Many thanks to Tim Smith and Wendy McDowell for their encouragement and making it possible for me to exhibit some new work in June at The Daily Grind on Lark Street in Albany.
Here's a peek at a couple of the collages in the series, In the Night Garden.

Their initiative continues: Io Palmer and Lisa Link expand the original exhibit of The Dinner Napkin Project into Cyberfeast III in Ohio. So pleased to be a participating artist in stage III of the exhibition, as well as in its initial stages. Many thanks to Serve and Project for the opportunity and their amazing energy to keep this show on the road.

Some stories are better left real and raw, so I am sharing the email my friend Andy has sent out. He is waging a one-man campaign to help allay veterinary bills from the care of this beautiful boy in the pic, Shemsi. Unfortunately, Shemsi recently passed away. The people he lived with for the last year gave him the extraordinary experience of being truly treasured and respected for being a dog, without suspecting how very ill he was, or that their time together would be so brief. Andy is asking for a $20 donation for his cause. Without further ado, here is Shemsi's story with a link for donations. Thank you for keeping a good thought in your heart for this intrepid boy who gave endlessly.

PASS THE HAT
Dear Friends,

A year ago, I went for a ride with a very special friend of mine to go
see
a dog. We got word of a stray and Jane was interested in meeting him.
When we arrived, we were greeted by one of the most amazing creatures I
had
ever seen. He was big, very big and beautiful and brilliant and he had
huge scary teeth. I would call it love at first sight, but to be
honest,
he was a bit imposing, so it was love at 3 minutes in. We could not
believe this giant brindle colored lab looking dog was abandoned and
Jane
and her family jumped at the chance to adopt him. He did everything
right
and possessed an amazing intuitiveness. Perhaps because of this amazing
inner light, Jane decided to name him Shemsi Tebreeze, or Shems for
short.
Tebreeze was a mentor to the ancient philosopher Rumi and Jane knew that
Shems had some lessons to share with us.

Fast forward to the present. Shems is now a 3 legged dog with another
horrible tumor on his thigh, cancer in his lungs and he will be leaving
us
sometime in the next couple weeks. 4 months after Jane adopted him, he
developed a limp that was soon diagnosed as bone cancer. It cost him
his
leg but we were all hopeful that this payment would buy him a couple
more
years. It did not. The cancer is back and it’s pissed. He is no
longer
massive and he is less graceful. He still smiles and shows us those
great
teeth but he is getting tired and will lose this battle soon.

So what are Shems lessons? I’m not sure…and it will probably take some
time to figure them all out. What I know right now is that Jane and her
husband John did everything they could for Shems and Shems did
everything
he could for them. Of course, his treatment has been expensive. His
medical bills for the past year are approaching $9,000. John and Jane
are
loving him up until the end and have been absolute angels to this good
boy.
I do not want their memory of this amazing creature and their very
special
year together to be clouded by debt. Sooooo…

What I’m proposing is we pass the hat. I am asking each of you to throw
20
bucks in to help cover the cost of Shems’s treatment. I don’t like to
bother folks for things like this…but I sincerely feel we can make a
serious difference if we all pull together. Jane and John signed up to
provide for this dog and have done so with not even a hint of remorse.
Let’s at least let them have their memories of this incredible dog
unencumbered by lasting bills.

I am collecting in a variety of ways. I have created a secure PayPal
page
and you can link to it here
https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=4ANAZTVN9LUHN
and donate with a credit card. You can also send me a check in my name
to 208 Snow Hill Road, Waterbury Center, Vermont 05677 or you can just
hand
me a 20 when you see me. I pledge to keep you posted on how much we
raised
and include your name on a card that we will give them on May 15. I
know
that most of you don’t know John and Jane, but you know me and you know
dogs and you know we can make a difference.

Thank you for reading this and considering helping. You are the best.
Be
well,
-Andrew Bartnick

The best article I have seen to summarize the ongoing intellectual coupe that artist Ai Weiwei is waging on the Chinese government, appeared yesterday in the International Herald Tribune. Ai Weiwei's eighty-one day detention last year was addressed in several of my blog posts. After he was released by authorities to what amounts to a house-arrest scenario and under surveillance, I stopped checking for news updates on Ai Weiwei. I was convinced that with time and patience, he would be back, craftily crafting a response to what had happened. His reputation for transparent expression did not fail. By pure coincidence, the two times I did check, I happened on real-time venues for his reactions to the government's actions. The first was an online chat, and the second was a live surveillance feed he created with his own webcams, which ran for a scant 46 hours a few days ago before the government ordered the equipment shut off. I watched the artist sleeping, as he had positioned one of the cameras directly over his bed, out-governing the government. As he put it, "I don't have secrets." All over the world, we wait with bated breath for his next move; the man will not be quelled.

Two visionaries have seeped into my consciousness of late: Francisco Varela and Nicholas Roerich.

Path to Shambhala, N. Roerich

Both men's lives defy neat categorization i.e. one-page resumes. Both were elegant thinkers and as such, left brilliant legacies. Varela is best known as a scientist and co-founder of the Mind and Life Institute and stars in the 2005 documentary: Monte Grande: What Is Life? which can be found on Netflix.
Roerich has his own museum in New York devoted to paintings as well as writings. His cultural peace treaty, The Roerich Pact, signed in 1935, continues to aspire to the protection of artistic and scientific institutions as well as historical monuments during war as well as peace.


The Last Angel, N. Roerich

Flowers and Masks, Masks and Flowers: La Vie En Rose, and so it goes.

I swore I had written about this magical place last year, but it seems I had not; another effect of the aneurysm-induced amnesia, perhaps? I know that I did mention it in my last post on artist Isa Leshko.
Kindred Spirits Animal Sanctuary, just outside of Santa Fe, is one of the most remarkable places I have ever experienced. Talk about raising consciousness...this place raises the roof on it. Ulla Pedersen has created an oasis for elderly animals: dogs, poultry and horses; all cast-offs due to illness and/or age. Ulla and her team provide eldercare and hospice, but most of all, comfort and love to needy animals. Big dogs immediately greet you inside the gate. The joy they project is infectious, particularly in the face of the physical challenges they are noticeably dealing with. But so it is with dogs; they are bottomless fountains of love. The little dogs run in a pack in and out of Ulla's house. You can sit on a couch outside and a few will jump up to spend time with you. My favorite was Abuelito, a little poodle lacking many teeth who loves to cuddle.


Anna Lisa, beautiful and demure Aussie. She reminded me of my Alex.

I am so grateful for Ulla allowing me to tour the sanctuary before my return east. The creativity used in providing a peaceful haven to the animals, starting from a simple ranch house and some land, continues to inspire me. If you are searching for a wonderful cause to donate to, please consider Kindred Spirits. They welcome even small donations; theirs is a true grassroots operation. And the animals will thank you from the bottom of their hearts.

Her work has received national coverage, yet its impact is truly made by the intimate view the person looking receives into the soul of an elder animal.
Her elderly animals artist statement explains her mission. I hope she will create a book of her photographs; they must be seen.
Isa was kind enough to send me this photo, which when I initially saw it on her site, is what inspired me to contact her about the beauty of Kindred Spirits Animal Sanctuary,
which I was incredibly fortunate to visit last spring, which it turns out is precisely where this gorgeous guy lives. Full circle.

Bobby, age 11

pre-raking and the crocuses are out

even leaf bags

hold surprises.

Having spent most of my childhood fantasizing about living in a travel trailer, a recent story in Lucky magazine struck quite a chord. Turns out the Wanderlust in Portland, OR is my fave of the five rolling fashion boutiques profiled. They also have a shop that doesn't move on Etsy. Imagine life aboard: open road, oodles of frocks, a new look for every rest stop, kitschy vintage, aire libre, oo la la.


Twinkle lights always get me.


Vanessa and Dan Luries, shopkeepers and creators of Wanderlust

New creations:

Having spent a small fortune on Pier 1 cushy animal-print throws to cover scratch marks on the furniture, it is cruel irony that the same throws are comandeered by the cats. The orange boy slept atop the chair, hung over and hugging Frida for a good two hours the other day.

Thanks to the park 'n bark
and its path, we are able to keep moving and
soaking up some rays
every day.
Too bad there's no such place for
the katz.
Attributing their behavior to the spring
in the air,
they are mercilessly hiding, boxing each other
through doorjambs, stealing paintbrushes and
trying to wrestle the shoe from my foot.
That's it....writer interruptus; enough is enough.
I had to extricate the orange one from
a paper bag of BRAND NEW Canson artboard
(which was tucked behind furniture and against the wall)
he ripped apart so he could hide.
Little wonder mama's melting down and morning yoga class
is calling. May your day be blessed in every way.
Namaste.

Green Tara

With best intentions I began the Lenten season this year again in cahoots with Dagny, agreeing to do sadhana for forty days in a parallel-play type of spiritual practice. We did this last year and it was great to be able to check in with her in both my strongest and weakest moments. I love Dagny for many reasons, but mainly because when I'm around her, I become a better version of myself. She has been a powerful guru in my life, from giving shiatsu to teaching me yoga, to being a prayer partner, to appearing like an angel at my hospital bedside, and continues to teach me how to live with highest intent.

This year I grudgingly made an agreement with myself to again sacrifice my guiltiest pleasure: The Bachelor, knowing full well I would miss the finale, again. Last night I merely passed through the room, remote in hand, when I heard the familiar whines of The Women Tell All episode. Satan grabbed me. I found myself on the couch, seduced. True confession. I am so weak. Watching this show makes me the weakest weakling of them all, and come to think of it Weakling was a nickname kids used to call me. And so about fifty years later, I'm once more party to mean girl tricks by succumbing like a zombie to reality romance.

Gotta get back in the saddle; here we go: Green Tara mantra and all, weakling no more, repeat after me: Om Tare Tuttare Ture Svaha. It'll keep The Bachelor away. Maybe.

This vid is trending but I still couldn't resist:

A card from Theo;
handwriting that cannot be bested in its beauty.


Bouquet sent by fifth graders.


Five minutes after re-stuffing her toy, I leave the room and return to Mahriah's perennial gift.


Two collages on masonite are down and papers are trashed in his quest, which is much more important than anything I make.

Author Susan Cain scores like a card-carrying extrovert in this best-seller: Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking.

Finished this last night; the reading may be over, but the questions and awareness the book generates will continue a life of their own. The barely-three page Conclusion begins: Our culture made a virtue of living only as extroverts. We discouraged the inner journey, the quest for a center. So we lost our center and have to find it again. -Anaïs Nin

And later: Whoever you are, bear in mind that appearance is not reality. Some people act like extroverts, but the effort costs them in energy, authenticity, and even physical health. Others seem aloof and self-contained, but their inner landscapes are rich and full of drama. So the next time you see a person with a composed face and a soft voice, remember that inside her mind she might be solving an equation, composing a sonnet, designing a hat. She might, that is, be deploying the powers of quiet.

No words needed.



Closest I got was once upon a time at Del Mar beach, in no more than waist- to chest-high water.
A dolphin swam up.
Exhilarating doesn't even come close.
First contact.

Angel Weeks, 10/10/1998-12/12/2011
Her stay with me was just a few months, making it all the more precious.




Thirteenth birthday

Oh Nooooo!

What a difference almost six months make...

Where have I been? In the land of Mr. Bill, or at least that's
who I felt like, after he's been flattened by Sluggo's bulldozer.
On my way to work one day in June, after giving the dogs their
peanut-butter filled bones as usual, I was smacked down by a
subarachnoid hemorrhage.

donde hay luz, hay esperanza

The Esperanza Project is devoted to bringing awareness to the global issues and environmental challenges to indigenous cultures, creatures and all people of the Américas. The site came to light after my visit to Santa Fe and to its Native American museum, in which I immersed myself for what seemed like hours, in a Huichol exhibit. The Huichol are in a fight for their cultural life, i.e. survival, at the moment in order to maintain their sacred land of Wirikuta in México, despite the government granting mining permits to a Canadian company which will strip the land.

more Santa Fe feasting:

Pase, por cruces verdes



past the ladder to the sky



and culebra meandering the wall



while the Indian girl within keeps watch.

With my attention focused on the plight of Ai WeiWei, my little tale of travel seems superfluous.
But none of our stories are; they are all we have.



Back to the flight....

Is there a doctor onboard? The sobering query silenced the plane as it came from over my left shoulder. It was the same voice that had spoken to me as I had attempted to make my way to a seat while boarding less than an hour before. The stewardess with the grace of an angel had asked, in no less than a dozen polite ways, the woman blocking all movement in the aisle to please have a seat. At the time I had turned and whispered to her that the woman appeared unresponsive; she was with a friend who kept telling her to sit but she remained completely dazed in the aisle, holding onto a seat back and appearing lost. Now she sat slumped in her seat while passengers around her got up and moved, while the flight attendant sat close and cared for her.

Faces in the cabin ran from stony to grim. Minutes passed. A young man with face semi-obscured by a baseball cap, in T-shirt, hoodie and jeans slung low, made his way casually down the aisle, walking straight to the back, past the now highly unresponsive woman and the attendant. I flashed back to the kids I used to teach in an urban middle school. How rude, I thought, to be bothering flight attendants in the back of a plane during a crisis.
He was a doctor.

Angel doctor and angel attendant proceeded to sit with the woman for the rest of the flight, eventually eliciting slow responses; it was clear she was very sick. I caught words like failing and pacemaker from their conversations with her friend. Another doctor who looked like a doctor eventually walked down the aisle to join in the care. But the younger doctor held space, talking to her and holding her hand until we made land.

Appearances.

Although they are trying to make him less, he is more.
T-shirt available (American Apparel) at cost ($9.00) through Archinect.
Mine in white text on black is on its WeiWei.
For the latest info and timeline, go here.

As of this post, there are 3 days only left to go, for this book to be funded on Kickstarter. The author has reached 91% (which is awfully great but doesn't count unless full funding is received) of her goal to bring this to print: $3,213 of $3,500 to be exact at the moment. If the book doesn't reach the $3,500 goal, she gets none of it. To read the Introduction and Chapter 1, go here. Help if you can, please.

On Seeing in the Dark: Dreams, Pre-monitions & a Non-Linear Life (click this link to contribute) by Kim Gledhill: "Seeing in the Dark is a vivid account of what the human mind is capable of, and how we can acquire information beyond the reach of the physical senses. Kim Gledhill's amazing personal story will inspire others to go public with their own similar experiences. The eventual result will be a picture of consciousness that is more majestic and wondrous than we have recently taken ourselves to be. What greater contribution can an author possibly make?"

—Larry Dossey, MD
Author of The Power of Premonitions

I've reserved my copy; who knows, my own little Kickstarter might show up on this site someday. Namaste.

Happy Mutti's Day.
Here is my latest: Beckmann's hearts in sumi-e ink and oil pastel.
And for the day, I received the perfect gifts: a rabbit and a mouse, god rest their souls, artfully placed in repose in the home.
God bless the furkids and Ai WeiWei, wherever he may be.

and so it goes

As predicted in my last post, one of the sky sisters indeed has shown up, and we don't care that she wore no clothes at all. We applaud her and love her for it.


Chinese zodiac heads by Ai WeiWei

Ai WeiWei's installation scheduled for unveiling yesterday at Central Park, across from the Plaza, has been postponed due to Bin Laden's murder, not b/c the artist has disappeared; is missing; nabbed by the government.



So the animals remain hooded on the park; bulkily clothed, secret, menacing? More like tragic, while Ai WeiWei's supporters stage protests all over the world. To participate in the demand for his immediate release, sign the online petition, or go to a museum naked.

p.s. Even Yves (that's YSL) would approve; having been part of the original international art intrigue surrounding the Chinese heads, as mentioned in "give them back", one of my posts in August 2010.....as predicted and pictured, those stolen Tibetan animal daggers appear to be rising up again. Let's hope Ai WeiWei surfaces again as well, and not out of the Xiang.

"Perhaps they could fabricate my disappearance into thin air, but they don't have any creativity or imagination. And they lack both joy and the ability to fly." from Ai WeiWei's last blog entry



On the way to Santa Fe, I was pulled over. Profiled and called out at Albany International Airport, about 10 minutes from home and into the trip. The very large agent in too-small clothes said something about "bulky". I was left to stand there, waiting, while a conversation ensued back and forth over my head about some other suspect. Before being subjected to a public body check, I was asked whether I wanted to do this in private: "NO" and whether I had any "medical conditions" they should be aware of: "NO". Where would I begin: "Yeah, I'm a hybrid with lower body temp than yours, born on the vesica piscis of Onondaga Lake and the Sasquatch legwarmers, they're to help me stand up to the grief running through the limbs since birth." I wouldn't get anywhere that way.

Speaking of cyborg hybrids, I saw the most splendid portrait work by artist kc adams at the HIDE: Skin as Material and Metaphor show in Santa Fe, where those considered mutants i.e. Native Americans are obviously celebrated.

I wondered whether I had taught either of the security women's kids during my years here; surely at least someone they knew. Straight A nerd girl that I am, silly me, raising up children and saving animals, I was now possible Enemy of the State.

I ain't no Pippa, but could this somehow be partially The Pippa Principle at work? ("How dare she wear ivory/white/something that looks so good to upstage her sister")? Tonight while watching the news about Bin Laden, I see film of a middle-aged woman with white hair in a bright purple frock being searched at an airport in the deep background of an interview which is happening in the foreground. This smacks of women-of-a-certain-age-not-dressing-right conspiracy- is anyone keeping track of who they pull out of line or at least their stylist?

Speaking of smacking, China has recently (nothing new and still horrifying) been rounding up artists, attorneys and other intellectuals. Published today: "The show goes on....minus detained Chinese artist" by Miranda Leitsinger provides an overview of the work and situation of artist and blogger Ai WeiWei, whereabouts unknown. Herewith photos of the demolition of his magnificent studio. He has disappeared; taken away at the airport. His blog has been deleted. Previous detention had resulted in beating so severe, he needed brain surgery to attempt to repair the trauma.

Ai WeiWei is a proponent of democracy without the phoniness of politics, a voice against oppression everywhere. The government claims he has committed economic crimes. They are trying to obliterate the man. The Solomon Guggenheim Foundation, with the support of at least twelve leaders of international art institutions has initiated an online petition via change.org demanding his immediate release. Ancient prophecies and current trending indicate China will overtake us. We better hope and pray the ancestors and the sky brothers rally for one last stand, and we won't care what they wear as long as they win.

My newest: Cobra Hearts con Conchas
Happy Beltane to all.

sprouting from earth


to sky.

Metamorphosis crop circle, Netherlands. Appeared 07 August (08) 2009.





José Argüelles' version of Hunab Ku, the galactic butterfly



and my version.

Holy katzenjammers, Brad Shear of Hudson Mohawk Humane Society here in Albany announces that due to over-intake, all cats six months and over are FREE today and EVERY FRIDAY, I believe, at the shelter in Menands.
His blog keep us all up to date with the hottest local and regional animal stories- it's a super-cool read. Take a look at the beauties for adoption- I was at the shelter a week ago, and these kitties are all even more gorgeous in real life.
So if you or someone you know is even thinking of adding a furfoot to the family, give these guys a whirl. And thank you, Brad, and all the dedicated staff and volunteers who do so much for the creatures. That's no joke. Miao-za wowza. Namaste.

Sugar, I forgot to bring my camera last night.
Never mind.*
Herewith some scenes,
same in kind.


Wendy and Tim, such bohemes.


322; serious crowd.


The hair's not right, but the spirit is all Andy.
Bless all the Holi souls, party on.
*Roseanne Roseannadanna

Happy Equinox.


Starseed collage


The Coming of It- Sipapu collage

Some fave creature art and artists discovered on line:


Boxer and


Standard Poodle by Heather Galler Folk Art Gallery based in Rochester NY, and


Hermés and one for the katz:


Chat à la palette by Valérie Mayan in Morocco, proving geography doesn't matter.

prophecy, shmopecy:
Patty Greer, doyenne of crop circle documenters, continues to pile on the evidence with her films.





Having recently watched two of her flicks, I would recommend The Wake Up Call to start with. Crop circles have been appearing for millenia; in recent years they are being created in abundance. People way smarter than I are working to decode their messages, as they can be translated into astronomical symbols and sequences of integers which are considered prophetic and direct communications to us. Dr. Gerald Hawkins' fifth geometric theorem was decoded after manifesting in a 160,000 square foot crop circle in 1995. Current buzz is that the Japan disaster was there for the looking, foretold in circles created within the last year (not to mention the footage shot and reports on mainstream media in other countries of increased UFO activity over Japan in last several days). Although interpreted visually at the moment, it is theorized the rye designs are born of sound/vibrational energies of varying frequencies attuned to existing earth energies; the earth herself, an accomplice in their creation and existence. Their sacred geometry, an undeniable language sans words. Namaste.

Upon waking this morning 5 a.m.: freezing rain, sleet, more snow,


marks that matter


until the afternoon thaw.

More timeless work: Leonard Shlain's book, Art & Physics: Parallel Visions in Space, Time & Light. Originally published in 1993, my copy is long gone; passed on to another artist struggling with the realization that something big is up when your work shows the future. Dr. Shlain connects artists' advance knowledge (as witnessed in their work) of real-time events and discoveries in other fields, to science. Prophecy as logical law of the universe, so to speak. But I simplify: I recall being able to digest this work in tiny bites only; it explained a lot while simultaneously deepening the mystery for me.



Although we lost Dr. Shlain in 2009, his lecture on Art & Physics and several other lectures on his additional books and research are viewable here.

Her story has been making the rounds of news shows of late and I can't resist the work of Vivian Maier. Unsung goddess of photography during her life, her work was accidentally stumbled into at auction, consisting of "over 100,000 negatives, thousands of prints, and countless undeveloped rolls of film" shot from the '50's to the '90's. Her photos include timeless portraits of humanity captured mainly in Chicago. Thank you, John Maloof, for resurrecting this buried treasure and for helping piece together what looked from the outside to be a remarkably quiet and unassuming life; masking a rich and dramatic creative dance within.

Speaking of Hampden Gallery in the last post, check out Sacred Paradox: The Onondaga Lake Project by Willson Cummer, currently at the gallery until March 10th:



To say this work on Onondaga Lake resonates with me, doesn't begin to describe the reaction I had when I discovered the photos....in a nano-second, they evoked my entire childhood, with the lake as the axis of emotional, spiritual and physical existence for the first half of my life.
Thank you, Willson. On this portal day in March, the images certainly portage me back and forward again.

Appearing at Hampden Gallery, Amherst MA from March 31st-April 18th as part of the Transcultural Exchange 2011 Conference in Boston, six of my pieces for the Dinner Napkin Project. My mini-series is called Dinner Napkin Dowry.

Moving from the work table for the Dinner Napkin Project, to the altar, back to the hand again, I exist in 'Tween Time, explained by Ted Andrews as spaces which intersect to provide portals to shifting realities/consciousness.
Comprehensive lists of this prolific creator's books (over 40) are available here. Thank you, Ted, for your sustaining and wonderful work on behalf of the planet and all sentient beings.

Bel Canto, study
Johny Deluna, i luv your color, pattern, composition- everything; your work just makes me happy.

This is a great site (thanks, Dale!) for latest calls and opening info, and where I found the dinner napkin project call, under the auspices of public art initiative Serve and Project, a.k.a. Io Palmer and Lisa Link. The show will debut in April, at the Hampden Gallery in Amherst. I am excited to be taking part in this exhibit, so away I go, back to the servilleta creating on this sol y sombra meltdown Sunday in Albany NY.



Image from Serve and Project

Sky touches ground
as ice meets frozen shrubbery.


Mailbox reroute, due to closure of front entrance
caused by ice underfoot and ice overhead. (note to self: must redo that lettering.)


snowshrine

p.s. Snow predicted again: Saturday, Tue into Wed, Thu into Fri. And that's the truth.

Seers, seekers, poets, prophets...
for much more in addition to the previous post of Neferti's wisdom,
see Robert A. Nelson's Return to Prophecy - A History of the Future,
a compendium of ancient to contemporary visions from myriad cultures.
Chapter 8: American Prophecy alone is an amazing read.

One thing I know: Earth is in revolt of our treatment of beautiful Gaia, its creatures and its people.
Don't let her die.
She is all we have. She is who we are.

btw new fave painting, divinely allegorical:

Death of Minnehaha
William de Leftwich Dodge (1867-1935)
1892

p.s. connection: William painted in Albany as well as in the Onondaga County courthouse where my birthcertif was filed, Syracuse NY....make that marriage and divorce certs. as well, I believe: a progression of proofs of legal existence and sanctioned ritual.
I was called Minnehaha as a child reportedly for my constant laughter.
oo la la.

From The Eloquent Peasant in yesterday's post, a poem composed by sage Neferti over 3500 years ago:

"I shall show you the land in catastrophe,
what should not happen, happening:
arms of war will be taken up,
and the land will live by uproar….
To the heart, spoken words seem like fire;
what comes from the mouth cannot be endured.
Shrunk is the land–many its controllers.
It is bare–its taxes are great.
Little is the grain–large is the measure,
and it is poured out in rising amounts.
The Sungod separates Himself from mankind.
He will rise when it is time,
but no one knows when midday occurs, no one can distinguish His shadow"


panther was seen smashed on museum floor- whereabouts of Tut unknown.

According to The Eloquent Peasant egyptology blog, this appears to be one of the statues of Tut affected by the looting. Timely updates on the Museum of Antiquities break-in are provided by egyptologist Margaret Maitland. Her suppositions are confirmed by Dr. Zahi Hawass, Secretary General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities. Also included are detailed descriptions and unfortunate "before and after"
photos of the targeted art and antiquities.

For Dr. Hawass' account of the bungled looting, like a plot from the Three Stooges, read his post which was faxed to Italy and uploaded in London to his blog.

Egypt is the cradle of us all. Our hearts are broken for the damaged and destroyed treasures evidencing the Boy King's life and legacy. Beauty remains in the spirit of the people, as evidenced by the formation of a human chain
to protect the art and of the fervent demand for freedom.

encampment

mi vida en la diáspora
en la frontera
refugiada
in a gossamer tent
queen's boudoir
my expatriate camp


approximate translation:
Culture is interpreted via thought, feeling, behavior.
Accessed through sight, sound, taste, sell, touch; language of the soul.

The wider the variety of language, the greater the understanding.

Are we not captive, prisoners of comfort if we do not look beyond the
small tidal pools of existence to glimpse the sea.

Loose the bounds of culture.
Today,
walk like a dog.
miao back at a cat.
repeat a Berlitz tape.
pray in prone position.

Transcend what makes sense
to be pure sense.
It is the nature of a
gypsy heart.

working in a sketchbook at the moment, inspired by the Hopi concept of siitalpu, a flowery place on an alternate and accessible plane of existence.

What a remarkable event: Rock, Rattle & Drum at the Crowne Plaza in Albany.
The tailfeathers shook the ballroom as the drumming and singing electrified the space for the dancers in full regalia.
I'm still speechless; all i can say is pow WOW.

Thanks to Fidel Moreno and Susan Jameson of Healing Winds for making it all happen. Kudos and Happy New Year to you both.

what to do in a blizzard:

stare at snow


watch movies


wait for walks


cat nap


catch more flicks


go out, turn around, come back in.

awakening from a dream in which a very large silver-blue
cat named Louis appeared with my other katz, i searched for his breed
and found doppelgangers in spades, even in this painting:

Magdaleine Pinceloup de la Grange, née de Parseval



from the J.Paul Getty Museum Jean-Baptiste Perronneau French, France, 1747 Oil on canvas 25 9/16 x 20 11/16 in. 84.PA.665

"With both hands, Magdaleine grasps a large gray-blue cat that bemusedly engages the viewer. Because of its large size and distinctive coloration, the cat can be identified as a chartreux, one of the oldest and most cherished French breeds. Jean-Baptiste Perronneau included feline companions in several of his portraits of female subjects, reinforcing the elegance and sophistication of his sitters. Here, the bells on the chartreux's collar echo the pearls around Magdaleine's neck, suggesting that cat and sitter alike are refined objects for visual delectation."

meanwhile, Bea dreams of Indian pudding, chicken &
sweet potato treats dancing in her head, and of stalking chocolate:






Y ¿por qué no, mamá?

Feliz Navidad, Merry Christmas to all and Joyeux Noël to Louie, wherever you may be.

Spirithoods are the tribal fashionista must-have;



and fortunately represent far more than the
individual female models' poses on the website.

great accessory; great causes on their blog.
makes me want to howl.

happy portal day 12.12.2010.
early winter and housebound already due to freezing rain at the moment.
a breath of spring from children of the art room:



O'Keeffe's Red Poppy down the hall in the gallery was the inspiration and i do believe
these would do Georgia proud.






we celebrate winter:
flowers within; snow and ice without.
enjoy.

addendum to original Kogi post:

i would be remiss to exclude a 2005 reference to U.S. government involvement in environmental genocide a.k.a. biological warfare of the Kogi people in Colombia involving fumigation of their land with a chemical mixture called Agent Green. this event was documented in a report by the U.N.'s Commission on Human Rights to its Economic and Social Council in 2004.

two great causes for paws:
Bridging the Worlds animal sanctuary in Santa Fe, NM

Sage


sponsorship available for Cassidy


and Hearts Herd Animal Sanctuary and Rescue, Buskirk, NY.
proceeds from sales of their private wine label go to the sanctuary.


Grace

flash back:
sitting in Professor Middleton's cultural anthropology class, we were held silent as if by spell, enraptured with true tales from the Amazon basin. the dude had lived it, not just read it. and he loved it.

cannibals, head hunters, these were his peeps during sabbatical. agog, we were alternately appalled and enthralled by the matter-of-fact cultural realities he described in nearly every lecture. this was way better than going to the movies. the man could paint with words without a frame from Spielberg.

we as students and novice navigators of the world identified those people as savages, morally bereft of the benefits of civilization. black and white. after particularly graphic stories, when Dr. Middleton was not yet looking up from his notes, we shook our heads and exchanged looks of shock and indignation as proudly as we would eventually accept our diplomas. this, we knew, was the way.





flash forward:




ravaged: the most beautiful part of the U of Albany (NY) campus, the goose and duck pond, home to snappers, a migrating heron every year and a solo beaver. the area is under siege and desecration again in the name of improving its nature i.e. providing i assume more drainage and parking space, or perhaps building space.

by guestimate, several acres of woods surrounding the pond were demolished; even parts of the last environmental improvement plan were ripped up, including trees that were planted and staked to ensure straight albeit unnatural growth.
in the same area, an old swing and picnic table in the woods provided a space for students
to chill, study, eat, smoke, and pet my dogs while sharing tales of their animals at home. but this existed long and two projects ago.

trees provided a visual buffer from traffic, not to mention noise or their contribution of habitat for the abundant wildlife. if i were the birds, i'd fly the coop now; the 'hood smacks of putridly ethnic purification, not to mention a debatable use or abuse of resources.

the day of the big bulldoze, my friend Teresa was out running on her usual route. she began crying when she came upon the scene of hundreds of trees strewn like shattered bodies on the field. she apologized for crying when she told me the story; i said anyone would be crazy not to cry.

photos provide momentary 2-D, partial truths compared to standing in the 360 of it daily. my dogs stumble well beyond the construction area through ruts, picking their way through mounds of woodchips and stone; it is like watching kids play on refuse heaps on what used to be level land for running without care.

for years i have walked, written about and loved this piece of paradise in the city,
building a frame of reference impossible of transients, my view defined by
relationships with its natives.

the knowingness of civilization,
the horror of head-hunters:
no wonder Dr. Middleton
loved his jungle so.

Said Geoffrey Chaucer in Troilus and Criseyde 1374: "It is nought good a slepyng hound to wake."
ditto a sleeping tiger,




especially when he's snoozing in the car.

The Kogi: i can't understand a word of this except for the occasional Spanish interpretation,
but i love the sound of the language and watching it spoken.
Apparently they have two languages: one is wholly spoken with
no written form, and one is wholly telepathic, used by Kogi shamans, called mamas.

Keepers of ancient Tairona culture, the Kogi believe themselves to be guardians and keepers of the planet; elder brothers to us, the younger brothers who possess far too little real knowledge of the world as compared to big brothers. At the end of the '80's, the people allowed themselves to be filmed in their homeland which is in what we call Colombia, South America, because they realized their mountain was ill, dying in fact, and a symbol of what is happening to us all.
The resulting 1991 film, titled From the Heart of the World: The Elder Brothers' Warning by Alan Ereira, is also accompanied by a book: The Elder Brothers' Warning which is available through Tairona Heritage Trust. There is also a cool, graphically animated piece with excerpts of the Kogi/Arahuaco message translated into English for your viewing pleasure here.


Tairona pendants

And the language(s)?
Like the potential eventual outccome of the current attempted obliteration of Tibetan language used for instruction in schools in Tibet, (read more on recent protests)
the loss of even one language on the planet points to the eventual loss of a people: their unique perceptions capable of being expressed meaningfully and truthfully only through symbol born of that culture and vice-versa.
Second-hand interpretations of Truths created and held by a people are mere botoxed versions of reality: knock-off mannequins versus live runway.
Zombies posing as stockbrokers; would you invest with them?

Sadly,
i believe i am witness to the death of a language and subsequent culture under my own roof of late.
Orange Street cat Gorrie Frederick tried for the first several weeks of his new life here to communicate with
the other two cats, delivering a range of vocalizations that were nothing short of remarkable. His speech was extremely varied; full of melodic cadences; peppered with dozens (at least) of sounds which he combined in a plethora of ways. For nights on end, i would
sit, speechless on the couch, witnessing his fruitless attempts to speak with Chloe and Bear-boy, sitting face-to-face with them and using a language which i realized
was birthed in that house of 88 cats and 2 dogs living together, and in which i believe Gorrie Frederick was born.

He speaks much less these days. Despite my feeble attempts to talk with him, he has stopped
using many of the original sounds, sticking to just a basic few. The Orange Street Cats must have held many secrets,
told only to each other in an inimitable language. The culture may be gone, but the spirit rings true in my lone orange-striped linguist.

Icarus
by Miriam Brumer

Cosmic! Miriam Brumer's paintings and drawings make me swoon; Sasha says it better
on the Beautiful Decay blog. The artist works on paper and also on mylar, creating numinous layers
wherever she goes.
J'adore her work.

(Many) years ago I made some paintings on acetate; looking at these beauties
makes me wish to do more....
for personal and spiritual reasons, am trying to stick with biodegradable as much as possible
these days, despite the pull of plastic. Can someone develop planet-friendly
acrylic, please?

Miriam's paintings hold space for the wonder and complexity of the universe; its
energies interacting in moments of luminous creation.
Formidable.


Choir
by Miriam Brumer

...we see that the human mind, the human heart, and the environment are all inseparable.
-H.H. the Dalai Lama




I believe we as Spiritual people must gather ourselves and focus our thoughts and prayers to allow the healing of the many wounds that have been inflicted on the Earth.
-Chief Arvol Looking Horse



The choice is ours: form a global partnership to care for Earth and one another or risk the destruction of ourselves and the diversity of life....We must realize that when basic needs have been met, human development is primarily about being more, not having more...
-Earth Charter from the Earth Charter Initiative

a ways back, i posted some examples of zen-filled phrases painted this summer.
not knowing where to show them, i layered them behind the headboard and on the side wall
to complete a winter bedroom scheme, with word-seeds for dreams.
bea doesn't seem to care, and only needs a cozy blanket and a walk to feel happy.

2 new works:


Choku Rei I



Mi'kmaq Landscape

Charging water


Suren Shrestha, master of singing bowls, has been teaching and healing this weekend via Peaceful Inspirations in Delmar, NY.

The Fundamentals class in which I was fortunate to participate on Friday was exquisite. All I could think was,
"This guy's the real deal," a sentiment I later found echoed by an interviewer in his chat with Suren earlier this year.
All proceeds from Suren's book benefit an orphanage he is sponsoring in his homeland of Nepal.



The sounds: they are the real deal as well.
Of note is Suren's CD with Paradiso which I downloaded from iTunes after class and have been playing
ever since.


Namaste.

speaking of artists, friend Teresa Burns Parkhurst is a creatress suprema - witness her card above
published by Oatmeal Studios. she also draws the Pet Psychologist for Mad magazine and is a zenful diva,
pure songtress - who plays various chic gigs in the area.
best of all, she is the coolest auntie and faery godmother a girl could ever want for her animals. she is a blessing.

one more from Harvard Business Review:

my pencil and marker drawing : Crossing the Sticks;
paper and sketchbook courtesy of Miga Rossetti

here is a snippet of her work:



she sells journals, cards and paintings on her website. love her bird paintings especially much.

A jewel of a book by Leonard Cohen:



A snippet, page 72:

The simplicity of wabi-sabi is probably best described as the state of grace
arrived at by a sober, modest, heartfelt intelligence. The main strategy of this
intelligence is economy of means. Pare down to the essence, but don't remove
the poverty. Keep things clean and unencumbered, but don't sterilize.
Usually this implies a limited palette of materials. It also means keeping
conspicuous features to a minimum.
But it doesn't mean removing the invisible connective tissue that somehow binds
the elements into a meaningful whole.




Portland Japanese Garden as photo'd by me.

speaking of beauty, 350 acres of divine nature is the setting
of an institute devoted to conserve and make active,
the teachings of the Dalai Lama.

and it's all happening just beyond where I used
to teach and about 25 miles from where I am now:
a center of peace and compassion in one of our local hilltowns.
namaste.

is it not the most beautiful symbol....



the antahkarana.

new work inspired by recent reiki attunement:


ink painting


paper faldas.

first day

A tiger cat from the Orange Street Cats came home.
"Loves dogs," his profile said.

This boy was removed by brave rescuers from a hoarding situation that befell 88 cats and 2 dogs.

Since he moved in, I have found candids of him on various sites, showing the deplorable environment and
his unique locations, chosen to rise above the filth in the home. It is said that he greeted the rescuers by stretching out on one of the cat carriers the first time they went in. For this reason, he was one of the first brought out.

He is the most loving cat I have ever met.

When I first saw him, driven to Petsmart by his foster mom for our meeting, I couldn't look at him - he appeared to be the reincarnation of Little Half-Chicken from the book Mediopollito which I read to my students every year.


online profile pic

Looking a mess as he sat on the counter of the adoption room, I meditated on the floor of the tiny space, not knowing what else to do with this ill fellow while we were left alone to get a sense of each other.
Initial contact was made when he climbed up my chest, dug under the reading glasses suspended from the green crystal I was wearing, and began to lick the stone.
Done.

Home he came and within hours, his appearance began to transform.

He is currently recovering from feline herpes incurred from the conditions in which he was raised and lived.
With a combination of great veterinary care, meds, herbs, high-quality food, flower essences, homemade chicken broth, immune support, supplements, reiki, healing touch and love, he is kicking the herpes. Conjunctivitis still dogs us, but it is clearing.

The cats currently profiled as adoptable on the Orange Street Cats site have been fully vetted and are in stable health. Donations to this huge rescue effort are still gratefully accepted through PayPal on their site; foster families are still caring for and feeding about 65 cats in and around the Albany NY area.

...am not aware of a connection between John Lennon and tigers, but both have been on my mind a lot, obviously with John's birthday yesterday.



so,
don't forget John. his life reads as an iconic poem of the artist.
many biographies exist; i read one long ago while visiting London and it was mind-blowing at the time; his path is
resonant of all great artists.

and tigre, tigre, burning bright,
it is estimated that fewer than 3,200 still exist in the wild. these guys are almost wiped out; they will be gone by 2022 unless we turn it around. 21st Century Tiger is raising consciousness as well as accepting donations. Without support, the following mantra could come true: "Who among us will look tigers in the eye and say: 'we admired everything about you, except your existence'?" (see: WWF tiger projects)

Closer to home in the U.S.A. is the plight of 10-year old Tony the Tiger, living in a cage at a Louisiana truck stop. The renewal date of a permit to keep him living this way, in the fumes, alone in a metal cage, to generate commerce from tourists, is in December of this year. Please sign the petition at change.org to stop this madness so he can live out his life with dignity and care at a big cat rescue.

Please don't forget Tony.

Nice show - Faith, Hope and Spirit, which we opened Friday night in Albany NY: great people, cool space, spirit-filled work....



like Dorothea Osborn's Diatoms, hybrids of natural materials wed with plastic,


Ginger Ertz's pipe-cleaner bustier,


Trisha Zigrosser's sand painting installed on the floor (she didn't want me to shoot this
prior to her "fixing" it...'my bad!),


and Trisha's and Don Favro's combined sculpture/installation in the middle of the space.


Speaking of space, Rae Schauer saved the day and the space with her massive suspended tissue flowers!


Thanks to Dorothea for making it all real, and to Rae and Trisha for all their devoted energy as well.

Delighted to be in this show, opening tonight.
Two of my five pieces in the show:

between it all



a final rose from beloved student Abby, blooms.

Mil gracias to knitwear designer FriendlyBrown and painter/author Mayagonzalez


Maya Gonzalez

for the two recent inclusions of my work (both of birds)



my works

in both Maya's Latin stylings etsy treasury and on Kelly's blog posting about Albany artists. What wonderful honors from two passionate creators- thank you!

A first grader knows better.
So China, give them back.
All of them.

Imagine

U.S. troops are sent into the Vatican,
on a mission to maim and imprison priests
in order to rule the area and make off
with the David (which is really in Florence, but am invoking
artistic liberty in my story, 'my bad.).




David later gets his own show at the Met,
complete with matching engagement calendar,
and is touted as "Our World Treasure" by NY art
glitterati, cognoscenti and the press.

Next, you read in the 'Times that Michelangelo really was Puerto Rican
and therefore, his works legitimate U.S. creations.



Man, talent and symbol are threatening.

Enter Taiwan's National Palace show (great slideshow here), ongoing since July 1, closing on 09/19/2010.

Sure, monks visited the show.
No doubt they prayed for release from suffering of arrogant thieving souls.
Note to curator: I wouldn't want to mess with the energy of that gold-gilt monk's skull if I were you.



For real: gold-gilt monk's skull

Coincidentally: new rules went into effect on the first day of the show in China to bring "uniformity to the sale of cultural relics at auction", inspired in part by creative genius Yves Saint Laurent's penchant for collecting, brought to the public fore by Pierre Bergé's magnificent attempt to blackmail the Chinese government prior to the sale at Christie's of two bronze animal heads looted from the Old Summer Palace. No doubt they made great bookends in one of Yves' fab digs.
BTW, it's always all about Yves.





And synchronously, a 73-page human rights report detailing Tibetan repression was released in July. For further enlightenment, a Tibetan paper titled China's Attempts to Wipe Out the Language and Culture of Tibet is a veritable downloadable primer on humankind's (word!) determination to dominate and destroy those cultures and people deemed "other".
Kinda like burning the Koran.

Prediction:
Those responsible for the robberies and subsequent flaunting of loot shall be subject
to karmic karmapa homesickness 4 ever.
Like being sent to eternal summer camp and you can't phone home.

Prediction:
The curator will reincarnate as a hat-check boy or girl for the
longgggg line of participants at the next Abramowicz gig
at MOMA. The show will require complete nudity of those
holding space with la Marina.

Prediciton:
William Morris will step out of retirement to
resurrect his own glass menagerie of four-footed daggers
filled with warrior spirit to recoup the treasures,





b/c what goes around....

Check out the wonderful work on behalf of Orange Street Cats here in Albany NY. Eighty-eight cats were found in a house ready to be demolished. Yes, that's 88. The story of the daring rescues could make a movie. While speaking with Jan of AnimaLovers rescue, who is a coordinator for Orange Street Cat adoptions, I was astounded by the amount of veterinary care, love and effort on the part of everyone involved, due to the extreme conditions under which the cats were living, and to the extreme commitment of such caring souls.
Am very proud that my own fave veterinary clinic, Bloomingrove, home to Dr. Laurie Coger, Dr. Stone, and their fine staff that all care for my furry charges, is one of the incredibly generous partners in rehabilitating these felines.

Here is Gracie, up for adoption along with her bf, Chance:



and, yes, that's Gracie touching Chance through the cages.

If adoption is not a possibility, donations are so gratefully accepted from cat lovers near, far and wide, and payment via PayPal makes it easy.

And Bastet will miao your praises forever.

Having just seen Eat, Pray, Love, I feel the conscious need to balance the intersection of cats and dogs in my world with a little shout-out to real-time birds, not just the ones in my art.

With nearly 17 million views, the perenially famous Molly and her owlets still continue to fascinate.




A great resource I've used all summer, as I paint within 2 degrees of separation from the birdfeeder, is the Cornell Lab of Orinthology's All About Birds site.




And for the comfort of the best birdwatchers on the block, consider:



the SnoozePal Cat Hammock, with customizable fabric patterns,
b/c with apologies to all birds of the planet, in my desire to know and speak Truth:
it always comes back to the katz. Miao.

Thank you!! to Kim and Jo of Desire to Inspire, for including my Chloe cat in today's Pets on Furniture post.
Ain't she a doll?!

I am a huge fan of this design blog, and of course, now even more so. Their posts are a visual feast of beautiful interiors, encompassing style from traditional, contemporary, vintage, global....you name it, perspectives. For more photos of animals ruling domestic interiors all over the world, check their homepage each and every Monday; often the pics are divided into Parts 1 & 2 to accommodate everyone. Merci!

The road wound west past horses, ponds, alpaca, and the very red barns of well-groomed, largely restored farmhouses. Clouds gathered in a holding pattern in the distance, billboards of the approaching valley. Taking this road had been instinctually right. Turning at a sign for Route 9N, I felt home free. A slow trip back was worth the sure path.

Several miles ahead, lulled into the zen of idyllic scenery fringing the Hudson, I regained consciousness long enough to realize that except for the stretch, blacked-out jet-black Town car/limo stopped at the country intersection immediately to my right, I was the only car on the road.

Either Bill or Hill or the bride must be inside.

All roads pointed me to Rhinebeck anyway. The gods must be crazy.

Route 9 remained virtually deserted until just outside of town, the gates of the state fair seemed to burst open with midway revelers and the sounds of carnival.
I craned my neck, trying to read signs through bodies everywhere: shopkeepers, kids, regular citizens, tourists dressed as tourists, reporters with mikes at the ready and very big cameras on tripods choked the sidewalks. In nearly every store window, mad mantras were scrawled directly on glass or on poster board, urging Chelsea to stop here for vegan everything and anything. Meanwhile, I struggled to stay vigilant to traffic while taking in the scene, remembering the mellow character of town as I had known it during two sojourns to Omega. Toto, we ain't in Rhinebeck no more.

As I glided to a stop at the corner of Mill and Market, a Mini Me-sized tomato-red convertible thrown in reverse narrowly missed the side of my humble Civic. Staking claim to the first-in-from-the-crosswalk, center-stage, hottest parking spot on the planet, the dude did not hesitate, and therefore did not lose. All I saw was the back of his head: balding; I imagined him a monk to quell my rage. Damn, how did I miss that. Torn between my mind's calculation to keep driving, and the fantasy to become a marauding groupie parading up and down main street with Bill's book, title turned street-side underarm in case he walked by with a Sharpie, I steered straight on the green, true to my course and out of the mayhem.

On the northern edge of town I pulled over and ordered,



clinging to the hope that Bill might stop in for a pre-nup sundae. Everyone pulling in, ordering, waiting, eating and serving seemed to move in slow motion. The cotton-candy sweetness of the day was affecting my brain with sugar overload.
Suddenly I remembered The President was on a diet for the gala. Resigned to the demi-brush with fame during the country drive-by just half an hour before, I turned the key and pulled out.




As if in a dream, The Phantom Gardener appeared, pronto roadside. This place had long been on my list to find.
Getting out of the car, its feel-good energy was immediately palpable. Entering the weave of plants through a side patio space, I made acquaintance with a handsome orange tabby lounging between pots on a wooden table, followed by a spotted canine, (my weakness) no doubt a cattle-dog mix of some kind, on a stone walk close to the cat. We exchanged silent greetings. Wishing to respect their late-afternoon siestas, I moved on.

As I meandered through plants, women intensely tending plants, sculptures, birdbaths, plants and more plants, two fave items were the large cement hearts which I thought would make the perfect gift for Chelsea and Marc, and the impossibly-colored chartreuse pots.
Shadows began to shift so I checked out, said goodbye to the dog and cat and headed home.



Some detour.

Looking for adventure, encountered a circus.
Destined for a botanical garden, there it was.
Searching for Eden, found Paradise in a cat and dog.

Just over a slim week ago, I fell down the rabbit hole on my way to Berkshire Botanical Garden.

Visiting a botanical garden is up there with going to a great art museum, such as The Clark. So many of us outwait the vengefulness of wintry mountains to pilgrimage to The Clark every summer. They typically have a dazzler of a show every time: Picasso Looks at Degas is served up until September 12 this year.




Last time I visited a formal garden was in Portland, OR, the Japanese Garden to be exact.





I've yet to recover from the aesthetic stupor of it all....staring into the zen garden,



trying to appear enlightened, I was actually plotting how to hide behind big sacred stones and get locked in at closing time. Then I could sleep i.e. live there forever, in the Japanese house with exterior walls that slide open to nature. It contained glass cases full of objets d'art for purchase; the fanciest souvenir shop you'll ever see. It could be cozy: as long as I could sashay about in one of the vintage kimonos and have someone else make the tea.

My destiny hijacked itself when I left after a few hours, foregoing crossing the finish line at long last to Marylou Whitney or Nell Fernández status. Stendhal syndrome won out as I staggered down the winding path to exit.

(For more pics of the Portland trip, go here and here to my archived blog.)

Back to the Berkshires...
Armed with MapQuest printed directions; having perused three route options; and having driven the vicinity of the garden many times before, I was a Girl Scout hot on the trail of adventure: car packed with sunscreen, water, several styles of shades: I'm off. Just in case, I ran back to grab a good luck charm for the ride in the back seat, in lieu of my regular traveling companions who are fearless albeit shedding adventurers. I figured this would come in handy if I happened to slip into café society somewhere:




On my way, blissfully enjoying the solitude of the road, I meticulously checked the directions, and frequently. Imagine the shock when a sign said: Exit to Rhinebeck NY. Not only was this the wrong state, it was way south of where I was headed. Rhinebeck was the last place on earth to be on this day: every second of wedding frenzy from this little berg was being documented on the local news, and I imagined major road closings, detours, guards, roadblocks, customs agents, all creating major travel migraines. Yuck! I sure ain't goin' there. So I flew past the exit, continued to blast tunes which had surely led to a navigational demise in the first place; committed to get as far as I could from Rhinebeck and too lazy to pull over to peruse a map in the trunk. Besides, maybe the sign is wrong.

Miles ticked by and a sunken feeling in my gut told me I was really lost; at this rate I would end up in the Bronx. Taking an exit to a miscellaneous numbered route, I figured this way might be scenic until I got my bearings back to a major road. Determined that instinct alone would find my way home: I who have not missed a single yoga class all summer, could surely remain calm, centered, and in polarity as accurate as a compass if I could just conjure a wise (enough) totem animal to guide my way back. The blessing, I figured, was that at least I was nowhere near Rhinebeck.




to be continued....

DenverMoon rocks with a collection of curvy handwriting on her new treasury on Etsy, with one of my works included.
Stop by her shop to see her lush floral hair accessories.
Thank you, Meagan, and welcome to Etsy!

According to my daily horoscope today: You could be a bit emotional from time to time but you could also be a good entertainer...You do need to be aware of the tendency toward exaggeration; use this talent to write.

And so, to exaggerated writing: with a BIG BRUSH. On the floor. Of my garage. Hoping the animals don't track through the sumi-e ink, at least before I manage to snap a photo. I made a mass of these, all with different sayings....I want to stick them all over a big building....anyone got a space?

True confession: I routinely ogle big brushes on eBay, vintage and antique writing sites, and in person at Mower's Market in Woodstock NY. The bigger, the better. These were done with a big Japanese calligraphy brush, purchased (I think- ooops, I might be exaggerating) at the Seattle Art Museum.

Big brush painting goes back to the art of the monk and zen of course, and to Barbara Bash, trained in big brush performance work at Berkeley and generous teacher to me at a workshop on the topic at Women's Studio Workshop in Rosendale NY, more than a few moons ago.

Any of my work with script is made with gratitude to two women: my mother and June Baskin.
My mother, for giving me good handwriting genes.
June Baskin, for marching me through "Calligraphy Boot Camp" many moons ago.

Dr. June was a woman born 1/2 too soon; 1/2 too late. A force in the state of Pennsylvania and in NAEA (no affiliation with NRA, rather: National Art Education Association) she advanced the cause of fine arts education throughout a long and storied career. Dr. June was a visionary who pushed the art and intellect of PA art education beyond that of other states considered to be more progressive i.e. sophisticated. Her influence reached far-flung locales and continues to influence into the future. And June could illuminate manuscripts, poems and prayers like a 12th century monk.


Christmas card by June Baskin, PhD.
Color-enhanced due to conditon of original.

I was fortunate enough to cross paths with Dr. June when I arrived from NYC to the Susquehanna Valley region of Pennsylvania. Maybe it was the contrast in our garb, but June always wore a slightly bemused look whenever she spoke to me. Or maybe it was the initial acquaintance we made while I, Who Knew It All, was in the midst of throwing a tantrum at a local art fair chaired by Dr. Baskin herself. As I railed about the malfeasance (a word i was most proud to have learned in the really big city) surrounding the setting-up process of other artist-exhibitors, Dr. June intervened to calm me down. I liked her immediately: she listened closely and replied with utmost diplomacy and tolerance; without condescension to a whippersnapper like me. The bemused look began at this first meeting.

Fast-forward to now: June's graciousness helps me maintain outer composure when working with the ego-fullness of young artists, even if it means counting to 1,000 and biting my cheek. Even though part of me wants to snap the absolute beliefs in the supremacy of (their) self and (their) Art. . In spite of, or because of the attempted destruction of these beliefs by Life, with grace they will transform into a wider view. My job, like Dr. June's, is to behold and honor the perfection of innocence, regardless of stage or age.

When her Beginning Calligraphy appeared in the course listings of a local community college, I immediately signed up. She began the first night of this adult ed. class with a stern, "If you're here for night out on the town, you're in the wrong place." Like a hawk, she could spot a weak leg (of a letter) across the room and spy a slightly mis-angled pen nib from forty paces. She would kick at your feet if they weren't flat, a fact contemporary students find outrageous. She was larger than life; tolerated no nonsense, and frightened most people with her 'tude. Had she been born later, she would no doubt be a krumper today.

Thank you, Dr. June. I hope you are scribing the heavens. Your belief in excellence made my wings stronger. And I listen to the young ones well, even when I'm wearing the faintest bemused smile.

On a recent road trip to KTD, this is the only thing i took from the monastery. And it was free. I didn't know who the dude was in the picture, exactly. To be honest, my first thought was: "Hmmmm, cute monk!" The guy's essence fairly jumps out of the card at you, so I took it. And he's been staring up from the coffee table ever since.



The mini-moo's, talismans of a kind, fell over his eyes three or so days ago. I re-stacked them today. Turns out this is His Holiness 17th Karmapa, Trinley Thaye Dorje, (the name on his MySpace page) head of the Kagya tradition of Tibetan Buddhism.

While Dalai Lama was tweeting thousands of Chinese netizens over the last few days on his "approved" (with stiff warnings and of course, those must be just the tip of the iceberg) trip to the Ladakh region of India, nicknamed Little Tibet, bordering China, a report by Human Rights Watch, confirming and condemning the breaking of international law by the Chinese government during the 2008 atrocities and attacks against Tibetans, was released today.

Meanwhile, the plot thickens. The Karmapa has been refused passage by the Indian government to Woodstock, to visit KTD. It is reported he is under virtual house arrest in India.

On my way back from Healing Touch for Animals ® training in Philadelphia this week, no wonder I felt the call to drive the dogs through Woodstock. The vibration of town these days is of incredibly high frequency: the air is fairly humming, or is that auming more than ever, in my humble experience of making sojourns there for the past 20 years.

It's the monks on the hill, no doubt. Their prayers have serious clout. I pray they will get him out.
For now I hold space in my little living room among ordinary things, dreaming safe passage to freedom for all sentient beings.

EARTH sticker by Philip Krohn.
Your purchase supports nonprofits dedicated to protecting wilderness and biodiversity.
I bought five for $15, making four gifts for friends and one for me. Shipping took a little while but was worth it.
Word. Show it.

p.s. Happy Birthday to my niece Taline. Earth smiled the day you were born, and hasn't stopped since.

The harmony of the world is made manifest in Form and Number,
and the heart and soul and all the poetry of Natural philosophy
are embodied in the concept of mathematical beauty.
—Sir D’ Arcy Wentworth Thompson (1860-1948)



Yeah, it's all in them, naturally.



For more, visit Wisdom University's New Chartres School and view heavenly courses like
Sacred Number - The Matrix of the Universe, which just wrapped up in France but i wish i had been there
to see what Joe Campbell saw when he called it "the womb of the world."
Then again, maybe it's all right in front of us, no matter where we are.

Summaaaaahhhhhhhh.....

Happy Birthday week to Dalai Lama....so that was a twinkle i detected, in the eye of the photo of his holiness on the altar of Karma Triyana Dharmachakra monastery in Woodstock NY, just the other day.

A lovely day in town was spent in the company of Rob and Ron, who drove in from CT, with a delightful lunch at Oriole 9, and Ron letting me draw on his iPad, so fun! The restaurant is full of good energy, and serves the most delightful-looking and tasting strawberry mint lemonade, ever. Their commitment to and partnership with the Woodstock Day School is most impressive.
Our trip culminated in a little sit-time in the main room of KTD. As my feet contacted the cool wood of the floor, i could only notice how different the feeling from all the catholic places i have wandered and sat through. This space made me want to dance. Colored layers of embroidered pennants by nuns were as fish scales waving beneath the sea of painted lotus garnishing the ceiling.

That feeling: i have touched before in grottos, and in the dance studio, regardless of address. Holy ground seems for me to be most commonly: relationship with rock, water, wood, flora, and largely independent of idol. A giant geode of lilac-to-purple-and-back-again-amethyst sings to me in the greeting room as we take our leave, pondering the cornerstones of our life.

or, What Is Not Spoken

the real ingredients of art:
crayons, paper, glue, scissors, etc., faith.

faith that:
the sun rises,
blank paper speaks volumes,
words rise and fall,
nations come and go,
you have meaning and
kids know the future.

like a prizefighter
you train,
practice combat,
engage in war
with a worthy opponent,
yourself.

one day you wake up
and see
you are not a guard
but a guardian
of soul
and you thought it was about
how much you knew
but all along, it was who.



Gifted to me by a student, anonymous...
the sweetest collage of cat-to-be in fifteen years.







The collage was recently found as i weeded through saved messages and art given me by children over the years.
It was sandwiched between papers dated from 1988-1992ish. Its location and the fade of the paper indicate it came from a child in Pennsylvania; gifted to me at the height of my anti-cat stance.
(I am so very chagrined. Lesson learned: Never say never, lest you become a convert at the feet of the catgoddess
4ever.)

I slid it carefully from the pile, noticing it had an odd folded-under top. Slowly i uncreased it, revealing from the hand of a babe, fifteen years at least before her time:

Two more kid works for the road:


Another lesson plan by a future art teacher.

Kids do a lot of teaching and mentoring in the art room; most of my best lessons have come from them. Proposals for projects are often stuffed into a suggestion box, followed by a meeting during which we write a plan together, discuss materials, process, timing, and establish my role as basically gopher and safety net - when the shoe's about to go on the other educational foot, the wildest kids inevitably get a terrified look as it occurs to them, "What if the class gets out of control?!" This makes my entire year worthwhile, proving primal fear knows no age limit, especially when you're a major mayhem operative yourself.

Lessons submitted are normally heathen in nature: take this devil par example.
Subject matter is frequently tweaked to a level of appropriate neutrality as i say for the five? ten? thousandth time in my career: "Yes, we DO live in a democracy, but the art room is a monarchy and i'm the queen. " "I like drawing devils/ghosts/man-eating dragons/bleeding gladiators/evil faeries too. I see nothing wrong with them, but some people do."

At about this point in the pointless conversation, children begin asking me if devils can really stab you with pitchforks in hell, and are ghosts real and have i seen one lately, and where do dead people go, and then we're on to the God questions because that's what they really want to know, and i gotta say,
"I don't want to get in trouble and get called to the principal's office."

End of protest.
Point made.
We move on to rainbows.

School year ends on a shut-down of the building for everyone, due to the finding of (more) asbestos.
There was no official final day; we did not say "good-bye" to each other, neither staff nor kids.
4 middle-aged staff deaths in fewer years in this place have cast a pall, and yet the energy of the young moves
us forward within contaminated space, despite ourselves.
Meanwhile, art made by children beyond class to say "thanks" is all about beauty, nature, breathing spirit.

Be-all, end-all look-book: Natural Fashion: Tribal Decoration from Africa by photographer Hans Silvester.
Although I discovered this feast of body-painted fashion nearly a year ago, as seen in the video of a previous entry on Blogger, it remains one of my faves.

Innocently juxtaposed on top, perched on one of my summer reading tables and ready to pounce: The Animal Dialogues: Uncommon Encounters in the Wild by Craig Childs. Individual chapters documenting each encounter make it easy to skip around and read it all out of order; the option for randomness perfectly attuned to a summer (anti-) time continuum.

If you are unfamiliar with Mr. Childs, his other writings entail numerous numinous adventures with the earth. You-are-there-too wordcrafting in The Secret Knowledge of Water made me want to schlep gallons of water across vast expanses of desert in search of obscure pools and puddles containing bizarre micro-organisms with peak evolutionary adaptations. Next on my table to try: House of Rain.

while researching Credo Mutwa of the previous post,
i find hysteria about the guy possibly predicting (depending on the interpretation) the Gulf Oil Spill four months before it happened.

DUH! (too much time spent with wee children.)
that is the guy's JOB.
he's a S-H-A-M-A-N.

= timewarper, shapeshifter, seer, seeker, multi-dimensional sayer, intuitive, knows-which-channel-to tune-into-human being. he is truly being.

like artists - we're supposed to be ahead of the curve,
puddle-jumping planes of time and dimension
as theta waves rock and roll us to the shore of the infinite mind.
that's our job and why science and art are forever interwoven, locked in a duel or is that a harmony, of duality,
the Siamese twins of reality.

Credo Mutwa, Sangoma and High Sanusi (king of the lion shamans), of Zulu and Bushmen heritage, and mentor to Linda Tucker of the previous post, delivers a message to the world.

Because we are stars, we must walk the sky.
-traditional song of Bushmen Lion Shamans




What a tale: Mystery of the White Lions: Children of the Sun God, by Linda Tucker.
Reissued in 2010, the book reads like a mystery indeed, as the author pieces together the interlocking pieces of myth, real encounters, legend, lore, biology, tragedy and an ongoing yet tenuous triumph of the rare white lions of Africa.
Her journeys to ferret out the Truth and secrets of the continent, largely held in oral tradition, become the turning point of her life. As a result, Linda founded the Global White Lion Protection Trust in 2002 and continues to work toward protecting this rare endangered species.

Fast Facts about White Lions:
1. White Lions are not albinos, but a genetic rarity unique to one endemic region on the globe: the Timbavati region of South Africa.
2. The Genetic Marker that makes White Lions unique has not yet been identified by science.
3. The earliest recorded sighting of white lions in the Timbavati region was in 1938. However, the oral records of African elders indicate that these unique animals survived in this region for many centuries.
4. The unique white lion gene is carried by some tawny-coloured lions in the region, and white cubs occurred in numerous prides in the region.
5. Since their discovery by the West, white lions and those lions carrying the unique gene have been hunted, and forcibly removed from their natural endemic habitat.
6. The last white lion was seen in the wild in 1994, after which time they were technically extinct in the wild.
7. Currently, there is no law nationally or internationally that protects the White Lions.

Snakebirds of the Kalahari
ink and graphites
(available on etsy.)

Fresh work - i had no idea where it was going, when the title popped into my head.
Upon further research after finishing the piece, i discovered there is such a creature, formally called an Anhinga.
...fascinating that varieties of this water bird live not just in Africa, but also in the Americas, India and Australia.
The name translates: snakebird or devilbird. In Louisiana, it’s called Bec a Lancette.
Little beauties.

A handy little leisure read authored by Ed Diener and Martin E.P.Seligman, published in 2004 by the American Psychological Society has caught my eye: Beyond Money: Toward an Economy of Well-Being.

Cut to the chase:
(but if you’d rather download the 31-page article, go for it.)

“...although economic output has risen steeply over the past decades, there has been no rise in life satisfaction over this period, and there has been a substantial increase in depression and distrust. We argue that economic indicators were extremely important in the early stages of economic development, when the fulfillment of basic needs was the main issue. As societies grow wealthy, however, differences in well-being are less frequently due to income...”
(excerpted from “Summary”)

“An edited volume by Kasser and Kanner (2004) has detailed detrimental effects of materialism, defined as placing a high importance on income and material possessions. The authors documented the problems experienced by materialistic individuals relative to less materialistic individuals: lower self-esteem and greater narcissism, greater amounts of social comparison...and less empathy, less intrinsic motivation, and more conflictual relationships.”

“Across nations, placing a higher importance on money is associated with lower well-being.”


BP is responsible for the event; we, the greed.

My new mantra: “The less you have, the more you are.”
-mk weeks (i hope i really did make this one up.)

detail, Fish Bowl by MaryK Weeks

If you’re feeling as helpless and heartbroken as I am, and would like to do something to help victims of The Spill,
The National Wildlife Federation is an excellent resource. Read updates on what’s happening and find out how to help the over 400 species of creatures (estimated 24 endangered) bearing the impact of this apocalyptic tragedy.
Also through the site, send a letter to your senators using NWF’s Action Center form, urging them to pass comprehensive climate and clean energy legislation now.

Donations to help the people of the coastal communities affected, and to ensure future policy be developed to prevent this from happening again, are gratefully accepted by the Louisiana Disaster Recovery Foundation.

Jackie’s photo, “Hooded Nudibranchs on Giant Kelp”


About Jackie Hildering a.k.a. The Marine Detective, with a blog by the same name:

“What do you get when you combine the skills and experiences of a biology teacher, scuba diver, nature photographer and whale naturalist? I currently work on solving cases like ‘Who’s that humpback whale?’ and ‘How can we save wild salmon?’ “

So begins a self-description as it appears on her blog. The entries are gorgeous, the photos stunning; makes me want to be swimming in the sea right now.

I discovered her through a forward of her blog entry,
“Killer Females”. Also of note is her Earthling Enterprises site,
“dedicated to environmental education and empowerment” and includes lesson plans.

Thank you to Julia for this painting and its message of hope.