tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23196753566008007782024-02-19T06:44:22.645-08:00Karen's Sacred Art PlayArt and Meaning in Everyday LifeKaren Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-38291499077839238942012-09-04T20:18:00.001-07:002012-09-17T18:35:34.495-07:00Who Likes to Pay Bills?A while ago my answer would have been an enthusiastic "NOT ME!" It's downright stressful to watch my bank balance disappear before my eyes. Not to mention all the guilt feelings that creep in for unnecessary purchases (of course they felt essential at the time). I spend time in my studio every day with my colors and stamps and paint (and glitter) and a ton of other stuff to feed my creative muse. It occurred to me that I could put those colors and stamps to good use and make a painful task into something positive. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1ILwLUEQ-fcMmQ7uPAiXIu3RG0GFkWc3_igKxVSsJlzLQ56Bi67G6dEnyGD09pyqK0SMCEwCSKFB-UQByeZcmmwdKD4PNqWvrMPRc0IdWbZVXZfh099a6xugFtaoi1QHK2pYLxaJGRAP/s1600/097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1ILwLUEQ-fcMmQ7uPAiXIu3RG0GFkWc3_igKxVSsJlzLQ56Bi67G6dEnyGD09pyqK0SMCEwCSKFB-UQByeZcmmwdKD4PNqWvrMPRc0IdWbZVXZfh099a6xugFtaoi1QHK2pYLxaJGRAP/s320/097.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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You might not believe this but I actually enjoy paying my bills now! My favorite stamp says, "Wishing you a day full of good things." I just purchased another one at Impress in Seattle that I'm eager to use: "Always jump in the puddles." It is a joy to send good wishes to the person on the other end of my payment. Before I started this I was sending my bills out into <em>mailspace</em> and there was no sense of a human being "out there". It makes me happy to think that after opening up hundreds of envelopes someone might feel like smiling for a moment during their day. Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-44901103056413185732012-07-24T16:36:00.001-07:002012-08-03T10:43:43.332-07:00Before My Eyes<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When sparrows sing, when robins call</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With the throb of joy or pain,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who tenders their feathers when they fall?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Who carries them when they are lame?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Are parent birds forever near?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do they hear their children's cries?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Will raindrops soothe their stinging tears</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When a fledgling falls and dies?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meredith P. Barrueto</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">March 24, 1992</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After watching a fledgling fall from its nest</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've just about finished an illustration of my mother's poem "Before My Eyes". While I was working on the canvas I was reminded of the Bible verse about sparrows: "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by
God." (Luke 12:6). The penny referred to in this passage is a tiny copper coin called the <i>assarion. </i>It was probably the least valuable coin the Romans produced, today it might be the equivalent of a half a cent, maybe a <em>whole</em> penny. The passage continues with a reminder about God's care for each of us: "Indeed the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worthy more than many sparrows."</span><br />
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Meanwhile, my cat Tamale has been diagnosed with kidney disease. Fortunately, it was detected in the early stages but let me tell you, it has caused me some stress. I've had to learn how to administer the feline version of kidney dialysis treatment in the home (we call it kitty dialysis). I look into his lemon lime eyes and wonder if he's in pain, wonder if he knows that the needle I'm sticking into him is to help him. Then there are the supplements--glucosamine and fish oil--and the prospect of x-rays and acupuncture to help ease the discomfort of an arthritic elbow (do cats even have elbows?). I have fretted over converting these kitties from dry food to wet, which it turns out is much better for cats and especially for cat kidneys (dry food dehydrates). But they don't seem to understand that. I have bowls of water scattered throughout the house to make sure Tamale gets plenty of fresh water. All of this is not cheap - not that I'm complaining but there are people without health insurance who can't afford their monthly meds and I'm contemplating acupuncture for my cat? In the midst of it all I found myself comforted by the verse about the sparrows in an unexpected way. Traditionally it is interpreted as a reminder of how precious each of us is to God but the other day I felt I was being reminded that Tamale is under God's watchful eye as we are and the sparrow that fell out of the tree two decades ago. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I see a my mother's heart in the poem she wrote and know that the same eyes that observed the fledgling sparrow also watched over me and my siblings, Kristin and David, as I grew up. And it is that kind of love that Luke speaks of when he refers to the sparrows; God's mother-heart and watchful eyes care for all of creation, even the tiniest "cheapest" parts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">P.S. The photograph of the sparrow to the right</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">was taken a month or so ago at the same time as I was working on the canvas. We found it lying on the ground in our yard panting rapidly. Wilder put it up in a tree so it would be safe from the cats and it passed away shortly afterwards. This little sparrow was a special gift of synchronicity.</span> <br />
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<br /></div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-86461099329263202132011-08-10T18:38:00.000-07:002011-08-13T19:30:59.505-07:00It's All a Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AXVzFH9PA4sdYbpf9I_8yziUVxZwgCYNPNNK_NIfqJRsUB_4YFoVPOfKrallsCO-aGDYHpSIqJ_IpzXjhM6NuUK9gGMirTW93r8dPlNT_mlcerzL9tPIJm_r3m4xl0l49lIc30G9To7S/s1600/Jester+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9AXVzFH9PA4sdYbpf9I_8yziUVxZwgCYNPNNK_NIfqJRsUB_4YFoVPOfKrallsCO-aGDYHpSIqJ_IpzXjhM6NuUK9gGMirTW93r8dPlNT_mlcerzL9tPIJm_r3m4xl0l49lIc30G9To7S/s1600/Jester+2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Whenever my siblings and I were teasing each other mercilessly or doing something silly (and not much has changed now that we’re middle-agers) my father would say, “It’s all a game.” To him this was a reproach – as if we were wasting time and energy fooling around instead of taking life seriously (which in all honestly is what we were doing). The point was a little lost on me because I never felt I was bad to find a reason to laugh or play. Maybe I had an instinctive sense that I needed a sense of humor to survive, or maybe I sensed that play is one way, maybe the best way, to deal with the seriousness of life. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tafalist.com/2010/07/magpie-artworks.html">Magpie Artworks by Cheryl Smith</a></td></tr>
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Lately I’ve felt the pinch of a struggling economy and a variety of financial responsibilities. Fear of losing financial security and guilt about my spending habits have often pulled my spirits down and sucked my energy away. While my wallet has been getting skinnier I’ve tried to be more responsible and make better choices. Just when it feels like I’m starting to make a little progress there’s some mini-crisis that has to be attended to: the tires need to be replaced, the washing machine breaks down or I bang my knee and need to go to the doctor – two steps forward, two steps back. It doesn’t help that this triggers childhood issues of deprivation and scarcity. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://poppyarts.com/originalsandgicleeprintsbyedheck.aspx">Jester Dog by Ed Heck</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>But I’ve noticed something else is happening in the midst of it all; there’s a little spirit of gamesmanship going on. It’s the challenge of tracking prices and watching for coupons; learning to enjoy using what I have and discovering things I’d forgotten I had. There’s a certain delight about not buying something that I don’t need or postponing the purchase of something that isn’t essential, as if I’ve foiled the spendthrift gremlin. This has gotten me thinking about my father’s words and how they apply to the “game” of life. It reminds me of children and animals at play. This is how they learn the skills of adulthood. Their behavior implies that play is the teacher; it’s the creative seed bed for productive living. If I can hold fear at bay and invite a spirit of play into the ring then I'll not only feel better but will have access to the creative resources that are a part of being human.. Fear paralyzes and blocks creative problem solving and it's no fun. Play is joyful and it's healthier: less fight and flight chemicals are circulating in the body, more endorphins. It opens us up to a well of creativity and inspiration. The jester in literature and theater is often the character that makes people see things from a different perspective, which is exactly what one needs when things look impossible. I am throwing the gauntlet down to myself (can you do that?) and trying out a spirit of play in another area of my life that is causing me some grief -- and there are so many to choose from: relationships, work, body image, health, need I go on? I'll keep you posted. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harlequin Seated in a Cafe by Picasso</td></tr>
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Addendum: My father was a gifted prankster himself (it's all in the genes). His mischief was very clever, creative and never did any harm. My hunch is that even as he frowned on our "games" he was actually enjoying it - he just couldn't let on. Thanks, Dad for <strong><em>your</em></strong> spirit of play. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-73132378658532116862011-07-29T18:20:00.000-07:002011-07-29T20:20:04.142-07:00Guess Who's Coming to DinnerOne of my favorite things to do over the years has been to attend the Ashland Shakespearean Festival. Dear friends Laura, Linda, Jeantte; theater; restaurant hopping - wonderful! When we weren't having a rousing discussion about the plays, the productions and the actors we'd sometimes talk about the following question: <span style="background-color: black; color: lime;">If you could invite someone to dinner from any period in history, who would it be and why</span>. We elaborated on this by dreaming about what we'd serve for dinner or where we'd take them. Of course it's impossible to limit it to one person so we'd up the guest list to three and talk about how these various people might interact with each other. More recently I asked this question at one of my workshops and found the answers to be moving, inspiring and sometimes funny. It was a great way to get a glimpse into each person's uniqueness.<br />
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Lately I've been working on a vision statement for my business. It is important to me that everything I do in my work flow from my core self so that it is completely honest. I decided that one way to get to know that deep part of me was to explore who inspires me and why - and since I'm making the rules I decided to invite as many people as I wanted. Below is my shortlist (in random order). I'd enjoy learning who you'd invite to your dinner part. Perhaps you have some favorite recipes, restaurants, or places that you'd use for your guests. <br />
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David Whyte - is a poet who uses poetry to bring beauty and soul to the corporate world. He is author of one of my favorite books <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Heart-Aroused-Preservation-Corporate-America/dp/0385484186">The Heart Aroused</a>.</em><br />
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<a href="http://www.cherylrichardson.com/">Cheryl Richardson</a>l - is a champion of self-care and a great source of inspiration.<br />
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<a href="http://www.dalailama.com/">The Dalai Lama</a> - he radiates love, compassion, gentleness and good humor.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mrfire.com/">Joe Vitale</a> - is a powerhouse of energy and creativity. He is not embarrassed to ask for what he wants and to expect it with openness (rather than entitlement). He manages to have a healthy relationship with the material and spiritual worlds. <br />
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<a href="http://www.gregmortenson.com/">Greg Mortensen</a> - his vision transcends cultural, religious and political walls. He has served others by building schools in the mideast for girls under extremely difficult circumstances. He is the author of the book <a href="http://www.threecupsoftea.com/">Three Cups of Tea</a><em>of Tea.</em><br />
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<a href="http://www.patkstudio.com/">Pat Krishnamurthy</a> - I admire the way she stays connected to her own art while using it to bring meaning to others. I felt her spirit of service when I met her several months ago.<br />
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C.G. Jung - I admire his courage to separate from his religious roots and to forge his own connection to the Divine; his courage in bringing man's religious nature into the science of psychology; his courage separating from Freud; and his emphasis on relationship on all levels. I love his ideas on symbolism, synchronicity, dreams and the creative instinct.<br />
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<a href="http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1993/mandela-bio.html">Nelson Mandela</a> - I am in awe of his ability to live forgiveness and to bring it to the leadership of a country ruled by prejudice and hatred. I respect his vision and creativity in reconciling a people divided. One of my favorite movies is about his life after being released from prison: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1057500/">Invictus</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Winnicott">D.W. Winnicott</a> - His book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/RC-Bundle-D-W-Winnicott/dp/0415036895">Playing and Reality</a> made a huge impression on me as well as his ideas on play, the true self versus the false self, and holding. His gentle, wise spirit when working with parents and children is very inspirational. <br />
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There are countless more people I could mention - and might still but it's a start...Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-33511618923818335142010-11-03T18:12:00.000-07:002010-11-03T18:40:53.141-07:00Thumbelina & Hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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I remember a powerful scene in the movie <em>Shawshank Redemption.</em> Andy has just gotten out of the hole after spending a month there for playing music over the intercom system - music that awakened something in the inmates they had forgotten or never knew existed. One of the inmates comments about how difficult and lonely it is in the hole. Andy responds: <br />
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Andy: I had Mr. Mozart to keep me company...[points and taps his head.] It was in here. [gestures over his heart] And in here. That's the beauty of music. They can't get that from you. Haven't you ever felt that way about music? <br />
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Red: Well... I played a mean harmonica as a younger man. Lost interest in it, though. Didn't make too much sense in here.<br />
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Andy: No, here's where it makes the most sense. You need it so you don't forget.<br />
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Red: Forget?<br />
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Andy: That there are places in the world that aren't made out of stone. That there's... there's somethin' inside that they can't get to; that they can't touch. It's yours.<br />
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Red: What are you talkin' about?<br />
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Andy: Hope.<br />
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Red: Hope? Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It's got no use on the inside. You'd better get used to that idea.<br />
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Andy: Like Brooks did?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZf0wAevjE742fxfHLaFlFHPtAtTnN9HMbKWDgsATNW1ae7jTiuWH8-vKuiCQnTb60jpeL1UFbCcImnrHmhl6lOM3Xfehu4JUFgURmLMpnGlmPU4CwxeNbDjwsAUfdfCIa1YRzkeYzCsA5/s1600/IMG_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZf0wAevjE742fxfHLaFlFHPtAtTnN9HMbKWDgsATNW1ae7jTiuWH8-vKuiCQnTb60jpeL1UFbCcImnrHmhl6lOM3Xfehu4JUFgURmLMpnGlmPU4CwxeNbDjwsAUfdfCIa1YRzkeYzCsA5/s200/IMG_1077.JPG" width="150" /></a><br />
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Although<em> </em>I've never been in prison (so far) I understand exactly what Red is saying. But several weeks ago I was sharing with friends and realized that hope no longer felt dangerous to me. It felt like something precious of mine, like a bird that I needed to care for and protect no matter what happened in the "real" world. I was reminded of <em>Thumbelina, </em>a favorite fairy tale from childhood. In the story, a woman who had no children dreamed about having a little girl but the dream never came true. She went to a witch who gave her a magic grain of barley, which the woman planted. The grain turned into a lovely flower and inside it was a little girl no bigger than a thumb. Thumbelina is snatched by a frog, a beetle, and a spider, and eventually ends up with a field mouse whose plan is to marry Thumbelina to a rich mole. She's already been through alot, and now this! It looks like she'll be married to an old furry half-blind mole and stuck in dark underground tunnels for the rest of her life. During a visit to the mole the field mouse and Thumbelina come across a swallow that looks dead. The mole nudges the bird and says, "That'll teach her! She should have come underground instead of darting about the sky all summer!" That sounds a little like something Red might say. The mole's words horrify Thumbelina who secretly nurses the swallow back to health. The bird carries Thumbelina off to freedom and of course, she meets her prince.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVsTbj5sC8pFD_77lAExxLFqCr5_1ZdiGh26A1LNBTbQ-HdFYWUhyphenhyphen-DPX3y3uOOljF3Z5SdBwifOeWEa3f8lWi_ixGJF3BojSTT3nxim40u-dNem1L61gpAFkXUzfqEr6HZrl0i3n-5xY/s1600/IMG_1075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVsTbj5sC8pFD_77lAExxLFqCr5_1ZdiGh26A1LNBTbQ-HdFYWUhyphenhyphen-DPX3y3uOOljF3Z5SdBwifOeWEa3f8lWi_ixGJF3BojSTT3nxim40u-dNem1L61gpAFkXUzfqEr6HZrl0i3n-5xY/s200/IMG_1075.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>Life is full of big and little deaths and disappointments and it's easy to give in to cynicism and give up on hope. This fairy tale reminds me to take care of my hopes and dreams because they are a part of me. I don't know when, if or how some of my hopes will be realized but I don't need to. I just need to follow my heart like Thumbelina did as her heart went out to the wounded swallow. I made a shrine on the theme of Thumbelina as a way of working with the symbols and ideas of the story that was and still is so meaningful to me.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZn71ERrb9vrfUDKFehGYbkUEqcjU95nC4zJ3Z1W6pdBJFUKJZvB5tq77nihYrmLMhE1xbfKX_JaeTk14Z7KarO_1jTO3v7mQxVjIy9R5h5CpfrzJKRvD3c766Ym0IRqvqBlqvJ9OHhJQA/s1600/IMG_1077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-36204814942423368622010-06-25T15:59:00.000-07:002010-06-25T16:01:18.541-07:00Spider Woman<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dwwaejozlV4QKmpN84iUJffGKHhshEldvQh5Ec0S-hL5-bDII8Phx1kTn6VRSnpg1TCEYl6jIa2S1Gx4PTleZB_lgnEy21TlIAvr_gQTt-ke6tl5bkkHKU-tv1E8Y-6eJpqfunTQcP2C/s1600/Spider+Woman+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dwwaejozlV4QKmpN84iUJffGKHhshEldvQh5Ec0S-hL5-bDII8Phx1kTn6VRSnpg1TCEYl6jIa2S1Gx4PTleZB_lgnEy21TlIAvr_gQTt-ke6tl5bkkHKU-tv1E8Y-6eJpqfunTQcP2C/s320/Spider+Woman+002.jpg" /></a>It's funny the journeys that a project can take you on. This started with the prompt "Something Old" announced on the blog <a href="http://mixedmediamonday.wordpress.com/">Mixed Media Monday</a>. My first thought was to find images of beauty in older women, something one doesn't see much of in the media. Somewhere in the the assortment of pictures (google image search) was an image that related to the First Nation myth of Spider Woman. Now that idea had some real energy and it took off from there. I used silver thread to string a spider web on the door of the box, which I'd just purchased at <em>Found</em> in Portland for $8.00. It didn't have any glass - perfect! It wasn't easy at first - broke the trim at one point - but then it started to flow and I got a taste of the joy of weaving and a new respect for spiders. I used a bead loom to create a mini-weaving and some embroidery thread to create balls of yarn. A trip to a leather store yielded a piece of rabbit skin and some deerskin. The little pot was made with air-drying clay. This was such a joy to make. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCQ_TErz1TBiKcQVrUSieUinJ3EhULDuHSzFk7RPbOBBt8O75ew12IDzu8aK_Mo5sNuARV_cZcB0N4gUtkOUjs2agXWvzrcN5dK4vnKnv-SQtc1SlNyivw83RjDTC3Zp044o3e79h6gTV/s1600/Spider+Woman+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCQ_TErz1TBiKcQVrUSieUinJ3EhULDuHSzFk7RPbOBBt8O75ew12IDzu8aK_Mo5sNuARV_cZcB0N4gUtkOUjs2agXWvzrcN5dK4vnKnv-SQtc1SlNyivw83RjDTC3Zp044o3e79h6gTV/s320/Spider+Woman+003.jpg" /></a>Spider Woman appears in stories throughout the Americas, even throughout the world. She is found among the <em>Fates </em>that weave destiny. The name <em>Penelope </em>in the <em>Odyssey </em>means "with a web on her face - the one who sees with "webbed vision. In Pueblo mythology Thought Woman, Sun Father, and Corn Mother are the most important deities. These primal deities are interdependent. Thought Woman, the Spider Woman, is the creatrix, who imagines things, and as she thinks them, they become. This is the creative impulse she passes on, originating from the primal center of the Web, an eternally generative thread continually expanding." (From: <a href="http://www.rainwalker.com/">http://www.rainwalker.com/</a>)</div><div class="" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Spider Woman possessed supernatural power at the time of creation, when Dine (Navajo) emerged from the third world into this fourth world...It was Spider Woman who taught Dine ancestors of long ago the art of weaving upon a loom. She told them, "My husband, Spider Man, constructed the weaving loom making the cross poles of sky and Earth cords to support the structure; the warp sticks of sun rays, lengthwise to cross the woof; the healds of rock crystal...Through many generations, the Dine have always been accomplished weavers</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQpaCsbUzU5_ri1FMCv6Bfp_Ai_myP_Tq0degfLyLAukCODSrbP22VwECUgVcijls50_32Tp3R_1Ein0n8vGdoKgQs5pLhgRIBNW7V_63cw5X8uFux7PibkwkeoAqh9tSyWIdgidvRbSo/s1600/Spider+Woman+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQpaCsbUzU5_ri1FMCv6Bfp_Ai_myP_Tq0degfLyLAukCODSrbP22VwECUgVcijls50_32Tp3R_1Ein0n8vGdoKgQs5pLhgRIBNW7V_63cw5X8uFux7PibkwkeoAqh9tSyWIdgidvRbSo/s400/Spider+Woman+006.jpg" width="300" /></a><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">SPIDER WOMAN SAVES THE DAY</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">One day, a peaceful cave-dwelling Dine youth was hunting in Dead Man's Canyon...Suddenly, he saw an enemy tribesman who chased him deeper into the canyon. As the peaceful Dine ran, he looked quickly from side to side, searching for a place to hide or to escape. Directly in front of him stood the giant obelisk-like Spider Rock [where Spider Woman lives]. What could he do? He knew it was too difficult for him to climb. He was near exhaustion. Suddenly, before his eyes he saw a silken cord hanging down from the top of the rock tower. The youth grapsed the magic cord, which seemed strong enough, and quickly tied it around his wist. With its help he climbed the tall tower, escaping from his enemy who then gave up the chase. When the youth reached the top, he stretched out to rest. There he discovered a most pleasant place with eagle's eggs to eat and the night's dew to drink. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Imagine his surprise when he learned that his rescuer was Spider Woman! She told him how she had seen him and his predicamnet. She showed him how she made her strong web-cord and anchored one end of it to a point of rock. She showed him how she she let down the rest of her web-cord to help him climb the rugged Spider Rock. Later, when the peaceful youth felt assured his enemy was gone, he thanked Spider Woman warmly and safely descended to the canyon floor by using her magic cord. He ran home as fast as he could run, reporting to his tribe how his life was saved by Spider Woman. (From <a href="http://www.firstpeople.us/">http://www.firstpeople.us/</a>)</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLlmTg3JdhtXlyZize3eJQTDZsjut8nHbtfEzH2asT9-41cHthKdIMC67ZIasRPYc3tlLLvSJWXYafNri0EL8UdeoVPmwPIKegU0Sr93vRSLSz_UWftiJ2uEG4HT_q6ewjLYlc_XjAGcy/s1600/Serendipity+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuLlmTg3JdhtXlyZize3eJQTDZsjut8nHbtfEzH2asT9-41cHthKdIMC67ZIasRPYc3tlLLvSJWXYafNri0EL8UdeoVPmwPIKegU0Sr93vRSLSz_UWftiJ2uEG4HT_q6ewjLYlc_XjAGcy/s400/Serendipity+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Serendipity is one of my favorite things. Jung called it synchronicity, which sounds very serious. To me it's a wink from the universe. </div><br />
I keep hearing about the importance of exercise for the thinking brain, the emotions, and all the body parts. It's always a struggle, partly because I'm tired and partly because I've got all these achy bits (my hunch is I'd be less sore if I exercised more). But I needed exercise for my body and to air my brain this afternoon; it was time for a walk. I decided to take a slightly different route than usual and set off at a, for me, brisk pace. It started to sprinkle but it was a gentle, spring rain that made me feel invigorated. On my way back home I encountered a lady with a polka dot umbrella who commented on the beautiful green of the Pacific Northwest. She ended up sharing her umbrella with me while we walked and chatted. I learned that she's a retired teacher from California. I learned that she has a beautiful grandaughter who sang to a squirrel with a hurt leg. I learned that she came from Ireland and was descended from a long line of teachers - her great grandmother was what they call a "hedge teacher"* We visited for several blocks and then, about a block from my house we took different roads. I walked no more than 10 steps and caught sight of something green laying on the ground. Yup, that's it in the picture - a shamrock. I have no idea how that shamrock got there but I do know it made me smile.<br />
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">*Hedge teachers preserved Irish culture by secretly teaching the language, history, and tradition of the Irish at a time when it was forbidden by the English penal laws of 1702 to 1719: "no person of the popish religion shall publicly or in private houses teach school, or instruct youth in learning within this realm..." Ah, the spirited Irish soul!</span>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-47479421166462964992010-06-11T15:05:00.000-07:002010-06-13T10:13:19.550-07:00Not Boring Anyway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeGZyMyIDMKBLeTMkfGdjrU92DX4hlwnbQ9FWaqqHAvvK00LHCHAANvY0Xp213bUZQw6CKZ_PeIb7zicHs4aLXRZDv8YXuWfpNRQXKEb9upu1exEFX_6uU8lV4QCH4UMC1WCW2LF6ZNAD/s1600/Tile+Closeup+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeGZyMyIDMKBLeTMkfGdjrU92DX4hlwnbQ9FWaqqHAvvK00LHCHAANvY0Xp213bUZQw6CKZ_PeIb7zicHs4aLXRZDv8YXuWfpNRQXKEb9upu1exEFX_6uU8lV4QCH4UMC1WCW2LF6ZNAD/s320/Tile+Closeup+3.jpg" /></a></div><em><span style="color: magenta;">I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, and that enables you to laugh at life's realities. ~Theodore Geisel</span></em><br />
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I've always wanted to work with tile and the installation of a sink in my studio (aka garage) was the perfect opportunity to play with some of the amazing colors and shapes of tile available. It started with a trek to Pratt and Larsons seconds store where I found some polka dot tiles in bright colors along with some 4X4s. The tiles that edge the sink are from a garage sale.<br />
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The polka dots and 4X4s ran out by the time I got to the backsplash. Off to Pratt and Larsons I went and custom ordered polka dots in delicious colors - so much for trying to save pennies. My hope is that the riot of colors and shapes will make people smile when they play in my studio. <br />
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The next project will be to invite friends to a party to "Jackson Pollock" the cement floor. I did it to the linoleum floor in my bathroom to cover up the paint drips left by someone who didn't use a dropcloth. There's nothing quite like throwing paint around without worrying about making a mess or how it looks.<br />
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I thought I better capture the countertop on film because this is the cleanest it's going to ever be!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Hand</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No Animals Were Harmed</div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-47010003024454734852010-06-07T16:16:00.000-07:002010-06-10T00:47:20.359-07:001,002 Gifts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4cDn-cfwA-ljRCbcmD-jac14VADJxPP-Gj3rhjLiLKND2rY3obQYYQXxFekvqmvLybyTItU_ppoSzua_RaXSH1l4GYVpHazGJGzXPqdBEVAkuLGapTa0v_ONAm3JPHJq3FwaAbaSAKke/s1600/Sorrows+%26+Gifts+2+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4cDn-cfwA-ljRCbcmD-jac14VADJxPP-Gj3rhjLiLKND2rY3obQYYQXxFekvqmvLybyTItU_ppoSzua_RaXSH1l4GYVpHazGJGzXPqdBEVAkuLGapTa0v_ONAm3JPHJq3FwaAbaSAKke/s320/Sorrows+%26+Gifts+2+(1).jpg" /></a></div>It has been a rough ride for over a year now. Many difficult and intense experiences - in my life, in the lives of those around me, and in the world at large - prompted me to create something with my hands that would express my grief and perhaps help me find a way through it. What I came up with is a collage called 1,001 Sorrows, 1,002 Gifts. It's pretty damn intense! but it expresses the way little seedings of new life and possibility sprout in the dark soil of sorrow. <br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There's a picture of my father and me in the cockpit of the Spruce Goose in the upper left hand corner. It was the last trip we took together before his fall two days later. He was in a coma for almost a year before he passed away in March 2010, two days after my birthday. That trip was such a gift for me, probably the best day we'd shared, just the two of us, since I was a child. Above the picture of the Spruce Goose is my favorite picture of my father and me when I was a child. </div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKof9vc6AutkgJinzyDe-KNW4YUCMGXRalOeYickigh1oOD8pVTfBJJMdqz4oDwNVQcTPmgvou70UXl42XbK8oaqCFi03EZ_NHjgZ7X-e_98DMzI4bxUbnWDR8-7UVsX21JWNgszkRHlx/s1600/Sorrows+%26+Gifts+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKof9vc6AutkgJinzyDe-KNW4YUCMGXRalOeYickigh1oOD8pVTfBJJMdqz4oDwNVQcTPmgvou70UXl42XbK8oaqCFi03EZ_NHjgZ7X-e_98DMzI4bxUbnWDR8-7UVsX21JWNgszkRHlx/s200/Sorrows+%26+Gifts+3.jpg" width="200" /></a>There's a watch face that symbolizes time and timing. It is a reminder to me that "this too shall pass" and maybe it says something about the right timing for the seeds to sprout. The bolt of lightning suggests the way grief and trouble can break one open, so the heart is more open to receive and give love. In the bottom left corner is a glass lens (if you click on the pictures it should be easier to see). The lens focuses on a bird flying against the backdrop of a sunset - or is that a sunrise? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
Then there's the rainbow behind the curtain and all the little crystal "stars" glued onto the canvas - seeds of light or love or life. It hasn't been easy to track the gifts while things have been so difficult but my vision is getting better. Maybe it gets easier over time. Yes, I think so. </div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-21394931799089337852010-05-22T14:32:00.000-07:002010-06-15T18:26:53.100-07:00<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Art of Creating a Mess</span> </strong></span></div><strong><span style="color: lime;">Make it, like it, do a little, wreck it, fix it. Sometimes this is repeated many times </span></strong><span style="color: lime;"><strong>before the piece sings. </strong><strong>Serena Barton</strong></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGjFFqe3_i0blyC8xTyziZkwrPaBmvQVeY5SNpo5YTn1REpMDM2JQ6CHgUTUNdE-__ffWA4U-4Fvpft5rzT5p2Ll29lGZi_oifIOiS3MTJIOMwrLkbvY4mvl8w11q0HnMUcMHkir-5lOn/s1600/Rubens+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtGjFFqe3_i0blyC8xTyziZkwrPaBmvQVeY5SNpo5YTn1REpMDM2JQ6CHgUTUNdE-__ffWA4U-4Fvpft5rzT5p2Ll29lGZi_oifIOiS3MTJIOMwrLkbvY4mvl8w11q0HnMUcMHkir-5lOn/s320/Rubens+2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Trying to make things “pretty” or “beautiful” can be deadly to the creative process. There’s a gifted child inside all of us that wants to make messes. It’s out of those messes that wonderful things happen. Manure doesn’t smell nice but it makes delicious vegetables. I remember my art professor, David Maclagan, saying that everything beautiful has an element of ugliness in it. That struck me as very strange since art and beauty are so closely allied in my mind. After hearing that comment I paid more attention to works of art and tried to see what he was talking about. I began to see how artists like Rembrandt and DaVinci use dark colors to give depth. Rubens’ lovely ladies are rounded on all corners, dimpled and fleshy. Not exactly "top model" material - but they are alive. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wA93VXX9Rs51LF5H9RmVcciZ8nHMejVp3yWsXV8w5fVoZsRuKoT0zt6ivZFfIANmzHm6GOeNyw-zZp35acameQI9prMfEviGmXmDCmNZ2pgrhAhDsQ5InUEAPDwNPNaJjGOQJ6Wijn5s/s1600/A-Rabbi-xx-Rembrandt-Harmensz-van-Rijn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7wA93VXX9Rs51LF5H9RmVcciZ8nHMejVp3yWsXV8w5fVoZsRuKoT0zt6ivZFfIANmzHm6GOeNyw-zZp35acameQI9prMfEviGmXmDCmNZ2pgrhAhDsQ5InUEAPDwNPNaJjGOQJ6Wijn5s/s200/A-Rabbi-xx-Rembrandt-Harmensz-van-Rijn.jpg" width="168" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Top model Tyra Banks talks about the unique quirks that make a model stand out. Oftentimes they are qualities that were criticized or mocked when that model was a child. Hmm, that makes me think of those parts of me that I’ve learned to reject and scorn. They may not be pretty but they do make me unique, and alive.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2IxEjo2-7VX9ryH128egpf5o9y9bJX53b2eBmGCTpScPNZhUogW5NkX22auymvDCMdEETENQfqoYyNutOJ2Cbx0OkN4q1KEreazdPmwvKHybswyW9C8dxP03zJKM9Srq-adag51mCZtb/s1600/Karen's_Renaissance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2IxEjo2-7VX9ryH128egpf5o9y9bJX53b2eBmGCTpScPNZhUogW5NkX22auymvDCMdEETENQfqoYyNutOJ2Cbx0OkN4q1KEreazdPmwvKHybswyW9C8dxP03zJKM9Srq-adag51mCZtb/s320/Karen's_Renaissance.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I took my first encaustic class with </span><a href="http://serenabartonsblog.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Serena Barton</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I had a chance to learn firsthand how to work with my inner critic, who demands perfection (like that’s gonna happen) and my inner child, who loves to make messes. Encaustic has always intrigued me – there’s something about its layered luminescence that is so beautiful and interesting. Serena was a great teacher who encouraged each of us to play with the materials. The first piece came together easily, like a gift from the muse to get me started. It was subtle, with gentle colors and aged images. If you look closely you can see her eyes looking at the man in the stamp. Her lover perhaps?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2IxEjo2-7VX9ryH128egpf5o9y9bJX53b2eBmGCTpScPNZhUogW5NkX22auymvDCMdEETENQfqoYyNutOJ2Cbx0OkN4q1KEreazdPmwvKHybswyW9C8dxP03zJKM9Srq-adag51mCZtb/s1600/Karen's_Renaissance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wanted to do another one with more color and life. Something a little more relaxed than my first one, which I created with the controlling nervousness of a beginner. I was hungry for it after watching people around me create with such abandon. I wanted this piece to be abstract and random and uncontrolled. I swished on a rainbow of different colors that attracted me. Didn’t like that green, at all. And there were all kinds of pits, bubbles, and lumpy spots on the board. I kept trying to smooth things out but it wasn’t going to happen. Serena said the bubbles are to be expected. What about the lumps? Everyone else’s seemed to be smoother. Well, I might as well work with it rather than trying to “defeat” it or perfect it. So I started to carve it and poke at it and besides being cathartic, interesting things began to happen. Colors became layered and the green became interesting instead of annoying, I liked the texture that was developing. It was almost like sculpting in wax. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLRiooOjJcg7ucPyNaXfSgEA3PPAeFemAwU0nehyokNVHJ-5Sql7f6l4KzzivbqPd_symkFSpjjvTmLeGef4f8B73AAQ66He2ZAmPnpY_8os6gasakNOA0lcozoIhpLXjpd7alERMUuml/s1600/Karen's_joyful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQLRiooOjJcg7ucPyNaXfSgEA3PPAeFemAwU0nehyokNVHJ-5Sql7f6l4KzzivbqPd_symkFSpjjvTmLeGef4f8B73AAQ66He2ZAmPnpY_8os6gasakNOA0lcozoIhpLXjpd7alERMUuml/s320/Karen's_joyful.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, the moral of the story? This is what I learned from the experience:</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">Don’t give up</span></strong> – If that inner voice (aka “The Critic”) isn’t satisfied, that’s okay. That means there’s something more you're wanting. It isn’t quite there yet. Keep at it. If you keep at it and it’s still frustrating it might be time to set it aside for a bit (hour, day, month, year). You can return to it with fresh eyes, new skills, and some more enthusiasm.</span><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">Loosen up</span></strong>—Be playful. Give your inner child space to enjoy herself. Give your inner adult a chance to relax.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">Let go</span></strong>—Sounds like a sermon but it’s very appropriate to the creative process. That can mean letting go to the spiritual, however you define it. Or it can mean letting go to your inner muse, your inner child, or your unconscious. The most important thing is to let go of one’s agenda (smooth, pretty, perfect, pleasing to someone like a friend or buyer). Each piece has its own way of being, like a child. If you let go then it can become what it wants to be. And that's a good thing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: magenta;"><strong>Make messes</strong></span>—Go for it. Muck around in colors, textures, materials. Let a mess happen and work (play) with it. Making a mess can be an end in itself, which is good practice, or it can be a seed bed for your project. When you feel some tension inside because it is not measuring up to your expectations, take a deep breath, stand back, and look at it with a curious eye. Watch for the nugget of gold in it: Where is the energy in your piece? Where does your eye gravitate to? Is there an interesting combination of colors or textures? When you find something unexpected that you like, build on it until you're satisfied, until you can feel it "sing".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;"><strong><span style="color: magenta;">It is good</span></strong>—Don't forget to stand back and appreciate your creation. You did it! You created something new. You gave yourself an opportunity for creative expression. You practiced a skill. You nourished your inner muse.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<span style="color: magenta;">The Possible's slow fuse is lit</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: magenta;">By the Imagination. ~Emily Dickinson</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: #c27ba0;"><strong>Images: Rubens, "Three Graces" and Rembrandt, "A Rabbi"</strong></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2319675356600800778.post-26076288312306345872010-05-17T16:19:00.000-07:002010-06-19T15:14:28.681-07:00The Gratitude Challenge<div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNuDVlMKDDBhtc9aHEhH3cckJPPM4YpKEJa0vpsjjzHxj1XrHGfZRoHeECQX9aJadbtB48Y8ySl5nZHd49sLn_FAD3oIqX1skAUDBGkl56aewooEhpl5Gyps8m4jbpq3IJBg49mRxokjV/s1600/Gratitude+Box+001.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472405783131516722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCNuDVlMKDDBhtc9aHEhH3cckJPPM4YpKEJa0vpsjjzHxj1XrHGfZRoHeECQX9aJadbtB48Y8ySl5nZHd49sLn_FAD3oIqX1skAUDBGkl56aewooEhpl5Gyps8m4jbpq3IJBg49mRxokjV/s320/Gratitude+Box+001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a></div></div><span style="color: magenta;">They are ill discoverers that think there is no land, when they can see nothing but sea. ~Francis Bacon</span><br />
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<div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Gratitude is a good place to begin I think. It has power - to transform a dismal day, or moment, or season of life. My father used to say that a glass is half empty or half full. But it's both, Dad. Okay, I know. This isn't about a literal glass, it's about perception and how my attitude can make a huge difference in how I experience something. When I focus on the "glass" as half-empty pretty soon that glass fills up with sadness, or anger, or disappointment. And when I focus on the "glass" as half-full pretty soon I am filled with joy and happiness that helps me savor the gifts of the moment.</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xtyUJataw-ZId4y8QLlpPrg53TlQm4hyJURTt-ShpcMphhx4RdnPQAmYWO_mSkfH4ZfJrvWaZq6VTnVjxFRYi_FYICMC6Igq9o4hu1-CIyQD4R4MXbV-bQpdcIdd7KSRp6XpASTYetnJ/s1600/Gratitude+Box+002.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472407151504633618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7xtyUJataw-ZId4y8QLlpPrg53TlQm4hyJURTt-ShpcMphhx4RdnPQAmYWO_mSkfH4ZfJrvWaZq6VTnVjxFRYi_FYICMC6Igq9o4hu1-CIyQD4R4MXbV-bQpdcIdd7KSRp6XpASTYetnJ/s320/Gratitude+Box+002.jpg" style="float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 240px;" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This is a trying time to be practicing gratitude. Everywhere I look someone is dealing with a loss of some kind in different areas of life: finances, relationships, death, illness, etc. etc. etc. Me too. Maybe it's more important to practice gratitude at such times. At the very least it will make me feel better and who knows, maybe I'll activate that law of attraction in a more savory direction.</div></div><br />
<div>In the interest of stirring up some joy in my life I decided to create a gratitude shrine. It started out as a wire tree with "leaves" that are labeled with different things I'm grateful for: friends, family, pets, adventures, healing, etc. I thought it would be fun to pick a word for the day like "friends" and let it be a theme. At different moments I could think of the friends I'm grateful for, qualities in a friend that I treasure, experiences I've shared with that friend, etc. So then I made a gratitude box and filled it with tokens that I could pick at random.</div><div></div><br />
<div>Now, all I have to do is practice. The choice is yours, Karen, which will it be - a glass full of joy or a glass full of disappointments?</div><br />
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<div></div>Karen Bhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05887887489523188541noreply@blogger.com1