Holding Memories in Your Heart

When one leaves for the stars, that person will be the one to blink at you in the night-sky and show you the way. While s/he will no longer be able to touch your hands s/he will forever be able to touch your heart. Karla A. Claeys, M.A

Looking Upward

Looking around, it seems as if so many people I know are feeling the weight of a dark cloud, and trying to come out from under it to see the light. It feels like I am trying to find the quiet within the storm, to find that resting place, within and without, to make room to breathe. I am about to go to dance to try to allow that space. Sometimes all the moving and busyness gets in the way of finding that quiet respite. I have to remind myself that the quiet, the stillness does exist, if you stop for a moment and let it emerge. It is always there, it is just often clouded over by the doing. The stars exist all the time, even when we cannot see them. Ironically, the doing, the moving through dance, helps me carve out a space for the quiet. I just have to remember sometimes, in the words of James Taylor, to

~~ "look up from your life"~~~

And Then You Dance!

Last night I was overjoyed, to be able to have a clear head and heart and attend dance. It was a celebratory dance for me, a celebration of life! I danced with every bit of heart, and soul and energy I could draw from within, as we said our final goodbye to dancing Mary Oliver's poem, The Messenger. We had been saving our weekly lines in an envelope, and last night was the night we each gathered our lines and rearranged, reconfigured, reinvented, transformed and paste our lines onto our envelope to share, and then to dance. The poems my fellow dancers spontaneously created, in reaction to their saved lines, moved me and astonished me, (one of the words of her poem, by the way, was ASTONISHED). My lines, created themselves into the perfect Messenger poem for me to dance my celebration. I continue to be grateful for a place to show up and dance my life, however it shows up at that moment. Having a place to retreat to each week, when my life and my body allow, is a blessing, as is my dance community. It is my spiritual practice. The past week was more challenging than imaginable, and being able to dance it out , was a true gift. When I danced on Sunday, my dance was much different. It was filled with fear, trepidation, tentativeness, the unknown, contraction, smallness, powerlessness, rubber leggedness, and emotions that I could not even begin to name. Last night was different, a very different dance. It was a different life I was dancing in. A dance of new beginning, of hope, of gratefulness, a feeling of a personal Spring. This is how my poem became my dance of the moment, reinventing Mary Oliver's words, to perfectly fill me, the way I needed to be filled last night. Her words are like chameleons, and they never cease to amaze me, even when we took liberties with the original poem, to be what we needed her words to be for each of us:

"We live forever.

Are my boots old?  Is my coat torn?

We live forever.

The phoebe, the delphinium,

We live forever.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird~~

and THAT is how and why,

We live forever"

Hope ~  by Emily Dickenson    Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

When I Don't Know Where to Put It

When emotions well up inside, and I don't know what to do with them, I take some solace in the gift of having my hands connected to my heart, soul and spirit. Through them, flows the energy of my emotions, whether it be sculpting, writing, creating an assemblage, or as in this case, drawing. I bought four large sheets of delicious Stonehenge paper and new blocks of soft graphite about a month ago, with the intention of trying a drawing series, something I haven't done in a long time.  For some reason, this time, the paper and graphite called to me, instead of the clay. It called to me to lay down a deep thick ground of dark grey and then with an eraser, chisel away at the dark and find the light. By sculpting the graphite, I am always awed by the experience, in which my head becomes detached in a sense from my hand, and my heart and spirit flow through and leave a creation. By adding and subtracting the dark and light, the images begin to reveal themselves and tell me their story, a story that only becomes visible to me sometime after their creation. The titles seem to drift into my consciousness as well, from somewhere I have yet to discover. The two offering so far are,

 "Under The Wings of Love"

 "Let Me Be Your Anchor" 

They speak volumes to me. I don't know when the next two will "become", but I trust that they will. The lines, the dark, the light, are lifelines as life itself, 

"For only in darkness can you see the stars"~~Dr. Martin Luther King

To Savor

As the sun set over Phillips lake, it became difficult to tell where the sky began and the water and land started. With camera in hand, the water beckoned me off the porch and down the hill a bit. My footing felt precarious as I continued forward, not really having a sense of when I reach the water. 

I was mesmerized by the deceptive horizon line. I felt very discombobulated, and for a moment could not tell which end was up or down. I was transported. I attempted to take a picture of this magnificent vision, but of course, without my tripod in tote, I knew the picture would never come out, but I tried in vain anyway. I took three pictures, that came out totally dark as expected, although I unrealistically hoped that my camera might help me to seize the magical moment, for me to hold onto, to remind me of the moment, if I happened to forget over time.  

I felt as though I had stepped into a Rorshach test, a psychological test in which a subject's interpretations of a series of standard inkblots are analyzed as an indication of personality traits, preoccupations, and conflicts. The sky and land as reflected in the water, were absolutely identical. I wondered if there was someone on the other side of the lake having a parallel experience with me, as part of the collective consciousness that I believe exists in our world. The moment of limbo was fleeting, but pulled me deeply into a feeling that I have not experienced before, and it felt surreal. The force was palpable. I stayed with the moment for just a bit longer, until there was nothing to see but darkness in front of me, but upon looking up, I saw a sky filled with countless stars. An entire other world was mine, and all I had to do was to look up from my life, from holding onto the fleeting moments that you want to last forever, and in that holding on to the past, sacrifice missing the next gift that is there for the savoring. Savoring involves noticing and appreciating the positive aspects of life to their fullest.

The brightness of the most massive planet of the solar system, Jupiter, glowed with a muted halo surrounding, it that was hypnotic. Jupiter is the god of the sky and is often associated with the eagle. It spins faster than any other planet, which I unfortunately identify with. Ironically,savoring life starts with a mindset. It's a mindset that believes that excess, that rushing, that busy-ness, that distractedness is not a healthy way to experience life. Savoring cannot coexist with spinning at the speed of Jupiter.

In the end,there was no way my camera could capture what I was experiencing at that moment. Somethings just can't be recorded, but have to be just experienced, savored, and that has to be enough..........and it was.

Without Dance We Are Lost revisited

Yesterday, I gifted myself with a second viewing of Pina in 3-D at the Living Room Theatre. As I entered the theatre, The Lorax was just ending. There was one man and his little boy, viewing the film, having the theatre all to themselves. I looked up and saw the ending quote of the film,


 "Unless someone like you.. cares a whole awful lot.. nothings going to get better, its not.."


As they passed me leaving the theatre, the boy looked up at his dad and said "that was great"! and I felt warm inside, cherishing my loved ones, a feeling that grows stronger each day, and truly taking in those words, that I too believe.


As I snuggled in to once again experience the enormous richness of the film, I was filled with anticipation. There are so many dimensions to the film, that seeing it again, was like seeing it again for the first time. What struck me this time, was the surrealist quality that Pina imparted into her choreographed morsels. I was absorbed in both the movement and narratives, but saw a sort of existentialist, absurdist, surrealistic humor, sadness in the depth of the beauty, isolation, connection, trust and surrender of the dancers to the process, nature, each other and the dance. The contrast was so powerful. As the dancers fell deeper into their experience, they took me with them. I am not sure, bu I will possible go back to see it a third time, since I trust I will experience it on an even deeper level. As I have experienced in my personal dance, the more you trust the process, the more you sink deeper into the dance, the cracks appear and you enter the unknown and therein lie the openings to new beginnings, in dance as in life.

Sweet Moments When Fate Shines Down on You

Last Wednesday, I finally returned to work at the Museum of Contemporary Craft and got into a conversation about the things we are gifted with from our elders. Do we save them or use them. Is it destroying them if we create art with them, or are we transforming them, giving them a new life? I am referring specifically to the monogramed hankies that I have from my mother, mother in law, and two grandmothers. When Gabby told me she was making a quilt out of those delicate hankies gifted to her by her grandmother, that she would use to enjoy  summer picnic,s it made me ask myself that question. Do we hold on to them as they were, preciously stored away, or do we use them? My first thought was, OH NO! you will ruin them, and then I realized that they have no life in them, as they lay closed up in the drawer somewhere. The next day, I decided to use one. As I readied myself to attend a dance performance, I selected one with the monogram "F", my mother's hankie, and placed it into my purse. When I went to get my ticket from my calendar for the evenings performance, I noticed that it was going to be danced at the Newmark Theatre, the same theatre I had carefully chosen the seat on which to have plaque installed on the armrest to honor my mom.  When I looked at the ticket, my heart skipped a beat, as I realized that the ticket I was holding was only a few seats from the one I had dedicated to my mom. As I walked downtown to meet my friends for dinner, I had butterflies in my stomach in anticipation and hopes, that one of the other six members of our group held the ticket for the seat I longed to sit it, seat H-5, H for my mom's last name and 5 for the day she brought me into the world. Sure enough, when I asked, someone had the ticket and was happy to switch with me.

 I entered the Newmark theatre with a feeling I could not quite name. I held the ticket preciously in my hand, as I awaited entry to the theatre.  I sat in the seat, our seat, and gently fondled the plaque on the right armrest, and read the inscription with reverence and love. I thought about the hours, too many to count, that my mom and I spent at the theatre, enjoying the ballet, throughout my childhood and into my teen years. I wondered if she would have liked this performance, that was rather dark yet powerful. I caught a whiff of perfume from another patron in my row, which made it hard for me to breathe, and I remembered how the smell of my mother's perfume always bothered me. Smell is such a memory trigger. As I became engage in the dance, I thought less about my mom, but held onto the arm of her seat just the same. I left not knowing if fate would look down on me, and wondered if I would ever have the chance, the gift, of sitting in that seat again. None the less, the seat and the plaque, the memory remains. As I write this, I have the ticket sitting next to me, on my armrest at home, although only the stub remains, I am saving it just the same.

2012 table & Chair Affair Update

6th Annual table & CHAIR AFFAIR Many of you were a big part of making this event  so fun, fabulous, and fruitful.   Together, we've raised $127,932 and counting!

When Do Know When The TIme is Right?

I have been waiting and wondering, with great frustration, for a sign to come to me to know when the time would be right to return to dance. I am still struggling with back and mostly hip pain, stuck energy, chi, according to my acupuncturist, so how would I know when to be able to resume dancing? After much deliberation yesterday, I decided that last night was the time to dive in gently and try to meet my body where it is now, and dance. To even change my definition of what dance is. I knew I would have to take extra care of my body, and stay present with it at ever moment, not something I like to practice. For some reason, I felt unnecessarily nervous going back, but it reminded me of Where The Wild Things Are,  when Max returns home after all his adventures, and "his dinner was still warm". Well, my place in the dance studio was kept warm for me by my dance family. I even had an envelope waiting for me with some lines chosen for me, and saved by my fellow dancers in my absence. It was so sweet to sip that nectar, and receive my much missed and needed hugs. They told me I had had the best lines and I agree. The three lines were:

"I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of 

nothing"! 

(Indeed I want that!!!)

"full of gorgeous life" (Yes! Yes!)

"and you try" (always a bit too much)

So I decided to "try". My body at once felt at home, as I chose my own line this time, from the current Mary Oliver poem, The Messenger, and it could not have been more perfect, once again:

 "Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird"

It made me think about my experience at the lake this past week and my life. I was gifted with the spotting of no less than three hummingbirds on my feeder at once! I thought about how hard the hummingbird works to stay suspended in air, as it flutters it's wings, sipping the nectar, yet he makes it look effortless. They can actually hover in mid-air by rapidly flapping their wings 12–80 times per second although they appear to be suspended and still. I think it sometimes must seem like I "do" life effortlessly, yet I work incredibly hard at it, yet rarely stay still. What lessons to be learned from observing nature, and then from looking within. Can I stop flapping my wings, and trying so hard? Can I slow down and listen to the rhythm within? Can I truly try to make my life feel effortless. The only deadlines are those I choose, yet I always feel as if I am flapping 80 times per second. Where does the effortlessness lie?


I thought about how the large sunflower reaches toward the sun, even during times when she is not aware that the sun, the hope of summer, is there for the reaching. It grows tall and strong each year and then drops it's seeds for the future. 

There were many lines that resonated with me from the poem last night.

Winky's:

 "Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?",

made me think of the comfort of wearing or experiencing something that is so known and so incredibly comfortable that it feels like a second skin like Tim's line:

 "these body-clothes"

the place that gives us comfort but is not necessarily the persona we wear in the world. 

An then of course G's line:

"Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? "

What is young? Is it a number, a feeling in an aging hurting body, or a feeling in one's heart and spirit. I choose to stay young even though my body so often tells me differently. And what is "half-perfect"? Is there such a thing? I have always felt that way, but there is such a yearning energy to be somehow better, and one I would like to discard like a lizard leaves his no longer useful skin.

And finally, Michael, who was celebrating having turned an amazing 70 years old, the day before, and seems like he is in his 50's in movement, body and spirit. His line was:

"Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here".

That is the biggest piece to try to remember. All the ingredients are here, and you don't have to flap your wings 80 times a second to stay aloft in the air or to stay afloat in life, to keep your head above water. You don't have to try. All the ingredients are indeed here already in this moment, this body, at this age, in this heart and spirit. And my heart does not have to beat 23 times a second, like the hummingbird, to do this!

Messenger


by Mary Oliver


"My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

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.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, 


since all the ingredients are here,

Which is gratitude, 


to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over,


 how it is that we live forever."

Benediction

The air is crisp and the sun is bright as it glistens on the lake. I watch ducks make crash landings, the gulls soar low over the water, scoping out their dinner, the rooster sings in the background, (in fact I saw a sign for fresh eggs across the street today), the gnats skim the water's surface, causing rings to radiate from the center, (as things have a tendency to do), where they lighted upon it, the crows caw, and I feel like I am the only one privileged to witness this moment. I breathe in the fir scented aroma of someone's fireplace and there is a palpable stillness, however the moment is cut short by the buzz saw of someone clearing the trees from their land. I put on my headphones, although I did not want to miss nature's song, but felt I had no choice, if I was to continue to enjoy the moment. The song that came on was Jami Sieber's  song, Benediction. Of the 63 possible songs in the shuffle, the perfect one came on to seize that moment in time. I thought about the meaning of Benediction...... something that promotes goodness or well-being.....the utterance or bestowing of a blessing.......an invocation of divine blessing...... the state of being blessed........indeed............

Courage

During my chiropractic appointment today, we spoke about the life long message I had always been given, that "you are too nice, you are too sensitive". Laura offered the possibility of reframing that message into it being a sign of being courageous. Being brave enough to stand up for what you believe in your core, as being the right thing. It is something that has been unsettling for me, this past week. I intuitively feel, that the work she was doing on my hip, feet and legs, which are still causing me pain, was meant to ground me in my body, in my convictions, to root me in myself and feed that courageousness. It is not easy to speak up for what you believe in, and not be rattled when others confront you with sometimes, rather harsh rebuttals. To not take it personally, and let it make you feel weak, or question what you believe deeply in your gut and heart. To accept that everyone does not have to like you, or agree with you, and that it does not make you into less of a person. On the contrary, I think these experiences are opportunities to grow out of your comfort zone, and hold onto your integrity, to make you feel stronger, more rooted and grounded in yourself, and more courageous. It is easier to stay silent, but that does not make me feel as if I am being true to myself. The CD, that softly plays in the background during the treatment, is of birds quietly chirping, reminding me that soon it will feel like spring, and that I will be ready to move through and out of my personal winter, where I have felt stuck. It makes me feel a bit more hopeful.

Long Weekend of Richness

Well, it all began with the energetic, hectic culmination of the Community Warehouse annual table & Chair Affair. The turnout was amazing and the usual rainy evening did not keep patrons and artists away. Tonight, I will get some of the numbers which I have been told exceeded our expectations, so I will be happy to report that news soon.


Friday night I saw an incredibly powerful and moving White Bird performance Kidd Pivot performing "Dark Matters". It presented me with many questions, emotions and room for possibilities, and trying to figure out some answers (a life long process I might add). It spoke to me about fate, who is the puppet and who is the puppeteer in our lives, how much can we control, how much choice do we have controlling our destiny, and how much do we just have to surrender to. To add to this emotional piece, was the realization toward the intermission, that I was in the Newmark Theatre. I wondered if the plaque I had ordered to honor my mom and her passing, and to celebrate the wonderful memories of attending the ballet and live theatre in NYC throughout my childhood with her, had been installed on it's seat: H for her last name and 5 for the day she gave birth to me. I went to the other side of the theater butterflies in my stomach, as I reached seat H-5. I was glad that the patrons in the audience, had left the row for a bit, and I gazed down and lightly touched, honored if you will, the plaque that bears her name and loving mother and grandmother on it. The poignant moment was so deep, sweet and painful yet filled me with great joy in the remembering. I was glad I had attended the performance alone, so I could just take this all in without words. I returned to my seat, and felt her presence with me as the dance reached it's crescendo, and knew that had it not been for her, I would never have developed my deep passion for the dance, as an observer and as a dancer. I felt spent by the end of the performance, and as I left the theatre, went to give the plaque a goodbye kiss with my fingertips.


Saturday held more richness, as I shared the Mark Rothko exhibit at the Portland Art Museum with my daughter Jenni. We learned a bit about his life and how it paralleled some of our immigrant relatives. My father having come to the US from Russia, as an infant, around the same time Rothko did, and then his time spent in NYC where my grandparents and parents also lived. I never knew that Rothko then lived a great deal of his life in Portland. We walked together, sharing our reactions to the paintings and our favorites. Jenni's comments left me with lots to think about, and helped me see the paintings through her eyes. It brought back memories of our frequent trips to the National Gallery of Art in DC when we lived there, and how the highlight of her day, when she was little, was the sweet little turkey on croissant lunch she savored in their cafe! It also got us very excited about our plans to see Red, at Center Stage the following day. We also were quite blown away at the unexpected amazing exhibit and films by John Frame, an artist that I had not been familiar with. In the dark rooms of the galleries, he created a world of wonder, as if stepping into one of his dreams, or possibly his nightmares. His 3-D diorama like work, spoke to me of some the same thoughts I had watching Dark Matters. The puppet and the puppeteer images, where ever present in his finely crafted other worldliness. After seeing these two exhibits, we were both on visual overload and decided that we had seen enough to satiate us for the day, (not without of course adding to my obsessive art book collection- I couldn't leave without taking a bit of John Frame home with me!)


Sunday completed the richness of the weekend with the amazingly powerful play Red. We also stayed after the play, for the discussion by a psychologist who attempted to give us a bit of insight into the man behind the paintings, Mark Rothko.


This was followed by an unbelievably wonderful dinner at June, a far cry from the lunch at the National Gallery! I truly feel like my cup runneth over with the richness of art, dance, theatre, family and memories.

Tomorrow is the BIG EVENT!!! The 2012 table & Chair Affair is Here!!!!

Well after months of working on my chairs and with the other artists on my team, the 2012 table & Chair Affair will finally come to fruition, a culmination of months and months of planning and work. The event will no doubt come off seamlessly, but the behind the scenes work of what puts this event together are huge. I am honored to be part of the Community Warehouse team. The Hot Seat cocktail hour tickets are SOLD OUT!!!!!!!! Amazing! There are still a few of the Reserved Seat dinner tickets left so this is your last chance to join in this amazing event. The over 100 artists and their phenomenal creations are even more outstanding than last years so check them out on line and be inspired. I am so proud that my three kids and their co-workers have been a part of the event this year. The Grishman's plus have created SEVEN items for the auction this year!!!!!!! Maybe you will think about joining the dinner party or think about making something next year.  


This gives you and idea where the funds have gone this past year. It also makes me truly grateful  that I have a home complete with everything I could ever need or want. Other ways to help are just by donating the used items that you might have to find a new home for at the Community Warehouse. There are lots of ways to get involved. Donate used items, volunteer in the Estate Store or the Warehouse, attend the Chair Affair or make a tax deductible donation. Either way you will feel good and sleep better knowing that others will now have a mattress to sleep on as well.

STATISTICS

Community Warehouse provided household goods to over 5,000 people in 2011. Here are some of the items we collected and redistributed to neighbors in need.

Mattresses	1,939
Pillows	2,188
Armchairs	795
Dressers	981
Sofas	798
Dish Sets	3,826
Pots & Pans	3,235
Lamps	1,773
Kitchen Tables	827
Microwaves	385
TVs	771

Dance, Dance, Otherwise We Are Lost

That is the subtitle to the film, Pina, which I just had the amazing privilege of seeing. Although difficult to sit pain free, I just had to see this film before it left the theaters, and I plan to see it again as soon as possible, in between upcoming healthcare appointments. I can't wait to return to dance, because I too have been feeling the title of the magnificent film on Pina Bausch. Without dance, I have been truly feeling lost. I was totally transported during this film, to a place that I needed to be. I only hope that I get the go ahead from my doctors, to begin to dance once again as well. This was the first time I have seen a 3-D film, so it truly made me feel as if I was on stage with the dancers, or maybe it wasn't the 3-D that did that for me but the craving to be amongst the dancers. One dancer spoke about her initial fears in the dance, and Pina's response to her was not to be afraid, but to dance what she yearned for, what she craved. Oh, how I understand that feeling. Reading up a bit on Pina, I feel compelled to share a bit of what she said about the dance, which really spoke to me. She was quoted as saying:


"When I first began choreographing, I never thought of it as choreography but as expressing feelings. Though every piece is different, they are all trying to get at certain things that are difficult to put into words. In the work, everything belongs to everything else -- the music, the set, the movement and whatever is said. I don't know where one thing stops and another begins, and I don't need to analyze it. It would limit the work if I were too analytical. I'm not interested in how people move, but what moves them."


For me, dance is my spiritual practice, it is about what moves me, rather than how I move, that is why it is so difficult to show up to dance and be limited by my body's restrictions. It puts me in my mind rather than my spirit. Not the place I want to be, yearn to be, crave to be. 


Although there where some subtitles of the dancers talking about their experiences with the dance, and especially dancing as she choreographed them. I loved that the words appeared below their faces, with their voice in the background, without their lips moving, so one could look into their eyes and read so much more than the words could ever translate. I know many of us dance the things we cannot say. The dancers did not really even seem to be choreographed because the movements seemed so spontaneous, as though they rose up from some place other than the external prompting. What also struck me was the complete surrender and trust that each dancer had that they would catch and be caught, held and supported by one another, and at times, becoming one with the other dancer/dancers. The connections were palpable. Each dance seemed more like a performance piece, rather than a specific choreographed dance. The elements of earth, water, air and sky where omnipresent in each dance, and it really was wonderfully difficult to know, where the dancers and the environment began and ended. The dancers sculpted the space so beautifully and the sparse props seemed to be an integral part of the performances rather than outside elements. There was an anthropomorphic quality to the settings. The chairs sculpted the space and became dancers as well.  Everything seemed so integrated in the film, I did not want it to end. I felt tempted to hide under my seat (yeah like that is something my back would allow!) and sneak a stay for the next screening. It was that captivating for me, and maybe, just maybe, the first step in my dance back to my dance.

The Strength of a Tree Lies In It's Ability to Bend

A number of months ago at an artist show, I picked up a little hand made jar with the quote "The Strength of a Tree Lies In It's Ability to Bend". I have it sitting in the little kitchen window bump out in Shelton, and I look at it every morning, as I work at the sink. It sits under another artist piece, a blown glass piece, that is suspended over the open jar like a pendulum. Each time I read it each morning, I try to take in the full meaning of it bit by bit. Laid up with my back yet another time, I am reading it more deeply and trying to reach that place of flexibility, of surrender that a tree must allow, especially with the winter winds.


 A few weeks ago, one of our trees at the lake was uprooted by an unusually heavy snow, while I was back in the city. When I arrived at the lake, I saw the small casualty of the tall, lanky, young evergreen laying on the ground, it's root ball popped out of the ground. After some professional advice on the best strategy to save the tree, Michael propped it up slightly on a can, and were told that every month for the next six months, we should move it bit by bit, until the tree was righted. Wow, six months till it is upright and hopefully solid in the ground and ready to stand tall to meet the autumn and possibly another tough winter!? Six months. What if I were to think about my body the same way I am thinking about the downed tree? Could I give my self time, and little by little, month by month begin to right myself and become more rooted, grounded and ready to withstand whatever challenges I am faced with next? We were told that if we tried to force the tree totally upright immediately, the tree might be traumatized and more unlikely to survive. We had to approach it gently, gradually, slowly and carefully. This seemed like a very logical approach, although I would be lying if I said I did not want to, with my impulsive nature, put the tree up straight and tap down the soil, possibly stake it and hope for the best right now. But this was not the most practical approach that would insure the best possible outcome for the tree. I accepted that this is what the tree needed.


So, I ended up stranded, so to speak, at the lake for a week in pain, and had to miss the 1st Thursday opening of our Chair Affair, because I was unable to make the drive back to the city. I had to deal with disappointment and resentment. I am not sure what caused my back to go into such painful spasm again, just when I thought I was on the slow road to recovery, feeling so tired of constantly feeling broken inside and out. Before my back's decline, I worked on a large scale drawing. It felt so luscious to feel the smooth, resilient Stonehenge paper on my fingertips, the soft graphite sticks in my hand, double fisting with the brand new fresh white block eraser. I had forgotten how long it had been since I had drawn and "sculpted" with graphite on paper. I cherished every moment of laying down layer upon layer of graphite, while simultaneously "drawing", "sculpting", by removing areas of the graphite with the chunky eraser as images began to emerge from the paper. Carving away at the graphite as I removed it from the paper with the eraser, is much the way I manipulate, move  and remove clay from the mound I hold in my hands, and wait for the image to begin to emerge as I sculpt.  I listened to some old music that I used to draw to, that transported me back to that place I loved. The place of becoming one with the paper, the graphite, the eraser, blackening my hands, till I could no longer tell where the paper, the graphite, the drawing, my hands, my heart and spirit started and ended. That precious time, when you become so totally absorbed in the moment of the process of creating, and seeing the paper come to life and become the unexpected. As I worked on it, listening to Rusted Root and Morphine, the sense of aliveness filled me up more than I can begin to express through words. I stepped back after dancing with the drawing for a while, to see what it revealed to me. The image had begun to come to me in a vision when I had awakened that morning, and began to come to fruition by surrendering to the drawing process. The drawing began to tell me a story. It helped me to work out some of the grief I have been living and helped me to surrender to it through creating. 

I couldn't wait to work on the additional three pieces of large drawing paper that I brought with me, but my body had other plans for me. I suppose it is a slow process to right something, to root something solid enough, to hold itself strong and straight, reaching up to gain strength from the sun and the rain that will keep the ground and the root ball moist and alive, readying itself to take on the next season of it's life. Yes, the strength of a tree does indeed lie in it's ability to bend, to be flexible, to be patient, and trust that in time, if treated with gentleness, tenderness, compassion and not pushing it beyond it's present limits,  it will survive and be as strong as before, maybe even stronger having had to withstand being knock down. Therein lies the lesson, the time, the listening....

Cannibals Gallery Update

Since the sudden, unexpected and unfortunate forced closing of Cannibals "physical" Gallery site on NW 22nd Ave, the Cannibals online gallery is still up and alive and thriving, so keep checking the link as the new physical gallery, possibly a pop up shop or more permanent space is in the works, but we are still Cannibals and Pammela is doing everything she can to find an even better location for the gallery. Knowing Pammela, it will be very special and unique like her, so check back soon!

Artists in Action

Check out my fellow LCAC member Kate Powell and me at work in this youtube video as we transform our once neglected chairs into works of art that will be auctioned off on Mary 15 at the 2012 Chair Affair to benefit the Community Warehouse!

Proud Chair Affair Mama

One of my passions is truly The Community Warehouse and the annual Chair Affair event. An even greater passion is my kids. This year's contribution by Adam and Tiffany is as wonderful as last year's Hungry Caterpillar rocker, which by the way was one of the only chairs to get top bid the first night of the event. This year they wow with the wonderful The Chair At Pooh Corner. I am so proud of their efforts for such an amazing cause. I am sure the auction of their chair will raise lots of money for the warehouse once again! You can also check out their chair featured on the Community Warehouse's facebook page 

The Tao of Tete-e-Tea