Friday, December 30, 2016
When I listen to Deborah Parker speak from her heart, I think of Sabine, and her raw pain and the something else she and Deborah Parker and so many of us have that can be there with the pain that is so real and present and unequivocal.
We are not alone. We can turn to the power of good memories and the power of beauty and the power of community during times of raw pain. Deborah Parker's words remind me of what I know of you, Sabine. It is not easy. It is not easy.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Friday, December 23, 2016
The angel on Sabine's family's Christmas tree in 1966 reminded me of the angel that was on my family's Christmas tree in 1966. My mother sent it to me after she and my father replaced it with something else at the top of the Christmas tree. That might have been in the 1970s. The angel didn't have a face. Instead she had a silver-colored globe ornament for a head, which I found vaguely disturbing. There was a halo above the faceless angel. It may have been last December that the head fell off. I thought of trying to reattach it, but something prompted me to attach an image of the Mona Lisa. For the first time ever when I opened my box of December things, I was happy to see that green angel from my childhood.
"Mona Lisa must have had the highway blues. You can tell by the way she smiles."
(Bob Dylan lyrics, from "Visions of Johanna," 1966)
You can see the decorations I put out this year for December as well as what is always there. Even though I don't call myself a Christian or anything else, during December I think about Mary and Joseph waiting for the Baby Jesus to be born. The ceramic figures were given to me by my mother. They were brought out during December in my childhood. I bring Baby Jesus out on Christmas morning. Two angels given to me by a friend in the last few years are there during December, too. There is sprig from a eucalyptus tree in a glass of water. That's new this year. See the little tree outside. It has been there for a year or two. The Principles of Uncertainty, by Maira Kalman. If you haven't read it, I recommend it. It is always there to the right of the elephant batik that came to me after my father died. My Christian father was drawn to that elephant from India. He traveled to India in the 1970s. The batik is always there, too, along with Gentle Wilderness: The Sierra Nevada. The lavender and orange and gold tapestry rug on the floor is new this year. My friend, Linda, gave it to me a few months ago. The woven blue rug comes from Vida nueva and was made by Zenaida Lazo. On the windowsill is a jar filled with beach glass and beach ceramic from a beach near Port Townsend, WA. It was a gift from a friend many years ago. On top of the jar is prism that channels a spectral light show on my walls when the sun shines. And everyone knows Oboe! It looks white outside because it is snowing this morning.
Friday, December 16, 2016
Monday, December 12, 2016
As suggested, I thought twice before sharing this. I trust that it is safe with you. I know that you, my blog friends, will also think twice before sharing it.
A friend mentioned Lily Gladstone in a recent conversation. Doing a little internet research about her, I discovered this meditation on the Creator:
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Ten years ago this morning I began blogging, taking a new direction in my life, having found myself going in circles that were getting smaller and smaller. My plan was to post a 40-year retrospective of my art work, one day at a time. I was wondering if I would ever be able to do any art work again. I was unemployed and unemployable.
Now I have been self-employed since August 2015.
On December 4 of this year, I completed "Mandala #24: For Kael," from a series that I started in September 2014, which was when the desire to create returned and has remained to this day. In the center of my most recent mandala is a photo of a man flying through the air on a snowboard. He is the son of a friend of mine.
It was a year ago on Bodhi Day, December 8, that John Trudell died. Today I am again grateful for John Trudell's voice with its healing message of survival against all odds. I am grateful for the blog friends who have shared these years with me.