Take The Ride . . . Again

In July of 2008, I launched this blog.

Out of curiosity, I just looked back to see what I'd written when I began.

I was SHOCKED to read my very first entry.

I instinctively knew what I didn't yet know.

At the time of that first blog post, I'd never touched a brush to canvas.

It would be another 15 months before I'd complete my first painting.

Now, painting is pretty much all I wanna do!

Back then, I'd only written private journal entries.

Now I've penned hundreds of blog posts and co-authored a book!

I've re-published that first post for you here below.

In it, I can see what would lead to "my blooming life".

*********************************************************

Take The Ride

I stopped by the park between errands for some quiet - I have so much noise in my head! While sitting in my air conditioned car, I was struck by the sight of a large hawk scratching about on the ground before me. So very gorgeous and majestic!

I watched him for a full five minutes before a girl walked by, scaring him off. How often am I so busy that I miss moments like these? Even the girl strolling slowly by does not notice the large bird. Such tiny moments bring me clarity.

I hear an inner voice telling me to "soften my tone, brighten my outlook, act with more freedom and to take better care of myself." The last month has been so hard. Only two days ago, I told my husband that I felt the need to run away. Not from him or anyone or anything else . . . I couldn't really explain myself further at the time. I've come now to realize it's more a longing to run towards something. That something is my more fully blown self - my bigger, fuller, blossomed self. I do not have to go anywhere to do that!

In my lifetime, I have mostly disregarded that inner voice; minimized it, ignored it. I hear small bits and pieces . . . echoes . . . and only in moments, like this, in silence. I know my soul's direction will make me stronger, more powerful. Not a hard power but a still, quiet strength. A strength filled with inner certainty.

I hear more direction echoing through to me now. I'm guided to "become an artist of life. One who brilliantly lives it, loves it, observes it and records it here on this site - and in the art I can only so far see in my imagination. Make the effort," the small voice says, "articulate it all in writing and on canvas."

This feels so huge, so beyond my capability. Fear comes and paralyzes me. But I am told that "my job is simply to allow. I am not to stand in the way. Allow the flow. Unblock," it says. "Take the ride."

The Quickening

Since making this promise to myself,

the work has been pouring out of me!

Fast - but with lots of layers and texture and collage.

(Of course, it helps that our weather is so dry and breezy.  Paint dries real quick!)

This painting, which I call "The Space Between Us", happened in maybe 2 hours??

(Closer detail shots below give you a glimpse of the layers.)

This art journal spread titled "The Air Up There", came quickly too.

(Huh I don't usually title art journal spreads.)

Anyways, there's TONS of writing hidden underneath, 

within and on top of the paint & collage layers.

It was done in response to Galia Alena's first segment of her online class 

"Calling In The Elements".

I never knew that the element of Air had SO much to teach me - oh but it does.

Air can be both gentle and strong.

Have you ever really thought about that before?

I wanna be THAT . . . gentle AND strong - like Air, like a dancer, like a bird.

I even whipped out this super personal art map - 

it's a kind of visual plan of where 

I dream of going with my art making and other creative callings.  

(But it's soooooo personal, I can't won't share the details - hence the blurry bits.)

It's good stuff I tell you....good stuff!  Setting me on fire kind of stuff.

You see art making can be practical too.

There's something super special about putting your intentions 

not only on paper or on another to-do list,

but in firmly coloring it into your heart and soul with art - 

whether that's on a ginormous piece of watercolor paper OR in your journal.

Hand + eye + heart + brain working together = good.

The Promise I Make

I do love October.  It may be my favorite month - April is equal in my heart, but the energies are so different.  October makes me quiet down, get still and snuggly, and pause to take in the beauty of the changing colors, cool mornings and dramatic sunsets.

April has me revving up, getting louder, more active and watching in astonishment as the world blooms.  I love both equally, but right now I am deep under a pile of blankets, propped up on pillows, soft music playing, dog in lap.  It's after 6am, and still dark and quiet.  

It's a gentle start to my day.

I want it to rain and blow like they forecast, but it hardly ever does.  The changes in season are so subtle here in southern California, one really does look forward to the rain days.

In about 10 days, I'll take a little trip further south where I'll start very early mornings at the base of a mountain, stretching cold muscles in preparation for a long dark hike up.  Heat and breathlessness will build and by the time sun rises, I'll be starting my descent with a flushed face.  This balance of cool and heat will become my routine for a week 

that I'll struggle to maintain back in the real world.

("Catching Fire", 36"x48" acrylic, ground garnet and collage on canvas)

As I write, I see dawn's first rays through my window.  The sky is a worn, faded navy with charcoal clouds floating on still gentle breezes.  Where is this rain they promise?  

Colors brighten to Payne's Gray - and now I know Mr. Payne's inspiration.  

Today, I'll be back in the studio, lost in the struggle at the easel - shall I continue on the path yesterday's painting took or throw in the curve ball of a random color or shape?

The war in my head will commence where it left off.  Is this real art?  What is real art anyway?  Why doesn't a new subject or idea or flash of inspiration come to me?  How can I find what I really want to paint?  What is that?  

Colors outside lighten now to Azure - or is Cerulean blue?

* * * * *

I've been away from the blog for well over a month. 

During that time, we've renovated our entire back yard and it was a really big job.

I love that it's ready for Fall's cool nights - you see, the barbecues never stop at this home!

I also took a major tumble and landed with a concussion that stopped EVERYTHING for some time. 

I'm well again and back at it.

During my time away, I wondered if it wasn't time to stop this blog writing.

Or perhaps start a new and different one.  

I mean when I began this blog, I don't think I was even painting yet.

Hasn't my creative life now "bloomed"?

Is it time to move on?

But I've come to the realization, that a fresh start isn't what's needed.

What's needed is a deepening of my commitment to this creative life.

So that's the promise I make to myself - with you as my witness.

I pledge to continue on this creative journey - with all the pleasures (and angst) it brings with it.

I commit to showing up to the easel, the keyboard, and the paper - daily if at all possible.

I will continue following my outrageous passions for style, interior design, creative environments,

world music, travel and reading 5 books at once.  (Because that's just who I am.)

Equally as important - I will never stop championing women artists wherever/whenever I can! 

So all that being said, I may indeed "tweak" this blog to include more of ALL THAT, 

because this is my blooming life - and while I'm planted here in this beautiful colorful Earth, 

I'll continue to grow and share my colors with you.

Bloggy Break

I've been a little absent here as of late and 

just realized that I have intuitively taken a little "bloggy break".  

Therefore, I'm hereby making it "official". . . ta da!

I'll be taking the last few weeks of summer to "fill the well".

I intend on coming back feeling refreshed, inspired and ready to BLOOM!

See you in October!

Summer Break

Hello lovely ones!

Just a quick note to tell ya what I'm up to. I've decided to take a summertime break from blogging through July (maybe even August - OMG).

Feeling the need for a little un-plug! I'll be taking this time to do some deep internal listening - a rejuvenation of mind, body and soul - a summer of unbridled joy, love and art-making. Remember our summer breaks as kids? Wasn't it divine?

I know I'll return with oodles to share, including plans for new adventures! But this is not without fear of losing touch with you, I must confess. Know I'm thinking of you and hoping your summer brings a soul-break of your own filled with fun, laughter and a few laps 'round a cool blue pool!

XOXO!

"The Hug"

Today, I had some much needed painting time. I loved that it was cold and raining - something we don't get much here in sunny SoCal. The rain gave me the added incentive I needed to stay inside....I tell ya, I was creating a helluva a list of what I "should" do!

I'm so happy I gave myself the art-making time. I haven't painted in a while and the calling was building in me like the thunderclouds brewing outside my window.

This painting came pouring out of me in less than an hour. It is one of the few I can claim was truly created "intuitively" (which may account for the surreal aspect).

I began with the usual (for me) brightly painted geometric background. Which frankly, I am sick of painting, but that's what came out. Being sick of it and all, I grabbed a hand full of titanium white and literally smeared it on. Finger painting, yay! That'll loosen you up!

When I stepped back to look at my colorful mess, there she was..... a figure lurking, waiting to be pulled forth. So I did and here she is for all the world to see.

I cannot tell you the satisfaction that comes from painting intuitively. It is a practice that teaches faith and surrender.... like religion. Trust the process. Forget the outcome. No matter if pieces like this never sell or find an audience.....it is so incredibly fulfilling. Like a big, long hug .... for myself.

Taking Out the Trash

I have a little story for you. A different kind of story than normally found here.

This morning, I awoke extra early. 5 A.M. to be exact. The house was quiet and dark. My hubby's out of town. Let me also explain that this week has been challenging. More than challenging. Lots to deal with. None of it good. Peaking yesterday with an abscessed tooth and an emergency root canal.

So with this gift of quiet time, I knew I needed a shift . . . some calm in the storm. I clicked on a tranquil little meditation stored on my computer. Twenty minutes of breathing and stillness. Ahhhhh, perfect. I began.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Not 60 seconds into my blissful state, I realized my computer was bleeping. If you have a MAC, you'd recognize that annoying bleep. The kind warning you when one of your applications needs updating. I opened my eyes to scan the screen for the normally accompanying jumping icon. Nothing. Nothing needed updating. Hmm.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

The sound intensified, quickened. I thought, "I can do this. I can still my mind enough to ignore that bleeping bleep!"

Breathe. In. Out. AAaaaarrrgghhhhh! It won't stop!

Ignore it . . . breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

Somehow through the repetitive bleeping, I managed to quiet down my monkey mind. It came to me in a sudden flash. "Empty the trash", my now still internal voice said. "Just empty the trash." I opened one eye. Do I dare disrupt this stillness I'm feeling? "Yes," it said.

I opened both eyes, glanced at the "trash can" icon and clicked "empty the trash". It worked! The bleeping stopped immediately. Wow, I've never had that much trash in the can before. So I guess it's never bleeped at me.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Peace. Restored.

I sat for the remaining 10 minutes of the meditation with a smile on my face. Listening to my inner voice had worked. How quickly I forget that. Emptying my computer's trash can of all 217 items worked.

A subtle clue to also clear my mind of this week's "trashy" thoughts. I'm dumping all 217 of them!

They Talk to You

They talk to you . . paintings. They do.



Sometimes I'll hear the bare whisper of color, or line, or form. She may try out a new hair style....or a shocking palette of color.





She may go a little wild....or Mr. Spock green!





Then something happens....the painting speaks louder, as I quiet down. She tells me what was there, hidden all along.





Before my eyes, she transforms into a magical golden queen . . .



with messages meant just for me . . . from deep within my creative soul.



She also told me she has more to say . . . tomorrow.

There Will Be No Going Back

I can't pinpoint when it happened - that place in time where I began to paint all day in the studio and then, if my hubby was away, come home and doodle for hours more.



I've even taken to sketching in bed till really late - which drives my poor pup crazy!



Sometimes, my head is in the stars - dreaming of the next character to draw or paint. I'm obsessed.



Nope - don't know when it happened exactly . . . but I do know this:

Who Does She Think She is?

I MUST see this documentary about women artists....

The Permission Giver

It was a clear, warm day when I began my usual long walk in the Wetlands. The trails were crowded with older couples holding hands, pretty thin women running fast and getting thinner and binoculared khaki clad bird watchers.

Near the top of one trail, a beautiful Asian girl stood among a circle of benches. Her camouflaged printed messenger bag overflowed with sketchbooks, pencils, cameras and paint supplies. Deeply absorbed in thought, she was oblivious to my presence. Behind me, two galloping golden retrievers were leading two fifty-ish suntanned men. The dogs were in quest of four falcons and being off-leash, freed to be the earnest hunters they were in their hearts.

As I took it all in, my mind wandered and I drifted to reflecting about a book I’d been reading. The author, Susan Woolridge Goldsmith, is a poetry and writing teacher whom I admire. One of her essays expounded upon “where she is truly from”, prompting her readers and students to think and write about where they are "truly from".

Walking my dusty path, I did as she suggested. I released my inhibitions and allowed my rich imagination to transport me to a distant, wild island place. I day dreamt that I came from a green and forested country, snuggled deep in the hills beneath moist fog. Here and there, sun light illuminated wildflower covered meadows, while dragonflies buzzed. At the edges of my island, fierce ocean waters slammed against its windswept, jagged coastline.

The island women were tall and slim. Their tangled auburn hair fell down their backs, tickling their trim waists. Strong ruddy, broad shouldered men were stoic and protective. In this place, I knew couples found each other and remained devoted for life. On warm nights, their bodies slept entwined under stars or beneath sheltering oaks when rain fell. Perhaps this place was ancient Ireland or Britain in Celtic times—or possibly, a mythic land of the Amazons. Were my thoughts the inspiration for a story or a novel, or had I totally lost it?

As I continued walking and pondering my ideas, the sight of folded papers lying on the trail ahead snapped me back to reality. I unfolded 10 typed written pages with a woman’s handwritten notes in the margin. I stooped to retrieve them. The papers appeared to be a classroom handout. Looking over the first page, I read the heading “laboradite crystal”. The text that followed described the mineral’s properties, but was not a bit geological or scientific.

As I leafed through the pages, I recognized other crystal names. I don’t recall the title of this handout, but it was clearly mystical. I flipped the papers over and discovered lengthy notes—journal like entries. I read the woman's log of a 40 minute walk. “So her walk is today,” I spoke out loud. Looking around, I saw only one woman at least a half mile behind. It seemed unlikely these class notes were hers . . .

Guilt swept over me as I read her private thoughts, but shamefully only lasted a moment. In a childish effort to hide my prize, I nervously looked about as I squirreled the fascinating papers away. I was curious to read more. In fact, I was thrilled! Why? I had just accused myself of tripping out on my own imagination, but this woman actually believed that a crystal could bring enlightenment, true love and other stuff. Somehow, her words had given me permission to fly my own “freak flag”! My walk was finished, I had a mission. I turned on my heels and headed back to my car.

A moment later, my heart sank when I realized I had been busted. The woman that had trailed so far behind panted up to me. She was a wide and heavy woman, sun-protected under an even wider straw hat. “Did you happen to pick up some papers on the trail near here?” she asked.

I was mesmerized by the woman’s bright smile and open charming face. This was the woman whose inner most thoughts I had glimpsed moments before. In her obesity, she was completely unapologetic and comfortable. She was honest and unafraid of her wild, written words. She was a giver of permission. Permission to be fully one’s self. She was lovely and she was bodacious.

I disguised my disappointment behind my sunglasses as I sheepishly responded, “I knew I’d find to whom they belonged.” I reached into my waist pack and begrudgingly passed them to her. She explained she’d seen me stoop and hoped I had discovered her lost papers. She had kept an eye on my red baseball cap thinking she’d never catch me. I truly wished she hadn’t. Why did I turn around—why didn’t I continue walking the loop? If only I'd just kept going, she wouldn’t have had the chance to talk with me.

My mind raced—for an instant, I contemplated snatching back the papers and bolting away down the trail. She was right, there was no way she could overtake me—me in my red L.A. Marathon hat! Being afraid of bad juju and all that crystal-karma-power stuff, I thought better of it. Oprah has often reminded that it is never wrong to do the right thing.

I wanted to ask her if she was a writer. But I didn’t because that would be admitting I'd read her words and I’d seen enough to realize they were deeply personal. I too, record private thoughts in a journal.

We parted, she with her notes and me with inspiration and respect for another's thoughts. Two minutes further down the trail, I turned back intending to call after her, but she was not there. Her large sun hat was nowhere in sight. How could this be? Where could she have gone that I could no longer see her? Had she removed her sunhat, thereby making her less obvious among the few walkers? No. She was gone, but I have not forgotten.

* * * * *

“It’s not a bad idea to get in the habit of writing down one’s thoughts.
It saves one having to bother anyone with them.”
--Isabel Colegate, English writer

"Pulling" Paintings Forth

I'm having so much fun in Mystele's Gut Art Class . . . learning what is (and isn't) a part of my authentic art making style.

These are journal pages I was playing with today - actually they are each part of a page. I'm learning that I often like a part of my painting more than the whole. Apparently, I dig a skewed or partial, more mysterious perspective. Hmmmmm. Good to know before committing to painting a large canvas.

These pages were done using Mystele's "pulled art" technique. That means finding a shape or image in the painted backgrounds and "pulling" it into view! It's incredible.....no need to come up with an idea of what to paint . . . it's already there! Just look for shapes, sketch it in and refine. Such freedom!





Here are the full page spreads . . .

Come Play!

Mystele is beginning a great new class called "Gut Art" . . . . it's all about discovering your authentic creative voice. It starts April 5 - come play!

Just click here for info! And nope, I'm not getting paid for this . . . just spreading the love!

Make Art, Not War!

Secret Little Retreats

are wonderful, but it's always so good to come home.



Time away can give you a new perspective, slow you down and make you happier and healthier.



I'm hoping to hold on to that feeling for a very long time.



“The purpose of life, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
--Eleanor Roosevelt

"A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself.
What one can be, one must be."

-Abraham Maslow

True Questions

Questions are coming up for me. True questions. Questions with real answers-heart based answers. Questions about unlimited living...

Right questions like, "What is my wildest dream, my greatest adventure?", "What would I do if life was without any limitation?", "What then?", "What if I didn't worry about how, or if I was credentialed or experienced enough?" "What would I do then?"

An answer came. Clear as day. Simple.

I'd pack up my husband and dog and pile the three of us in an amazing road trip vehicle (like an AirStream trailer) and off we'd go. Our route would begin on the west coast and end one year later on the east coast. We'd visit artist meccas like Santa Barbara, Napa Valley, Sedona, Santa Fe, Austin and Savannah. In each of those places, I'd meet with famous artists and interview them about their creative process. All of the content would end up in a blog or a book or a DVD series - that I'm not sure of yet. But it would.

Then came the wrong questions. "How could you possibly do that?", "How would you support yourself?", "What makes you think fabulous artists would talk to you, an amateur?", "What would the family or the friends think?", blah blah blah.

Stifling and paralyzing answers came to those questions, I can tell you. But, like Scarlett O'Hara, "Fiddle dee dee, I'll think about that another day." For now, I'll stick with the right questions and the right answers. A girl can dream.....and one day, just maybe one day, the "how" will come.

(Pause my playlist, down the page and on the right, to best enjoy the video below.)

More Alanis, Less Enya

So today is the day! I began working on the background for my very first large canvas. It's for my class with Shiloh Sophia McCloud and I'm ready to rock!



My brand new 3'X4' canvas is set up on my brand new easel...I never needed an easel before...all I have ever painted are art journals. Even my drop cloth is pristine!





So I begin to play.....ahhhhh..... the colors are like the morning sky . . .




so mellow, even my dog is lulled to sleep by soft colors pooling on the floor.....

Arrrgghhh! I'm not exactly hating it, but I'm certainly not in love. Where are the brights I love? The bold strokes?



Here they are! More Alanis Morissette, less Enya...much better!





Now I can rest.....time for a nap with the pup...somebody put on the Enya.