A poem by Susan Cooper.

 And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.


Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.

 ________________________

And this by Raymond Carver.

Late Fragment

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth. 

Autumn..November
We change clocks back this weekend, so morning is lighter, evening darker, and our time of light in this northeastern land, becomes shorter as we spiral in toward the winter solstice.
Working on a series of new paintings, "Between"

What small secret lies between
the sky and the sea
a glimmer, a possibility?  What pleasure
lies between, knowing and not
knowing you, my dream
as love journeys from shore to shore.
And isn't heaven on earth
here, where fire meets air
in a nebulous, mysterious dance?
And how many times
in this circle of autumn
have I spied the great heron
lifting his muscled wings
in a thrust to rise above
the fertile marshland, hovering between
the dusk of ancient sand, and the country
of you I am courting daily.

Gallery sitting in high summer, in downtown Castine at the Tarratine, co-op gallery of six members.  Brought with me flower bouquets from my garden, gathered and bundled by my youngest daughter.  Brought with me my ukulele, and have already strummed a tune.  The fan powered by a hydro dam so many miles away is blowing beautiful warm air.  I write on this computer after it has been charged..again, from the same source.
Back one week now from a weekend away in a wondrous field in the western mountains of Vermont.
A community gathered, our intention pure, our hearts open, our willingness to put down our clocks and cell phones and mirrors and computers.  Our willingness to remember and give thanks for this luscious green earth, our willingness to still our being, without thought to what comes next, but to be the chant, be the song in the night, be the human grateful to the earth for feeding us so richly.

 This remembering, this stilling is where I try to go in my creative work.  It is as though through the work I am trying to put form to essence.  I am trying to bring forth the buried familiar.  I want to communicate, this is very important to me.  I believe by trying to get to the deep root, the nub of myself, that what I pull forth will be part of what any of us has within.  Our connection with all nature, our human family, the story of our creativity, our openness, our power.  When the great majority of us at age six or seven stop drawing and painting as a language, as a way of giving, as a way of communicating, we cut off a huge vehicle for understanding ourselves in the world, we start closing off our openness, our ability to receive the gifts from the "holy".

What excites me about my creative process is coming into this place of reception, and through this, through the forms and color, the shapes and the raggedy lines, I hope others will see a glimmer of something they have perhaps left behind, or are attempting to open themselves to.
I am not interested in replication, I am interested in what happens when one opens up to the infinite possibilities and finds form to express what we cannot describe, but we feel; like divine, like the deep forest place, like the essence of water, like love, like happiness.

Thank you to Jane Dahmen , for your beautiful work, which lead me to write, which lead you to inquire, of my knowledge of Kimura, which I had none, and now through interstate library loans have had in my hands reproductions of his paintings, a feast for my eyes and soul! a blessing to have discovered them in this late winter turn spring. Kin.

To Kimura
Expanse of color fields and layers of looking
within, beyond the physicality.
The land felt.
The light remembered. In your paintings
I hear children's voices, violet hue of new leaves
the tree in the garden standing
through winter's white storm raging
driving rain and roots traveling
deeply come spring
like weaving, pulsing
prodding like love.


"Drawing is a process of printing the light on one's soul."
Chuta Kimura


And a poem by W.S. Merwin
the back of the book "The River Sound"

The String

Night the black bead
a string running through it
with the sound of breath

lights are still there
long ago when
they were not seen

in the morning
it was explained
to me that the one

we call the morning star
and the evening
star are the same.


 

 Last official day of winter..spring equinox is upon us, and I'll watch for the rise of the perigee moon in its fullness tonight.  Snow still lies in patches in the woods, at the sides of driveways and roads, and in huge heaps, still,  at ends of parking lots.  I pray for those in Japan, those whose lives have been swept away, the rattle of the repercussions, the big wave.  I pray for family and friends near and far, who are grieving, who are care givers, who are walking slowly down a healing path.
Every spring I am stricken with the grandeur of the returning green world, the life that has lain hidden beneath winter's cloak, the palpable warmth of the sun, and life blood running through all trees.
This charge of energy is at once invigorating and exhausting, after the long winter of silence and still, of non moving and hidden, of slumber and dreams.
My painting has come slowly this winter.  Much time in the studio spent thinking, and pondering, waiting for the next phase, which has shown itself and now I feel like I need long days, unlimited supplies.
In looking back over my work of the last twenty years, I have started to see a journey...

My work has always been about "nurturing the inner life", and our connection with nature, and in the beginning the paintings took on the shape of landscape, but were metaphorical.  The power animals came through and enticing horizons.  It was as though I was looking at this "interior life " as a spectator, while at the same time I was newly mothering and tearing down old houses and building up new.  As time progressed and my daughters got older, my art changed, the horizons disappeared and recognizable forms starting emerging from color fields..at first domestic, simple forms, birds, flowers, vases, beds, then the windows came and doorways, and there was a time when there was always a window or a doorway.  I was deep into motherhood and a partnership, homeownership, yet living on the edge financially and spiritually.  Open to the talk of trees, lives gone on before, my world felt rich and deep, but with a profound sadness and urgency towards the message of beauty and love amidst the daily disregard for these things that I perceived in so much of the world around me.

"When You Find Your Way"

Now after twenty five years I feel as if I have walked through these portals and they have taken me to an even deeper spot.  Not darker necessarily but messier, void of all those recognizable entities in my life, like diving into leaves and burrowing or walking deep into the woods without a trail, or pushing through to a place I have never been, and through my hands the forms take shape, the image arises, the colors speak and I am filled with gratefulness.
We all have this place of newness, the times in our lives when we need to shed a skin, and be open to not knowing.  It is in this place that we can connect to our humanness,  not our faith or religion as separate from ourselves, but the holy that "is" us..the god-like place within us..like the power of moving mountains, the depth of waters, the intricacies of all living things..the life blood of trees in spring.
The earth..our holy place.
And being open to that concept is within each one of us, if we open ourselves to the possibility.

         
February on the coast of Maine.

Snow and more snow, lovely blanket across the land, frigid cold, old cars groan and doors stick shut, ground moans under foot, roads heave, ice forms sheets across the harbor, glistening, as further out in the bay the sea smoke rises and hovers.  I force myself to walk the road, in all weather, the neighboring estate's field of summer grass gone under the cascade of thigh high trackless snow.  Other tracks, car, dog, me walking, rabbit and fox, and I wonder where the deer are, waiting in some deep forested place or the seals, roaming their icy underwater world, gathering in what they can.  We walk about, and go on with our jobs, our sense of duty, and try hard to give our love to those around us..we struggle with giving when the dark beckons us to curl tight, hold fast.
February sun finds its way into the house..it is a trail, a road, a bed, a song.  It is warmth, earth's shining partner.

Happy New Year all of the earth..
us earthly beings, whence come we?

a spark of light, a breath of air, a deep void,
a God, a rib, a seed, a womb
a dream, a desire, a solitary moment,
an ecstasy, a glee, a wonderment.

Second week of November, 2010, time change this past Sunday..fall back one hour, and traveled down to the southern part of the state to deliver 28 paintings of mine to the Lifeworks Chiropractic Center.  The day was punctuated by overcast sky, blowing winds, the russets of the oaks along the highway, and fellow humans scurrying in their cars, route 3 and 295 busy, like we were all trying to collect our provisions for the winter, and in a hurry.
In this time of a slow turning to the longest night, I feel pulled by media/culture to do more, speed up.  Somehow the slow turning becomes a very fast spin into Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I need the daily reminder to step back, slow down, breathe deeply...stretch....and pray.  Remember what it means to be human in this time of autumn, when we gather in, share long and early dark nights with a candle, a flame, a warm friend or drink.  Share stories or songs told in person, in our own neighborhoods, dance while making music for one another.

September 19th..and summer is nearly gone. 
On a walk home from town, my youngest daughter collected her first horse chestnut of the season, cracked the spiny shell, and behold! the satin chocolate surface of the nut...beautiful, shiny, and newly revealed.
Summer was long this year, like the summers of my youth..hot days where rocks in the driveway, and roadside sand burns your barefeet, where the sun is literally blinding, the air hot and heavy, hanging gray/blue over the mountain vista, the ocean horizon.  Cool drinks and cool stores, doors wide open at home regardless of mosquitoes.. too hot for them. Here in the Northeast, windows with screens flung wide at night but the cooling breeze doesn't come.  Only a soft occasional whisper against a bare thigh or cheek as you lie in your bed, still and listening, waiting for sleep to come.
Summer saw family visits, car trips, friends parties and music gatherings, gardening, and hard work destructing and contstructing the studio.   A wondrous culminating ceremony in the hills of Vermont for my middle daughter, punctuated by thunder storms, brilliant sun, soulful food, gift giving people, and the last days in a long journey for eight young women.  This past year for her, one of seeking, searching, spinning, re-membering, storytelling, listening,  giving, creating.  The remembrance community, new to me, and already dear to my heart.  Those three days like a dream, like a family I never knew, but have always known.  So profound and I am processing/writing/drawing/painting/singing.  Wonderful work inspired by the teaching of Martin Prechtel, and inside us all; of the earth. 
This summer has seen the tearing down of our old small barn, and the putting up of a new studio/gallery for me..Structure is framed up, roof almost done..windows and doors coming..button up before the snow flies, or maybe even before a big birthday celebration in October, with music and light, good food and companionship.
check out the progress..www.flickr.com/photos/heididaub
Maine shows coming up..Pieces right now at Pearson Legacy Gallery on Deer Isle..a few pieces in Bangor at By Design Art Gallery.
A private showing at Laura Balombini's studio/house in Blue Hill Oct. 9 and 10.
A large solo show Falmouth at Lifeworks Chiropractic in Nov-Feb. exciting for the scope of the show..up to 30 large pieces.

Go out and support the live arts in your neighborhood, your community, support those who long to create, those who need you to listen, to see, to feel.  Maybe you are the receiver,  maybe you are the creator.  We all need someone to love.

June 14th..Flag day..1777. Dear friend's birthday tomorrow.
Gorgeous Peony busting out.  Bouquets shine on the kitchen table.
Rain and sun and lawn mowers.
Traveling, older daughters back home, making room
making pie, making dinner, making paintings.
Writing and making paintings.
Organizing art shows, submitting applications
playing music for kids, for the community
town hall contradancing till midnight.
Listening to jazz.
Listening to sweet harmony on the radio.
Windswept was bought and I stood on the other side of the fence.
Finally.
Not my home though.
Home for those who have the do-re-mi boys..
Friends, I'm glad for them, was a dream for me.
Summer is next in the big circle of life
the fullness of tree and vine
the love of flower and weed and fruit and fleas.
Working by day as gardener in other's gardens
While the oil continues to pour, into our southern salt waters.
What are the ramifications, how can we go on
like we have always done as we pollute the life force that feeds us
pollute the source from which we were born?