Letting go

With Dad safely on his spirit journey I asked myself, "Now what?" I deliberately did not try to rush back into things too quickly. I wanted to sit with the moment, the memories, the quiet. It wasn't long, however, before the normal day to day stuff called attention to itself, but I rebelled. Rather, it seemed important to restore, to respond to my own spirit and needs which branched out into this:

 and this:

and that: Hand printing with the real objects-the study.

 

 

And yet something was still working at the edges of the "letting go." So, I let go of his clothing and made Tibetan flags. They flutter now in the copse of trees near my land bound crannog.

Quietly the muse stepped into the space with new inspiration for the materials recently "let go" by grieving family of Marie, a weaver and artist, friend to my friend. Maria was a consummate collector of paper making fibers and rusted objects. Many things magically found their way to me? Was it magic or by design? 

 

Together, the muse and I, with Maria on high, created a sculpture that signifies some of my recent lessons. I call it - "It starts with the hook".

 

The hook (hard to see), is innocent like a question, but it's not. Grating thoughts (grater) quickly follow. This naturally puts a wedge in between oneself and others. It makes one either feel like you have been pulled through a key hole or you are screwed (drill bit). For sure it is the devil's work (pitch fork tines).  I understand it is all about the E (energy) but when thoughts gather force the M (momentum) can overtake the situation. I understand now if you don't get the thoughts under control the emotions will grind you up (like a meat grinder) and life will spit you out!  Okay sculpture, remind me if I forget.

 

With rusty hands I let go of "those" thoughts and think of new ones.

 

 

Paper and pellon, a collaboration and sharing moves the letting go process into a new form.

 

And yet...

There's more personal 'letting go' to do.

I go to the places where the past is buried deep. 

I immerse myself in it.

It is the right time to do so.

I sort through all that has been cherished and saved for years and years.

I am reminded of what was,

and then with a knowing,

I let go.

I take a photo and wonder if it can't all go? If not why not?

Or do you do let go of as much as you can, stage by stage?

More pondering.

The practical side of me says - throw out all that watercolor paper? Eeeech such a waste. I imagine repurposing some of the discards. Okay... I will make an effort to make something out of one sheet to see if it is even possible. If not, then out it goes!

But, I must say, it hasn't been all hard work this past month. There have been good times. High Tea at Low Sea was a wonderful event. Perhaps you would like to see what that is all about: http://veritetacoma.blogspot.com/   Making the handmade gifts for those who made it happen brought out the whimsy. It is fun to play with child-like abandon with no limits on your creations.

Immersed in the waters of Goodwill we feel the oneness and we are thankful.

May your circle always be open, with someone always reaching out.

 

What was made is now ready to be 'let go.'

May the momentum of good feelings follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Side tracked on 6 acres

No art this past week. The sun came out and I hurt from stem to stern. I've been reminded every May is this way. Scratched, bruised, sun burned and sore. Keeping up with Mother Nature in May is a difficult task. For weeks and weeks it has rained down on us - in great big buckets. It was upsetting because you could hear the grass growing the whole time. So when suddenly it was nice out - holy cow! Get out the machete! My whole life changed - big swaths of time were dedicated to one purpose. To restore order and a path to the house!  One day was spent mowing hill and dale, the next it was  trimming trees (which was suppose to be weed whacking but the shade was preferable - since my skin hadn't seen sunlight in months). I mean, the sun was soooo bright and hot! For two days I picked up limbs and trimmings which I constructed into this lovely above my head brush pile berm on the edge of the pond very artfully arranged I thought. I hope the winter rains will reduce it down eventually turning it into soil (in my lifetime?)  As I dragged the last load to the pile this 'voice' welled up inside me and said "that is enough of that! It is time to play!"

OMG! I play as hard as I work, but this morning when I had my first cup of tea out there - it was pretty wonderful. With my imagination on fire I studied the situation from the inside. I brought with me a cut up milk jug. Thinking it might make a nice outer covering. It would let in the light yet be strong. I do think the covering for my little land bound crannog should be from some sort of recycled product. Although if I don't get to weed whacking soon I could cover it with shocks of grass. But, oh my... it is so lovely to look out in all directions. If only I could have it be transparent. Any ideas out there?

So, that's my story and I am sticking to it!

Under the shade of the old plum orchard...with clippers, long loppers, short loppers, chain saw and weed whacker.

After:
I know it is hard to imagine you can make a pile 15 feet long, 5 feet high from this little spot, but you can.

 

You have seen those etchings of old women hauling sticks on their back, right?

See me dragging sticks up the hill to my little crannog.

My little crannog is a 'land' crannog surrounded by a wall, rocks dug out of the pasture by hand, thank you very much. I got tired of chipping them down with the mower. Did I mention I needed a new mower? Yeah, that part hurt too. I know the Scottish built their crannogs over water, but if you use your imagination you will see the green as a pond filled with beaver dams in the distance (actually they are more brush piles). There's at least 5 brush piles that are 4 - 8 feet high. The blackberries are trying my spirit and my skin, and trying to take over the pasture as are the nettles, thistles, and thorny prune plums. I ask does everything have to have a thorny needle? No, there's ivy and privet and apparently grass made in hell. Just ask my 7th weed whacker.

But really, when you sit there in the little crannog, tea cup in hand, ignoring the jets flying over and Gorge the goose who apparently has assigned himself the job of waking the neighborhood, it is pretty darn nice. They say it will rain today. Maybe grass would make a nice covering?