Fellini and Rumi

                                                      The hurt you embrace becomes joy.


                                                  Call it to your arms where it can change.


                                                 A silkworm eating leaves makes a cocoon.


                                           Each of us weaves a chamber of leaves and sticks.


                               Silkworms begin to truly exist as they disappear inside that room.


                                              Without legs, we fly. When I stop speaking,


                                           this poem will close, and open its silent wings...

Art

Originally, the sculpture was to be a Medusa.  But having left it to dry out over the last 7 years (found an old newspaper used to make the form) made it impossible to add the snakes.  I had already decided to add wood to the piece, so when I poked a hole in her eye while hollowing out the back I didn't cry.  I will have to use that hole as a feature rather than a failure by working wood through it. 

We went back to the spot near the river where we'd found the burnt out forest covered in kudzu.  It was a completely different place.  After so much rain the valleys have become ponds and the naked trees and grey sky and stillness created a haunting mood.

We collected wood and made our way back on the bike trail, receiving strange looks from passing people.  Stopping to rearrange the load I got a good laugh when I looked down and saw an old log with the word "ART" carved into it.  I know it stands for American River Trail but to me it was a secret between the forest and me.

I spent the last part of the day at the studio finishing the sanding of the former Medusa.  Not quite ready to head home and leave the creative behind, I started working on one of the encaustic pieces that had gone through at least 5 ugly incarnations. It's not done yet but I finally got something I kind of like.  Maybe I won't give up on that medium just yet!

Phooey!

For weeks I have been trying my hand at Encaustic Painting.  I bought filtered and raw beeswax, damar crystals, as well as hot plates and crock pots from Goodwill.  I watched every video and scoured artists websites.  I have never been so frustrated with an art form.  It is not a predictable medium for me.  When I look at some of the incredible work done in encaustic medium I want to scream, I want to do it so badly, I want to chomp down on that beeswax and make it obey.

So, last night after much disgust with my pieces, I took out a clay sculpture I started about 5 years ago and never finished.  She is quite rough but I am attempting to scrape and salvage and finally fire, then will try the encaustic medium on the bisque fired piece. 



A Lovely Drive

Yesterday we took a drive up to San Andreas, a small Gold Rush era town in the foothills East of us.  The meandering two lane road winds through rolling green hills dotted with old farm houses. 

Friends and family gathered on the little island of land on top of a small hill with an enormous oak tree at the entrance of the house. This home, overflowing with so many treasures of antiques and oddities and memories, has been a touchstone for the group of us for 30 years. The house belongs to Kitty.  As teens, she would have us up early on Saturdays yardsaling and she has never stopped.  Her taste runs the gamut from kitch to clutter to curious to ...you name it, she probably has it.  Some of Sammy Davis Jr.'s clothes, a stuffed ermine, mineral specimens, to name but a few.

Kitty is the mother of 3 dear friends, friends I met as a 14 year old, friends who shared their "firsts". A book could be written about these incredible people, a thousand stories of our escapades and experiences, how they changed my life and helped to make me who I am. I will be eternally grateful for these most constant of friends.

 

Random Shots of Arizona

The Grand Canyon