a decent time and woke up with the sunrise and had some dandy blend and a apple. I did some meditation and a bit of sketching. then started listening to a podcast and stitching.

If you know anything about me. you know that my grandma was a great sewer. she got her first sewing machine through a readers digest contest but she was also a prolific hand-sewer.

sewing reminds me of her.

her taking her huge glasses out and asking me to help her thread a needle when she was older. her collection of fabric. her hexagon quilt. her taking in all my clothes because I was so teeny back then.

summer reminds of going down to the creek and fishing and berry picking, peaches and wild grapes.

I feel lonesome for my grandmas garden and her famous greens.

they tore down that old house we lived in

when I saw the spot where it once stood

surrounded by two cedar of Lebanons and circled by pines

my heart hurt just a bit

but I felt my souls sigh too.

so many memories made and invaded in that little house.

it broke us

and gave us life in the same breath.

life is complicated like that.

even now…

I remember the sky swimming in blue and kissing the top

of the trees that were left.

and the sun was shining, too.

thoughts on gathering inspiration and/or supplies with intention

I have taken quite a few Jeanie Oliver classes and in all of them she mentions gathering your inspiration and/or material. it’s always beautiful and interesting to watch but honestly, I never really did it for myself.

lately, I have been trying to simplify my process and work with more intention….so I am (finally) giving the whole gathering thing a real try.

It’s still early days but I can already how honoring what I love ( to create with) and how I want to create feels in my body.

I think that because I came to art via an interest in abstract expressionism and intuitive painting that I was very unattracted to to a more limited palette, limited supplies approach.

for me, part of the excitement in painting is just intuitively reaching for colors and materials and I thought limits would sort of mess with my studio movements.

while the freewheeling approach once worked ( am may again)… a bit of foresight can definitely go a long way in providing space to explore…in times when you don’t have the time or space to work with wild abandon. these are those times

as someone , who is primarily works in sketchbooks, these days, I am no stranger to limits but I have mostly a sort of kitchen sink application with supplies until recently. earlier this summer, I let go of a large portion of my acrylics, they just didn’t bring me joy and the additives were making me sick…

so I have been sort of free-falling when it comes to art because acrylics are a very forging medium. Learning how to get my desired results in watercolor, markers, gouache, ink, colored pencils, graphite and charcoal etc. has been a on-going process. it has also been overwhelming, although that is all self-induced because I felt such an huge gap in my technical skills*. It’s still there but I have been working away at it with slow and deliberate attention.

as someone who loves all the art supplies and to explore having a container for my inspiration has been sanity saving. there will always be new and better but knowing how to really use the things that you have is also amazing. Someone will always be doing something cool and interesting but knowing what you like and the marks you enjoy making is equally as interesting. it is so tempting to think that the supplies make the art…while they shouldn’t hinder, if we are honest a lot of it is just marketing. I am already the artist I need to be…it’s take practice to be the one I want to be. practice. practice. practice.

*this gap has more to do with me and ,u own changing interest than the medium

chili

I am obsessed with this chili

I made it last night in my big dutch oven that I got when I got my first apartment.

it was part of a set of pans that one of my old boyfriend’s mother’s got for me.

it was kind gesture. I just was not ready for it and neither was that situation.

I made some bad soups. I didn’t know about timing and patience.

or that

you can’t have good soup without a good foundation.

you have to cut things down, sweat things out. let things fall apart, be and come together.

blend parts and let others be chunky.

season to taste.

sometimes no matter how hard you try those elements won’t come together. so you eat what you can and throw the rest down the disposal or compost.

and that’s okay.

we keep trying.’

eventually, maybe with a lot of help , one will find a recipe that works.

or cook something else. that works, too.