Days Thirteen And Fourteen: Favorite Things-Painting and Poetry

A Few of My Paintings and Books of Poetry

Even though I disappeared for a few days and this is technically day 17, I wanted to finish this series with two more of my favorite things, Poetry and Painting.  By the way, day 13 was spent  perusing aisle after aisle of books on fiction, poetry, geography, field guides, crafts, and cooking at a local used book store.  My neck hurt a little after over two hours of craning it to the left and right to read all of the book spines.  I left empty handed but with a head full of ideas and headed to a craft store to pick up a few tubes of paint and a new canvas.  On my way to the check out (after fighting the "I want's" for new journals and more paint I didn't need but wanted) I spotted two books on painting and stopped to check these out.  I had heard of both of these books (Brave Intuitive Painting by Flora S. Bowley and Daring Adventures in Paint by Mati Rose McDonough) and have been eager to check them out.  After flipping through both books, I decided I would get Flora Bowley's book since I had taken an online painting class with Mati already but was new to Flora's work. I had a 20% coupon that made the purchase even more attractive and decided this would be my birthday gift to myself.  Day 14 (my birthday) was spent enjoying the gift of time with my family over a shared meal at my mother and dad's house.  We had lasagna, a huge fresh salad and chocolate cake with chocolate icing topped with roasted hazelnuts.

Both the reading and the writing of poetry have long been a favorite of mine.  After years of dormancy I began writing poetry again after attending a retreat and taking a workshop with the most wondrous Susan Wooldridge.  What a gift she gave me in finding this lost piece of myself!  Reading poetry is a balm to my soul and a reminder that I am not alone no matter how wretched I may feel at times. I initially fell in love with Whitman and then Rumi through the translations of Coleman Barks.  These days I find joy and solace in the works of Mary Oliver and John O'Donohue. It is hard to explain how a poem can move you and change you, but it can, and will.  This poem by Mary Oliver is one that stays always near the surface of my thoughts, the last two lines a question worth answering again and again :

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

 

Who made the world?

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

I began painting about 2 years ago when I signed up to take an online painting course, Get Your Paint On, taught by Lisa Congdon and Mati Rose McDonough.  With the exception of a few items (a mannequin face and wooden boxes) that I painted for a friends store years ago, I had not painted since high school.  I loved the techniques taught in this class and the images that began to appear in my work.  While my work is not purely intuitive (I generally go in with an idea) I still see in retrospect how the subjects I painted were reflective of what I was feeling at the time. Two of my favorite paintings, the Seahorses, were reflective of our struggle with fertility.  The dragonfly that I painted around the same time symbolized not only how these creatures were appearing everywhere I went but also served as a totem of sorts for the change and deeper thinking that was taking place in my life.  The painter that has long inspired me for his brilliant color, texture, and emotion is Vincent Van Gogh.

These days I have been contemplating combining words and paint on canvas because there are quotes and lines from poems that I want to have in front of me as a reminder and prompt.  The last two lines of The Summer Day poem will be my first combination. 

I would love it if you shared your favorite poets and poems and painters and paintings too.

Day Twelve: Favorite Things-Treasure Hunting

A Few of This Years Found Objects

Treasure Hunting is a daily activity and one that I relish.  As a child I was the one enlisted to find things in our household when they were lost and usually located the lost item in record time.  I loved combing through the many drawers, cabinets and closets in my grandparents home and would routinely drag out items that I found wanting to know what they were, where they came from and to show the rest of the family (My mother, brother, grandmother and grandfather) what I had found.  Perhaps because I had such an intimate knowledge of the inventory of our home is why I was so good at locating our lost objects. I frequently found money in the grocery store aisle or right outside of the store as well. 

To this day treasure seems to find me as much as I find it. I find it in a four leaf clover or a feather along my path, in the fortune inside the carefully folded cookie and in the comic strip wrapped around the slice of gum. Treasure is  a pair of pants that fits like they were tailored just for me located at the thrift store, or the perfect book of poetry found at the used bookstore, signed by the author.  Along my daily walks I often find earrings, dimes, and pennies, and hand written notes on tiny slips of paper.  And I have jars and bowls full of shells and rocks from the beaches and creeks I have visited over the years.

Do you Treasure Hunt outdoors or in thrift and consignment stores?  What are some of your favorite finds?

Day Nine: Favorite Things-Books

My Recent Picks from the Library

“For some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid squares of paper unfolds world after world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

A book is a treasure chest waiting to be opened, or maybe a treasure map itself.  It is an invitation for a journey somewhere unknown, largely created by our imagination. When we open a book we are bound to meet ourselves in it somewhere.  In truth and in fiction, one can find versions of ourselves we never even knew existed and ones we have longed to become.  We see paths not taken, some filling us with regret, some with the sigh of thankful relief.

Reading has been a life long pleasure, encouraged at an early age from a Mother and Grandfather who read much.  While my brother and I shared many books lined up on a little black hand-painted bookcase, the first books that were all mine were the Laura Ingles Wilder series. This was the first time I can think of that I found myself, or a self that I wanted to explore inside the pages of a book. And while the past few years I have not read as much as years previous, books and the magic inside them still fill me with delight.  A day at the library or bookstore, perusing shelf after shelf, picking up a book here and there and seeing which ones speak to me is my idea of a perfect day.  

The books in the picture above are ones I picked out this month at the library:  Kaleidoscope, Born to Run, Project Renewment, Powerhunch, and Crossing the Unknown Sea. I am almost finished with Born to Run (highly recommended if you are a runner or not-it is a thrill of a read) and about half way through Kaleidoscope. The book on Intuition is next on my list.

Currently my favorite types of books are historical fiction, autobiographies, books on the natural world, poetry, shared books between friends, and books about whatever subject I currently find passionately interesting. 


What types of books do you like to read?  Do you have any recommendations?

Everyday Treasures



Snail Shell

I returned home from the beach Friday afternoon, but it wasn't until this morning that I returned to the rhythms of my home and daily pulls of my own ebb and flow.  Friday was a day of reconnecting with Alan and Butters and of sharing our stories of how our weeks had unfolded separately.  Saturday and Sunday were filled with cleaning, packing, repairing, donating, errand running, furniture moving, and lawn mowing all at a slow saunter due to the wet heat of a wring-your-clothes-out July weekend.  Today will be another hot one and tomorrow should be all the talk on the local news as it is scheduled to reach 99 hot and humid degrees.

This morning I awoke to sunshine and all the possibilities on the world ahead of me.  Butters ate while I made coffee and finished folding a load of laundry left over from last night.  We finally headed out the door and all Butters wanted to do was head straight down the driveway and out onto the street.  She stubbornly refused to step foot in our own yard and I gave her the benefit of the doubt that the heat was getting to her as well.  She sniffed her usual spots while I gazed up at the passing trees and down at the clover in each passing yard.  She stiffened her little body and quickened her pace as we approached the home on the left that has a large female dog that lives behind her invisible fence.  This dog will occasionally let us pass without incident but prefers to let us think she will give us pass only to rush up to the invisible fence line moments after we pass her driveway and come to a crashing halt with a deep loud bark.  I say "it's ok, and good girl" as much to Butters as to her and myself and off we go.  Today Illa, as her owners call her, was not out and about but Butters and I were both on alert until we passed her house.  We relaxed our pace, reached the end of the street and headed down the hill to inspect the open flat land in our neighborhood.  I looked at the growth of a shared garden area that two neighbors tend to and Butters sniffed all the smells of other dogs and animals that had passed before her.  As the heat was rising in time with Butters panting I cut our walk short and took her home. 

After putting Butters back in the house with water and a treat I headed out on a walk of my own.  As hot as it was I still wanted to stretch my legs some more and take a different walk through the neighborhood.  I was rewarded by an intricate snail shell that I saw in a culvert on the street.  I passed by it and caught a glimpse of the shell surrounded by what I thought were ants and then decided to pause and turn around for a second look.  Last night's rain must have washed pine needles and bark debris into a swirl around it and there was only an ant or two inspecting it.  The shell was empty and so I picked it up with a smile and heart beat of someone that just found treasure.  This simple shell along with the beauty of purple clover flowering, queen anne's lace bursting along the seems of the meadow and morning glories wrapping their way around hills and stalks reminded me that there is treasure all around me.  All I have to do is step outside my door and open my eyes to it.  The treasures of home may be more familiar and seasonal but they are none the less beautiful.