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There are horse rings on the curbs in Portland. Many of them with tiny plastic horses attached. A reminder of days gone by, when actual horses waited by the curb.
There are fairy rings in Ireland. Surrounded by trees in the middle of fields. Places to avoid, lest ye be taken to another realm unwillingly.
There are meanderings....places we wander to and through and around. Sometimes they result in both perspiration and inspiration.
There are fairy rings in Ireland. Surrounded by trees in the middle of fields. Places to avoid, lest ye be taken to another realm unwillingly.
There are meanderings....places we wander to and through and around. Sometimes they result in both perspiration and inspiration.
Meanderings are fodder for everything.
For epiphanies and musings, contemplation and conversation, letting go and latching on. I've discovered how very present I can be while meandering.
A meander is as good as a wander for becoming present. And so we recently meandered to the beach for a little vacation full of wanders. Where I felt very present.
For epiphanies and musings, contemplation and conversation, letting go and latching on. I've discovered how very present I can be while meandering.
A meander is as good as a wander for becoming present. And so we recently meandered to the beach for a little vacation full of wanders. Where I felt very present.
Back in the studio, preparation for a slew of upcoming shows in is progress...there are a ton of "littles" and a couple of wildly wonderful big pieces in progress (can you say VARMINTS?) as the muse has decided to dump a bucket of whimsy on my head. Ouch. And yum (whimsy tastes a lot like pie).
So while I meander over to the paper towels to remove some of this mess on my head, I want to know - what's your favorite varmint? Leave a comment below. One lucky commenter will receive a little surprise in the mail courtesy of my studio hound, Wonder Mike. He's in charge of give-aways and says its waaaaaaaay past time. :)
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Sometimes it Takes a Great Sky
"Sometimes it Takes a Great Sky" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 30 x 40 x 1.5. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that
first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.
Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out
someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.
You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.”
― David Whyte
Sometimes it takes
a great sky
to find that
first, bright
and indescribable
wedge of freedom
in your own heart.
Sometimes with
the bones of the black
sticks left when the fire
has gone out
someone has written
something new
in the ashes of your life.
You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.”
― David Whyte
The gorge follows me into the studio, grabs my hands and begs them to paint her. There are great skies there over the Columbia River...big skies, dramatic skies. Skies that reach deeply into the water and pull me down to its reflective depths.
We recently followed the light up Beacon Rock as the sun was setting - even as the light fades quickly now, you are arriving. In that fading light, which raced down the cliff walls nearly faster than we could race up the rock, in that softly illuminated sky, my senses reeled for a moment - overwhelmed by the grandeur of that place, that day, my life, the bright...wedge of freedom in my own heart. Whyte's words reached into my depths just as the light penetrated the river. Oh.
We recently followed the light up Beacon Rock as the sun was setting - even as the light fades quickly now, you are arriving. In that fading light, which raced down the cliff walls nearly faster than we could race up the rock, in that softly illuminated sky, my senses reeled for a moment - overwhelmed by the grandeur of that place, that day, my life, the bright...wedge of freedom in my own heart. Whyte's words reached into my depths just as the light penetrated the river. Oh.
About the art: inspired by a photograph I took in the gorge, this piece was loosely drawn with chunky charcoal, then blended into a monochromatic compositional map by adding water and titanium white. Using only the colors from an exquisite fantasy painting created by my partner (a color palette shift and a challenge for me) and using a rubber wedge, squeegee, large paintbrush and a spray bottle, the requisite 80 million layers were added. Linework created using stabilo woody pencils (my favorites). The bulk of this piece was created during Portland Open Studios, with finishing layers after several days of pondering and sneaking up on the piece to see what worked and what did not.
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"Enter a Wood" - acrylic on plywood, 28 x 56 x .75. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
To enter a wood is to pass into a different world in which we ourselves are transformed. - ROGER DEAKIN, Wildwood: A Journey Through Trees.
I've been transformed by the wood.
Into and out of and through the forest, thoroughly and profoundly transformed by the trees. A world far away and yet close to home. Maybe the wood is also home now.
There is a sweet irony in this piece - painted on plywood, utilizing the wood texture from a planed tree to create....wood texture in trees. It makes me grin. :). Furthermore, it was painted entirely with a squeegee, rubber wedge and a spray bottle. Embracing the play in art.
The bulk of this painting was created during the two weekends of Portland Open Studios, generally while wearing a dress (which also makes me grin!). I am expanding my wardrobe from paint pajamas to paint dresses - next up, paint formal wear!
To enter a wood is to pass into a different world in which we ourselves are transformed. - ROGER DEAKIN, Wildwood: A Journey Through Trees.
I've been transformed by the wood.
Into and out of and through the forest, thoroughly and profoundly transformed by the trees. A world far away and yet close to home. Maybe the wood is also home now.
There is a sweet irony in this piece - painted on plywood, utilizing the wood texture from a planed tree to create....wood texture in trees. It makes me grin. :). Furthermore, it was painted entirely with a squeegee, rubber wedge and a spray bottle. Embracing the play in art.
The bulk of this painting was created during the two weekends of Portland Open Studios, generally while wearing a dress (which also makes me grin!). I am expanding my wardrobe from paint pajamas to paint dresses - next up, paint formal wear!
Enter A Wood
A huge THANK YOU to all who came out for Portland Open Studios! I was overwhelmed and so touched by the heartfelt connections, positive comments and encouragement...and also by the number of paintings which found homes, connected with collectors and brought smiles and joy. Holy macaroons! An amazing event!
La Maison Magnifique du Malarkey is now open by appointment - send an email and let me know when you'd like to stop by. Wonder Mike will be there to greet you!
La Maison Magnifique du Malarkey is now open by appointment - send an email and let me know when you'd like to stop by. Wonder Mike will be there to greet you!
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"Smiled at Each Threshold and Held Nothing Hostage" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 18 x 18 x 1.5. Ready to hang. Available here and at Artfinder.
...knowing that you smiled at each threshold and held nothing hostage. - SARAH BLONDIN
The muse has me back in the burn forest. Something about those stark verticals against the popping colors of undergrowth, sunsets, mists and roiling clouds...and the ever present influence of Brian Rutenburg, whose pieces have a soothing composition of "saddle, vee and border snake" (my description - it helps me remember the basics),
A wise, heart-centered friend recently introduced me to the work of Sarah Blondin, whose mediations on Insight Timer have these delicious phrases dancing in my head...including the above quote, which so perfectly captures the philosophy of letting go, letting flow, being present - and holding nothing hostage.
...knowing that you smiled at each threshold and held nothing hostage. - SARAH BLONDIN
The muse has me back in the burn forest. Something about those stark verticals against the popping colors of undergrowth, sunsets, mists and roiling clouds...and the ever present influence of Brian Rutenburg, whose pieces have a soothing composition of "saddle, vee and border snake" (my description - it helps me remember the basics),
A wise, heart-centered friend recently introduced me to the work of Sarah Blondin, whose mediations on Insight Timer have these delicious phrases dancing in my head...including the above quote, which so perfectly captures the philosophy of letting go, letting flow, being present - and holding nothing hostage.
Smiled at Each Threshold and Held Nothing Hostage
work in process - acrylic on plywood
After moving into the new studio and house in July, I am truly up and running now! The studio was open to the public this weekend (and will be again next weekend, if you're in town). The feedback on both the space and my work was so positive and uplifting! An infusion of positivity and further confirmation that this, this is the right place for me.
Thank you to everyone who came out to view the space and the art! I am honored and so grateful. :)
Portland Open Studios - 85 artists fling their doors open to the public and show you the magic behind the curtain! Second weekend Oct 16-17. Go to wwww.portlandopenstudios.com for tour information and maps. Malarkey Central is studio number 56 on the map.
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Portland Open Studios: October 9, 10, 16, 17 from 10 am - 5 pm. La Maison Magnifique du Malarkey is studio # 56 on the tour map at www.portlandopenstudios.com.
There is a flurry of activity here at Malarkey Central!
Paintings emerge from boxes and bins and find their homes on the walls, on the floor, on shelves, in corners. Some of them want to hang from the ceiling, but I put my foot down on that one. :)
Labels find their way on things. The glass wall of my studio staircase becomes a whiteboard - paint markers and glass! OH MY! I think about tidying...but this is a studio. There is no room for tidying here.
Paintings emerge from boxes and bins and find their homes on the walls, on the floor, on shelves, in corners. Some of them want to hang from the ceiling, but I put my foot down on that one. :)
Labels find their way on things. The glass wall of my studio staircase becomes a whiteboard - paint markers and glass! OH MY! I think about tidying...but this is a studio. There is no room for tidying here.
It isn't my habit to hang my own art on the studio walls. In the past, it caused me to endlessly fuss with, critique and frown at the work and was a distraction from creating new things. But maybe the work was just waiting for this space? Because here in the new studio I am finding myself giddy over the mass of things that have sprouted from my heart, mind and hands. Whoa.
In two days, the doors will open and people will wander into the studio. Years of creative work - the insides of me displayed on the outside - am I nervous? Maybe a little. Mostly just thrilled that I am here, in this place, doing this.
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"Mabel"
"Mabel" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 18 x 18 x 1.5. Ready to hang. Available October 3-4 at Artistic Souls Gallery.
Mabel is a wild childyou’ll find her in the woods
she’s had enough of rules and “don’ts”
and is really done with “shoulds”
You’ll know her when you spot her
sprinting between the trees
her hair tangled on everything
and filled with twigs and bees
Don’t give her a hairbrush
but compliment her dresses
Mabel thinks a fancy frock
goes best with unkempt tresses.
The studio is filled with WIGS (Whimsical Girls). They've got superb hair and generally are unconventional. Their company is delightful! Except for the cookie crumbs everywhere.
I've been pondering the oddness of my body of work as the studio gets closer and closer to READY for the big opening in October. Abstracts and moody portraits and whimsy. Somehow they all hang together well, but they do feel like a kind of weird assemblage.
Yet I am a firm believer in following the muse, and she leads me hither and yon, sometimes in the same day. And all of these pieces come from the same human, whose insides are on the outside when she paints.
And isn't that the point, after all? To create from within, and display it without. To connect my insides with your insides through these things I paint and thereby create a moment of kindredness. And if we all find our connected kindredness, the world will become a wildly magical place. Let's go for the magic, and not worry about the rest. :)
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Drifting All Night on the Black River
"Drifting All Night on the Black River" - charcoal and acrylic on Arches 300 lb paper, 22 x 30. Available here and at Artfinder.
Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
– Mary Oliver
Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air –
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music – like the rain pelting the trees – like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds –
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
– Mary Oliver
Sometimes the art tells a story I didn't know I needed to hear...until I hear it.
What began as a rough charcoal sketch (and, in the end, decided to remain rough and sketchy), became instead a story of being present in the midst of change. The ever-present change, shapeshifting, flowing nature of being that asks us to settle in to being, well, unsettled.
The pose and awkward arms of this figure captures the way I feel most days, living at the edge of my eyeballs, arms akimbo, trying to appear graceful while exuding awkward attempts at balancing.
What began as a rough charcoal sketch (and, in the end, decided to remain rough and sketchy), became instead a story of being present in the midst of change. The ever-present change, shapeshifting, flowing nature of being that asks us to settle in to being, well, unsettled.
The pose and awkward arms of this figure captures the way I feel most days, living at the edge of my eyeballs, arms akimbo, trying to appear graceful while exuding awkward attempts at balancing.
I don't generally leave a painting here. It feels undressed, exposed, bare. But the story calls for that very thing, and so here she remains, ever-changing and present, too.
Here at La Maison Magnifique du Malarkey we are getting ready for Portland Open Studios in October! Slowly, slowly, the studio begins to take form and become presentable to guests. If you're in Portland, please stop by! I'd love to give you a personal tour.
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Coeur
"Coeur" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 36" x 24" x 1.25". Ready to hang (back has been wired for hanging). Available here and at Artfinder.
Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor [French "coeur"] - the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But ... this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences -- good and bad. Speaking from our hearts is what I think of as "ordinary courage.” - BRENE BROWN
This strong lady returned to the studio today after a long visit to an art rental collector. I haven't seen her for ages, and when she was unwrapped and hanging on the studio wall, I was taken aback for a minute. Her message for me is stronger than ever, and the timing of her return feels like a nod from the universe - yes, Lola, yes. Keep telling all of your heart. That's what being brave is.
And so, as I learn to listen, soften and slow, I knew this piece was worth repeating here.
Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor [French "coeur"] - the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant "To speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But ... this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences -- good and bad. Speaking from our hearts is what I think of as "ordinary courage.” - BRENE BROWN
This strong lady returned to the studio today after a long visit to an art rental collector. I haven't seen her for ages, and when she was unwrapped and hanging on the studio wall, I was taken aback for a minute. Her message for me is stronger than ever, and the timing of her return feels like a nod from the universe - yes, Lola, yes. Keep telling all of your heart. That's what being brave is.
And so, as I learn to listen, soften and slow, I knew this piece was worth repeating here.
We live in a world where we "tell all" (what we had for dinner, what our pets are doing, what our neighbors are up to) but where our hearts are seldom spoken. And if we do speak them, we don't speak them all.
When I speak all of my heart, it is terrifying to do so. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. I cannot help but tremble and be tearful when I speak like this, open-heartedly. Recently, in sharing a dream of mine, I learned it was entirely out of my reach, and I nearly wished I had not spoken my heart's desire. And yet....as the days pass I feel the love I have given myself by speaking it, and the deep trust of the other in my sharing of it. And I have the courage to do it again. Courage, it seems, grows with the practice of it.
Thank you, dear reader, for welcoming my words into your own heart. You encourage me to keep speaking them. xo
When I speak all of my heart, it is terrifying to do so. I feel so vulnerable, so exposed. I cannot help but tremble and be tearful when I speak like this, open-heartedly. Recently, in sharing a dream of mine, I learned it was entirely out of my reach, and I nearly wished I had not spoken my heart's desire. And yet....as the days pass I feel the love I have given myself by speaking it, and the deep trust of the other in my sharing of it. And I have the courage to do it again. Courage, it seems, grows with the practice of it.
Thank you, dear reader, for welcoming my words into your own heart. You encourage me to keep speaking them. xo
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When We Dream of Wild Places
"When We Dream of Wild Places" - acrylic on Arches 300 lb paper, 22 x 30. NFS. Prints available. Inquiries at imajenation@gmail.com
“The true secret in being a hero lies in knowing the order of things. The swineherd cannot already be wed to the princess when he embarks on his adventures, nor can the boy knock on the witch's door when she is already away on vacation. The wicked uncle cannot be found out and foiled before he does something wicked. Things must happen when it is time for them to happen. Quests may not simply be abandoned; prophecies may not be left to rot like unpicked fruit; unicorns may go unrescued for a very long time, but not forever. The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.”
― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
Knowing the order of things... the slice of pie cannot come before the baking of it. The book in your head cannot be read by others before it is written. A great love cannot come before the time it takes to really know and treasure someone. And a painting cannot come before the paint itself.
In the middle of the story, it is hard not to push toward the happy ending. In the middle of this painting, it was hard not to call it "done", when what it really wanted was a complete change of color palette (which it did indeed receive, after much gnashing of teeth and general tantrum-ness on my part).
The order of things has been on my mind. And the universe gave me the above unicorn wisdom in the midst of my pondering. And it then double nudged me with this quote from Tony award winner Andre De Shields: Slowly is the fastest way to get to where you want to be. Oh! Maybe I'll take a long nap to be sure this sinks in. Isn't the order of things THINK, NAP, KNOW?
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"Face Into Our Fear" - acrylic on Yupo, 11 x 14. Available here and at Artfinder.
When we take our seat and face into our fear, without either fighting against it or letting it take us over, we also draw on a deeper resource within us: our warrior spirit. And this is of far greater benefit than trying to make ourselves feel comfortable by getting rid of our fear. - JOHN WELWOOD, Journey of the Heart
I don't know about you, but fear is a thing I have plenty of.
I'm afraid of living too large, and afraid of living too small a life. Afraid of loving too much, and of not loving enough. Afraid of speaking my mind, and of silencing my opinions. Afraid of creating with wild abandon, and afraid of being dull in my creative life. And snakes, poison oak and falling from cliffs, of course. :)
My modus operandi in the past has been to eradicate the fear: to do whatever it takes so I won't be afraid anymore. Sometimes that meant not doing something amazing because it was scary. Other times it meant trying to change the unchangeable situation (cue the sound of head butting into a wall). But I am trying something different. Looking it in the face.
At first, when looking directly at the fear, I become even more afraid. All the inner dialogue yells DANGER WILL ROBINSON just for glancing at the thing. Sheesh! So noisy in there!
When we take our seat and face into our fear, without either fighting against it or letting it take us over, we also draw on a deeper resource within us: our warrior spirit. And this is of far greater benefit than trying to make ourselves feel comfortable by getting rid of our fear. - JOHN WELWOOD, Journey of the Heart
I don't know about you, but fear is a thing I have plenty of.
I'm afraid of living too large, and afraid of living too small a life. Afraid of loving too much, and of not loving enough. Afraid of speaking my mind, and of silencing my opinions. Afraid of creating with wild abandon, and afraid of being dull in my creative life. And snakes, poison oak and falling from cliffs, of course. :)
My modus operandi in the past has been to eradicate the fear: to do whatever it takes so I won't be afraid anymore. Sometimes that meant not doing something amazing because it was scary. Other times it meant trying to change the unchangeable situation (cue the sound of head butting into a wall). But I am trying something different. Looking it in the face.
At first, when looking directly at the fear, I become even more afraid. All the inner dialogue yells DANGER WILL ROBINSON just for glancing at the thing. Sheesh! So noisy in there!
Face Into Our Fear
But fear (like loneliness and sadness) are just tiny specs of the many things that are Lola. It isn't right that it should hold such power and demand so much attention. For now, I am only getting comfortable with the idea that I can be constantly uncomfortable. Sitting in the hot seat and looking at the thing makes me squirmy. Can I really do that all the time? Maybe. Because the discomfort says I am challenging the thing instead of looking away. Facing fear is an ironic bravery, isn't it? It says I am not afraid of being afraid.
