I’ve decided to take the train up to Portland for this evening’s art opening. The drive is far faster, just me, the radio, and the road, but I dread I5 in the wet darkness. Plus, public transportation is inevitably a treasure trove (or land mined field) of unexpected experiences. Who knows, perhaps on the train or on one of the Portland TriMet buses I board today I’ll encounter a wealthy eccentric. I’ll choose a seat next to her because I like her curiously color coordinated outfit. We talk. She likes poodles and rainstorms. I also learn that she specifies a color for each day of the week. Blue for tuesdays, brown for wednesdays, orange for thursdays... Not only does she wear the color of the day, she only eats foods to match that day. I give her my satsuma in a gesture of solidarity. Later she tracks me down at the gallery and commissions a massive work of art, an exploration in color. I say YES! It could happen. By riding the train I am opening the door to many possibilities.
Appaloosa?
This is an in-process shot of one of the texture pieces I’ve been working on for my upcoming show.
I came across a photo of an Appaloosa horse in a recent National Geographic issue, and was drawn to the horse’s fading spot markings. I’m not sure I completely captured the essence of horse flank here. My version kind of brings to mind something cellular, or maybe great white giraffe.
What I really like about this work is how I am reminded of nature’s comfort with repeating shapes and patterns. From aerial views of lake spotted terrain to close ups of things growing in petri dishes, Nature brings it with the spots. I am ceaselessly drawn to this pattern, and comforted with the recognition that I may get away with stitching it into my work over and over again.
Portland Show
rebirth in death valley
We just returned from a week in Death Valley (thanks Iris, for this and many other beautiful shots). Every aspect of that place was profoundly different from my life in Eugene. Here I have been suiting up to keep dry, searching out the sun for it’s thin glistening gentle warmth. Life here grows thoughtlessly, no concern for location or viability. I am always pulling persistent and ridiculously matted clumps of vivid green weeds from cracks in my driveway, constantly staging tiny battles (in my shower stall, on my roof, even in the corners of my closet) to stave off the damp and doggedly determined life forms that will grow grow grow anywhere anytime if we just step back and let them.
Death Valley is a glorious illustration of barreness. The dust is a constant presence. The sun is a focused beam of heat. It parches anything but the very toughest that attempt to take root and survive. Life there is intentional, and twisted from it’s patient effort. Plants take root along spring fed cracks in a rock. Animals come out at night when the sun’s relentless heat has passed. Plants and animals seem smarter somehow, thoughtful leaves, hardened curious old branches, clever coyote, patient praying scorpion, as if the difficulties they’ve weathered and the evolutionary trickery of their ancestors has left a lasting mark of wisdom on the dusty grey face of life in Death Valley.
that sense of completion
In the same week I finished an elementary school artist residency, (clay with 220 children) and I sewed the final nub onto this 8 inch by 8 inch piece. I have been feeling pretty self satisfied. The residency was a monumental and rewarding task. Lots of loud talking, hauling little fragile clay forms, hustle hustle, blossoming artists, get it done! This little quilt, on the other hand, has been an exercise in tedium. I could sew on about 8 little nubs an hour ( I made a short video about it for my website. You want some real action? check it out.) Its funny though, how often I’ve picked this quilt up and pondered it since I’ve finished. It is almost as if I miss making it.
Morning Glory
I just hung work at Morning glory Cafe. It will be up through April 15th. Yummy breakfast, interesting stuff on the walls!
boggles the mind
I am so taken with nature’s knack for transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary. This is ice on chicken wire. Every artist spends sleepless nights searching their psyche, scouring the ether, waiting for a lightening strike of inspiration, an idea even half as simple and elegant as what nature routinely awes us all with. I imagine her working and humming: a little moisture here, a little cold air there, a bit more sub zero conditions, and voila!