Liar, liar . . .

All right, I lied.  I said I was going to take a break for awhile, the impact of autumn, loss of light and more got to me.  I apologize! 

Last week was frantic, hectic with emotions running high here on the home front.  There was no peace to be had and the weekend was eaten up by running errands, food shopping, laundry, bills, what-have-you.

No art, no peace -- all was in abeyance.  By the time I got to work on Monday, I was exhausted.  Easier to be at work than at home sometimes (ha!).

But this weekend proved to be quieter.  I put all menial tasks aside yesterday and today.  My one "duty" will be to hand out candy to the little ones for Halloween tonight.

These paintings are the result of time to create, to experiment.  Listening to Mary Ann at Blue Sky Dreaming and to Eva Macie, I tried working with Yupo and acrylics, learning how this paper keeps the artist hopping!

Turmoil

As you can see, turmoil was on my mind, and I think this illustrates how I was feeling last week.  Incredible the number of textures you can capture so quickly on this paper!  I did several more and plan to use them in my collaging, although I have so much to learn with Yupo.

The Weight of Winter

"Weight of Winter" is acrylic on bristol vellum, using a brayer to capture texture, as well as a bamboo pen.  As November creeps over the threshold, I feel that the year is coming full circle, but that the weight of impending darkness threatens my inner balance.

However, as Emily Dickenson wrote: "Hope is the thing with feathers . . . " and "Summer River" brings out the deep warmth of a sunset on the Connecticut River, when colors deepen into that exquisite jewel-like quality.

Summer River

Well, the light is leaving shortly so I'm off for my walk before the trick-or-treaters start their nocturnal treks through the neighborhood.  Next weekend we turn the clocks back, so we gain an hour -- and that's good!

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words . . .

Emily Dickinson

Visual Respite

I seem to fall into this sense of fallowness in the autumn.  I can see a pattern from previous years' blog entries, which makes me feel better (somewhat) in that at least I am consistent in my dullness!

So today's entry is "Visual Respite" -- no images, no artwork.  An opportunity to rest before moving on to the next favorite blogger, the next set of images, the next thought that "Gee, I should try that."

It's taken me awhile to learn that I need to listen to my own thoughts, my own "what if's" and to let my mind wander through the myriad corners of its' own creative space.

Has anyone else reached this point?  Blogland is great but it's a bit like being in a candy store with carte blanche.  After awhile one feels bloated on the visual stimulation --

Now I find that I blog more to think, to throw out a few thoughts and observations, perhaps an image for fellow bloggers to review and tell me what they think.

But in the end, it's me that counts as the artist.  I love everyone else's work, but the time spent viewing and cross-viewing sometimes gets in the way.

I look forward to November because it is the one time of year when the world around me is drained of bold, dramatic colors.  The natural world is subdued, as if awaiting those first snows -- a hushed world of grays and umbers, of mists and frost.

So, I hope you've had a nice rest.  Now it's time to move on.  Thanks for stopping by, see you soon -- and Happy Halloween!

“I prefer . . . fall, when you feel the
bone structure of the landscape.

Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show.”

Andrew Wyeth

fragile structures continued

slightly frayed
silken petals
at the point of stillness . . .

seed pods
encased, brittle with life
needing only
a breath,

a whisper
to begin again . . .

fragile structures

flight

Taking some time off from work, playing with a series of digital images -- Fragile Structures -- using manipulations of the software to enhance, to obscure, to render the ordinary into something "other" -- why?

Because we so often disregard what we see everyday, the mundane, the simple . . . and yet when closely examined, these structures are pure, even in the midst of decomposing.

As I begin to play with these images they often take on a new life, as in the hosta leaf above.  It appears to be soaring off into space, on a trip of discovery . . .

 

detachment

This image has an altogether different feel -- dark and brooding, perhaps threatening.  The detachment from the stem, I think, adds to this sense, and the leaf reminds me of O'Keefe's skull paintings, all bones and sharp edges.

The textures I used are from a wall of graffiti I photographed while walking through Fort Mason Park in San Francisco with my brother.  It lends itself to the sense of times past . . .

I feel that autumn demands that we keep some kind of tracing of what is transpiring all around us before winter slips over the threshold and covers all in a blanket of white.

One can never study nature

too much and too hard.

Vincent van Gogh

Opposition

 

Restlessness surging -- gray skies and clouds scudding overhead -- winds blowing, whipping trees into a frenzy --

The changing seasons always seems to make one unsettled, as if trying to get the sea legs squared away beneath one --

The urge to drive straight north up to the Canadian border non-stop, to see mountains and hillsides slipping gold and scarlet petticoats mixed with the scent of pine --

One theory in American history is that the westward expansion was fueled by the growing sense of claustrophobia here on the East Coast, with its' crowded cities and towns.

I believe it. Henry Thoreau's acreage around Walden Pond is surrounded by developments and corporations leaking out from the Boston area. The Cape is a long string of beach motels and cottages, many strung with for sale signs.

But one must slog on. Soon we adjust -- to the light, to the growing cold, to the crowded highways and strip malls.

An escape hatch is needed -- where do we find them?

Inside our heads as we feel for the edges of our space . . . 

in one breath

leaves fall --

skies open wide

*   *   *

You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.
Rilke