THE MUSE, MARY AND ME

 The feet and eyes are for me the most difficult to get right. So it may take me just a bit longer to get this final piece ready for Sawdust Art Festival's Winter Fantasy showing.

Meanwhile, I will continue to look for inspiration and solace in my muse and poet Mary Oliver.

Crisp mornings of sunshine or fog filled with birdsong...aren't we fortunate? I ponder the question of what it might be like not to be able to have these things. What must that mean to someone's life/

And this brings me to poet Mary Oliver and the questions she poses in her poem Gratitude:

What did you notice?

What did you hear?

What did you admire?

What astonished you?

What would you like to see again?

What was most tender?

What was most wonderful?

What did you think was happening?

i wonder how answering these questions, no matter our circumstances, might be likely to bring us to a state of gratitude. So take a deep breath. Listen to the birds, Feel the sun on your shoulders. Enjoy the soft caress of a breeze. Smile at a stranger in passing. Ask yourself these questions from the poem and see if there is even a slight shift in your thinking. Hopefully, you will be brought to gratitude.

Let me know.

GRATITUDE FOR GRATITUDE

Katherine's postcard:I am grateful for so many wonderful students.

One of my favorite all time poets is Mary Oliver. She  wrote of nature in such a way that you could be right there with her,  tasting, smelling, touching, feeling.

She also wrote often of gratitude. In a couple of my favorite poems she asked these questions:

What did you notice?
What did you hear?
What did you admire?
What astonished you?
What would you like to see again?
What was most tender?
What was most wonderful?
What did you think was happening?

I have found over the years that if I ask these questions in most situations I am ultimately able to arrive at gratitude...sometimes when I otherwise might not.

Why not give it a try? I'd like to hear back if it works also for you?

WHAT THE SPIRIT REACHES FOR...

Journal entry for May

For quite some time now I have been involved in several round robin journaling groups. While I thought at first that I would not like the format, I have found it is usually a push and a good one, a place for trying on new techniques and/or ideas.

In the midst of the busy time getting ready for the summer festival I found myself searching for just what I wanted to do for the month's journal entry. While cleaning some shelves, it appeared in the form of a print I had done previously on Gampi paper tucked away in a book. Some paint for background, adhere the print, a tree quickly sketched in, just the right words....voila!

The uninhabited cabin in Montana had appealed to me to photograph several years ago. The isolation and yet the peace of the place somehow resonated. Now, as I ready for the two plus months of what summer in Laguna is--crowded streets, traffic snarls, busy crowds of folks at the three festivals, and so much more--I feel the pull of a place like this one.

Mary Oliver wrote: "I have decided to find myself a home in the mountains, somewhere high up where one learns to live peacefully in the cold and the silence. It's said that in such a place certain revelations may be discovered. That what the spirit reaches for may be eventually felt, if not exactly understood."

Is this the pull? Is this what my own spirit reaches for? Perhaps. Guess it will wait until the summer season ends though.

AH, MORNING!

Color play

It's morning. and again I am that lucky person who is in it. (Mary Oliver)

A symphony of the senses seems to greet me each day.

Morning brings birdsong in abundance at this time of year. The voices of finches and mockingbirds, doves and crows, along with the more rare oriole, the blue jay, the occasional screech of an overhead hawk are all braided together into a long cord of sound.

The doves call, "Where are you, you, you?" My mind answers, "I am here, here, here." And yet, am I here? There is something in these sounds that sparks memories of so many distant past moments.

Part of the richness of life comes from sweet or bittersweet familiarity found in sight, sound, smell, taste that often inexorably draws us back into our past. For just a brief moment of time we can get to be four years old or fourteen and hold tight to something special uniquely to us.

Our lives are thus intricately woven symphonies of a mingling of the senses and memories of our past. I am a lucky morning person, too, Mary.

PLAYTIME DONE...FOR NOW!

As I said last time, a big oops for forgetting to outline and show the step by step on this one. But here is the verbal step by step: I first chose a magazine image of a dark skinned woman, tore it out roughly. Next, after lightly sanding the image, I applied a light coat of white gesso.

Then, though she had beautiful eyes and lips and perfect eyebrows, I took the liberty of choosing some new ones for her. The black collar pieces and green succulents backed by text pieces for hair...a few flowers and leaves and some rosy cheeks almost complete things.

The very last touch...a few words from the great Mary Oliver. TA-DA! Just a whole lot of fun in preparation for Sunday's workshop.

HOMAGE TO ONE OF THE GREAT ONES--MARY OLIVER

For years, go-to reading when the world seems too much or I just need a little lift has been Mary Oliver. Poems, essays...doesn't matter. Each word is exquisite in clarity and joy.

"Tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" How can these words not stop you in your tracks in awe at their impact on you?

"Here in my head, language keeps making its tiny noises...."

And how many times has a woman reading, "For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters, caution and prudence? Fall in! Fall in!"  known that the words were meant for her? Mary Oliver was a gift to us all, but, over the years, I have encountered so very many women who, when asked who was their favorite poet, answered, "Mary Oliver" without the least hesitation.

"Clouds rolled from the west-then they thickened, the thunder bucked and boiled...."

Yes, Mary Oliver, rest in peace. For you, the storms are over.The world will miss you, but your words, so descriptive and so immeasurable in their impact, will linger on.