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With Awe

4/4/2016

With Awe

"With Awe" is the title of my new mermaid. She was born from an idea a friend sent to me about the possibility of depicting a mermaid's fin in lace. She knows I love lace. That along with filigree, paisley and all patterns in general. I dwelt on the idea for quite awhile. Although her fins don't really resemble lace, the seed that was planted in my mind took on the form of an ornate tail fin. She isn't quite finished yet. Along with the metallic gold tail fin she will have other "sparklies" sewn to her and entwined in her hair before I'm done.

Most of my mermaids have a story behind them. Not all, but most do. Some have verbage included in their composition. Verbage that relates to my intentions. Intentions that are on my mind as I'm scribbling away at building the darks and erasing the lights. Intentions that are meant to be read in her eyes. Through her eyes she connects with her natural surroundings. Surroundings that only she can interpret. How they affect her being. How they affect her sense of purpose. How they affect her soul.

I have yet to decide if the verbiage on my mind will become part of her composition. My thoughts don't usually end up sounding like rhyming prose but for some reason they do this time..."As I look with awe at the world I see...I realize I'm as much a part of it as it's a part of me."

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I Thought Maybe I would Invest in Myself...for once

3/30/2016

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My husband and I have always been collectors ever since we started dating 42 years ago. It will be exactly 42 years on my upcoming birthday. Jimmy showed up on my parent's doorstep on my 15th birthday with 15 red roses. We've been together ever since. My dad use to enjoy telling that story.

Jimmy bonded with my dad almost instantly through antiques and collectibles. It didn't take him long to love and value things made in the past. He would later work side by side with my dad refinishing and repairing antique furniture. We spent a lot of years together with my parents hitting the road in search of long neglected pieces to restore or renew. Each piece we found would gain in value just because we could see the gem through the rust, the layers of dust, the peeling paint or the battered appearance that other's couldn't always see. We invested our money in broken down pieces of furniture and almost always turned a profit with a little bit or a lot of sweat equity.

We considered the antique items we collected personally as part of our savings account. We counted on them gaining or retaining their value through the years...some did and some didn't. We were and still are "purists" and often would turn down a piece even if the price was right because it had been made from two different pieces of furniture, commonly referred to as "married furniture". There was more value in "original" than in completeness. We thought the missing piece or the wear from daily use added character...and value.

I never thought of my art in that way. In the way of thinking that it may have value to other people. The way of thinking that if I invested in myself and my art that there would be people out there, total strangers that would purchase my art and feel that they had gotten a bargain because they saw greater value in my work than the price I had placed upon it. Or that they saw something in my work that moved them. Something that led them to want to buy it to have as their own. I often found myself, for the most part, thinking just the opposite.

Too many times through the years I would talk myself out of buying supplies or tools to create my art. I didn't think my budget would allow it. There was no "investment" in those kinds of tools or supplies that would lead to a possible profit like there was with antiques and collectibles. Once I even sent my art electronically to a company to have prints made but the estimated cost scared me so much I never pursued it...until now.

It's been a slow start but I've had some prints and greeting cards made of my original two dimensional art. I have found that both friends and strangers like my work well enough to purchase my images. It is both flattering and humbling to sell art. Whether it be my drawings or my jewelry, I'm both flattered and humbled to know there are people who get my work. They see the importance my work has to me. Some of them I think even feel why I do it. Those are the people that touch and humble my soul...to know there are others that feel the same way I do. Kindred spirits.

In the end, just maybe, maybe...my art is my true savings account. For all of the years I have hidden it away because it wasn't "cost effective" to invest dollars into it, all the while solely investing only my heart into it. So could it be the part of me that was most valuable all along...?

The Scavenger

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Sometimes It's Just About Friendship

2/10/2016

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I've written several blog posts about my profound reasons for creating some of my art work but before I get too far into this post let me first apologize. I apologize for not being a writer. I apologize for all of the writing errors I put out on the internet for all to read. I apologize because I mix up tenses and if a dangling participle is a bad thing then I probably have a lot of them hanging out there too. (I remember the term from English class but couldn't tell you what a participle is, much less a dangling one.) I end sentences in prepositions. The worst grade I ever got in elementary school was for a poem I wrote in sixth grade. I liked it, the teacher didn't. The worst grade I ever got in high school was in a creative writing class. I was guilty of hyperbole. Really bad hyperbole.

I write like I talk in my head and then I try to correct it after I type it on the computer screen using some of the rules I remember from high school English class. As you can see I'm guilty of long compound sentences. I know that, but I like the way they ramble on in my head. Then I write a short sentence. I like the flow even if it sounds choppy to others who might read my words.

What I don't apologize for is taking the advice of my webpage creator Rachel. Her advice to me was to tell the stories that move my work because people like to hear why a piece of jewelry was made or how a painting or a drawing came to be. She seemed to see my life in my work in a way I hadn't. She designed my webpage more around me the person rather than the art. So I jumped off the cliff she put before me. Hiding behind my computer screen, I started sharing some of the motivations behind my work.

I've gotten positive feedback and no feedback. But the focus of my webpage is not my writing. It's my art. My art and earning part of a living with the sale of it. I write about myself, my thoughts, my dreams, my impressions or my intentions. That is all. No matter who I refer to in my writing, it's still just about me; how I relate to my work, how I relate to the events in my life, and how I relate to the people in my life.

Now I'll bring it back around to why sometimes it's just about friendship. I have been blessed with some very special friends in my life. A few of my mermaids were motivated solely by those friendships. The Mermaid and the Swan is one of those pieces. She was done for one of my best friends, Susie. A friend I rarely see anymore. I hope The Mermaid and the Swan portrays the joy I feel when we do get together. There is such an ease that comes with a good friendship. An ease that allows me to feel the softness of my soul...her soul. An ease that allows us to continue just where we left off when we do see each other.

The Mermaid and the Swan

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Some of My Art Prints and the Motivation Behind Them

1/30/2016

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Pearl - Tear of a Mermaid

It's taken me awhile but I have gathered some of my mermaid illustrations from their owners and now have beautiful digital images of them for my records and to have giclee prints made. The photographer, Christian Sams, has done a beautiful job in matching true color with magnificent detail. He is a perfectionist and I admire that quality in a person. There are a few more of my mermaid images out there somewhere but I don't know who the owners are. That's ok, I'm sure they are in good homes. I am very flattered that my work spoke to them in such a way that they wanted to take it home with them.

My mermaid titled Eternal is already listed for sale on this site and I have Heron's Wisdom listed on my Etsy site for sale. You can read their stories with their respective listings. I never shared any of their stories before but now I find myself compelled to share some of their hidden meanings by telling those stories.

I shared in a previous blog post how I was raised by an abstract thinker. One cannot ignore how one is raised now, can one? I chose to focus my abstract thoughts, symbolism, allegories, whatever you choose to call it in my illustrations. I only call them illustrations because by some art standards my style falls into the illustration category instead of the fine art category. That's ok. It really bears no matter to me.

Pearl - Tear of a Mermaid is an image of a mermaid wrapped around a pearl and was done for my youngest son as a high school graduation gift. When you look at it and read the verbage I added to it, you would think it is better suited for a daughter. I had the hardest time through the years raising only sons. All of the things I made for them, even the colors I chose for their bedrooms ended up being a "bit" too feminine. When I look at the baby blankets I made for them, they too are better suited for a daughter; some of the colors falling too close to the color pink. (I know, I know, this is sexist thinking. Color is color.) As adult men they have a wonderful sense of color in their lives. Although they do steer away from pink.

It's pretty commonly said that it is easier to raise sons than daughters but I humbly disagree. Boys aren't supposed to cry but they do, even teenage boys. I was never a mother to tell them to suck it up and take it like a man. Social peer pressure took care of that. It wasn't until I watched one of my sons, a very young man at the time hold back his tears as he shook the hand of his childhood friend at his father's funeral, that I realized he had conquered his emotional displays. That undeniable quiver of his chin held the tears back in front of a crowd of peers. Even though his friend's father had been a huge part of his childhood too, he had learned to hold his emotions in check.

Boys fall in love too fast. They want to be the "bad boy" to impress the girls. They hang with the wrong crowd. They have to choose between their childhood friends and the right thing to do. If they're smart, they don't want to seem like nerds. They can't back down to a fight. They need to live up to the male standards of toughness and never show their softer side. All of this and more; along with all of the other trials of growing up that both boys and girls share in today's modern cyber society. They were young teenagers at the forefront of social networking. Remember My Space?

Along with making some bad decisions on their own, both of my sons have at some point in time been victims as well. They made themselves vulnerable. It was those times that I found myself the most helpless in protecting them from other people's actions. The simple truth is I couldn't. Those betrayals hurt them emotionally, physically and financially, but taught them the biggest life lessons. Trusts were broken, allegiance failed and different paths were then traveled. They came out better people on the other side. They stood up for themselves and at times stood by themselves. One of the demands I made on my boys was to always accept responsibility for their own actions and they did. It wasn't always easy, but they did. It was always harder and took longer to get out of the holes they had easily and quickly dug for themselves, but they did it.

The verbage I added to Pearl - Tear of a Mermaid is a wish that every parent might have for a child, son or daughter. A wish to protect them from the unknown, to believe there is a greater power that will hold them up when the world wants to push them down. A talisman that represents a greater power that provides inner strength.

"Pearl - tear of a mermaid - symbol of love, protection, wisdom, purity, and wealth - representing the ultimate talisman for warding off the evils of the world."

Whether my son knows it or not, this drawing holds a great deal more of sentiment from me to him. My own tears often escape my eyes when I think of some of the things he has experienced. Things our family experienced both together and apart. Things that made us better and stronger people when we came out on the other end.

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I Am My Father's Daughter

1/20/2016

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My first bathroom selfie.

I have the pleasure of remembering one of my first dreams of the year 2016 in the early morning hours of January 1st. I very seldom remember dreams of any kind. It was a dream I had longed to dream. I dreamt my dad came to visit me for the first time since his death in 2005. Many nights through the years I've fallen asleep hoping he would come for a visit.

In my dream I didn't get to visit with him very long. Two of my sister's took up most of his time; they had much more urgent matters to run past him and they swooped him away, but I waited alone patiently. When it seemed to be my turn with him he couldn't stay much longer. In the last few moments of my dream I could see him so clearly. Although the dream was in color, he stood beside a painting of a tulip rendered in shades of gray. He said "I made this for you" and was then gone. I woke up sad and exhausted. Melancholy followed the rest of the day into the week.

For weeks now I have thought about what that dream might mean. My mood lifting as each week passes as I think about him. My dad lived a very ordinary life. One filled with family, love, success and loss. Disappointments and loss were sometimes met with dark sarcasm and inappropriate humor for the moment at hand, but I loved that about him. He would not let anyone on the outside see what it felt like to be him on the inside.

The thing I loved most about him is that he would always have a story to tell about any situation. Sometimes the stories would seem totally off the wall until you thought about them. Sometimes his stories would make you think for days, if not weeks at a time. Sometimes the stories would shock you into laughter. His stories always spoke to a lesson or a moral. At times he spoke in idioms as well as allegorically. For the longest time in my life I believed that most of what everybody said may have dual or hidden meaning. But through life experience and a little bit of common sense I figured out that most people just say what they mean.

Dream interpretation is not something I know anything about but I have been consumed with trying to figure out why my father left me with a colorless painting in my dream. I have looked up the meaning of flowers, the color gray and what the combination of the two may tell me. It was yesterday that it came to me what it all "might" mean and at the risk of sounding trite in my interpretation I will share.

I have always felt my parents built a very strong foundation of ethics and morals on which I have always been able to rely. It has never failed me to be the person they raised me to be, never a quitter and always, always finish what I start. To be kind because you never know what others are going through, to favor the underdog and to realize that not everyone will like me; just because.

Even with all of the trials my family has gone through, the ins, the outs, the ups, the downs, the microcosm of life tragedies that have touched our family, my father (and my mother) painted me an under painting on which I could add my own unique layers and colors. One with which I could "bloom". He just came to remind me of that and that is all.

He was an abstract thinker...he liked to shock people with his off the wall humor....he was too nice...he was avant-garde...he was a normal guy...he was an honest man...he was such an intelligent man and I miss him. And so, as this 56 year old orphan sits and laments over all she has lost, so does this 56 year old woman pull up her big girl panties and says "I got this".

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Angels Among Us

1/14/2016

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I finished the bracelet I designed for the upcoming show A Sweetheart of a Show at The North End Gallery in Leonardtown on Friday, February 5th. The reception is from 5 until 8 p.m. I hope some of you might have time to drop by just to say hi.
I call it "An Angel Among Us". I'm a true believer in the notion that there are angels that watch over us from Heaven as well as walk among us here on Earth. The ironic thing about the ones among us is that they don't even know who they are. I bet you know a few of those kind yourself.

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Vermin or Messenger?

12/26/2015

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I live in an old house, built in 1937. So, as with all old houses, at times it can become obvious that there are unwanted visitors of the rodent variety more so than usual. I say unwanted because it is most often associated with uncleanliness when we see them most and they usually are visiting my kitchen in the cold of the winter months. I may be confusing them with the rat, but that's ok. I am not a fan of mice in my home even if they are cute little creatures. But they are a fact of my life.

This winter I have seen them more often than in years before. You would think with the mild weather we've been having so far this season they would still be out frolicking in the fields and barn outside my home, but no. I have seen them, or evidence of them, in almost every room in my house. That is what is so unusual to me.

Then it dawned on me. I am a believer in animal spirits and their symbolism. Call me a kook if you must, but there always seems to be a connection or a creative influence inside of me when I notice energy sources that seemingly cross my path on purpose. Maybe it's just my creative subconscious that makes these connections but it never fails to either start or end in a new piece of art work.

As I said before, in the past the mice just seemed to visit my kitchen where there is an abundance of food for them to find. Yet this year, along with the kitchen, I have either seen them or evidence of them in my sewing room, my studio and my bedroom. Neither of which has any food or remnants of food in them. So this afternoon, when I was contemplating what could be done about their invasion into my space, I had an epiphany...maybe I should look up their believed attributes as an animal spirit and this is what I found:

Mouse: Attention to details and examining closely, fastidious, may be getting too locked into details or may need to see them more closely now, need to focus on where your attention is. Are you too quiet or too loud? Mouse can teach lessons of stealth and invisibility for sometimes great strength lies within quietness. Time to be aware of new discoveries and possibilities. Listen to your introspection and intuition.

Regardless of whether I am just a nut case or if there is a message to which I should be attuned, I find their symbolism fitting to my thought process at the moment. I am at a crossroads of where to focus my attention and how to best suit my creative tendencies. I fully believe I am on the right track but there are some details I know I need to adjust. Just how I will do that is to be seen...

...if I'm quiet, I just might hear the little mouse roar.

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Prayer Feathers

12/17/2015

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I've been making prayer feathers the last three days from copper and sterling. I've had orders for 6 of them. Each one has turned out a little bit different as is the appeal of handmade jewelry. As I sat working on them I couldn't help but think about each person they were for, some I know, some I don't. I thought about the reasons for which they are being given. With each feather I had a unique experience in completing it. Each feather seemed to refuse to be exactly like the last by challenging my skill. Maybe not so much my skill but my patience. And so they are.

Prayer Feathers

Native Americans believed prayers and messages were carried to the Great Spirit on the wings of eagles and other fine birds.

Prayer feathers, either single or bundled are used by an individual to offer a prayer to the Great Spirit. The feathers carry your words, thoughts and feelings to the Great Spirit. Each time you look at your prayer feather, your prayers are again sent in your behalf to the Great Spirit in the Heavens.

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Eternal

12/17/2015

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Eternal

This mermaid is named Eternal. She symbolizes the sanctity of marriage in our societal spectrum. The simplicity of a golden ring is enough in itself to symbolize the eternal love we vow to hold for the partner we choose in life. But it is through our love, joy, laughter, simple silence, pain, suffering, sadness, and all of the other emotions of our human condition that intertwine between two people that we find profound and infinite love for one another. A way of loving that cannot be defined by any outside influence; only by those who choose each other.

This is a limited edition of twenty five giclee prints. The image is 9 1/2" by 14 1/2" printed on 10" by 15" Moab Somerseat Museum Rag 300 paper. The original mixed medium art was done in graphite, watercolor and metallic gold acrylic, with applied glass beads and marbles, ribbon, wire mesh and tulle hand sewn to Arches Cold Press watercolor paper. Sections of the finished image were cut out and backed with paper depicting light reflecting on water.

They are available only in my store on this website and will be available at my upcoming shows in 2016. Contact me if you are interested in a framed and matted print.

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Honoring the Handmade Christmas

12/10/2015

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Beautiful pink cowl gifted to me by Knit Sister Betty McGrane.

The flood of emotions that I normally feel at this time of year have been replaced with fond memories of the handmade Christmases I was blessed with in my childhood. I am a member of a small group of women who get together to knit once a week. I have to admit I don't make it every week but they treat me the same nonetheless and I have somehow, even with my defense shields on full power, become part of their collective warm energy.

This past week we had a Secret Santa exchange for which each and every one of the participants agonized over pleasing their secret recipient. Whether it was worrying about having enough time to complete a gift, their level of skill being good enough or color preferences; that worrisome energy transformed yarn into labors of love. Each and every hand knit gift was beautiful and a blessing to it's recipient.

As I sat there at the gathering I was taken back, back to a time that the making of gifts was a way of life. A time when making gifts was as much a necessity as it was a labor of love. A time when a young girl's imagination took her beyond the limits of store bought gifts. A time when the wonder of the holiday was wondering what those gifted hands would make. A time when closed doors and the whirring of a sewing machine behind them was too much for a young girl to bear. A time when a curious young girl would secretly find the hiding places of those treasured gifts. Those treasured memories gave way to recollections of the times when it was my turn to be the maker of a gift.

Through the years I have made an uncountable number of handmade gifts to share with my loved ones. Even my handmade gifts that were failures in a young girl's mind because they were met with giggles when unwrapped, hold a very special place in my heart. It was those "not so good" handmade gifts that gave me the determination to do better the next time, to please the people I loved in the same way they had pleased me. To make them feel the way I felt. I wanted them to feel the same magic I felt when I received their handmade gifts...a warm and energized aura that enveloped my heart. There came a point in my life when I met my goal and I knew I had met that goal because I could "feel" the appreciation with which my gifts were greeted.

As I sat there at the gathering I couldn't help but think of my mother, my grandmother and all of the women and men in my family, even those that preceded me in life, with all of the wonderful gifts that were passed from their hands into my hands. From their souls to my soul, into my mind, as it is truly more a way of thinking than it is a way of making. A blessing and a curse. A never ending way of life.

Hands and mind blessed with the ability to create things. Things made from needles and strings and threads. Things recycled from gathered objects. Things born from fire and metal. Things spread on a canvas with brushes and knives and fingers. Things given to the one so lovingly thought of as it emerged from the fiber or the metal or the paper or the canvas. Things created to honor our own maker...to mimic our natural surroundings with a quiet balance. A balance between our soul and our material existence.

And then my thoughts took me to a place it often comes to rest, why would it be that I can make things and there are others in this world that cannot? I don't know the answer to that question but I have made a promise to myself; a promise to be a good steward of these abilities for they are not my own to keep. I'm sure they will pass through me into someone else...even if that someone else doesn't know it yet or is not yet on this earth.

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With Awe

I Thought Maybe I would Invest in Myself...for once

Sometimes It's Just About Friendship

Some of My Art Prints and the Motivation Behind Them

I Am My Father's Daughter

Angels Among Us

Vermin or Messenger?

Prayer Feathers

Eternal

Honoring the Handmade Christmas

Author's Note

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