A space to work with windows to the soul

As an artist and my own worse critic I decided recently that I had lost my way.   With no real direction I felt as if I was going around in circles. My husband and all his infinite wisdom suggested I get a studio.  I think he got tired of hearing my swan song about how great things were back in the day.  Like the old bedraggled cat who had lost it's lustrous coat ~singing Memories...
 I had surrendered to my years and resided in believing "I was beautiful then. "

I have always maintained a creative life but I was starting to question wether I was challenging myself enough.  Let's just say I had gotten  really crafty, the buttons and bobbles were taking over.  With all this self deprecation, I was  sounding a bit odious and down trodden,  it was clear to my husband Dave that I wasn't happy.   About this time summer with all her blazing glory was closing in yet again.  Kids were going back to  school and Mothers would begin to fluff and improve their nests,  and hopefully their general outlook on things.  With the season changing it felt like the right time to hunker down and do something.  The next week we found our selves down in the West bottoms of KC checking out studio spaces at the http://www.hobbsbuilding.com/  a over one hundred year old  brick building.  After a quick look  we decided rather impulsively to lease out space for a year.

The building itself is phenomenal.  Standing righteously 7 stories tall, built  out of brick and mortar.  Inside there are two original freight elevators that chug along delivering an array of clicks and pulley sounds of a hopefully well greased machine.  What struck me as probably the most impressive were the massive wood beams that provide the ultimate infrastructure and support  to this building.

            

                                                                                      

I don't know that much about architecture but I do know they just don't make buildings like this anymore, they are a thing of the past. I try to imagine the old souls, maybe wood workers who worked  in this turn of the century building.  I see them in black and white like an old photo there are young and older men dirty, covered in saw dust, they wear their caps cocked over to the side.   They are  hard working  and have hard lives, filled with all the aches and pains of physical labor.  Some of them are still smiling like they have just been joking around and know life is too serious to take seriously.  I wonder what they would think about the great wall of graffiti that graces the alley way out side my studio windows now.  This collaborative artwork has become  a landmark for trendy photo opts.  Larger then life lettering that intertwines on itself are left over insignias of street artists that are compelled to leave their mark.  A long row of these cryptic signatures are left here outside my windows colorful, abstract  and whimsical, I have no idea what they mean.  At the end of the alley in a defiant finish a very seductive giant ladies head is painted by a women who calls herself fem9. Her lips are so demential looking  you could swear  she just licked them.

I am still unsure of the what's and the where's of  this ambiguous way of art,  but now I have the space to search, dig and delve.   As I lay awake at night sometimes I pray  in the darkness of my room.  I  have asked for God to shine a light on my path and give me some kind of direction. It starts to rain outside and I still feel like a child.  I don't want to get lost in a quagmire of indecision and self doubt.   I pray that with this light I may give birth to art, like little fledglings in a nest.  All I can do is hope and wish that one of these birds of art  will grow up  to be fierce and soar like an eagle or be a dove the messenger of peace and love.  I make a deal with God,  I tell him you have given me these talents, this is my gift to give back but I can't do this alone. I'll meet you half way.  I still can't sleep so I get up and read an email about an organization named after John Capistrano who is seeking to solve life problems .  It's motto is " Initiative, Organization, Activity."  I like the way this sounds I pray for these things too.

                                  Prayer Glasses


Here are a pair of eye glasses that I have made a collage out of.  The vision/ lens area acts  as as metaphor for thoughts just like the expression ~ the eyes are the window to the soul.  

With all these thoughts I think 'yes' my  cup is full ~I have a space to work with windows to the soul.

"UP TO NO GOOD"

Challenge

Recently, my friend Julie and I proposed that if we gave each other art challenges  it would get us to think outside of our boring predictable boxes.  We had both been experiencing a sluggish lull in the creativity flow and were in much need of a  boost.  I had come up with the first challenge and it was really lame and not note worthy but it did get us going.  Julie came up with "UP TO NO GOOD"  where we were instructed to go out to our favorite junk haunt and root around for art elements.  This is the kind of place that has different stuff every day, card board boxes with stuff, nothing is priced just put it in a pile and start to wheel and deal.  Great fun in my book.

The old coins buttons and tokens  are what I came up with.  Within a week we will be finished with our challenge.  Please stop back and see what Julie and I have done, cause we are definitely 

UP TO NO GOOD!

Lockets

I was recently commissioned to do a necklace that was more  like a family memory piece.  I was given several lockets and asked to assemble them with small images of the family inclosed in each of the lockets.  It was a 50 year Birthday present from the Mother to her beloved daughter.

I used a strand of antique jet black beads that I had bought years ago. I  have always been fond of jet beads,  the deep dark facets are modest  but still carry and understated elegance,  I have heard that jet beads are also called mourning beads.  I guess I held on to them all these years because I was waiting for that perfect project.  I kept visualizing this piece with a vintage look, something that held the history of other women who walked the paths that  lead us up to today.

Small photos were placed carefully inside the lockets with accents of Forget Me Nots.  A small gold pendant of Mary about the size of my pinky finger nail dangles from the silver heart shape locket.  It was given to the Mother after she gave birth to her child 50 years ago from St. Mary's Hospital.

I was happy to have assisted in making these memories into a wearable necklace that is hopefully something special to cherish and hand down to future memory makers to come.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

There's something about the phrase Hunter Gatherer that harkens me back to a simpler time.  As women we go out and hunt and gather, we are natural forager. Perhaps, sadly now the Hunter Gatherer in us has been reduced to shopping.  As artists we collect what makes us whole and feeds our soul -all kinds of stuff. Corks, bottle caps, beads, shells, papers, photos, yarns, plants, sticks, feathers and stones you name it. They are the colors and textures that titillate our senses and fluffs our  nest.  It can be a beautiful world out there once you begin to look, dig and search. There tucked under a blade of grass or sitting on a stump, along a stone wall,  packed away deep and dusty a  forgotten treasure can be brand new once re-purposed again.

My sister and I went on an adventure a few days  ago.  Some where on the outskirts of Boulder Colorado we found ourselves  in the mountains along a winding road.  Sage colored wind swept grasses  hugged the earth while the trees towered above us reaching towards the sun. Along the road we came upon a vacant house that was for sale.  In the shade of the Evergreens the house sat dappled in sun light holding the memories of another lifetime,  of a family that picked up there things and left, moved on....  The picnic tables lay bare, crumbs long gone by the wind, bird or insect.  Stone paths remained,  passages made with good intentions we followed them around the house and peeked into the windows imagining what it would be like to have life once again running, humming, cooking and whistling in this house again.

The sounds of nature still remained with a constant drone the cycles of life continued.  The perpetual motion of the planets, birds and insects around us hummed on while the house stood stoic and still aging gracefully.  We had done a full lap around the house now and inspected the grounds.  We hypothesized about what was and what could be, we needed to get moving there was much more to do that day.  I looked over at my sister and her mouth was gaping with an expression of sheer awe.  I walked over to her and there along the stone wall by the house was a collection.  Some one or maybe the family had hunted and gathered up all different kinds of heart shaped rocks, there were hundreds of them.  Over the years, out of sentiment, respect or  love they were found and lovingly placed in a group. They silently laid there speckled in moss waiting to be discovered.

We had discovered them, we were elated we giggled in delight while a rush of love coursed through our senses.  It was a magical moment  indeed yet  touched with a tinge of sadness.  Why was this home left empty?   Why were these hearts left behind?  What ever the intention was it left an impression on me that there was love here and this is what was left behind as a reminder of home is where the heart is.

Look What I Found

While eating Pesto Genovese for lunch the other day I noticed  a penne pasta noodle snuck into my rotini pasta,  I believe it to be an IMPASTA!

What's your Joie de Vivre?

In response to my good friend's  blog Prairie Thistle and what I can truly say we share together from the moment we meet each other is  our Joie de Vivre.  Julie this one is for you!

As a small child I found miracles in certain trees.  They carry  magic in their roots and limbs of untold stories from years gone by.  Trees speak to me by the whispering of their leaves in the wind.  There in the yard standing small I looked up to the trees and listened, I saw the moon rest in  it's branches, while the wise owl hoots to me,  I've seen ghost walk through them.  Here in my heart is where I keep my  love and respect for these huge plants of the earth, the trees of many.

I love the smell of dirt to me it's healing and good for the soul.  When I breath in it's goodness I become one with the earth however cliche' it's true.  The musty woody scent that is so sensual triggers an olfactory moment, where there is no denying the power of dirt. The cool touch and earthy aroma of good dirt is a  key ingredient to my path in life.

The ephemeral lives of flowers, is my Joie de Vivre so much that I have dedicated years of my life to the floral  and garden industry. It has been a privilege to handle such fragrant colorful gems like Hyacinth, Freesia,  Japonica, Peonies, Passion Flower,  Mimosa and Ranunculus all steeped in lore, one cant' help but be enchanted and slightly intoxicated by their beauty.    I find comfort in  knowing I can always return to happiness when spring brings me Lilly of the Valley.  Flowers are truly one of the most incredible and beautiful living things on this earth.  An exquisite explosion the anemone flower with it's deep and darkest velvet like button center and crape like petals in the richest most vibrant blues and reds is more gorgeous  then anything I could ever imagine to make or create myself.  I am content and reside to be inspired by flowers.

Butterflies, hummingbird and bees these are my winged friends that without their busy bodies there would be no flowers.  It's an amazing cycle where trees, plants and flowers are fertilized by a highly social network of  winged friends.  It's something that works and continues to amaze me making my life a joy to witness natures little helpers doing what they do best.  To look a hummingbird square in the eye and hear it's dutiful tiny chirp makes my heart flutter.  To see the golden yellow clumps of pollen stuck to the back of a honey bees legs is a wonderful thing, if I could only have the energy of a bee.  Lastly the metamorphous  of butterflies  an incredible transformation and journey from caterpillar to cocoon then butterfly.   The butterfly is the symbol of change - which is ineffable. I think of the butterfly in my quest for change when I want  to better myself or know things are changing butterflies represent the constant journey  along the road of life.

I went to bed last night thinking about Joie de Vivre and there was a lot of things that ran through my mind, the perfect out fit, a great pair of boots but in the end none of that material stuff really matters.  A friend once told me she liked to shop to fill a void.

My Joie de Vivre is about a smile or a good laugh with  friends and having food on the table.  Hugging and smooching on my cats. The family bond and finding true love....  Living with nature in all her beauty and glory that's what inspires me and in turn gives me my gift of creativity.

The Lost and Found

I almost feel guilty in saying this but, when the temperatures dipped down below 0 degrees this January I was blessed to be far, far away from it all.  My husband and I along with another couple booked a trip  to an exotic island.  Surrounded by palm trees and the clear, blue ocean  I immersed myself, letting the salty waters of life bob me around like a little, lost duck.  My skin went into shock and broke out into full blown body rash. Despite my skins unwillingness to acclimate,  we made the most out of every day, going from one end of the island and back again.  Beach combing and uncovering rocks this would be our get-away to see what we could find. 

One day we decided to go visit the island's light house,  off in the distance we could see it standing like a  beacon on the hill.  As we got closer the tower  grew larger then finally upon arrival it loomed over us like a friendly giant.  I stepped up to the massive shaft and there on it's door was a rusty corroded lock that surely hadn't been opened in a long, long time. I wondered who kept the keys to this light house . Up on the hill  now with all the other tourist of the world snapping photos and running around we converged for a small random moment- or was it?  The wind kicked up dust and blew my coral colored skirt up and around. I struggled to adjust to the unruliness of my situation. While looking down to keep the wind out of my eyes, there on the ground reflecting brightly, against the grit of the earth, lay a shiny silver heart pendant.  Elated I picked it up and let it rest in the palm of my hand.  I looked around to see if any one was looking for it.  I thought how sad for someone to have lost their heart at this light house, probably another tourist, who will most likely never be back.  Maybe a young girl, tan and happy had received it from an admirer.  I will never know. 

What I do know is what it feels like to have lost something.  There's a void there and for me it's hard to move on.  I've lost my heart to someone and had the overwhelming feeling of being lost myself.  Once I lost  two silver bangle bracelets while taking a walk in a park on a cold day. I think I had taken my gloves off and they slipped off onto the ground and lay there in the woods upon the soft, leafy path .  When I found out I had lost them it was too late to go back.  I found comfort in knowing that maybe some other person  would find them and have that same elated feeling of having found something special, personal and shiny.  Once, years ago I was going to have lunch at  a club with a friend.  While walking up to the entrance  I looked down on the asphalt  and to my surprise on the ground lay not one but two heavily encrusted diamond and emerald rings.  I picked them up and was astonished at what I had just found.  My friend was trying to convince me that I should keep them, that they were worth a lot of money.  I could tell by the settings that they were older and probably belonged to an older women.  When I went into the club I mentioned to the help there that if anyone called about having lost two diamond rings, to give them my number.  The person I talked to suggested I give him the rings and he would take care of it.  I declined and waited at home to see if I would get a call.  Sure enough in a day or so an older women called and exclaimed she had put the rings in a skirt pocket that had a hole in it.  She described the rings and then told me if I returned them she would reward me.  I returned them to her that day and received something like 25.00 as a reward.  The real reward was seeing how happy she was to be reunited with the rings she rightfully owned.

As for the heart pendant I confess I took it home and made a necklace out of it.  Strung with turquoise beads and pearls accented with little silver  flowers.  At the clasp on the end of a chain there is a tiny butterfly, it's new  life still lives on.  It's hard to lose things but in turn it's also really fun to find things, such is life.  As for losing your real heart, hopefully you never really lose it. The heart is an amazing thing, like a plant it wilts and sinks to despair, but with good love out of the cold cold ground it comes up to bloom for you again.