may 10th..and i sit at my kitchen table the waft of apple blossom, lily of the valley and lilac
crossing, mixing..a heady scent.
The dance is what it is all about..I am convinced..the movement, the flow
the give and the get
the body electric.

driving to bangor, the soft hills of north ellsworth..the colors unbelievable. 
the many hues of green, and yellow, like a fine weave.  and coming home around dusk,  the ochers and the soft pink crab apple..the clouds of white apple blossoms, in thickets, proclaiming the new, the start all over again.

spring has sprung early, and we hardly know what to do.

do you?  In such a riot of beginnings?

_________________________________________

Two lovely spring rounds (imagine the lively chorus of childrens' voices)

sweet the evening air of may
soft my cheek caresses
sweet the unseen lilac spray
with its scent it blesses.

white and ghostly in the gloom
shine the apple trees in bloom
apple trees in bloom!

___________________________


white coral bells
upon a slender stalk
lily of the valley deck my garden walk.

oh don't you wish
that you could hear them ring?
that will happen only when the fairies sing.

_______________________________

As we catapult into spring, (forsythia just blooming this moment..in coastal Maine! on April 8th!), I am looking back at the last month, and am grateful for so many aspects of my life here in this small town. To my hometown high school jazz band leader for creating one of the most dynamic jazz bands, and combos in the state, in any division, and entertaining the masses.  Kudo's Mr. O.! And to my wonderful husband who leads the elementary jazz band (and is feeder to this high school) ..Hooray for keeping jazz alive and well among the young'uns.!
Grateful to the island arts group on Deer Isle who put on a wonderful community production of "Sound Of Music"..live wonderful music as well.  Grateful to my bandmates, and the dancers who come to support our contradances..they are the inspiration. Grateful to the authors and poets who help spark my inner flame..this winter particularly Terry Tempest Williams, Mary Oliver and Georgia Heard.  Grateful for a warm home, warm food, the love of my family. 
My daughters..barefoot on Easter Sunday..through a yellow field by the ocean, to the root of a cathedral pine... youngest running the length of the lavender grey tree shadow, ocean sounding, crows watching in the forest edge at a distance, warm wind and sun, scanning the water for seals, a whale, an eagle, some sign while walking back along the shore, eyes searching for a heartstone, or a gold glimmer...but all is the ordinary beautiful, and at once, all these things I was searching for, become manifest, if only in my mind.   A  family of humans gathered together,  in love,  the capping waves and the bobbing of old wood and the constant wash of water over barnacle rocks at tideline.
Other young artists, musicians..making the bold leap of "being an artist in the modern world".
Fellow peninsula resident and yoga teacher Charlotte Clews quotes Martha Graham on her website,
"There is a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action and because there is only one you in all of time, this experience is unique.  If you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost, the world will not have it."

Grateful...as Jean Ritchie sang in her "Blue Diamond Mine" song,  "Oh, fall on your knees and pray."

TIME CHANGE..
time of change the change of time, the dark gets darker the light gets lighter, the sun comes up later and goes to bed later, the dark creeps in and around in the evening when you thought you felt it an hour ago..

who decided "spring ahead, fall behind"?
can't we live in "one" time..the rhythm of the days by the light and the life that we lead?

I just want to watch the world. Listen to the new birds, marvel at the swelling buds, let the sun soak through my winter worn body.

With this brilliance after winters long hold, I am paralyzed, like being long underground, it takes time for one to rise, dust off, and venture forth on wobbly legs, the outside everpresent and calling,  the plants pulsing through the soil, all eager to start anew.

I just want to watch the world.

On the learning curve with reproductions, grant writing, community ventures...
an artwalk in blue hill?
a community blog/calender?
art shows at the wine shop?
learning dpi, ppi, resolution, how many gigs?? cut, paste, scan, crop, adjust, sharpen, edit, delete, pdf, jpeg, tiff, ...my head near full and spiraling...
Investment in my business..purchases to be made..how?

adobe photospop, scanner, camara, packing materials, reprints, cards, readying images for reproduction.
okay..

what happened to singing and dancing?  PAINTING?

becoming nauseated at the screen, the imperceptable flicker, the addiction to google, the "find out".
Terry Tempest Williams suggests,  "the information we value is retrieved, never internalized".

Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?   T.S. Eliot

I need to paint..to walk and pray, to sing, to breathe this moist cool salt air of maine in February, 
half snow
half rain
half thaw, half winter, half spring, 
bring some projects to the "whole"; the half done.


Gardening on February 22, (what..in Maine?)  good to be reminded in my body memory, of the ancient tasks...

raking leaves from last fall, cutting back my front garden, dragging all in a sheet, in a bundle over my shoulder, like a "santa", my loot for the compost, the garden, the rich soil to come.  

End of January, very brisk, blue sky, frozen snow, skids of ice, crack and creak of tree limbs in the gusts of wind.  The community has lost several members the past few weeks, memorials to bring us all together, comfort us living ones.  Dances to fight the blues and send all the money to Haiti, and we can only hope the funds actually find their way there.  Small town we are all entwined, and if we keep circling wider, we find still, golden threads of connection.  Trying to envision my future, the steps I need to take now to get me there.  My thoughts fall to my art and how for so many years I have been pushing pushing to get the work out and seen, and somehow this is not the road right now.  I seem to be following the call of homing in, establishing my own venue, and let the world come.  This feels multifaceted, yet liberating.  I am heartened by the words of Peter London:  www.peterlondon.us
"The root and full practice of the arts lies in the recognition that art is power, an instrument of communion between the self and all that is important, all that is sacred."

and this from Rollo May:
"What if imagination and art are not frosting at all, but the fountainhead of human experience?"

 (a revision of my earlier statement): My paintings evolve from an introspection, coming out of an awareness, a sense.  There is a surrender, an aspiration to a holy moment so to speak. The forms that are emerging feel at once unknown, but familiar. For me this is their gift, their revelation, that we begin to recognize some small thing, and start to perceive the miracle of everyday that often lies hidden beneath our modern veil and forgetfulness, but is always there, waiting, beckoning us to see, to feel, and to remember.

I have grouped approximately 15 acrylic paintings on paper and panel, revolving around a prose piece I wrote entitled: “To Hear The Forest Speaking”.  It is my desire, that through these paintings the viewer is encouraged to enter into a metamorphic world where the essence of our original selves is born, our humanness and our connection to the earth.

To Hear The Forest Speaking


You have to give up your cell phone.
Your computer, radio, T.V., blackberry, video game, ipod, stereo.  The contents of your refrigerator, your pantry snacks, coffee, alcohol, give it up for this day.  Your hair color, scenting your body, making up your face, shaving.  Put down your tools, knives, pens and hammers, pots and pans, your boomboxes and briefcases, brooms and vacuum cleaners.
Put down your guns, cut the engines, unplug the cash register, ground the plane.  Leave your watch at home and your jewelry, your papers, books, vitamins, pills.  Leave the hospital, the office, the nursing home and factory.  Close the school, the bank, the mall, and your purse, leave it home.

You have to get out of your automobile and walk,
like a human, into the woods.  You need to go so far in,
you don’t know your way out.

Now listen and breathe, and listen beyond what you can hear, look beyond what you can see,
feel the pulse of a tree, your arms wide open and receiving.

You can’t imagine how beautiful you are, when we all come to find you.  

                                                                                                              

                                                                                  

        

            

a week gone by, and painting..writing.
the paintings..
house of the sun
helios rising
golden apple
village on the hill..village at evenfall
the disk of green, carrying the green, recognizing it as holy..regeneration.
outside there are inches of new snow and slippery rural roads..
local efforts toward haiti, monday afternoon /evening free soup at the church...gas at 2.89 a gallon?  what are we doing pouring this liquid into these vehicles?  maine electric car...evmaine.org  maineev.com
news in the paper of men who cannot be true fathers to their daughters,
and the sad news borne from the lips of a dear friend of the death of a neighbors daughter.
what to do, how to hold and let go, ..weep and grieve and weep and grieve
and recommit to doing and being the things we love..

The Toe Bone And The Tooth, Martin Prechtel...
www.floweringmountain.com

Rob Shetterly
www.americanswhotellthetruth.org

I am tired of talking..and am grateful to these two men for continuing their love and service to the greater world..

Earthquake in haiti..heart and prayers go out to those in that land.
Michael Fracasso on the radio, song, The 1950"s. WERU..thank you.
Sun brilliant through the piercing cold.
good old friends...I want to dance and be with with you.

continued cold..spent the day yesterday reorganizing the studio after having only passed through in the last month to either drop off, retrieve, sort through...reset my table and gathered the most recent paintings for easy viewing.  still meditating on what is calling.  heels digging in about inevitable change..sadness masked as anxiety? Two daughters newly off on their own, while the third is here in the home.
so thankful to have been able to give in these last two months..now my attention shifts to my soul work of painting and writing, music making, songs.  This is what sustains me so I may share gracefully with my family and friends.
essential to me, like food, like water.
the dryer broke down today..finally stopped spinning, after it has been creaking along for months.  dusted off gramma's old wooden drying rack and set it up in the sunroom.  save electricity, and save the ears from the racket, though in a small house this now shares my office space.
pink rose red winter sunset. green split peas on the stove. band rehearsal (contradance band) tonight.

1/11/10
early morning ride to take B. to work..(we are a one car family) through coastal town in old volvo wagon..sea smoke and pink sun rising through the mist over the inner harbor
about 6 degrees this morning.  i read excerpts from my youngest daughters book, "yellow fever" (before going out again to take her to school)and give thanks; the sun for its warmth,  food in the cupboard, the shelter of this old, drafty but lovely house. 
to the studio this morning, after about a month's absence.