Tulip Crazy!

I confess . . . this spring I became a little bit crazy for tulips.  I don't mean just buying them by the pot load, but taking shots of them.  Every morning it became a ritual -- a few cups of java to get me going and then I was dragging these little puppies into the family room where we get incredible light streaming in from the southeast.  

 I tried catching them at all stages -- when tightly budded to fully open and onto the blowsy stage when the petals are about to fall off.

And that didn't include the obsession with color -- oh, my . . . !   From softest pinks to cherry red to cha-cha orange and finally to the ultimate yellow.  

 

What more can I say?  Like I said -- just plain tulip crazy.  And now there's not a trace of them in the garden at this time.  The bulbs slumber under the soil, waiting for the time to rejoin us next spring.

Oh sure, I'll probably browse the flower shops to see if there are any available, but that wouldn't be the same as, after a long New England winter, you find the first ones peeping up at you amid the melting snow and mud.  

These images are available at my online shop, Red Bubble.  From greeting cards to journals and notebooks, clothing, travel mugs and more, add something lovely to your life.  Because right now, we deserve a bit of lovely in our lives, don't you think?

Hoping you're all healthy and staying in fine fettle!

Cheers,

Kelly

Is it truly Spring?

These are dismal times for so many of us around the world, and our hearts are aching for those who've lost their life and for their families and friends.  And yet Nature continues and evidence of spring abounds, even up here in New England despite a snowfall yesterday.  

Tulips #1 by me

Forced to stay home from work, I'm finding that so much of what I've pushed aside over the past years is now calling to me, tapping at my feeble, frenzied brain, reminding me that creativity and the need to express oneself never truly disappears.  It may fade into the background of our 21st century lives; it may be packed away at the back of a desk, waiting patiently for us to re-discover all over again.  

Tulip #2 by me

I'm going to take this enforced time to rediscover the joy of creating, even if it's something small and simple.  I've been culling through my photographs from the garden and feeling that a backyard garden can be a wondrous place.  I've been unwrapping paints and markers and pastels, lugging out canvases and sketchbooks, dusting off paint brushes and tossing out those that were welded together in neglect.  I just spent the last hour or so updating my blog (my art website was hacked last fall and I lost that, plus the email address attached to it!), posting a new banner that makes me smile.

Spring is a time for a new beginning.  It's as simple as that.  I hope you all stay safe and healthy in these coming weeks, months.  I intend to stop by your blogs -- if they're still alive! -- and revisit many of you.  And I hope I gain some new fellow bloggers, or Instagrammers, or FB friends. 

Spring Tulips 3 by me

Star Magnolia

"Magnolia Light" by Kelly M.

long time coming --

pale stars of magnolia

erase all memory

of winter --

And yet we still wait:

pastel and watercolor; 5"x7"

winds sink 
and scour new green --

whipping heads
so delicate,

wet, dirt-encrusted debris
revealed from under shrouds
of snow,

at my feet 
snow drops tremble --

is it not glorious?

Recalling cooler times

Sweet Magnolia Morning
photograph by artist

 early spring

the air lifts and swells

with the scent of newly-opened

blossoms . . . 

earlier springs

lace one's thoughts

with slender threads of memory

A Lighter Touch for Spring

Untitled: acrylic on paper, 11" x 14"

The season demands a lighter touch,

to sweep brush on paper,

to let colors swim and play, to caress,

then slide away.

Keep the white --

a reminder

of things to come, of what has been left behind,

of spaces for breathing,

for dreaming --

A Walk in the Garden . . .

It's warm out this evening, a slight breeze ruffles the air . . .

Let's take a stroll, walk arm-in-arm like in olden days when the rustle of silk matched the song of many blossoms ~

when leisure was something that did not include cellphones and texting . . .

when the art of conversation or dozing under the shade of a tree was enough to satisfy a world-weary soul.

Gardens are still a bit of paradise on earth, for humans, flora and fauna . . . let's cherish them.

Note:  many of my digital alterations owe a debt of gratitude to digital masters Skeletal Mess, Ghostbones, Telzey and Playingwithbrushes on Flickr, who share their textures freely!  



Recommended readings:


A Gentle Plea for Chaos: Reflections from an English Garden


Childe Hassam: An Island Garden Revisited

It's the small things that count . . .

Patterns
collage on watercolor paper
collograph remnant, rice papers, silk remnant

Whooeee! This morning I found a very small thing that made me very happy -- a little red dot beneath my collage in the 12th International Collage Exchange & Exhibit! To think that somewhere in the world, someone said Yes, I would like to own that work. Whoever they are, many heartfelt thanks to you from a struggling artist who undergoes serious self-doubts almost as frequently as there are full moons and high tides!

Oddly enough, I am home today because my car was doing a shuffle at red lights and stop signs. Coming home late last night from a board meeting, I wasn't quite sure I would make it. So today, up early and driving downhill with both feet, one on the gas, one on the brake, hoping it wouldn't die before I reached the garage. Then a walk home in the rain (a light one, thank goodness) without an umbrella.

But it was one of those spring mornings when the light rains are more like a mist, the birds are carousing and the tulips, daffodils, grape hyacinths and magnolias are in full bloom. The crabapples are beginning to bud forth, as well as the cherry trees.

First Light

When I got home, I went downstairs into my work area and started straightening the messes I left from last weekend, just puttering. The music was playing and incense was filling the space with a light scent of pine. Suddenly I had this sense of ease, of being "home" in this space, although it tends to be a bit dim at times. I felt that I would go back to some works I had set aside, I gessoed over others that weren't working and then decided to check my blog.

And there it was -- the little red dot. A sign perhaps? A gift certainly.

Pleasure is spread through the earth
In stray gifts to be claimed by whoever shall find.
~William Wordsworth

First Peek

"First Peek"
original photograph by artist

A small but lovely treat from this past Easter holiday weekend! I had bought a Martha Washington geranium for the deck and just before sunset took this shot with my new macro lens. I love the way the tip of the bud just peeks over the edge, a small curl of new blossom ready to unfurl.

This morning I was out in my bathrobe and at 7:30am because clouds were beginning to roll in, and I wanted to catch the morning light on the star magnolia and the anna magnolia, both totally different in form and color. Thunderstorms were predicted so I wasn't sure if the blossoms would still be there when I came home from work. I hope to upload those later in the week.

As we move further into spring, I know I'll be running around with the camera like a crazy woman -- but what a way to go!

May dawn find you awake and alert, approaching your new day with dreams,
possibilities and promises. May evening find you gracious and fulfilled. May you go into
the night blessed, sheltered and protected. May your soul calm, console and renew you.
(Celtic Blessing)

12th International Collage Exchange & Exhibit

"Deep Nocturne"

5" x 7"
papers, batik fabric, stamps & hand-embellishment

Dale Copeland has been running this international collage exchange & exhibit for a number of years now and I wonder how she does it, accepting shiploads of collages from artists all over the world, uploading images to the site, selecting the ones that will go into the "on the ground" gallery as well as the "virtual" gallery. Then dividing up the spoils so that each participant receives a wonderful package in the mail later in the spring filled with works from fellow participants.

Well, here's my heartfelt appreciation to all her hard work and dedication to this art form and to the numerous creative folk who participated this year. This was my first year, but I am sure I will continue to participate in coming years -- if Dale can hold up!

I've thought about the collage genre and why, for me, it is something I've been doing quietly for a number of years. When I first began, it was during a year that was extremely difficult for my husband and I as parents. Too much was going on -- elderly parent's stroke, an engagement and wedding coming down the road quickly, our teenage son's difficulties, work for both of us -- all just too, too much. For a time only fingering paper and silk scraps, moving them around, looking for pleasing combinations and making greeting cards for friends and family was all I could handle, mentally and creatively. Like worry beads, it would calm me down and give me a sense that I had not lost all connectivity to my art-making. It was portable. I could sit by the window with the light pouring in and just "play" with these bits of paper and fabric.

Even now, when stuck as to how to combine certain colors in a painting or how to balance this mass on the left with that on the right, I'll pull out my bag of bits and begin to move them around.

I also wonder if this is a seasonal or cyclical process? In the deep cold of winter, oils seem to work well, their viscosity and richness so replete with color and depth. Yet, come spring and summer, I often turn to watercolors and/or paper and fiber. Perhaps it is the tactile nature that draws one, just as the watercolors seem to reflect the lightness of the season, so too the papers and fabrics.

Well, whatever the reason -- to be able to touch color and texture, to build and take down and re-build again with whatever medium one chooses -- cherish this love to create. Nurture it and let it grow. Sometimes it may go fallow but that's natural, just like a field that must rest. But then, like Persephone emerging and returning to Demeter's world of spring and summer, it begins again.

Recommended Reading that seems to echo this entry: To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.

Happy April to all!

Dreary Sunday Blahs

It's baaccckkkk . . . good 'ole March has returned -- why should I be surprised by that? -- and it's windy and cold and windy and cold and cold! Walking this morning was like running hurdles (not that I do that on a steady basis, mind you) and the poor daffodils and snowdrops were being beaten by the slice 'n dice winds.

Came home and kind of banged around into walls, picking up this, putting down that. I hate these kind of Sundays -- no motivation to start a painting, to work on something new or to finish up something begun. So I just rolled with it. Ate chocolate cookies, drank lots of java (decaf) and played on the computer, visiting blogger friends, fiddling with some photos:

"Sunlight & Shadows"
digital image by artist

This is actually the same image, just duplicated and blended somewhat differently, then layered over a texture from Playingwithbrushes . This was truly an experiment, so am happy it came out.

This one is a bit different -- a shot of the Baldwin Bridge that spans the Connecticut River just at the point where it empties into Long Island Sound. There's a boat launch under the bridge, which I never knew. I took this shot last December -- a beautiful sunny day; the next day we had our first snowstorm!

"Span"
digital image by artist

I was trying for a "vintage" look, and was pleased with how the opposite shoreline came out -- reminds me of a Constable or an Inness. Believe it or not, the texture is the bottom of an old cookie baking pan that I scanned -- ha! -- see how desperate one can get on a dreary Sunday afternoon?

Well, I'll stop complaining. Time to get things ready for another work week. Let's hope that Spring returns soon -- these cold, blustery days are wearing me down!

Daydreams of Spring

Morning Stroll


She stands in the winter-darkened wings, waiting to make her entrance, trailing silks and chiffons; like a great dancer, a grand jete will be her signature motion. But for now, she waves a bit silk to tease her audience, who wait breathlessly for the grand moment . . .

However we picture spring, we are being blessed with several days of 50 degree-plus, sunny weather here in New England. Yesterday, I sat on the deck and baked my winter-weary, pale white skin. Not the best thing to do, but it was a must. Sweat actually formed on my brow and I had to remove my sweater; I eventually took off my hiking boots and wriggled my toes in the warm air, letting them rest on the sun-baked wood. I did not go inside until well after 5pm. And next weekend is Daylight Savings, so the clocks will be turned ahead, giving us extra hours of light at the end of the day. Glorious!

This morning I took a long walk, not striding with purpose but rather strolling, ambling in the early morning sunlight, letting the cool wind wake me up. As I walked, I purposely looked up, not down, which is usually my habit, searching for little bits of twigs, which I collect for some odd reason. For some it's pebbles and stones, for me it's those quirky bits of wood that remain after the woodchipper has left or the flattened pine cones squashed by the snow plows.

Up above the sky was azure, cerulean, so clear and bright it seered these eyes more accustomed to dimmed winter interiors. Evergreens and birches pressed themselves against the china blue, cutting a fine edge of contours. Black crows scuttled from tree to tree, making screechy sounds, almost delirious with the growing warmth of the morning.

As I walked neighbor's windchimes gave off sweet, yet melancholy metallic notes that drifted in the wind, and these were answered by the chirrups and chuckles of goldfinches and chickadees darting among the still bare branches. There was little car traffic as this is Sunday, so the quiet was deep and delicious.

Green! How many greens can there be as we slowly make the curve into the new season? The darkened green of ivies climbing walls and chimneys lay against the brighter green of rhododendrons, melted snows revealed patches of mosses, grey-green lichens on dun-colored bark, white pine needles, like slender threads, offered slivers of green against the blue-green of a spruce. Even the magnolias offered a feathery sage green veil promising so many thousands of buds ready to break free.

With the growing warmth, the smell of earth drifted upwards, something that I had not met on my walks for months now. It was almost as heady as baked bread, making my gardener's mouth water. Yesterday I had done several hours' work in the garden, clearing out leaves and mulches, lightly pruning dead branches and readying the ground for the first signs of growth. Amazingly, my hostas and daylilies are peeking through, little fingers of green tipped in white and purple edging up through the ground. A primula flashes her ruffled leaves and soon will offer another heady smell if one bends low enough to catch it.

I have no series of images to offer today, except for those I have painted with my words. No matter how hard an artist or writer tries to capture the beauty and grace of Nature, nothing can compare. I think the closest we come to a true(er) expression may be through music -- perhaps Beethoven's Pastorale or Copeland's Appalachian Spring -- begin to capture the daydream that is spring.

She gathers her silks about her and retreats further into the shadows,
seeking a quiet corner to gather strength.
It is not time yet, not yet . . .

Invisible landscape conditions the visible one . . .

I think I've entered a brown period in my artistic endeavors. These past weeks mostly everything I touch, whether a painting or a photograph has been tinged by brown, by sepia, sienas and umbers.

Does the season influence one's palette? It must.

I know that by late winter I am hungry for exotic tropical colors. And sounds change, too, the melodies change and gavottes and rondels, maypole dances and young girls skipping double-dutch pervade the air and continue through the warm summer days alongside colors of kiwis, persimmons, mangos, flip-flops and bubble-gum.

But now the pace slows. The rhythms are more pensive as if leading us to that lullaby time of deep winter, a time for adagios and nocturnes, of lullabies and bittersweet love songs. So, too, the colors of November -- subdued tones and hues, the splash and cacaphony of summer have now mellowed to the eye and ear.

This painting marks a departure for me. I usually paint landscape; this is more a land(es)cape.
After weeks of walks in our local woods and along footpaths, of browsing quiet lakesides and beaches, the play of light and shadow seemed to insist itself upon me. And so, Shadowplay evolved.

Shadowplay
acrylic, pastel & oil pastel on canvas
2" gallery edge

I liked working with the layers of acrylics, of daubing and stroking in small skidmarks of color with pastels and oil pastels, of scraping back to a layer beneath, uncovering more patches of light. This is also much larger than I'm used to working with, 24 x 36, with a 2" gallery edge.

I am terribly fond of the Pre-Raphaelites, of their deep umber passages of foliage entwining the edges, of the voluptuous folds of shawls and gowns; also of Julia Margaret Cameron's 19th c. photography. It's interesting when we stop to consider how much we are influenced by other mediums and textures.

So, another brown creation -- Renaissance -- a digital image of a clematis vine that wraps and entwines itself throughout part of my garden:

Renaissance
digital photograph with textured layers

Using various techniques for texturing the original photograph, I tried to bring a certain mood to this image, one of a waning blossom with the tiny promise of a new life nestled beside it.

For within deep autumn is always the promise of a spring yet to come . . .