anonyrrie

Flower Power

journal page - 4/4/08

Peace is not a relationship of nations. It is a condition of mind brought about by a serenity of soul. Peace is not merely the absence of war. It is also a state of mind. Lasting peace can come only to peaceful people. - Jawaharlal Nehru (1889 - 1964)

When I saw the topics for Inspire Me Thursday (the peace sign) and Illustration Friday (save), the first thing that came to mind was an illustration and post about how peace can save the world. And it's true... until we can find peace - within ourselves, our societies, and among nations - we will live in a constant state of strife and destruction. But as I started thinking about what I would write, all that came forth was that peace must originate from the individual. There are innumerable things each person can do to promote peace, starting from within... for a person who has inner peace will not make war with another.

Hug o' War

I will not play at tug o' war.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
And everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.

- Shel Silverstein (1930 - 1999)

This journal page is inspired by peace signs and flower power... and my true desire to wish all of you peace, love, and happiness!

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P.S. -  Please accept my invitation to stop by Wings 4 You Coaching and participate in my Weekly Wings challenges.  There's a new challenge posted each Sunday.  I'd love to have you along on the journey!

Touches of Green and Gold

journal page - 3/22/08

Spring officially arrived in New England on Friday, and already Nature has begun to wallpaper the land with touches of green and gold. With the sun shining and the birds visiting the feeder outside my kitchen window,   it's hard to think of having any peeves.  All I feel is a wonderful whisper of promise in the air.  I have learned over time how much better my experience of the world is when I let go of the things that annoy me... and concentrate on the things that delight me.  Today, I am delighted to just be... here, in the moment.  Tomorrow I will go back to pondering the unknown fields before me.  Happy Spring, my friends!

First Georgic

When spring begins and the ice-locked streams begin
To flow down from the snowy hills above
And the clods begin to crumble in the breeze,
The time has come for my groaning ox to drag
My heavy plow across the fields, so that
The plow blade shines as the furrow rubs against it.

Not till the earth has been twice plowed, so twice
Exposed to sun and twice to coolness will
It yield what the farmer prays for; then will the barn
Be full to bursting with the gathered grain.

And yet if the field's unknown and new to us,
Before our plow breaks open the soil at all,
It's necessary to study the ways of the winds
And the changing ways of the skies, and also to know
The history of the planting in that ground,
What crops will prosper there and what will not.

In one place grain grows best, in another, vines;
Another's good for the cultivation of trees;
In still another the grain turns green unbidden.

- Virgil, translated by David Ferry

P.S. -  Please accept my invitation to stop by Wings 4 You Coaching and participate in my Weekly Wings challenges.  There's a new challenge posted each Sunday.  I'd love to have you along on the journey!

Space to Choose, Room to Grow

journal page - 2/11/08

Every year about this time, I begin to sense a lightening of spirit as I anticipate Spring. The days are noticeably longer, and although it's bitterly cold in New England, the slant of light mitigates the discomfort of wind chill factors and icy roads. It becomes easy to imagine the return of green, and I feel the urge to clean my inner house, sweeping out stale ideas and behaviors to renew and redefine my goals, as if the Vernal Equinox were my New Year's Day.

Just as it takes energy and the right combination of elements to coax the buds back from their winter's sleep, it takes energy and nurturing to foster personal growth. Yet often we find ourselves up against a variety of obstacles that keep us from steadily moving forward, much like rush hour traffic on a highway with a closed lane. We've all experienced that feeling of trying to get quickly from one place to another, but having to constantly put on the brakes and slow down to a crawl every few yards. We get edgy, we feel irritable; we may even lose our temper. And how does it feel by the time we finally reach our destination? Does it ever seem as if it weren't worth the trouble of the trip? The same idea applies to the tolerations in our lives that function as speed bumps on our own personal highways.

Although we often associate the development of tolerance as a behavior with positive attributes such as patience, acceptance of others' differences, and selflessness, it can also become an insidious drain on our time, energy, and spirit. Think of all the things we "put up with" in the course of a day, things that annoy or anger us, things that divert our attention away from what we want to do, things that cause us to react in ways that are contrary to how we would like to see ourselves. Each of these tolerations in some way prevents us from moving forward, ultimately leaving us feeling depleted.

According to Thomas J.Leonard, a pioneer in the life coaching profession, there are logical reasons why we accept tolerations in our lives. Perhaps we've been raised to practice the virtue of selfless patience so we can get along with others. While that is often a necessary skill for peaceful social interactions, what does it mean when we are doing no more than allowing others to take advantage of our "good nature"? What we've been taught to view as a commendable quality actually puts us in the position of feeling anger and resentment, two emotions that tremendously sap our energy. Perhaps we're afraid of the consequences we imagine will result if we eliminate negative behaviors and relationships, or take a stand to self-advocate and say "no." We feel safer with what we know - even if it's dragging us down - and ultimately we become mired in stagnation.

This year, my "spring cleaning" will be to identify and eliminate those things I tolerate that are really no more than speed bumps on my journey. I'll start small with things I can easily tackle, clearing the decks for the bigger things that require more work. I want to give myself more space to choose, more room to grow. Anyone care to join me? You can start by making a list of ten or more things that consistently bother you, or you might want to start by looking at Thomas Leonard's list of The Top 10 Tolerations that People Put Up With as Normal/Acceptable to see if any of them sound familiar. And feel free to share what you come up with, if you'd like!

Time like a Blanket

journal page - 2/1/08

Today, at home, Time was like a blanket around me. Nothing seemed pressing except keeping the fire in the stove going. Freezing rain fell, almost invisible, but by afternoon it had coated every branch and dry flower with a sheath of ice. I had a list so long of things I should have done, but somehow, the fact that I frittered most of the day away was more satisfying than checking off items on a to-do list. I did sand and gesso a 24" x 36" wood panel that my DH Jol made for me, and in antcipation of the painting it will become, I played in my journal.

Around Us

We need some pines to assuage the darkness
when it blankets the mind,
we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly
as a plane's wing, and a worn bed of
needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind,
and a blur or two of a wild thing
that sees and is not seen. We need these things
between appointments, after work,
and, if we keep them, then someone someday,
lying down after a walk
and supper, with the fire hole wet down,
the whole night sky set at a particular
time, without numbers or hours, will cause
a little sound of thanks--a zipper or a snap--
to close round the moment and the thought
of whatever good we did.

- Marvin Bell ( 1937 - )

Venturing Beyond

journal page - 1/30/08

Comfort zone is a deceptively benign term. Although it can mean the place or state of being where one is at peace and happy, humming along at just the right speed, it can also mean a place where discomfort has become a familar, but safe feeling. How many of us stay in situations that seem comfortable, simply because we can easily predict what each day will bring? And how often is this comfortable place really a place of stagnation and resignation where complacency becomes the prevalent emotion? This complacency keeps people from moving forward and living more exciting lives, and even worse, can keep them in bad relationships, unfulfilling occupations, and unhealthy behaviors. Henry David Thoreau said that "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation," and perhaps part of that comes from cowering unaware within one's comfort zone.

On the flip side, what does it mean to step out of that familiar place and try something you've always wanted to do, but have avoided out of fear? At first it might feel very uncomfortable, because usually there's some kind of risk involved, but so often the payoff is well worth the initial discomfort. The most recent topic at Inspire Me Thursday is Expand Your Comfort Zone, and for me, it calls to mind that heady cocktail of fear and anticipation that comes before embarking on any new, initially uncomfortable situation that stretches self-imposed boundaries. It makes me think of the times I've listened to my inner voice telling me that those scary steps will ultimately lead me to a better place, and I've had the courage to listen. And that's the trick...tuning in to that voice and mustering up the courage to expand your comfort zone.

Turning Point

journal page - 12/19/07

Here in New England, the Winter Solstice will arrive on December 22 at 1:08 A.M., marking both the shortest day and the longest night in the Northern Hemisphere. Although I try to resist the dread I feel with the approach of winter, my mood constricts a bit each day as the hours of light diminish. The cold and the dark communicate to me on some primal level, making me want to curl up around myself, much like a fox in its den protected by the blanket of its tail. I have read that statistically, artists in colder climates tend to be more prolific than those in the warmer zones, but it doesn't seem to work that way for me. I have been stalled for weeks now... and it's been breaking my heart.

Last night, almost as an act of desperation, I went into my studio with no objective other than wanting to get my hands dirty. I ripped paper, collaged strips into my journal, painted as the shapes spoke to me, scribbled over the paint, and ended up with a new idea for a large painting.

So why do I wait for "inspiration," when clearly it's taking action that allows my creativity to come out of its hiberantion? I don't know the answer, but I do know that I'm feeling a whole lot better now...and soon the days will start to get longer.

It's been a long time comin'
It's goin' to be a long time gone.
But you know,
The darkest hour is always
Always just before the dawn.
And it appears to be a long, appears to be a long,
Appears to be a long
Time before the dawn.

- David Crosby (1941 - )

November's Promise

Return to a Meadow - 16" x 20" x 1" - mixed media on wood panel

November is my birthday month, and according to my horoscope, I have all kinds of goodness to anticiapte. Reading these monthly forecasts is one of my guilty pleasures; sometimes I get so caught up in the quagmire of my bad voices that having some benevolent stranger tell me that everything is going to be just fine snaps me right out of my negativity. It's the power of suggestion in action, and when it brings me from down in the dumps to confidently optimistic, I'm a willing participant! After all, we really do control our destinies, both by engineering scenarios and by reacting to the myriad situations that come our way each day. The choices we make in any given situation, often infinitesimal and automatic but sometimes large and well-calculated, constantly shape and shift our paths. Making the choice to be positive, to be happy, always seems to clear my vision, and my path becomes easier to travel.

The above painting, which I finished yesterday, will be among the five I am showing in December-January at the IO Gallery.

Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow

as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart,
an eternal pasture folded in all thought
so that there is a hall therein

that is a made place, created by light
wherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.

Wherefrom fall all architectures I am
I say are likenesses of the First Beloved
whose flowers are flames lit to the Lady.

She it is Queen Under The Hill
whose hosts are a disturbance of words within words
that is a field folded.

It is only a dream of the grass blowing
east against the source of the sun
in an hour before the sun's going down

whose secret we see in a children's game
of ring a round of roses told.

Often I am permitted to return to a meadow
as if it were a given property of the mind
that certain bounds hold against chaos,

that is a place of first permission,
everlasting omen of what is.

- Robert Duncan (1919- )

Migration and Extremes

Migration - 12" x 16" x 1" - acrylic/mixed media on wood

The whole time I was working on this painting, I kept hearing Neil Young's song, Birds in my head. When I listened to it so many years ago, it made me think of the heartache that comes with the loss of a lover, but now it makes me think of migrating birds and fall as a season of loss. Perhaps it's because as the geese begin to form their squadrons, readying themselves for their journey, I know that warm afternoons such as today's will also soon be gone. Here in New England, Autumn is the rickety rope bridge between the extremes of summer and winter, and crossing it is always so bittersweet.

This painting, which will be included in a show at the IO Gallery at the end of November, is a larger version of a journal page I did a while ago. I am finding that creating small studies (5.5" x 8") in my journal is such a great way to generate ideas for larger paintings.

Birds

Lover,
there will be another one
Who'll hover
over you beneath the sun
Tomorrow
see the things
that never come
Today

When you see me
Fly away without you
Shadow on the things you know
Feathers fall around you
And show you the way to go
It's over, it's over.

Nestled
in your wings my little one
This special
morning brings another sun
Tomorrow
see the things
that never come
Today

When you see me
Fly away without you
Shadow on the things you know
Feathers fall around you
And show you the way to go
It's over, it's over.

- Neil Young (1945 - )

Must and Want

journal page - 9/18/07

Lately my days slip by, spent juggling obligations and desires... five paintings by November, student papers that multiply like the loaves and fishes, closets and drawers in disarray, workshops and outings, a few pages of a book before bed, time to spend with the one I love... the tug and pull between must and want... and even when I'm tired and on the verge of being unreasonably cranky, I know that it's all good. It's all good.

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

- Jane Kenyon (1947 - )

Wild and Precious Life

journal page - 9/9/07

This morning, I looked over the deck just in time to see a dozen turkeys take to the air in a cacophonous flurry of flapping wings and garbled calls. After a night's rain, they had gathered in our front garden to forage for fallen berries, and they were startled by Heidi's bark when she spotted them. They flew into the high branches of the trees, leaving one young turkey alone on the roof of the shop at the bottom of our property. It made its way towards the edge, tentatively looking around to see where the rest of the flock had gone, clearly afraid to leave the safety of its perch. I felt like I was watching a jumper on a bridge; part of me felt sorry for its confusion and part of me wanted to see what would happen when it inevitably decided to go. When it finally took the leap, its flight was remarkably graceful, and it succeeded to reach the top of a pine tree. Later, a family of turkeys, two adults and two small ones, walked across the driveway and made their way into the woods.

The leaves have begun to come down hard with the wind and the rain, but this morning it was humid and still. Down the driveway and along the road, they fell desultorily, caght on light air currents. At one point Heidi stopped and watched as a single leaf floated in front of her. She snapped at it as it passed her nose, disappointed that it wasn't something good to eat.

I love this time of year. I love the feeling of change, the movements of the wild creatures on our property making ready for the sparse winter, and the renewed sense of purpose I get when I think about the next ten months of structure. As much as I revel in my freely formed summer days, I welcome the challenge of setting goals and arranging priorities, and the feeling of accomplishment when I meet my expectations.

I recently heard the Mary Oliver poem below read aloud, and it touched me in way that a silent reading could not. Even so, I want to share it. It is a something of prayer... and it reminds me how important it is to "live the life you love and love the life you live."

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

- Mary Oliver (1935 - )