- Published on
Good Bones
oil on cradled wood panel
18 x 24 x 1.5 inches
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
- MAGGIE SMITH
oil on cradled wood panel
18 x 24 x 1.5 inches
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
- MAGGIE SMITH
I am always moved by the kind stranger. By the bird, by the loved child. By poetry that hits me hard and paintings which cause me to catch my breath.
But I am so very aware of the other fifty percent. Smith's words are, unfortunately, all too true. Especially now, in these dire days.
And yet. (AND YET!) When I turn my attention toward those who see the good bones in things - those who do something incredible with those good bones, I have deep, resounding hope.
This week I want to tell you the story of someone who saw good bones and created a world out of them. A sanctuary of safety and love. A place for second chances, for hope, for joy and a long, happy life. Ally Remington works tirelessly every day (sometimes 24 hours a day) for the lives of farm animals who need a rescue, a rehabilitation, a second chance. I had the opportunity to interview Remington recently and, honestly, her story moved me to tears. The struggles, the celebrations, the hard work and the continued need for more. Below is a link to this interview on YouTube. It is a long one, but worth every minute.
My husband and I take great joy in supporting this farm rescue, which is a permanent home for each animal taken in.
If you are moved to support Wildlings Forest Sanctuary, thank you! Here is the link to the website.
My husband and I take great joy in supporting this farm rescue, which is a permanent home for each animal taken in.
If you are moved to support Wildlings Forest Sanctuary, thank you! Here is the link to the website.
About the art: It is early in the year, but some murderous things are happening in the studio! This piece is a paint-over of a werewolf. The original painting was thick with texture, and that served this new abstract landscape extraordinarily well! Beginning with a rough sketch made with a medium sized brush laden with dark paint (basic composition - big shapes!) and then a thin layer of background and foreground paint to refine the shapes and the sketch. After some drying time, I worked from the inside - out - creating rocks, highlights, reflections and layers upon layers of color. Many weeks of drying time followed. Another layer on the background and foreground, a rough celestial orb in the sky, some pink clouds. Then the pallette knife - and OH OH OH did that ever work spectacularly over all the texture! It added grit and rocky-ness to the rocks, soft earthy edges to the water. I hit a couple of places with bright highlights, then another month of drying before the varnish.
I think the werewolf is satisfied to be a part of this wild, rugged landscape. He feels at home in there.
I think the werewolf is satisfied to be a part of this wild, rugged landscape. He feels at home in there.
Watch and listen to the blog on YouTube
An interview with Ally Remington of
Wildlings Forest Sanctuary
Holy cats in a basket, batman!
The single copies of MonstroUS are now SOLD OUT! Thank you hugely!
You can still grab the full experience (book plus fairtale survival kit) here.
Get them while they last!
Big thanks to the amazing Thea Fiore Bloom at The Charmed Studio Podcast for featuring MonstroUS in her recently newsletter! I am so grateful and delighted!
- Published on
The Soft Wild Part
oil on aquabord
9 x 12 inches
This item is unframed
There is a soft wild part of me
that I abandoned somewhere along the way the way.
I found her again in the quiet hours
when everything hurt too much to pretend.
She came back smellling of rain
carrying stories I had locked away
telling me that the ache
was simply the map
leading me home
- @shespeaksinmagic/instagram.com
oil on aquabord
9 x 12 inches
This item is unframed
There is a soft wild part of me
that I abandoned somewhere along the way the way.
I found her again in the quiet hours
when everything hurt too much to pretend.
She came back smellling of rain
carrying stories I had locked away
telling me that the ache
was simply the map
leading me home
- @shespeaksinmagic/instagram.com
I am learning to listen to the ache. To the hurt. To the sadness. To listen, to feel and to let that soft wildness loose into the world.
Sometimes that looks like painting. Other days it is hiking or beachcombing for hours. Listening to wind, surf, birds and my boots crunching over trails littered with debris loosens the knots and dread - the big and the small.
Recently, this listening and setting loose has taken the form of writing. The last eighteen months, particularly, because an enchanted being in a publishing castle sent me on a quest and gave me free rein. (And free reign over the writing domain). The soft wildness of that quest is now itself set loose upon the world in the form of a book.
I'll talk more about this in the coming weeks. For now I am just basking in the smell of rain released by the words and art contained within this treasure of a book. Oh my.
Sometimes that looks like painting. Other days it is hiking or beachcombing for hours. Listening to wind, surf, birds and my boots crunching over trails littered with debris loosens the knots and dread - the big and the small.
Recently, this listening and setting loose has taken the form of writing. The last eighteen months, particularly, because an enchanted being in a publishing castle sent me on a quest and gave me free rein. (And free reign over the writing domain). The soft wildness of that quest is now itself set loose upon the world in the form of a book.
I'll talk more about this in the coming weeks. For now I am just basking in the smell of rain released by the words and art contained within this treasure of a book. Oh my.
Framing ideas for this piece
About the art: an intuitive abstract landscape - working with brush and palette knife, I roughed in a basic composition based on hikes we've taken into mountainous areas. The layers of hills and ravines and rocks; the hugeness of the sky. Resisting the urge to get overly detailed or "precious" about the piece, I worked quickly to capture light and shadow, big shapes and highlights. Is that water? Is it snow? Is that the smell of rain off in the distance?
it's COMING!
clawing and shredding!
nearly here!
Release date June 30
Watch and listen on YouTube!
Bonus malarkey!
- Published on
Holy Loneliness
oil on Yupo
13 x 19 inches
This item is unmounted and unframed.
oil on Yupo
13 x 19 inches
This item is unmounted and unframed.
Holy Loneliness
"follow your heart,"
they said -
forgetting to mention
the terrible exile that comes
after we find the courage
to step out of the great line
we were expected to march in.
-it can be so lonely to chase our dreams.
still, once we begin,
we must keep going -
because the heart
doesn't know the way back,
only forward.
and once we
taste purpose,
even loneliness feels holy.
- JOHN ROEDEL
they said -
forgetting to mention
the terrible exile that comes
after we find the courage
to step out of the great line
we were expected to march in.
-it can be so lonely to chase our dreams.
still, once we begin,
we must keep going -
because the heart
doesn't know the way back,
only forward.
and once we
taste purpose,
even loneliness feels holy.
- JOHN ROEDEL
How many of you like to step out of the great line we were expected to march in? It isn't easy. It is fraught with peril! The judgment, the naysayers, the critics, those who want to herd the out-of-line-marchers back into formation - people who step out of line make other people, well nervous.
If you are chasing your dreams, those naysayers may think, why aren't I? So there is often a price to be paid, a terrible exile meant to push you back into the queue.
I'm guessing anyone of you who is out there creating, pushing, questioning, exploring and adventuring may have experienced this kind of holy loneliness. Which isn't very lonely after all. And is an invitation for others to step out of line. No need to RSVP, that invitation says, just arrive.
If you are chasing your dreams, those naysayers may think, why aren't I? So there is often a price to be paid, a terrible exile meant to push you back into the queue.
I'm guessing anyone of you who is out there creating, pushing, questioning, exploring and adventuring may have experienced this kind of holy loneliness. Which isn't very lonely after all. And is an invitation for others to step out of line. No need to RSVP, that invitation says, just arrive.
I am personally celebrating each and every one of you. Brave souls who follow their hearts, even if there is no path, no guidebook or map and no instruction manual. We don't need to know the way back. We can just take another step forward with glee.
About the art: beginning with a gesso'd piece of Yupo and a color palette in my mind, I grabbed a wide brush and just ran with this one. I wanted to veer away from preciousness, from tiny details, from tightness and over-control. A wide brush and big strokes makes that easy! I drew a basic series of horizon lines with neutral paint, then began blocking in chunks of color. A wash of pale glow and the suggestion of a sun and its reflection. I worked all around those lights, ignoring them until the very end when I could cut in with the paint and reduce them to the most impactful size. I'm pretty stoked about this one.
Watch and listen on YouTube!
Bonus Malarkey!
- Published on
The Huge Beating Genius Machine
The Huge Beating Genius Machine
oil on gallery wrapped canvas
18 x 36 x 1.75 inches
This item is unframed but ready to hang
(click on the image to purchase)
I like the lady horses best,
how they make it all look easy,
like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!
But mainly, let’s be honest, I like
that they’re ladies. As if this big
dangerous animal is also a part of me,
that somewhere inside the delicate
skin of my body, there pumps
an 8-pound female horse heart,
giant with power, heavy with blood.
Don’t you want to believe it?
Don’t you want to lift my shirt and see
the huge beating genius machine
that thinks, no, it knows,
it’s going to come in first.
HOW TO TRIUMPH LIKE A GIRL, by Ada Limón
oil on gallery wrapped canvas
18 x 36 x 1.75 inches
This item is unframed but ready to hang
(click on the image to purchase)
I like the lady horses best,
how they make it all look easy,
like running 40 miles per hour
is as fun as taking a nap, or grass.
I like their lady horse swagger,
after winning. Ears up, girls, ears up!
But mainly, let’s be honest, I like
that they’re ladies. As if this big
dangerous animal is also a part of me,
that somewhere inside the delicate
skin of my body, there pumps
an 8-pound female horse heart,
giant with power, heavy with blood.
Don’t you want to believe it?
Don’t you want to lift my shirt and see
the huge beating genius machine
that thinks, no, it knows,
it’s going to come in first.
HOW TO TRIUMPH LIKE A GIRL, by Ada Limón
There are efforts afoot to make us all feel disempowered. To liquidate our confidence. To mash our energy and hutzpah into a pulp. To run our hope through a meat grinder. To create a nation of people throwing up their hands and admitting defeat.
No, I say. HELL NO!
Limón's words fill me with vigor, get my heart pumping and my feet ready to go. My lady horse swagger needed this infusion of gritty tenacity and bold self-belief. This huge beating genius machine of mine (and yours, too) is going to win.
No, I say. HELL NO!
Limón's words fill me with vigor, get my heart pumping and my feet ready to go. My lady horse swagger needed this infusion of gritty tenacity and bold self-belief. This huge beating genius machine of mine (and yours, too) is going to win.
About the art: a fresh canvas with a nice coat of gesso to begin this piece - no murdered underpainting! I began with a sketch of the form in thinned oil paint and roughed in the first layer of the background to refine the form. A long drying time. Beginning with the face and hair, then moving to the dress, leaving the hands and arms untouched until the initial layers on the rest were dry. A slow and thoughtful mark making with thinned oil paint to create the designs on the skin. Then the real fun! A wide, flat brush laden with paint moved with big gestures to create movement in the fabric - ooh la la! Building darks over many weeks. A final coat of paint on the background, a looooong drying time and then the varnish. She's a big girl, and a powerful presence. I am smitten!
For those who prefer to watch and listen, here's a link to this blog on YouTube!
Watch to the end to see an animation of the art
OOOOOH LA LA!
- Published on
Our Wild Ride Into Modernity
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
Our Wild Ride Into Modernity
oil on canvas panel
20 x 24 x .1 inches
This item is unframed
(click on the image to purchase)
But I want to extol not the sweetness nor the placidity of the dog, but the wilderness out of which he cannot step entirely, and from which we benefit. For wilderness is our first home too, and in our wild ride into modernity with all its concerns and problems we need also all the good attachments to that origin that we can keep or restore. Dog is one of the messengers of that rich and still magical first world. The dog would remind us of the pleasures of the body with its graceful physicality, and the acuity and rapture of the senses, and the beauty of forest and ocean and rain and our own breath. There is not a dog that romps and runs but we learn from him. - Mary Oliver, Dog
It is becoming more and more difficult to resist the allure of the wilderness.
Of forest, of ocean, of mountain, of river, of meadow and desert and butte.
Which is an interesting conundrum as my aging self requires more and more modernity to be comfortable in its own skin, and to function well. Let's just take a bike ride, for example. Helmet, padded gloves, special shoes, ankle wrap, knee supports, KT tape for my right foot. And yet...I don all my accoutrements and set out like a ten-year-old every morning I can, gleeful and playful and powering up and over bridges and down again.
Of forest, of ocean, of mountain, of river, of meadow and desert and butte.
Which is an interesting conundrum as my aging self requires more and more modernity to be comfortable in its own skin, and to function well. Let's just take a bike ride, for example. Helmet, padded gloves, special shoes, ankle wrap, knee supports, KT tape for my right foot. And yet...I don all my accoutrements and set out like a ten-year-old every morning I can, gleeful and playful and powering up and over bridges and down again.
Hikes require an entirely different set of physical accomodations, and rockhounding in the ocean yet another.
But this is the price of reaching that feeling of unleashedness - like Wonder Mike feels when we're at the beach and he finally, FINALLY gets to run wildly up and down the sand, racing far away from us and then zooming back, giddy with his freedom.
Oliver is so right - we need also all the good attachments to that origin (wilderness) that we can keep or restore. And so off we go, Wonder Mike, too, for another brief getaway into all that is wild and wonderful. I can hardly wait!
But this is the price of reaching that feeling of unleashedness - like Wonder Mike feels when we're at the beach and he finally, FINALLY gets to run wildly up and down the sand, racing far away from us and then zooming back, giddy with his freedom.
Oliver is so right - we need also all the good attachments to that origin (wilderness) that we can keep or restore. And so off we go, Wonder Mike, too, for another brief getaway into all that is wild and wonderful. I can hardly wait!
A little animation (with music!) of Medb, who was inspired by a Bluesky human with an inner warrior of feisty and fierce proportions. I want to be like her when I grow up. :)
About the art: I often use people and pets as inspiration for fantasy images. In this one, I used Wonder Mike as a jumping off point, and ended up with this gazelle-like soulful dog, who clearly does not belong on a leash. For this one, many, MANY layers of thinned oil paint to create the bold, abstracted shapes and colors in the background, and to create the shadows and fleshtones of the dog. Alternating between wide, wet brushes and thin, dry brushes for movement and detail. Resisting the urge to define the background, allowing the dog to come forward and the leash and its shadow to feature prominantly. As with the controversial gun in a recent painting of Pippi Longstocking, the leash symbolizes so many things. What does it mean to you, dear reader?
Just one more week until the winner of the July Reader Giveaway is announced! This month's prize is this oil painting on driftwood brought home from the Olympic Peninsula.
To enter, leave a comment on any blog post this month (or more than one! Each comment counts as an additional entry). A winner will be chosen at random and announced righ here in the blog on August 4th. Ready? Set? WIN!
- Published on
There Remains the Mystery
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
"There Remains the Mystery" oil on Oleopanel, 11 x 14 inches.
"A Cold Spring Runs" oil on crescent board, 11.5 x 15.5 inches. These items are unmounted and unframed.
What should we believe in next?
Daniel Boone’s brother’s grave says, Killed by Indians.
We point at it; poke at it like a wound—
history’s noose.
Below the grave, a cold spring runs.
Clear, like a conscience.
Now, I’m alone.
Only me and the white bones of an animal’s hand
revealed in the silt.
There remains the mystery of how the pupil devours
so much bastard beauty.
Abandoned property.
This land and I are rewilding.
A bird I don’t know, but follow with my still living eye.
The day before me undresses in the wet Southern heat:
flower mouth,
pollen burn,
wing sweat.
I don’t want to be only the landscape: the bone’s buried.
Let the subject be
the movement of the goldenrod, the mustard,
the cardinal, the jay, the generosity.
I don’t want anything,
not even to show it to you--
the beakgrass, bottlebrush, dandelion seed head,
parachute and crown,
all the intention of wishes, forgiveness,
this day’s singular existence in time,
the native field flourishing selfishly, only for itself.
The Rewilding, ADA LIMÓN
A bird I don’t know, but follow with my still living eye.
The day before me undresses in the wet Southern heat:
flower mouth,
pollen burn,
wing sweat.
I don’t want to be only the landscape: the bone’s buried.
Let the subject be
the movement of the goldenrod, the mustard,
the cardinal, the jay, the generosity.
I don’t want anything,
not even to show it to you--
the beakgrass, bottlebrush, dandelion seed head,
parachute and crown,
all the intention of wishes, forgiveness,
this day’s singular existence in time,
the native field flourishing selfishly, only for itself.
The Rewilding, ADA LIMÓN
A Cold Spring Runs
What should we believe in next? Limon asks us.
It is a good question. Apropos after all that has transpired in just one week.
I don't have answers. But I know it is important to ask myself the question and then to listen patiently, even as I find myself inexorably drawn into my own rewilding.
It is a good question. Apropos after all that has transpired in just one week.
I don't have answers. But I know it is important to ask myself the question and then to listen patiently, even as I find myself inexorably drawn into my own rewilding.
About the art: "There Remains the Mystery" is the first piece in an experiment with new substrates from Artefex (https://artefex.biz/). This one is on Oleopanel, lead primed smooth. And it is dreamy to work with. Moving swiftly and intuitively, letting brush, palette knife and fingers run free while remembering the wild places my feet have trod. Blissful.
"A Cold Spring Runs" is a paint-over on crescent board. Using the same techniques except adding chopsticks and paper towels to increase texture and variation, allowing the wild child free reign in the paint.
"A Cold Spring Runs" is a paint-over on crescent board. Using the same techniques except adding chopsticks and paper towels to increase texture and variation, allowing the wild child free reign in the paint.
The November Reader Giveaway continues! Leave a comment on any of this month's blog posts to enter. One (or more) lucky readers will win an original piece of art FREE!
- Published on
Don't Waste Your Wildness
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
"Don't Waste Your Wildness" - oil on Yupo, 12 x 19 inches. This is unmounted and unframed. (click on the image to purchase)
Don’t waste your wildness: it is precious and necessary. In wildness, truth. Wildness is the universal songline, sung in green gold, which we recognize the moment we hear it. What is wild is what drives the honeysuckle, what wills the dragonfly, shoves the wind and compels the poem. Wildness is insatiable for life; neither truly knows itself without the other. Wildness… sucks up the now, it blazes in your eyes and it glories in everyone who willfully goes their own way. - JAY GRIFFITHS
I don't know about you, dear reader, but much of my life has (in many ways) been all about unwilding. Becoming civilized is kind of the task we undertake in growing up and taking charge of our lives.
Becoming conscious of the calendar, the clock, the responsibilities, the discipline, the routine, the right things to do. And it has (and does) serve me well - I can juggle a few plates with aplomb.
But the older I am, the more I desire to be rewilded. I want to forget the clock and the alerts on my phone. I want to be lost in the day, lose track of time and tasks and just flow.
Becoming conscious of the calendar, the clock, the responsibilities, the discipline, the routine, the right things to do. And it has (and does) serve me well - I can juggle a few plates with aplomb.
But the older I am, the more I desire to be rewilded. I want to forget the clock and the alerts on my phone. I want to be lost in the day, lose track of time and tasks and just flow.
I want to reignite the untamed Lola. To reclaim both delight and outrage, to follow the wandering path and also to speak my mind and heart. More and more, I am drawn to those who embrace their own wildness and flaunt it and spread it around. The more I want to join in the chorus of that universal songline.
There is only so much time in one lifetime. I think I can walk away from the plates, leave the beautiful broken pieces on the ground and wander across the way. Is the grass greener on the wild side? Let's go there and see!
In wildness, truth. oh yes.
There is only so much time in one lifetime. I think I can walk away from the plates, leave the beautiful broken pieces on the ground and wander across the way. Is the grass greener on the wild side? Let's go there and see!
In wildness, truth. oh yes.
About the art - another piece on dreamy Yupo. Beginning with a light sketch with thinned oil paint and working from the inside out. Experimenting with the tiny rubber wedge and carving back into the wet paint (note the intricate neck piece and the horns). Whoa! What fun! Keeping the light source on the left side, resisting as always the urge to overly define. I kept the color palette simple and neutral with exception of the pinks. They add an unexpected softness to this devilish woman. Now, where can I get that dress?
Congratulations to Dotty and Thea! Your names were selected at random by Wonder Mike as winners of the October Reader Giveaway! Your prizes will be on the way to you in this week's post. Thank you to everyone who left a comment, read the blog and/or shared it with friends! Your participation, encouragement and support makes all of this both possible and incredibly, wildly rewarding. :)
- Published on
Song and Sadness
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link below
"Song and Sadness" - oil on canvas, 18 x 36 x 1.5 inches. This is unframed but ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
...we all turn out to be a rather weak watery solution of salts and carbon compounds, more or less jellified. You and I, with all that we eat and the various bacteria, fungi and viruses that live so happily within us, are a mingling of the wind and water and dust that constitute the surface of the earth. The miracle is that such stuff as we are made of should walk and talk and know such things as song and sadness. - N.J. BERRILL
"Song and Sadness" - oil on canvas, 18 x 36 x 1.5 inches. This is unframed but ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
...we all turn out to be a rather weak watery solution of salts and carbon compounds, more or less jellified. You and I, with all that we eat and the various bacteria, fungi and viruses that live so happily within us, are a mingling of the wind and water and dust that constitute the surface of the earth. The miracle is that such stuff as we are made of should walk and talk and know such things as song and sadness. - N.J. BERRILL
The boundary between my self and the natural world around me feels more porous when we're hiking in the mountains or when we're rockhounding in the ocean. The wind and water and dust are part of me - I can feel it. And the more I am around and in the ocean (and jellyfish), the more the barrier between my self and the jellified salts and carbon compounds erodes.
The miraculous part, as Berrill says so eloquently, is that this stuff we're made of has the ability to move and think and feel.
And this becomes more manifestly obvious when the things we count on to move us (our bodies) or to think and feel with (brains and hearts) are glitchy or injured or off. As a person who struggles with panic attacks, I can tell you there are times when I wonder if jellified me is melting back into the primordial ooze, flickering and softening at the edges.
At some point, we all return to the wind and water and dust and that's ok, that's expected, that's the cycle we're born into. But I think I'll enjoy the miracles that come along with my jellified self for as long as possible.
And this becomes more manifestly obvious when the things we count on to move us (our bodies) or to think and feel with (brains and hearts) are glitchy or injured or off. As a person who struggles with panic attacks, I can tell you there are times when I wonder if jellified me is melting back into the primordial ooze, flickering and softening at the edges.
At some point, we all return to the wind and water and dust and that's ok, that's expected, that's the cycle we're born into. But I think I'll enjoy the miracles that come along with my jellified self for as long as possible.
About the art: Sometimes I throw stuff at the AI bot just to test the waters of its abilities. What if I asked it for a root-vegetable inspired fashion piece? Oh my! It did not disappoint. There were hours of giggling. :). For this one, I began with a rough sketch in thinned oil paint on gesso'd canvas. Working light to dark and leaving the blacks for last, I used many layers of thin washes to give soft shadows and dimension to this wistful lady's skin. Matching the technique for her vegetable adornment to make it almost part of her flesh gives this piece a bit of peculiar creepiness that I adore. Saving the darks for last and using many layers to make them even darker, letting those darks have hard edges to contrast the soft contours of her person and vegetable matter. She's quite a statement piece, and is very good company in the studio. Now, how do I add root vegetables to my own wardrobe?
The October Reader Giveaway continues! Leave a comment (or several) on any blog post this month to be entered. The winner (or winners) will be announced on October 28th right here in the blog.
- Published on
Shallow Waters
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link below
"Shallow Waters" - oil on canvas, 30 x 15 x .75 inches. (click on the image to purchase)
When we go down to the lowest of the low tide lines and look down into the shallow waters, there’s all the excitement of discovering a new world. Once you have entered such a world, its fascination grows and somehow you find your mind has gained a new dimension, a new perspective — and always thereafter you find yourself remember[ing] the beauty and strangeness and wonder of that world — a world that is as real, as much a part of the universe, as our own. - RACHEL CARSON
Scuba boots.
Wetsuit pants.
Fanny pack, waterproof phone pouch.
Now you're ready to go rockhounding in the Pacific Ocean as the tides roll in and out, without losing toes or limbs to the freezing water. We go for the low tide and the shallow water, but the ocean here doesn't really like to be pigeon-holed as "cooperative." Sneaker waves, sudden surges, unexpected surf - just as you reach for that egg-sized agate beneath the water. Oy!
Wetsuit pants.
Fanny pack, waterproof phone pouch.
Now you're ready to go rockhounding in the Pacific Ocean as the tides roll in and out, without losing toes or limbs to the freezing water. We go for the low tide and the shallow water, but the ocean here doesn't really like to be pigeon-holed as "cooperative." Sneaker waves, sudden surges, unexpected surf - just as you reach for that egg-sized agate beneath the water. Oy!
But there is something otherworldly about standing in that unrelenting surf and trying to see and feel what is beneath you. On our last adventure, the rocks and beach were covered in jellyfish parts - glistening, undulating, sparkling like the agates we were hunting. I poked a lot of parts - making sure they weren't treasures. I grabbed a lot of parts rolling in the waves. There was mist, fog, frigid wind and an angry ocean that day. The two of us, standing in that madness, filling our packs with the largest agates we have yet seen, all alone on that endless, moody beach - a new dimension of beauty and strangeness and wonder.
Did I rest my face on a large fish? No, I did not. But I would have if I could have. :)
Did I rest my face on a large fish? No, I did not. But I would have if I could have. :)
About the art: the AI bot and I have had a wildly good time trying to make mermaids. It doesn't get mermaids well, nor centaurs nor griffins. There are all manner of weirdly wrong results. But sometimes you get a sweet moment between a lady and a fish, like this one. Painted alla prima in two stages: the underpainting and initial sketch in the first go, and the subsequent layers all in a second go after letting the first one dry thoroughly. The inspiration image had a very limited color palette, with background and characters barely distinguishable from one another. I tried to maintain the integrity of that effect, while also pulling both lady and fish forward with some sculpting highlights. The final touches were the dripping paint from mouth of the fish and the highlight in the surface below the lady. Again, the temptation to go back in and overly define everything was hard to resist, but I wanted to keep the pale, fleshy, wateriness of the piece intact. So I walked away.
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- Published on
The Wildling
“The Wildling” - oil on Yupo, 14 x 23 inches. This item is sold unmounted and unframed. (Click on the image to purchase)
Ebba’s very existence was a matter often debated among children, especially around the campfire or at a sleepover after dark.
There wasn’t a single human who could say they had actually seen Ebba. Sure, pies and potatoes went missing. The henhouse sometimes had no eggs in the morning. Random bits of beads and feathers were left in their place - as payment, perhaps? Oh, there was more than one youngster who was double-dog-dared to stay up all night in the yard in hopes of catching a glimpse of the elusive wildling. Inevitably, sleep overtook each one who tried. But someone, something covered the sleeping youth with straw, moss and leaves.
It was enough to give them goosebumps, but no explanations.
About the art: once more I find myself playing with flat color and bold contrast, trying to push the limits of darks and lights and marry them with muted flat tones. The Yupo allows many washes and layers of color in silky smoothness, but also lets me scratch and carve back into the paint easily to create texture.
Somehow I image myself as Ebba when we're hiking in the wilderness - sprouting horns, ears lengthening and softening, hair becoming (more) scraggly and stringy. It is an oft repeated theme in my work - wildlings, wild child, re-wilding. Methinks it is a rebellion against becoming overly civilized. :)
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