“I love the way a list makes a big hodgepodge of things simmer down and behave.” - Blue Balliett, The Danger Box

It's time for some lists.

There is a hodgepodge in the studio, which spills down the stairs, down more stairs, into the garage and maybe further than that, I'm not sure. It started with admiring burl wood on hikes.  You know, those burly burls growing out of trees, weirdly misshapen and sometimes looking like faces?  It's hard to come by an untethered burl unless a tree comes down that happens to have a burl upon it.  And then there will be a mad melee of arm-wrestling to see who gets the burl.

Unless you stumble upon eight pallets of burls at a local lumber salvage place.  OH!  

So Malcolm and I brought home as much burl wood as the car would hold.  (How much wood could a subee hold if a subee could hold wood?).  Mind you, we have no experience whatsoever with wood, let alone burls.  But two 2D artists with a vision will try anything.

Then there was sanding and sawing and a Dremel and attachments and plumes of sawdust and a clue here and there.  Which led to a painting on burl wood (to the right, sold!  Thank you collector!). Wait, I can PAINT on burl wood?  Ooooooh.  Except most of the burls are, well, burly.  

Which leads to thinking in three dimensions.

If you've been following along with our hiking adventures, you might know we come across a lot of bones.  Which, when arranged as a fossil on a super sanded, glossy burl, can result in some amazing beauty (notan to the left).  And a need for paleo glue (on the way!) and more Dremel attachments.

Meanwhile, bones lead to thinking of horns, which leads to unicorns, which leads to KaBOBS (work in process above), which just might be the theme for my next series of paintings.

Wait - didn't I say I need a list?  Well, some sort of strategy, anyway.  Oy!

"Intergalactic Corvidae" - acrylic on wood panel, 12 x 16 x .75.  Ready to hang.  Available August 11 - 12 at Fusion Gallery.

The nightly crow show here at malarkey central has invaded the studio.    And taken over the spaceship.  Fortunately, this particular guy knows how to drive a hyper-loop rocket engine to the stars.

​It's hard to resist the crows.  Aerial acrobats soar across the darkening sky each evening, combined with cackles and caws and all matter of coos and chucks as bird-speak fills the airwaves.  The trees around my house are the staging area for their nightly gathering - they begin calling each other after dinner, gather noisily in the trees, then suddenly take off in a gorgeous mass to wherever it is the murder roosts for the night.  

Wonder Mike ignores them completely, searching the yard and peering through the fence for raccoons, cats and squirrels.  He covers ground duty; I watch the sky.

Because the neighborhood is a nightclub for corvidae, the streets and sidewalks are littered with feathers.      Dog walks become feather hunts.  A bag for feathers becomes part of the walking uniform.  The containers on kitchen shelves fill with feathers until the collection becomes a little unwieldy and spreads into the dining room.  It's just a matter of time before the exterior of the house grows wings.  Plans for feathered costumes run amok in my head.  Yes, yes - soon I will paint with them.

If you're in Southeast Portland and happen to be in need of feathers, stop by.  I'll hook you up. :)

"Settle For The Stars" - acrylic on cradled wood panel, 12 x 16 x .75.  Ready to hang.  Available August 11-12 at Fusion Gallery.

Wanting to be in the sky
with the stars
and the moon
the clouds
But for now, she will have to settle for the stars at her fingertips.
- girlspring.com

The helmeted explorations continue.  But today, let's reach for another star - a writer, editor, creator, imaginer and artist who just published a book which touches on the thing we often explore here - bold, brave, edge of the eyeballs living.

What if young you and your sister were abducted by a traveling preacher in the 1970's in the south?  And what if that story had been festering within you for a lifetime, waiting to be told, covered in scars and shame and pain?

What I'm learning is that age is not the distance from the beginning of our lives but the distance at any moment from the heart of our aliveness. - MARK NEPO

Oh Mark Nepo, you've grabbed. me again, stopped me in my tracks and made me pay attention.  How far am I from the heart of my aliveness?  Not far at all.  Practically sitting on top of it. The goal is to always have that place, the heart of my aliveness, within sight.  Which means stretching, pushing, saying yes even when my heart is pounding in my chest or my inner critic says HELL NO.  

My friend Nancy (an extraordinary abstractionist and wickedly smart human) says the answer is always yes.  Which I have begun to adopt (often, not always) - just answering yes  without stopping to overly analyze it.  Hike two mountains in one day?  Yes.  Begin the loftiest, most extraordinary collaborative book project ever?  Yes.  Stay up too late, nap too long, teach a chihuahua (the most unteachable of animals on earth) to walk without a leash? Yes.

Goodness gracious.  What is HAPPENING around here?   Even the animals have ventured out to space.  Well, it's what happens when no one is supervising and I have a new studio to explore.  Wonder Mike is all for it, as long as HE doesn't have to wear a helmet.

Here's a smidgeon of demo and a look at some of the other spacey pieces at various stages in the process.  (sound ON!  It's a cute kitty ditty)

"When in Doubt, Wear Red" -  mixed media on cradled wood panel, 12 x 16   Ready to hang.  Available August 11-12 at Fusion Gallery.

WHEN IN DOUBT, WEAR RED
- Bill Blass

You, dear reader, who so graciously accepted my prediction that space helmets would be all the rage this fall, might also have been wondering if RED is the color to wear in space.

I say YES!

As an artist, I have a love/hate relationship with a lot of colors.  Red is one of them.  It screams of power and passion and also blood and fire.  There is a lot of emotion in red.  

I am drawn to red paintings, red dresses, red walls.  And apparently red houses.  Yet on my body, red is something I shy away from.  Take a look inside my closet and you'll see black and gray and white and maybe blue.  Neutral and nothing else.  Red feels overwhelming. 

Dear reader....an anniversary of sorts passed this week.  Five years since being hit by a car while cycling. What do we do with these things?  We make art.  

A book's spine holds all the pages together⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
yet lets the reader open, thumb, sift, devour.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
As the book ages, so does the spine⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
pages come away⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
seams split⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
the book lays wide open⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
splayed to the world without resistance⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
can you hear it sigh⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
and surrender?⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Splayed⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
my own spine⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
age and injury⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
sigh and surrender⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
softly, gently open⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
and now the light gets in.⠀

 "Build Your Wings on the Way Down" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 12 x 16   Ready to hang.  Available August 11-12 at Fusion Gallery.

What if your place is in space?

What if you were born in the wrong location, and your heart longs for celestial views?

What if you were born before space was even a place where billionaires could go?

What if your pen and ink wants to be a full-fledged painting?  

​This helmeted dreamer has taken control of the studio, mounted herself on wood and added a little (very little) color to call herself completed.   And she has a sister (a very SASSY sister) who is following along closely.  Which led to a cat.  Which may lead to who knows what.  I only know the muse is dreaming of outer space and its contribution to the dreamy inner space of my little sci-fi imagination.  And also I believe space helmets and dresses will be all the rage this fall.   Better grab a helmet before they are all sold out. :)

​"I Was Earth" - mixed media on cradled wood panel, 12 x 12.  Ready to hang.  Available August 11-12 at Fusion Gallery. on Facebook.

In my youth, I was thought to be invincible.
In my adolescence, immortal.
Oblivious freedom, then
Conscious denial.
In mid-life, a recognized need to take care.
Longevity required reversing past neglect.
Sustaining new behaviors.
I was Earth.
-Michelle B. Larson

The BOBS have gone wild.  From birds on balls to balls on beings.  I am  still infatuated with space helmets.  And now adding pen and ink to paintings.  

The BIG SLOG (moving) is nearly done.  The studio is assembled, the cupboards are populated and the lights are on.  One more trip to the old house and then the keys to that one will be in new hands.

In case you want to take a peek at what happens when you give me free rein on Instagram, here's a little video for your entertainment (volume on!)

For those of you in the Portland area (or those who might want to visit in October), the studio will be open to the public for two weekends as the artists of PDX Open Studios 2021 cause a ruckus by allowing just anyone and everyone to see what they do and how.

Wonder Mike says "bring treats."

It's like Dorothy clicked her heels together and now we're going home. The malarkey maven and her little dog Wonder Mike are beginning THE BIG SHIFT, from one abode to another.  Or, as my wise friend says, to our new memory receptacle.

This move is a cliff jump.  I'm building wings on the way down.  While all this is happening, I've become fascinated by space helmets...which I think of as bubbles. At first I thought "huh, that's odd.  Why the helmets, Lola?"   And then the universe dropped this Bradbury quote in my laps and the lightbulb flashed inside the helmet, I was blinded for ten minutes, and then I got it.

Cliff jumping, to someone with a spine injury, is terrifying.