Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Divining Rod

She thinks it odd to live so close to a mountain where deer run free because instead of residing in a rustic habitat, she calls a modern condo with 9 foot ceilings and hardwood floors her home. The juxtaposition of her residence and surroundings makes her smile.

She loves the colors of her walls because they remind her of the turquoise blue ocean of St. Thomas. The coral red sofa she bought makes a bold statement against the sea of blue. It tickles her that the first thing people say when they walk into her home is, “Oh! I just love the color of your living room!”

There are a cache of meaningful objects that are scattered about the condo, funky patchwork pillows her sister made, white dishes she received one Christmas, blue and white porcelain collectibles and her ebony Indonesian hutch. The eclectic cottage look would probably define her style to a “t”.

She’s at an age she would like to forget. Every now and then she notices the ever so slight wrinkles forming on her face. Peering into a mirror, she takes the palms of her hands, places them on each side of her face and gently moves them in an upward direction to receive the free face lift. She then releases the upward pull and accepts the reality that passing time has on the human shell.

She lives with a sense of optimism that blankets some self doubt and insecurities. These ailments act as a low grade fever; consequently, they do not appear to be life threatening at this time.

The best thing is for the first time in her life she knows what she wants, a quiet place to be alive…to create… a Spanish style cottage in the hills of any city beginning with the name Santa. She sees herself walking barefoot across the cool red terra cotta tile floors, her white linen see through gown swishes as a breeze from an open window enters the house. She’s not certain what time of year it is, most likely autumn and the night sky is calling her, beckoning her to come outside and greet the sweet air and view the overwhelmingly beautiful evening performance. God is waiting there for her. He asks her if she likes her grass green kitchen cabinets and Mexican tile counter tops. She howls with laughter nodding in the affirmative. All she has to do is believe.

Sunday, February 25, 2007


“In order to make art we must be willing to labor…willing to reach inside and draw forth what we find there. On an inner plane, we are all connected to a larger whole. This is what is meant by inspiration, this connection to something greater than ourselves.”

Julia Cameron, Finding Water

I say Amen. Here is my plight. Often (very often actually), my mind begins to ignite, ideas are flowing fast and furious, I barely have time to find a piece of paper to quickly sketch out my ideas before another one tumbles out of my head. I’m very excited, almost hyperventilating to the point of passing out, sometimes at this very instant, the axis of the universe shifts and my favorite jazz song will suddenly ooze out of the radio, a song that takes you to another place (chocolate may even be nearby with the promise of cold milk to accompany it), things are just so good…and that’s when it happens. I become paralyzed. I do not want to leave the coziness of my bedroom (where all of my favorite things live) and go to my studio (the room that took me 25 years to get) and bring my wonderful ideas to fruition. Is this a diagnosable condition? Perhaps IDD- Inspiration Deficit Disorder? What is the matter with me?

“We must be willing to labor.”

Yes. Once again I say, amen. We must labor. I must labor. I attack the stairwell, enter my terra cotta colored studio and close the door. I’m in baby! I sit at my table and peruse the hundreds of beads, tools, and silver before me. I rush back downstairs to collect my sketches (because I always forget something) and before long my hands are doing something. The labor begins, it is joyous and the best part is that in a moment unbeknownst to myself, I cross over into inspiration, the zone where God and I collaborate, and I must say that we make such beautiful music together.

This is a "liberated" (no pattern, just sew patches of material together to make a design) quilt I made many years ago. It has served as an inspiration for many things.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Finding Water- Remembering New Mexico

The author of Finding Water touched on the fact that at one time she lived in New Mexico. She missed the mountains, sage bushes and the smell of pinion. So do I. I have made several sojourns there and each time I was extremely sad to leave. There is just something mystical about the place. Once, when traveling away from Santa Fe and headed for the hills, I pulled over to the side of the road. My sister was with me. It was night. We stepped out of the car and peered upwards at the blackest night sky I had ever seen. The stars were close enough to touch. I was at one with the universe in that most sacred and quiet place. That is precisely why I must return.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Finding Water

I have just started on a new adventure. I have joined a group of women who are committed to completing the twelve week program outlined in the book, Finding Water. I still need to purchase the book, but I am familiar with morning pages from my short flirtation with the Artist Way program. So, this morning at approximately 5:30 am I began to write. It is so quiet. I am at peace. My thoughts flow easily onto the paper, simply the ramblings of my mind. Cheez, it's full of clutter! It wasn't until the third page of writings that I began to realize that I was writing about something more meaningful than random musings. Once I looked up at the clock it was 6:04. Where did the time go?

Friday, February 09, 2007

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday (only 2 minutes left and it will be over) and I spent it chilling out at home. I organized a few beads, finished a necklace I was working on, ate cake and drank cold milk...yum!
An old art journal page entitled the three faces of Me.