For this piece, I decided to stick with a limited color palette: ultramarine blue, raw umber, titanium white and a small drop of dioxazine purple (which happened to be leftover and still wet on my paint palette).  The majority is painted with a wide, wet brush, with a bit of squeegee, some finger painting, and a small brush for a few finishing touches.  

It is a serene, simple piece.  Evocative of the hush and solitude of the mountain in winter, with nary a soul but my sister and me.

Note: demo video has an audio soundtrack!  Turn on the volume. :)

"Learning to be Astonished" - acrylic and charcoal on arches 300 lb watercolor paper, 15" x 22".  Available here and at Artfinder.

My work is loving the world...
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
Keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
Which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.
--Mary Oliver from The Messenger

I am learning to be astonished.

Not by the state of the world, or politics or pandemics, which filled my astonishment quota in the past.  No, I am learning to be astonished by everything else.   By the evening light filtering through gnarled, bare trees.  By the tender green shoots springing up through ice and snow.  By the feel of a hand in mine.  Astonished by words of encouragement, a sweet smile from a stranger or a dog who gently ducks her head under my hand for a good rub.

I was too busy before to truly be astonished by these things.  I could see them, appreciate them.  But astonishment is new to me.  And there is space for it because I have slowed way down.

" Soft and Unrepeatable. - charcoal and acrylic paint on Arches 300 lb watercolor paper, 22" x 30".  Available here and at Artfinder.


“We waste so much energy trying to cover up who we are when beneath every attitude is the want to be loved, and beneath every anger is a wound to be healed and beneath every sadness is the fear that there will not be enough time.

When we hesitate in being direct, we unknowingly slip something on, some added layer of protection that keeps us from feeling the world, and often that thin covering is the beginning of a loneliness which, if not put down, diminishes our chances of joy.

It’s like wearing gloves every time we touch something, and then, forgetting we chose to put them on, we complain that nothing feels quite real. Our challenge each day is not to get dressed to face the world but to unglove ourselves so that the doorknob feels cold and the car handle feels wet and the kiss goodbye feels like the lips of another being, soft and unrepeatable.” 
​
― Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have
​
​

I spent a day at the beach being uncovered.

I mean, I was wearing all the requisite gear for a brisk day on the Oregon coast, but my self was bare.

My eyes were bared to the beauty of a silvery sun reflecting on water-laden sand.  My hands were bared to the feeling of kelp under my fingers, its aloe vera-ness and rubbery strength.  My legs were bared to allow skipping and dancing through waves and sculpted sand.  My feet were bared to the feeling of seawater soaking through boots and wool socks.  My heart was bared to my companion, to his soulful dog, to my own spirit's longing.  My face was bared to the caress of wind and sun on my cheeks.  I felt everything.

Nepo's metaphorical gloves are gone.  My heart feels as expansive as the sky. It is the best kind of overwhelm.

Just Let Everything" - acrylic and charcoal on cradled birchwood panel, 11" x 14" x .75".  Ready to hang (sides are bare birchwood; no need to frame.  Hanging wire attached). Available here and at Artfinder.


Maybe we shouldn't try to understand everything.
And just let everything wash over us.

- BRIAN RUTENBERG

I don't know about you, dear reader, but I spend a lot of time trying to understand things.  

That means reading about things, talking about things, thinking about things, making decisions about things, mulling things over, rolling things around on my tongue.  Trying things on, turning things over, pulling things inside out.  But during these snail-paced pandemic times, I am determined to also try just letting everything wash over me.  Which looks a lot like naming a thing and then letting it be.  Or not naming it and letting it be.  Just feeling it and letting it, well, stay or go or morph or bloom or even die.

“There are things you can’t reach. But
You can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of god.
And it can keep you busy as anything else, and happier.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
As though with your arms open.”
― Mary Oliver

​This week in the studio I am channeling the color palettes of Seba Urgurtan  (more specifically her 2014 figurative work) along with a continued effort to merge background with foreground in a figurative piece.  Learning to embrace 80 million layers of very similar colors in slightly varying hues, and falling in love with the way those layers build and peek and sing and soothe.  

​(Many thanks to reader and artist extraordinaire  Trina Tarlton for introducing me to the work of Urgurtan!)

I've been pondering my ability to fiercely slay big challenges, but be anxious and nearly undone by the small ones.  Oy!  Mason's words captured this so well for me.  I smile at the thought of "lots of language of a deep magenta tint."   

I mean, we've been weathering a pandemic, political, social and racial issues, wildfires (here on the west coast) gun violence and (insert your current "lion" here).  You, dear reader, are finding ways every day to make the best of it, get involved, keep yourself sane, stay healthy AND find joy!  (I see you out there - well done, you!)

And yet, if you're like me... some small thing can cause the heart to crumble a little and have you wondering how the heck CALM was maintained when dealing with the lion.  This week, I am going to examine those "weary little worries" and find the beauty and the lesson in them.  Like our fluttery, creepy-crawly insect friends, there are golden nuggets there.