Permission to Contemplate

I looked at my desk this morning
and recognized it as the the state of my mind
a topography built of notes and books
all the things, all the lists
the geography of an enthusiastic brain.

Summer is almost over
I didn't do exactly what I imagined I might but I did ok
I must remember that. I did ok.
I gave myself permission to contemplate.

Today I moved 3 spider egg sacks
into a shallow divot on a birch trunk,
I hope they survive.
On my walk
I saw a turkey vulture eating a possum
I didn't blame it.
I wanted to move a dead squirrel to the side
of the road but the stick I found
to do the job was insufficient
So I left it alone.
Sometimes that's the best approach.

I read a lot about drawing this summer
And I looked at a lot of art, just
found or suggested by my brethren
and then I thought deeply about all of it.

Weekends spent cavorting
again I'm reminded that working
is my best thing.
Collect up the stack of papers and
move something along
sew on a button if it's all I can manage
look at the thread and think
how it is just a line.

Sketch 1, Cocoon RMS

I put pencil to paper
and things appear in the once blank space
it is magic to be sure.


I found these things online which have informed me
Garry Barker, Drawing Blog
Drawing Now, Bernice Rose 1975
and her 1992 essay "Allegories of Modernism"

I just finished reading "Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind"
and now I am onto "Carr, O'Keefe, Kahlo: Places of their Own"

Summer Plans

Some friends bought a little castle on the Sunshine Coast so we went and paid them a visit earlier this month. We helped to hack and hew around the place to clean up the debris from last winter's storms, and the previous owner. It's incredible what volume of stuff humans can accumulate. The place is sweet and it was really special to share this time with good friends who are embarking on a new adventure. We hiked up to their local lake and I plunged myself in and paddled about. Luna joined me briefly. It was my first swim of the summer season.

Mark and the fire at twilight.

Writing my morning pages in the sun with the castle nearby. Without meeting him, I think I like the mind of the person who had this property last. He surely left his mark on it, not just in the building but in the many trees planted around the place.

Someone asked me what my summer plans were back in June and at the time I had nothing very concrete to say. Beyond the usual trailer meets and camping trips here and there. I like to stay close to home in the summer as it is the best time of year in the PNW, when the sun finally shines and you can live outside. We visit nearby Vancouver and sail the little boat we keep there. Some summers we meet up with family from the south but not this year. So there is a lot to do even without big plans.

Since that question was posed and in an effort to move my art practice along I have decided to reclaim my little barn to use as a drawing space until fall comes. I have been de-ratting it and generally clearing it up all the while thinking about mark-making. I have painted the inside so far and it feels better already. Often I have dreamt of a house where I suddenly discovered several unused rooms and I think this represents the innate knowledge of my own potential which I keep sort of closed up and away from public view, often forgetting that it exists at all. At the moment the whole 5 acres feels like a potential canvas for expression.

Note from Spring

I am happy to report I walked my way safely through winter
and now it is spring again, and it's wonderful. full stop.
Walking the dog around the property the other day
taking in the jungle sounds of these pacific foothills.
As she relieved herself, sniffed random leaves, and rolled in the cedar duff
an obstacle revealed itself, as well an opportunity
and a solution, to a practical problem, bumped into
each other, ostensibly it's a dog walk, that I take everyday
the practice that I have built my existence around protecting
the walk that enables the continued health of my body and mind
which I ask a lot of everyday to pursue all of the things that sustain me.
So what happens when the dog cannot take the walk
that walk, the just about 3 miles daily, the one where I can go
flat out fully striding with her at my side. It happened recently,
she cut her foot and was lame for a week. Without her
I felt off balance and down-right lonely. But I walked fast those days.
It will become too much for her, on hot days it's too much now.
So I resolve to walk her around the property, doing little circuits
in the meantime, we'll meander rather than march. I'll keep an eye on things
as the seasons change along with everything. Day by day,
give us this walk, our daily walk.

Peace Pigrim

My new hero. Meet Peace Pilgrim who began walking January 1, 1953 and continued until her death in 1981.

Patience

I walked around the back of my property today, a quick consolation. The dog on a leash following me, picking her way through blackberries recently flattened by snow but no less sharp. It felt good to poke around back there and to imagine keeping a path open through the underbrush simply by walking it daily. I have been in a weird mood lately. Anxious and nervous, sad and sullen. The weather has been unusually cold for about 6 weeks and it's been hard to get out and walk everyday. I am deeply afraid of slipping and falling, perhaps cracking my skull open. I step and slip and stop myself with large jerking gestures that rip at my muscles and tweak my neck and shoulders, the body losing control while the brain sits idly by. Everything feels uncertain and the little tears seem to welcome bigger worries and my brain is all too willing to entertain fantasy horrors. On Friday I felt too weak to ride my exercise bike and while the forecast was for warmer temperatures they were slow coming. I felt so tired after waking early I ended up asleep on the couch at 9 am when I am usually going to work. My regular walking partner came by around noon and despite the cold we forced ourselves out and took our walk. She struggles with anxiety and depression too so we were able to talk about the spiraling down process as we went along. My legs felt weak and wobbly the result of a virus that lives down deep in me and flares up at those times when I am vulnerable and the light is low. It's like water flowing down seeking the smallest openings, the places you can't see or even feel sometimes. It's dreadful and precarious and I think about the long sleep. We shared a light lunch after our walk and I gave myself permission to rest and watched a movie. Eventually I planned a meal and drove to town to shop. I prepped and cooked and laid back down to wait for my husband and daughter to arrive. I watched a documentary about photographer Vivian Maier and then one about Maya Lin. The weekend came and went, I skated on a perfectly frozen lake and again on an indoor rink. My husband got the cold my daughter and I have had. I am home alone again back in my studio meeting with clients. It's raining now, the ice is melting and soon I will be able to walk daily, to do the thing I am designed to do.