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?

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.