Pink Coyote

Stay Awhile

Most days I move at a pace akin to a border collie herding sheep. Sitting still isn't what I do, but I'm very keen on the idea of it. Friday morning, after unplugging from my entire office for the weekend, I declared to the rooms in the house,

"I'm planting my butt with this cup of coffee and I'm not getting up until it's empty!"

"Who are you talking to?", Miles sang suspiciously from his bedroom. I am becoming the mom who makes audible declarations to no one in particular.

Somehow I tend to imagine that I have more time than I actually do. I wake up thinking that this day is just beginning! I have an entire day ahead of me to fill or not fill with whatever. I. choose. Within the construct of meeting the needs of The Two, of course.

And then, as easily as the sun rose at daybreak, it begins to slip away. We just had breakfast...is it snack-time already? Oh geez, Dad's going to be home in an hour-what the heck are we having for dinner? Are all of the sleepers in the laundry? How did that happen? Didn't I just do the wash...? I have to get to the post office!

 

When my great-aunt passed away years ago, my grandmother held onto some of her things for me that she thought I'd like to have. Among them, a beautiful, ancient quilt, some creepy little porcelain dolls that I love, and her wristwatch. My aunt Velma was a woman who was always moving, it seemed. When we'd visit, she could be found hoeing and harvesting among giant rows of tomatoes and pole beans in the garden or stirring bubbling pots in the small kitchen while ten little dogs yapped at her swollen, calloused feet. My people are Indian Okies and no one could accuse them of lacking in color or callouses. Yet, I also remember her propping those same chubby, bare feet up on a giant upholstered ottoman to slurp coffee and tell stories.

I'm not sure when the watch stopped working properly, but by the time it got to me, it's delicate little hands appeared to be stalled completely. When I'm in workaholic mode, as I've been all month long, I can slip this thing on my hand and clasp it's hinge for an instant dose of time standing still. Something about it helps me be more present and I care far less about what time it is. Once in a while, I'll notice that the minute hand has inched forward to the next number from where it was when I last saw it.

I don't dare try to wind it. This un-time piece has given me the gift of letting go of fretting about from point to point like the infamous, bespectacled white rabbit.

Best of all, I can hear the antiquated whisper of my hoarse, old aunt with her southern drawl, urging me to sit down a spell...and stay awhile.

ETA

I can't tell you how much I love this show. LOVE IT. I love the gallery, I love the people who work there, I love that it is located across the street from my favorite place to eat in the whole world, I love that our family has stayed around the corner from it two years in a row on our journey up to Squam Lakes. Can I love it any more?

My paintings are up, along with loads of work by some truly fantastic artists. Peek around! If you are in the area, give yourself a treat and stop in. The room is so warm and sweet, it fills my heart up with art-date-y goodness.

I have decided I need a full media cleanse. I will be unplugging tonite after purging my studio in a pre-Spring cleaning root-through and not plugging back in until Sunday night. I have to pack the laptop away and may have to have the man of the house hide it from me. My eyes are burning in their sockets, people. Just when the world goes crazy about some new iGadget, I am yearning for simplifying my electronic life. I have to pull away! Just for a short time.

I'll miss you!

*sniff*

"An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of

perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else's."

- J.D. Salinger

The Humble Chair

We have a chair. An old blue chair. I love this chair. It's still bouncy springy as I'm imagining it was when it was manufactured some fifty years ago. It is nice and wide so two bums can fit relatively comfortably.

But it serves another purpose, as well. There are three of us in the family, soon to be four by the looks and sound of it, who have some issues with arrogance. Catch two of us in a disagreement on any given day (every given day) and you will likely hear "Do you need to sit in the humble chair?"

We don't have a time out chair because that doesn't make a lick of sense to me. Maybe it has more to do with Miles and what works and doesn't work for him. Sometimes a fellow or a mama just needs to sit down consciously, ego surrendered, and take a couple of deep breaths. It's a place to become soft again. It works, believe me.                                             (Postscript: It works because we all use it-no one has to sit in the damn thing more than ME! and Ivy is showing strong traits, I am no longer pregnant with her :)

Down in the blue chair

We can watch our troubles rise

Like smoke into the air

And drift up to the ceiling

-Elvis Costello

Fun. Aren't those earrings STUNNING? I'm digging all the Haiti love on Etsy.

Selkie

The funniest story has been unfolding in my world today about the story of the selkie in "Sealskin, Soulskin" from WWRWtW.

It is likely my fave story in the book, so I return to it like a buttery blankie when I'm feeling like I need a little fix, but don't have time for all new concepts at the moment. I'd just read it in bed last night.

It began when this LOVE mentioned *selkie* in a note to me and I was like, "What is Selkie? is that like a swamp creature that eats little children?" (No, that would be a Kelpie, silly). Both are mystical and charming, hear this. But one of them lures children and one of them is far more benevolent.

Please just go and read this. It will do your soul some good. Especially if you've happened to have misplaced your skin...

**And please enjoy these pics of Ivy as she sings, yes SINGS her little heart out on a wagon ride earlier today (while I was searching high and low for my growing short-term memory).**

 

"When we are in our rightful wildish nature, we all feel this bright life. It is one of the signs that we are close to Wild Woman. We all enter the world in a dancing condition. We always begin with our own pelts intact."

-Women Who Run With the Wolves, p.289

Emerging

Bear. Acrylic and mixed media on board. $5 from the sale of each print will be donated to relief funds for Haiti through Partners In Health.

Every creature on earth returns to home. It is ironic that we have made wildlife refuges for ibis, pelican, egret, wolf, crane, deer, mouse, and bear, but not for ourselves in the places where we live day after day. We understand that the loss of habitat is the most disastrous event that can occur to a free creature. We fervently point out how other creatures' natural territories have become surrounded by cities, ranches, highways, noise, and other dissonance, as though we are not surrounded by the same, as though we are not affected also. We know that for creatures to live on, they must at least from time to time have a home place, a place where they feel both protected and free.

 (p.287)  -Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves.

Goodies

Umm..What is this??? I'm going to torture myself like she does and she did and make myself wait until tomorrow. Or at least until the perfect moment. It will be part of my celebration once the box is shipped. Thank you, Heather! I don't know what I did to deserve your sweeties, but I am so looking forward to tearing into it!

I did not, however, torture myself over this, brought back from the creamery by my husband (kind enough to remove the children from the home while I toiled out loud) tonite:

I sort of wish I'd had because it ended up tasting like a forgotten, murky, coconut-flavored sponge, though I can vouch for the waxy chocolate coating. I'm saving the second half for Miles, who will devour it and declare it the best candy "on this entire planet".

It's late, I can't breathe and I've got a wicked case of the sillies.

Have a good weekend peeps.

Word Medicine

We are sick again. SICK AGAIN! It's not as bad as it's been, but I'm feeling very cranky and frustrated that since Miles started preschool in September, we have all been out of action with colds four times. The last three times have all been one month apart. Sore throats, sinusy noses, babies who won't sleep. I feel like a perfect grouch.

Dammit!

Being the natural remedy queen that I consider myself to be, I feel like giving up. I begin to administer the homeopathics, get started on honeyed tea, and still it takes me down. I have yet to create room for the preschool sickies to move in as a regular occurrence and it's driving me crazy to have no energy during such a demanding month. Still so much calling from the work table.

Totally random uncreditable photo purloined from folkandfable (blame her for the lack of photographer!) which makes me feel extremely happy and nappish.

I'm switching gears here to share this beautiful poem that found it's way into my inbox today, which I am so grateful for. Some words can stop me in my tracks and heal my heart right where it sits from any ailment of the day. Powerful little letters all stacked together, aren't they? From here I shall quiet my great flapping against the current.

still life with flying bird

From where we stood, it looked effortless. A hawk hovering
inside the bay wind as if posing for a photograph. An hour earlier,
we’d nearly been knocked over by that same current, shivering
roadside to fix a flat tire. It was hard to believe this air
could have held that bird so gently. And yet, her body lay still
as sleep, and the hawk simply floated as if she had forgotten
the haste of hunger, as if home could wait. I wondered how it would feel
to fly into such weather and then let go, to quiet that great flapping
of wings and lean into the stream’s muscle, have it carry us as far
as it wanted while we rested inside it, patient and trusting as ever.

-maya stein

Hawk

I'm so glad you like the Hawk, here are prints for those who were usurped by the early bird who snagged this painting. Seems the Messenger has been paying her quite the personal visits...love on Monday to you all.

Down to a Nub

What a weekend of nonstop being in this room. It is an unholy mess and I am whipped beyond belief. Never since having babies have I worked in the after hours this much on one thing that means so much to me! It has been both exhilarating and exhausting. I'm about 90% finished getting all of the pieces together for ETA, and I have some that I'm holding back for Etsy. One of which is this handsome fellow, whom I've really come to love:

 

Hawk is known as the messenger. His sharp, shrill, call awakens the sleepy consciousness and commands that attention be paid. What message he brings is for the intuition to discover; by using his clear and broad vision and higher perspective, details will be illuminated. Hawk is heart medicine, carrying strong, sensitive energy. Shining the light of the sun through the darkness, he guides us to our purpose again and again when we lose our way. Hawk medicine requires that we keep negative emotions from clouding our vision and aspire to the goals in life that call us back to our truth. Circle over your life with a keen eye and a bold heart, and Hawk will partner with you to seek out clarity.

A bit wordy, even for me, but Hawk is big stuff. It's taken me a long time to work up to this one. It had to be just right. The drawing is of a Cooper's hawk, which are as common as Red Tails in these parts, but fancy-bottom RT gets all the glory. I love the Cooper's, and they are very generous to leave their feathers behind for collectors such as me. I stamp an indignant foot at this medicine often enough to know it's very important that humanity grasp it.

And there you have it. I'm nearly ready to join the rest of the world and TRY to process what has been going on since I checked out.

Blessings to all of you and your loved ones. This is truly a time to open our hearts and let more light and healing come in so that it may travel out. Many need our prayers and faraway support and empathy...

Armful

Sweets. Now more than ever.

Why am I blogging?! I'm supposed to be drawing and painting. Good grief, how did I not know this was coming? To be fair, I am not freaking out. Just working and also working when I might like to be...bathing, reading. I'm so not going to complain about having to paint. I love every minute of it.

Check this out while I'm finishing up:

Three Angels

Leonie's Goddess School

Stephanie's Triple Goddess Workshop

Susannah's Spring Unravelling

The Hodgepodge House

See you soon!

True Celebration

Let time celebrate your presence. People usually make a wish for the New Year, but this year, make no wish. Let the New Year celebrate you. If the New Year wants to bring you nicer things, let it.

Usually you are lost in celebration. When you let time celebrate you, you are a witness amidst celebration.

This New Year is fortunate because you are living at this time. When you are living for the sake of the world, the world is fortunate. You are not living for yourself, but for the world. Whatever the world needs or wants, you are here for that.

-Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, celebrating SILENCE

Slow and Steady + New Work

Painting this series is bringing up a few things for me. I'm trying to go about the New Year being much more attentive to my need for self-care (if ever there were only one word for my entire year). And I think what is happening is that I'm pacing myself much better. But something else is also shifting. Something I probably put into words in a journal or threw into a fire last year. The same tasks are all here to do, yet there is a missing element that I do not miss. That is freaking out. It may be back, especially near the 20th of this month when I have to have these colorful little things packed up for their long journey east. Until then, I'm munching fritos, pilfering through tins for forgotten chocolate, printing new cards, listening to Pandora, nursing a babe through the tooth, eating free food from generous neighbor-women, sending Miles on many *scavenger* hunts, standing on the hot pad in bare feet and having a rather mighty fine time of all of it. Slow and steady wins the race, right? The race against myself!

Here is a newb for your turquoise loving pleasure:

White Stag wears the antlers that connect him to Spirit and offer the gift of enhanced perceptions, tuning into the old teachings like marvelous antennae. He is able to detect the most subtle shifts in energy and this provides him with the intuitive guidance he needs to navigate the enchanted forests of life. Gently, softly and sometimes even quietly, White Stag communes with the Earth and the Sky. This is a reminder to take excellent care of oneself, to gently love ourselves and those around us, and to honor the deep connections that welcome us home from our adventures in the wild.

And More Goodness

True Love

So much love on the surface of this place, and all around...

Squam Squam Squam

Photo by Thea Coughlin.

You've heard it a million times, right? From all of us Squam bombs out here in blogland? It's becoming like a religious pilgrimage, isn't it?

One of the many aspects I love about SAW is how a good retreat booked far in advance can really set the tone for my year and help me to keep my pace steady as I grow creatively. I feel like it gives me something to reach my branches toward, and to take the steps I need to get to where I'm going before I arrive on the rocky steps of the Temple of the Creative Forest.

Rockywold Deephaven Camps, where SAW is held, was founded by two women, who I believe must have intuitively sensed the feminine, creative quality of the camps. Men who come to SAW at RDC seem very in touch with the creative vitality within them. Women who attend seem to be answering the natural, inner call to connect to that creative life-force inside. Children (okay, Miles is the only example I really have!) go positively into an artistic trance once they pick up on what is going on.

The camp is even shaped quite like a womb, the perfect place to plant the seeds of your creative intention and watch them take off into the sky on unfurled wings.

When I attended two years ago, I only knew that I was called to go, I had no idea what I'd be doing in the next couple of years. Ivy was cocooning in my belly and I was intent on not making any big plans or designing expectations I wouldn't be able to meet. What I did do was connect. I communed with new and old friends in my pregnant state and allowed myself to be without a purpose other than being present there. I trusted that the meaning of it would come to me when it was supposed to.

It was January a year ago when it hit me. I picked up the paintbrush, dusty with art school years behind me, and in a burst of fertile flames I began painting with no idea about what I would do next.

What came through felt like, and still does, a culmination of everything I love the most. The concepts of symbols I'd been studying, the circles I'd been sitting in, the animals running across my paths and through my dreams, color chips that had been taped into journals...it suddenly all made sense and all I could do was MAKE. I was freed from thinking about it!

A little aperture was giving way to a great opening, I'd become willing to embrace the unknown and allow my creative stirrings and the muse meet each other.

I realized during that winter transition how Squam Art Workshops had impacted me. It's creative energy gently held me that first Fall, never forcing the birth, just cradling the energy. I hadn't planned on attending this past Fall, but when Ivy was just two months old, I felt the urgent need to be there, and so the pioneering efforts to make the trek with the whole family were laid.

After the new sessions were announced last week, a unique opportunity arose for me to teach at The Pixie Session in August. Like so many times since I took myself to that maple and white pine wood, I have been summoned to show up and share something of myself.

I'll be teaching a mixed-media painting class which incorporates the use of animal totems, as well as a kids-and-parents class where we'll make forest floor finds/fiber arts folk full of symbols to carry back home with you and draw upon when you need it. I'm so excited to do this with families that my heart is about to burst!

My hope is that you will be able to experience what Squam has provided me with:  a well of creative energy and connected communal peeps to feed your soul with all year long, building the foundation and support for your artistic life.

In whatever glorious form it may take.

48 Hour Whirlwind

The opening-night reception of The 48 Hour Project was a really fun night! The project is a visual narrative created by 27 artists.

It tells the story of Weston, an unassuming cockroach who found himself in a state of emergency when his home, the Kern River Valley, became flooded. Each artist took the story in a direction that was meaningful to them, and made for quite a wild tale.

My piece was number 21 and I chose to give dear Weston a shaman's death and dismemberment because he was sort of stuck in the story and it was a mechanism to propel him into his destiny. To be expected, right? The metaphorical death of a shaman is intended to remove obstacles from the psyche and replace them with enlightened knowledge of how to proceed. 

The kidlets came and munched on cucumber sticks and crackers while people poured in the doors. Thank you to all who came out to support Claire Putney, Surface Gallery and the project!

Wintry Turquoise

These come to you without readings today (they will follow soon and prints will go up at the shop, as well as fancy new square cards!)as I am allowing myself to do next to nothing before we head out to the 48 Hour Project early this evening. The baby and I actually took a nap while Nanna escorted Miles to preschool! I promised myself I would do a better job to avoid burnout this year and so this is part of that.

What about you? Will you post links to your events, retreats, a favorite blog post in the comments here? I want to hear about what's cookin' in your neck of the woods. Many of you have amazing offerings I've been wanting to talk about here, but haven't yet! Share with us!

48 Hour Project

 

There is a very interesting show in town that you must come see if you live here. It's curated by Claire Putney, and opens this Friday with a reception from 5pm-9pm. Come join the 27 artists who created the visual narrative known as "Weston and Emmaline: The Pump Jack Prophecy".

Making a piece for this show was...unusual, rapid fire and really fun.

Hope to see you there!

New Squam Art Workshop Offerings

Check out the FIVE...you read that correctly, FIVE different retreats offered through SAW this year. Elizabeth has been working her tailfeathers off to bring you an awesome array of opportunities to create the retreat of a lifetime at art camp.

Two years ago I attended the very first one and I stayed off site with Miles and Brandon with this lovely family and we drove in each day for class and lunch. Last year, with Elizabeth's help, the whole brood stayed in a cabin in the camp (with the big kids) and had the time of our lives.

I won't be able to emphasize (in one quick the-children-are-fed-and-docile blogging moment) how much Squam Art Workshops and all of our experiences associated with it have changed our lives. 

But I am extremely proud to announce that The Pixie Session is now available to all of you mischievous creative artmamas and artdaddies and wee faery folk. The 4 day retreat has been designed to take full advantage of the camp's amenities for children and families and there are even classes to take with your little ones.

I hope to see you there!

Twenty Ten

I have so much to share and write about-however, I wanted to slip this in, too. Here are some snaps from our weekend of closing a mighty fine decade. Having a healthy family and two zany mutts is all a girl really can ask for.

 

I wish you all a deep and bountiful year of being!