I have been sharing my studio, my house, my bed and my life with one of my closest girlfriends Wynn.  More than a foot of fresh spring snow greeted her when she got off the plane last Saturday (good thing she left her flip-flops at home in Nashville).   Just over a year ago she came to nurse me physically and emotionally through a difficult major surgery.   She needed a “Montana fix” and I needed a “Wynn fix” so I scraped together the moola for a ticket.  Despite the 16 hour days of finish work, “the nest” (studio nap room) was not ready for her even though she had already dubbed it “Wynn’s room” on Facebook.  She arrived early afternoon but the day was gobbled up by what felt like a zillion errands before we bounced up the mountain road in my truck.  Wynn plucked her way through the muck and mud of the construction zone; I opened the studio door with a flourish, stepped aside so that she could enter... 

 “F*CK!” she screamed.

Followed by “F*CK!!!”

and another happy overwhelmed “F*CK!!!”  She grabbed my arm to steady herself.  Tears sprung and rolled down her face.  We held hands.   

Wynn has known me since before my life on the mountain - a looooooooong time.  She congratulated the addition of electricity to my cabin home knowing better than anyone just how much fuel this insomniac burned in her Coleman lanterns during those first years.  Wynn was one of the few guests who ventured to stay during the seven years I lived without plumbing.  She knew all about “Smoky” the sweet o’l retired railroader who let me use his garage shop with the big barrel trash burner stove for a studio.  She cheered me on when I closed in the covered cabin porch with plywood and windows to make a studio at home – dragging my sculptures outside at sunrise each day to work since the ceiling was too low to stand them up inside – then dragging them back before the afternoon mountain thunderstorms.  Wynn met and loved Freeman – the painter for whom I modeled for fourteen years before nursing him through terminal illness.  She cried with me when she heard Freeman died in my arms.  She encouraged me to accept his widow Daisy’s invitation to use Freeman’s studio as my own.   Spacious – complete with an office, a shower and a nap room; I spent more time working and sleeping there than at home during the years I enjoyed Freeman’s special space.  Wynn sent me $1000 when I was busy creating the first five “Reliquaries” for my first solo museum exhibit – too broke for anything but basic food but of course able to buy stained glass and steel – whatever necessary to realize my vision of the works.  She let me take her climbing on slimy rock in the bug and slug infested Tennessee cliffs when I found myself studioless  – she understood my need to push the edge and never gave up on my passion and vision when the  studioless years stretched impossibly long. 

I cannot imagine life without Wynn and felt blessed and excited that she is one of the first to see the studio nearly finished.

Obsessed with finishing the studio, my time is spent painting and staining along with all of the chores and hardware store visits that go along with finishing up a place.  Luckily Lowe’s opens at 6 a.m. so I can enjoy dawn as I zip over the mountain pass with a list and a cup of tea.  Plenty middle-of-the-night shopping sprees on eBay and other places have turned up bargains and a fun twist on normal stuff (like a toilet paper holder).   The wide world offers much more interesting options than Lowes or our wee little Montana stores.  I spent $8.00 for a bird embellished cast iron toilet paper holder on Ebay.  The antique Mexican hanging light was 98 cents and my hand painted peacock blue Talavara sink a whopping $24.00. Fun stuff!

The studio itself is a soft winter white with plenty of ambient light.  Ah the light!!!   Dreamie.  Churchee.  Inspiring.  Inviting – a perfect place for the Muses to play.  I have been giggling vivid colors onto the walls in the study, the bathroom and the nap room.  Just think – for 16 years I have lived in a small log cabin which means that sheet rocked walls have never existed for me to splash color onto!  Oh the possibilities!!!

“Calypso Blue,” golden yellow and deep purple compliment the painted sink in the bathroom and transport the space into a south-of-the-border feeling.  “Limelicious, ” “Limeburst,” and “Celery” combine to create a zap-happy study and kitchenette.  Like a good dose of wasabi to my visual senses – the walls tickle my spirit.  The nap room is tucked into the clerestory above the study and has just been renamed “The Nest.”   Painted in a warm peachy light terracotta faux Venetian plaster – the room will be a restful haven complete with birds and buddhas.

Behind the scenes - beneath the paint, the stain, the trim and the fluff churns new purpose, vision and direction for my creative life.  Damn exciting.

 

Here it is Friday morning already!  Snuggled deep under the covers, a heavy lidded sun slovenly hints at the horizon with a streak of ice blue.  Wind blows.  The desk is piled with mail, exhibit applications and post-it notes with seemingly endless “to dos.”
I left my computer home last weekend while I enjoyed a complimentary ski trip and then hit the ground running upon my return - thus Friday seems to have budged to the front of the line and arrived prematurely.  Paul has some clients who put us up in a comfy condo at the base of a ski resort in Steamboat Springs, gave us ski passes, a rental car, and rental skis.  The trip was too good to pass up but I drug my knuckles and grumbled at the thought of leaving since the studio is nearly complete.  I am more-than-eager to finish up, move in, and get to work!!!  
BUT I had no idea just how much a spin out of town would salivate my creative art glands.  I slurped up the art scene like a parched woman.  Sipping, lapping, dunking and gorging myself at the Denver Art Museum I felt my pores open up to soak it all in.  After years of struggling without a real creative space I find myself shifting internally as the studio nears completion.  A whole new novel in the series of my life is set to go to press.  Many of the feelings Snoopy-dancing in my soul are similar to the hungry excited curious and driven passion I felt in my early twenties when I jumped on a Greyhound bus in Bozeman and rode to Seattle for a museum fix and to buy my first four chisels at a wood workers store.  A few years earlier colorful cravings drove me to charge a bus ticket from Montana to New York after I received a full scholarship to the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Art in Philadelphia.  Actually much of my life is fueled by the passion to create and to visually gobble up creations by others. A recent life chapter focused on survival mode, family and transitions.  Large life shifts shoved some of my creative hunger cravings into a dusty dark corner but they are impossible to ignore and certainly haven’t lost any of their sparkle!  Last weekend was a yummy chunk of soul food.  My thirst is far from quenched but feeling thirsty feels good!

I bought a beautiful museum book about Louis Bourgeous.  She too suffered from insomnia.  She also journaled.  Somehow my journal habit fostered for decades has been on hiatus since social media and blogging entered my life.  I vow to return to the blank book and pen as I dive into the juicy creative tank – eyes wide open.   

 

I followed a fresh set of mountain lion tracks down the driveway to my cozy little cabin at the end of the road near the top of a mountain in Montana…a long way from the warm nights of Texas ranch life!  Temps dropped below zero soon after I drug my little suitcase up the patio steps and shoveled my way into the door.  The little place heats up pretty quickly – by the time Zaydee has made her rounds sniffing out every visitor who roamed outside while we were gone – I can take my down coat off and settle in.  I ignored cyberspace for the most part during President’s Day Weekend.  I squeezed in a soul refreshing long yoga class, bought groceries and hunkered down happily on the mountain content to stay put for a few days.  I enjoyed a slumber party with a girlfriend – drinking hot toddies and peering at paint chips for the studio, finished reading a book while soaking in my big claw foot tub, poked around my freshly sheet rocked studio, hiked and post-holed my way through deep snow late one crisp cold afternoon.  The last afternoon was sunny - I strapped on skis to enjoy the sunshine and powder while skiing up and down the mountain behind my home.  Ranch life with cute furry babies seemed a world away.  

My work week started with a 3 hour dentist appointment.  Dr Amy Madden Kinney is a talented dentist AND my cousin.  Lucky for me we trade art for dental work.  After a round in the dentist’s chair I scooted to Bridger Bowl to ski with little Jackie for the Eaglemount program, and then to the school to watch the girls' basketball games before unpacking my truck and settling into a week in Bozeman with Paul and the kids.  Already it is nearly time to get them up for school and launch into a business-part-of-art day while itching to get back after it in the studio…soon!

I am just bursting with love today!!!  The Cosmos is grinning down at me – warm and friendly.  I am at the ranch in Texas which is beaming with life and sunshine.  A teeny new little 3 week old miniature baby burro with fluffy old man eyebrows has been hanging close to his mom and kicking up his heels playfully – both new additions since my last visit three weeks ago.  A new calf came into the world yesterday, slick and big-eared.   One of the hunting dogs had puppies which I hear are teensy but will go see for myself today. The chickens ran toward me like a crazed fan club when I showed up with a bag full of scraps.  They sure are silly fun quirky fretful critters.  Yesterday we flew to another ranch where the boys caught fresh bass.  YUM!!  Paul impressed us with his culinary skills during a fresh fried fish feast (say that 3 times fast!).  Desert was fresh strawberries dipped in warm chocolate.  Yum! I woke a few hours before the sun and stretched through my morning yoga Sun Salutations before sipping tea and getting to the desk part of work.  An early walk in the fog had me a bit worried about stepping on snakes but once the sun came up, I pulled on my sneakers and went for a run – which did not seem as difficult as the first time I ran on the ranch nearly a month ago.  Phew!

I am crazy about climbing and even crazier about climbing ice.  ICE?!!!  Yup.  I’ve tried to reason that one out myself and can’t.  How can a sport where frozen fingers, bitter cold cramps, huge helpings of danger, long difficult approaches and a guarantee of suffering be something to be crazy for?

Ah…but the ice.  The ice!  Constant changing sculpture…capturing light, holding light, bouncing light, sucking light, reflecting light, spitting light.  Magic.  The stuff of crystal balls…enticing…confusing…delicate and impressive.  Like the eyes of the snake in the Walt Disney version of Jungle Book…ice entices.  “Trust in me…eeeeeeeee,” the snake sings, his eyes spinning, working their magic.  Allure, hypnotism and like Mogli I am drawn in grinning stupidly.

“You…are…so…beeaaauuuuutifulllllll…I say all dreamlike.

But then comes the moment of getting down to business…which means getting my feet off of the ground and that is where the voices come in.  I’ve a zillion of them.  “You haven’t eaten enough.”  “You are not strong enough”  “You’re nuts.”  Maybe its too early…too late…the ice too hard…too soft…too long…too blue.  What if these weren’t the right gloves?  Underwear?  Chap stick?  Egads the voices can be loud and obnoxious like a kindergarten class before school.  But the bell rings…the voices get louder and the activity even more frenzied before the teacher claps her hands yelling, “Settle down”  I send the thoughts to their desks…better yet…I try to shut them up inside the desks and worry about the mess later.  Right now I gotta climb.

And so I do.  Clumsy at first…I know and now accept the fact that it takes me awhile to warm up to any activity I am doing.  Others leap out of the starting gate and whiz into things.  I wheeze.  But long after their jumpstart I’ve found a pace and a place in my mind where the energizer bunny lives…I can keep going and going and going.  Thank god.  Somehow I find myself being of the right constitution to keep plodding.  Onward and upward…one foot in front of the other…or an ax placement in the ice a toe kicking a crampon point in…I can make myself keep going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After the clumsy klutzy start, the doubts and dreams tumble and jumble together creating an intoxicating tonic that quenches my thirst for living.  The same elixir propels me to create - pushing boundaries and scaring myself in the studio day after day.  Art happens in the places and spaces outside the comfort zone.  Curiosity, drive and passion push.  Art happens when I get my feet off of the ground and the Energizer Bunny steps in to propel me forward.  Much of art is plodding - one chisel mark after another – chasing a vision sparked by light.  Art making is as ethereal as water – flowing or momentarily frozen – constantly changing, challenging, and compelling.  Humbling.  Inticing.  Adventurous art is a leap of faith finessed with skill and the kind of sharpened intuition which comes from a bold spirit tuned in.

 

 

 

 

 

I debated Saturday night whether to spend Super Bowl Sunday on a ski tour around Bunsen Peak in Yellowstone (wouldn’t be able to take Zaydee) or ski near Chico Hot Springs with Zaydee and include a soak afterwards.  I woke early feeling a bug in my bones and knew I had to cancel ski plans with my girlfriend to hunker down in my cozy cabin while snowflakes fell big as cotton balls.  Seems like everyone around me has been sick and alas – finally – I succumbed. 

 

 

BUT – being ill has its little blessings.  Sipping tea, I talked for 2 hours by phone with my dear friend Wynn in Nashville.  After weeks of phone tag my couch time allowed talk time.  I read a book – what shouldn’t be but seems to have become a luxury in my busy world.  I looked up some artists who inspire me on the internet to see their new creations.  I soaked in my beloved claw foot tub.  I slept.

Luckily a few days before the bug I enjoyed a relatively warm day playing on ice with friends and have a few pictures to share.

 

Cool amphitheater of ice at Big Sky.

The extra bulge in my coat is a warm pair of fat gloves...

Climbing behind frozen falls is fun and challenging...

WAHOOOOOO!!!!

Home sweet Home

 

Gifted with a beautiful post-climb sunset, we hugged Scott and Leslie goodby before finding another cheap Vegas Strip hotel room.  I needed a warm dry place to nurture the cold which had taken hold.

We settled into Circus Circus and set up camp.  Paul cooked elk spaghetti in the bathroom while I thawed in the tub. 

We returned to the rock but kept basecamp at Circus Circus.

Zaydee camped in the truck, under the topper, in her cozy bed and soaked in a bit of sun outside the Vegas Strip:

The nasty cold kept me from taking on the planned big adventures but it may have been a blessing-in-disquise since we decided to take advantage of our surroundings, splurge and see a show in Vegas. Thanksgiving Evening we ate warmed up Elk Spaghetti leftovers and fresh salad in our room before driving down the strip to MGM Grand for a  soul slurping, creativity engorging feast at “KA.” Cirque du Soleil can change your life. Serious. Four days after returning from the desert I still feel as if I am being fed intravenously from the experience of “KA.” Beyond words, I cannot think of the experience without goosebumps and an electric charge.  

What a gift!!! 

 “I haven’t done lay-away since high school” I quipped excitedly as I skipped out the door of Tart. I jumped into my truck and scooted across town to take the fresh grouse leftovers from dinner to my mother for lunch. Then I remembered. I actually have done layaway since high school; twice. 

My sweet stove was bought on layaway. Used. White. Gas. The friendly looking Wedgewood sports a built-in grill, broiler drawer, and room heater.   I just had to have it. Luckily the fix-it fella at the cluttered appliance repair shop was willing to accept $25 as down payment.  Several months and $175 later the classic beauty was mine! Smooth enamel rounded corners and plenty of chrome, my little cabin kitchen didn’t have electricity but my “new” stove sure made it homey.  The guy who installed my gas line offered $2,000 for the stove – enough money to get me through winter (in those days). Glad I kept the stove. The only other layaway purchase since high school hangs in my cabin - an original artwork by Natalie Sudman.                                                                    Once again I have put money down on art.    I am pleased!    Tickled.    I’ve admired Gabriel Kulka’s work during the past year, made pilgrimages to his exhibits and read the excellent article written by Michelle Corriel – a local writer who has a special knack when it comes to understanding artists and their work. Gabriel Kulka is a visual poet who packs a lot of punch into his timeless soul-licking intimate and interesting sculptures. Although I am still catching up in the studio and with life after an especially challenging year outside the studio - I feel re-charged with the promise of a new inspiring art piece by an artist whom I admire. Know what? I may have to make a habit of purchasing art on lay-away.  Feels like christmas 'cuz I have the tantilizing anticipation along with the good feeling similar to the gifting part of christmas since the purchase directs moola to both the gallery and the artist...a good feeling.

The cutest frogs live in Texas. Seriously. I know Texas has HUGE toads and such but the regular little o’l frogs that hang out on the porch at the ranch early in the morning and on the country club sidewalk at night are simply better looking than frogs I have seen in other parts of the world. The Texas frogs are even cuter than the teeny tiny Coqui frogs that sing like birds in Puerto Rico. Perfectly proportioned with round little bellies and BIG eyes, they are beautiful…well…good looking anyway. 

Anyone who has visited my little cabin at the end of a road near the top of a mountain in Montana knows that I have a thing for frogs (and birds, and bunnies). I collect the little critters. They have also hopped into my paintings and even my favorite bronze piece (cast from a wood carving) features a frog. The frogs in Texas would make perfect models for future art projects.    You’ll see…

Seasons in my world are usually punctuated with vivid challenging adventures: peaks, rivers, single track mountain bike trails, cliffs, slopes and frozen waterfalls. The past few seasons have been a bit of a blur without the periodic adventure punctuation points. Orange and red flashes in the foliage hint of autumn while crisp cool nights carry whispers of a new season.  

Fall is my favorite season.    Actually every season is my favorite…which means I that I don’t actually have a favorite - but each season feels like a favorite when it is happening. Nostalgically, each season feels more like a favorite when the season is coming to a close. I am not sure what happened to summer…or spring…or last winter. Outdoor adventures were sparse since I have been healing from major surgery, wrapped up in family life, and blessedly back in the studio. Balance is allusive. Survival has been the mantra.   I can hardly call my father’s illness and death this spring a “punctuation point.” I can’t even wrap it up as a “chapter” or “saga.” Most days I hardly believe that Dad isn’t actually here…alive…with my mother in their house surrounded by a perfectly pruned yard animated with happy wild bunnies playing on the lush lawn or munching snacks on the deck. The lawn is no longer green since Mom and I cannot begin to manage Dad’s diligent sprinkler and lawn care vigil. Rabbits still play on the less-than-green lawn and eat at the flower-shaped bunny feeder. The riding lawn mower with the cigarette lighter Dad custom installed on the dash sits in the garage. Dusty.   Earlier this week I managed to squeeze a sweet little punctuation point with the kids into my summer.  Just two days before school started, we went for a late evening mountain bike ride followed by a full moon picnic at Hyalite Lake. Jolly from our ride, feeling the magic of the moon, satiated by yogurt, fresh fruit, and Grapenuts, we began a game of charades. Our actions danced in the moonlight accented by long shadows cast by the BIG round full moon. The lake sparkled and our laughter bounced off the mountain peaks which poked a sky filled with stars.  

Inspired by the movie "Eat, Pray, Love" Julian Martin, a deep-souled, sparkly-eyed prolific artist from Nashville, TN decided to "hit the road."  She contacted her galleries (Nashville, Santa Fe, etc.) to announce a sudden sale -40% off - all her artworks, raised $10,000 in two weeks, had a buddy build a custom painting rack in the back of her Jeep Liberty, packed a tent and art supplies and TOOK OFF!

After a month of adventures, her GPS and gumption brought her here last night to my little cabin at the end of the road near the top of a mountain in Montana.  We drank wine while sitting next to a campfire on my deck under the stars and swapped stories.  We had never met before but my dear friend Wynn introduced me to images of Julia's delicate, bold and beautiful paintings more than a year ago.

I'm tickled and honored to have her up here on the mountain.  She slept "like a baby" in Granny's cabin last night.  While drinking my tea outside this morning, Julia and "Miss Liberty" showed up.  She stomped across my deck wearing short shorts, a flowing white blouse, red cowboy boots, and a grin.

We're both off to make art...

"Communion" (the painting above) can be seen along with other paintings on her website http://julia-martin.com

Have I mentioned the powerful, creative, fun, funny, women with whom I currently share a large studio space? After a few decades of blissful hermitude + sweet solitary studio space - life has plopped me right down into the middle of a spacious building in Bozeman with two inspiring chicks. 

Kirsten Kainz is a talented welder who turns her passion for critters and eclectic found metal objects into wonderful, whimsical, grand sculptures. Her humor, keen eye, and boldness shine through the animal sculptures she creates with wit, grit and a grin. I have a huge crush on “Lewis“… the big three-wheeled rabbit who has hung out at the studio since spring while an awesome toad, a well-hung bull, a rooster, a wolf, a snail and lotsa crazy bugs have taken form under the creative talent of a gal who uses a Harley jacket as part of her welding “get up.” A solo show of her sculptures opens tomorrow night at Visions West Gallery in Bozeman.  Stacey Herries, my other studio-mate will be featured in "Studio Chicks - part two"   Meanwhile, check out this rabbit…!    

Listening to the roosters’ crow, the hens cackle and the ducks quack - all that "carrying on" is my favorite part of working at the “studio” on the Texas ranch (well…that AND the air conditioning!)

Misty morning in Texas on the Charco Ranch - I’ve a bit of a headache (the margaritas last night or simply dehydration from the intense humidity?) Hobo spent the night with me in the cushy air conditioned guest room which is part of the “Devil Woman Saloon.” He has flees, scars, and a limp but is the sweetest German Shepard I’ve ever met. Roosters are crowing and chickens are cackling while the ducks swim in kiddie pools outside the office here. I haven’t much time to write since the special paint I ordered is due to arrive from San Antonio on the bus in a few minutes and I’ve work to do on an old buggy bought from the Amish a few days ago. Texas is HOT. Humid. I’m melting but inspired by the early morning mist, the late night frogs, the heartfelt hospitality and a new project.

I just LOVE animated movies!!! Art, humor, story, humor, art….

The kids said I laughed more often and louder than anyone else in the theater last night. Heck, I was laughing before the movie started just by looking at their little faces with those BIG black 3D glasses on. I watched the “villain” fall in love with those three CUTE children - felt my heart open with wonder and warm fuzzies at the gift of three awesome children in my life.

Blessed. 

click on the image above to see video from "Despicable Me"

Phew!  I feel better.  I wish I had photos of rock climbing or mountain biking to share but I spent the glorious sunny spring weekend at home with the flu.  I’ve a “nap crack” in the corner of my mouth from sleeping (and drooling?)  egads!

Vivid dreams:  Beautiful glass art sculptures, a scary tippy moving toilet, a late night dinner date without any of my own clothes to wear.  I love seeing art in my dreams!  Art dreams are like a day at the spa for my mind -invigorating, relaxing, empowering, pampering, and revealing. 

I wake refreshed and eager.  The artworks have not been mine but they have been a beautiful inspiring blend of various materials – always 3-dimensional.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining - the morning beckons with a list of tasks: must finalize my contract with Nestle, package and ship art (sold 10 Works on Paper last week!), purchase airline tickets for the chocolate sculpture project, talk to my web guys, touch bases with the contractor for a commission project in Texas, drop a bronze off at the Museum of the Rockies...but first…another cup of tea.

Smells like rain on this spring morning. The birds are chirping outside eagerly – as if they want to “get their chirps in” before the storm.  Maya is purring right next to my laptop. I’m sipping tea and fighting the urge to crawl back under my cozy comforter for a nap.  I’ve zillions to do.  New artworks are being inventoried and uploaded to my website.  Patron Members just got their pre-view peek via e-mail of the new Works on Paper before they go live on the web.  I’ve a newsletter to write, drawings of a commission to do, travel plans for the ChocolateFest to make, some donated artwork to drop off, a bronze to ship, some DVDs to burn and send, a poster to design, a vlog to edit -  and that’s just my pre-noon list.  Phew! Things are ramping up in the studio!  The rest of the week will be mostly devoted to the BIG mesquite logs.  Have you seen the latest video?      

“The logs lie and wait.  My fingers itch and my mind tumbles over the possibilities.  Last week I visited the Devil Woman Saloon in Texas to get a feel for the place where the mesquite sculptures will reside once I’ve carved and completed them.  I’m excited, inspired and challenged. 

I’m also swamped. 

Never has such a long stretch kept me from creating in woodchips and sawdust.  The demons have engaged in battle, pushed me into the trenches and gained ground.  I’m struggling.  Post surgery hormone craziness has fried my nerves, unsettled my stomach, messed with my mind and clenched my heart within an iron fist of anxiety.  The Blue Funk unpacked its bags, crowded the shelves, claimed the drawers, rolled up the rugs, and pulled the shades.  I hunker in a dark corner of my mind under the unrelenting glare of the Blue Funk’s unblinking stare.   Unclothed.  Shivering.  Vulnerable.  Scared and sad.”  

I actually wrote those words in February.   

I am happy to report that the Blue Funk is no longer a resident.  Unexpectedly the Blue Funk still plops down as an unwelcome guest now and then.  I feel the funk mostly in my chest - as if I swallowed a shoe.  The bugger makes me tired.  But between the naps and the long dream-filled nights, I am getting the studio ready.  Those logs sure smell good…I hear them calling… Here’s a little peak at the Mesquite:  Devil Woman Logs Video I’ll keep ya posted!  Stay tuned. 

Returned from the desert yesterday. 

Red sandy camping gear was washed and put away.  Sandals, climbing pack, biking pack, helmets and headlamps are stowed away in the gear closet.  Last night my pink rose flannel sheets and fluffy pillows felt scrumptious.  The post-midnight-pee lacked the butt-chilling,  sandy-toe-under-the-stars-stumble of cold desert nights in camp.  My emotions are mixed.  I’ve only been home a handful of nights in the last four weeks – home sweet home feels good.  Snow blankets the hillside behind my cabin.  Dust and neglected plants compete for attention inside my cabin.  I am sporting big new bruises, a few scrapes, and a sunburned nose but am encouraged by how well my post-surgery body handled the activity. 

My body is healing. 

My heart still feels rough and raw like the desert rock.  Bare, exposed, burnished by sand and sun - a bit gritty.  Expansive.  I drank deep from the stars.  I snuggled, encouraged and laughed with the kids.  I dreamt that I had stuffed their colorful kickball under my shirt to see how pregnancy felt, did a deep easy knee bend with my shirt stretched tight and knew that pregnancy would have felt right.  I lay awake at night in a family tent big enough for a disco ball dance party, listened to the sweet sounds of kids sleeping, and simply felt.   Love and loss.  I marvel at the contrast of beauty and the harshness of a desert landscape heart.  Barren. 

Promising open spaces.

Gratitude and a grin.  Longing.   Deep sigh.  Big breath. 

Fresh start.        

I skied with Becki.  We threw snowballs.  We sang.  We “shot” each other while she chased me in a game of cops and robbers.  When Becki “chases” me I can get her to turn more and snowplow less.  We made up a rap song on the lift.  We traded places while Becki played the “instructor.” She was pretty serious about her instructions and I thought I’d come up with a good idea until she gleefully shot past me and took off down the hill “to show me how its done.”   We snowplowed (lots).  We laughed and hugged…and hugged and laughed.  Then I filled the routine report, snuck out of the hut without engaging the staff and trudged across the mud to my truck where I broke out in tears and cried my way down to the highway. Lordy.  My innards have been a mess of gloppy goo.  Alas gloppy goo is better than hardened cement.  I visited with my dear sweet smart kind and caring surgeon earlier in the week and was assured the emotional swings and deep depression are common in women who have undergone recent hysterectomies.  Of course somehow I thought I would be different than most and am shocked at the depth and length of darkness and emotions.  I can say that rising above the muck for someone like Becki is worth the energy it takes to muster my gumption.  The day on the slopes volunteering for Eagle Mount and skiing with Becki was a good thing and the tears…?…well …just part of my healing process.  Encouragement, support and compassion from close friends have me humbled and grateful.  Some days it  feels like I’m slipping on a loose scree slope where a steady hand and safe belay make all the difference.   Luckily I have incredible friends who understand.  I’m awkward at best while learning to open and receive.  What a journey.  Eagle Mount is a volunteer program to provide quality recreational activities for people with mental and physical disabilities.  See past posts about other great (and tearless) Becki ski days.

Restless.  A blue funk had hold of me so I took a few days ago to visit my dear pal Yogi up at Swan Lake (near Big Fork).  His house is tucked into the forest in a narrow tree-filled valley between the majestic Mission Mountains and frozen lakes.   No cell service.

Sweet.

The last stretch of road to Yogi’s bends and winds for an hour through thick forest.  Deer must be watched for.  Glimpses of lakes were a respite from trees.  Ice fishermen sat like salt and pepper   shakers on white linen – the remnants of a grand white-table clothed feast stained here and there with abandoned fishing holes.

We had a few shots at Yogi’s before attending the “Fireman’s Ball.”  Slipping in cowboy boots, I navigated across the obstacle course of slush and ice toward the community center where pink and red paper Valentine decorations hung from the paneled ceiling and cornmeal dusted the dance floor.  Yogi scored some Rose Tequila, Jack Daniels and a giant propane torch in the silent auction.  Other items included a delivery of propane, a load of gravel, a basket brimming with hand knit washcloths and a crocheted quilt. 

I met a  bubbly animated writer – a pretty little gal married to a big handsome clam grower.  They wintered in the Swan Valley while their clams hibernated in Vermont.  The cheerful big-boned ladies in the kitchen joked with me as we unwrapped tinfoil and plastic wrap from potluck food items.  The tiny community has less than 200 residents and it seemed like most of them were at the ball.

I’m guessing many of the Fireman’s Ball attendees were nursing hangovers the next day but we were out skiing with the dogs.  Yogi adopted two abandoned puppies…fluffy little bouncing fur balls. 

“Do you know why they put us together?”  Becky asked me.  “Why?” I asked her.  “Because we’re BOTH crazy!”  she said.  I laughed.  “We’re CRAZY!!  We’re both from the funny farm!” She said gleefully.  “"You make me laugh because you’re crazy!  You’re really crazy!!  Laughing is good.  Do you know why?  Because laughing makes me feel good!  Laughing is good for you!!  You’re funny!!”  Becky said with exuberance.  We cackle.  We giggle.  We shout.  We throw snowballs.  We sing.  We make up songs.  We HOOT and shout encouragement from the chairlift to other disabled skiers and their volunteers below. I listen.  She teases.  I tease her back.  We hug…lots. We talk about boys, food, chocolate, movies, mountains, countries, people, places, chocolate and boys (yes…I said chocolate and boys twice - we say many things multiple times).  She apologizes when she is scared.  She brags when she accomplishes something beyond her fear.  I coax.  I encourage. We ski.  But mostly we laugh.  Eagle Mount is a volunteer program for the disabled.  

Technorati Tags: Eagle Mount,mentally disabled,skiing,montana artist,creativity,volunteer programs

“What a BEAUTIFUL day,” I said looking up at the Bridger Mountains from the chairlift where I sat next to Becki.  “I am so glad to be here.”

“YES!!” she shouted triumphantly.  “I am so glad to be here.  Do you know where we would be if we weren’t here?  Guess where we would be.  Do  you know where we would be?”

“Where would we be?”

“We would be STUCK.  Stuck.  We would be stuck like a window chewing up the walls” Becki said.

I repeated her statement.  She repeated her statement.  “Chomp chomp” I said with a grin.  Becki’s eyes were barely visible behind goggles; the helmet with yellow lightning stickers matched her jacket stained like a child’s bib down the front of her giggling jiggling body. 

I sat next to this mentally disabled being, our feet dangled below the chairlift above the white snow slopes.  The image of a window occupied my mind.  Clean.  Clear.  The wonderfully pale blue wall crumbled like a cookie as the window made loud destructive satisfying chewing sounds.   Sunlight beamed  through crystal clean glass.  How wonderful to share the lift with this special gleeful person. 

Each Thursday I ski with Becky as a volunteer for the Eagle Mount program.   Time with her on the mountain is a gift that charges my heart with energy even while my healing body struggles to keep up with the physical effort.  The image of the wall-eating-window has stuck with me and I wonder…

…perhaps being an artist is a bit like being that window.

I’m curious – do you think being an artist is like being a window that chews up the walls?

Insecurity is itchy like a pair of cold clammy wool socks; it  poked my mind and stuck like a wadded lump in my throat.  The doubts stemmed from my new venture writing, blogging, vlogging and networking via the internet.  I love writing and sharing bits from my life.  People have responded by being inspired in their lives which makes me feel thankful for the many ways the world from my mountaintop can be shared.  I believe it is the right thing to do.  Writing and vlogging push my comfort zone.   Stretching my boundaries is important to my creative soul and simply the way I live my life.  Sharing is what artists do.  The internet encourages community.  But it takes time to write, to film, to edit, and to keep in touch. When the purse strings are tight I feel pressured to shove my passions into a drawer and focus on money-making.  Thus I found myself one morning last month doubting my efforts to explore art in various venues and connect with more people via the internet.  Then a little miracle happened: The itchy wool sock insecure doubts turned into silky warm stockings and left me with the goofy desire to Snoopy dance after I opened my e-mail.  One of my Patron Place Members sent a monetary gift via PayPal with this note attached: “This is a small token of my appreciation for the inspiration that you provide every time you share snippets of your beautiful soul-filled, unguarded life, your art, and your optimism.” Squashed.  The doubt and insecurity poking at me from the inside out were vindicated.  The Cosmos smiled a crooked little half grin AND nodded it’s head. 

Synchronicity is like a wink and a grin from the Universe.  I love it!  When coincidence calls I am reminded of the BIG picture.  Feelings of being connected wrap my heart with hope and lift my soul with wonder.  While checking in at my computer this morning, “shadow” crossed my screen 3 times.  First there was the “Body Shadows” post and video on the Creative Everyday Blog.  Then I glanced at an article in “Livingston Our Town” while heating up a cup of tea and learned about Montana Shadow Maker’s ranch and charity work with miniature horses so I decided to visit their channel on YouTube.  The final shadow word was connected to an indigenous singer’s name as she chanted about winter - pretty fitting for a winter wonderland morning with a foot of fresh snow and temps below zero.

Years ago when I spent my summer alone in the backcountry of Montana as a Wilderness Ranger, my shadow was a constant companion.  Weeks went by without so much as a glance in a mirror but I do remember being shocked by my shadow once when I dropped my pack and climbed a ridge to a glacier mountain lake.  My shadow stretched before me – long , lean and exceptionally feminine.  Shocked me.  I guess shouldering a 70 pound pack and handling trail tools while traipsing around grizzly bear country had me feeling BIGGER, tougher,  and more manly than that shadow suggested.  Stopped me in my tracks.  I’m sure Momma Nature was playing a few tricks with the length and proportions but there was a girlie shadow right there on the ridge stuck to my shoes.  The lake was pristine.  Deep clear…inviting…and super cold.  I dropped my clothes and jumped in for for the refreshing jolt of a melted mountain snow cleanse.  Afterwards as I lay on a rock soaking the heat into my goose-bumpy flesh like a lizard in the sun, I remember looking at the mosquito bitten tan parts (and the not-at-all-tan parts) of myself wondering if they actually matched the strange girlie shadow. 

I wasn’t convinced. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m feeling a sparkly blue-moon-dust kind of  excitement for 1010.   Not only was it a big full BLUE Moon last night but there was a partial lunar eclipse as well.  We had a rather blustery night and a blurry sky which kept my dinner guests and I inside the cozy cabin for the evening’s festivities.  No one expected to stay awake ‘til the New Year after stuffing ourselves with elk spaghetti.  Felicia blew out the bright pink candles on her chocolate birthday cake, we drank more wine, and the sky brightened.  Sometime after 11 pm, the wind quieted enough to entice us out…and UP…to Leroy’s Lookout.  Toting plastic sleds, we plodded up the mountain to the humble little cabin I used to call home.  Perched on top (and cabled to the rocks) the plywood shack is where I lived my first winter on the Wineglass Mountain.  Memorable. 

We heard thunder, twice before reaching the cabin.  I have never heard winter storm thunder before.  I didn’t even know it was possible but the thunder added another rather auspicious punctuation point to the old year/new year night.  Three of us toasted at midnight with Jack Daniels Snow Slushies.  We hung out on top of the world and swapped stories while the fire crackled and the Coleman lantern hummed.  The valley stretched bright below.  Livingston lights twinkled.  The moon stayed mostly obscure in a winter white sky but grew potent enough to cast shadows. 

Magical. 

We bundled up and headed out into the moon shadows.  We’d stashed the sleds under a tree near an edge of the mountain top saddle.  I lined up in my sled and led the way down the steep slope.  Many years ago when I lived up there, I would sled down each morning in a cheek reddening rush while Shiva practiced her border collie herding skills and tried to nip my snow boots.  The slope is long and steep with curves and a sharp switchback.  We all screamed with glee (and fear) while the dogs barked in the moonlight. 

Laughing, sliding, and bumbling along, we made it back to my cabin at 2 am without any serious injuries.  I packed up birthday cake for my guests, took a handful of Ibuprofen, and crawled under the covers with a cold butt and a heart which glowed warm with blue moon dust. 

My thoughts have been preoccupied with the untimely loss of an exceptional human being.  Guy was a cross between Buddha and a leprechaun; he radiated a delightful spark and spirit emulated from his connection to Mother Nature, his depth of character and his passion.  Somehow just meeting him felt like a blessing.  I walked away from a simple encounter with Guy wearing a grin and feeling awestruck – not so much by Guy’s accomplishments (which are legendary) but rather by his uncluttered simplicity which stemmed from his enlightened embrace of life.  He was wise, humble and content.  Guy inspired us.

Last week his special spirit was snuffed when an avalanche swept him off a cliff while participating in the annual Hyalite “Icebreakers” climbing competition.  I felt like puking when a friend told me Guy Lacelle died that morning in our local ice climbing haven.  Full of shock and disbelief, my heart wept for JoJo (a long time friend and climbing partner of Guy’s) and for Guy’s wife Marge whom I don’t know but feel a connection to simply because Guy shared pictures and stories of her.  Later as the full tragic story came together in bits and pieces, my sorrow and shock was deepened by compassion for the other climbers; Adam – Guy’s partner that day, Sam and Josh who were climbing above.  

I want to admit also, that I am uncomfortable with the fact that the tragedy occurred here, in our own ice climbing “backyard.”  Guy was from Canada.  He climbed all over the world.  Somehow the tragic loss would be more palpable if it happened somewhere else - anywhere else; another country, another state.  My thought is purely selfish.  Anywhere is still a “backyard” for others.  But the fact is, Guy was a special guest…here.  On a purely selfish note; I feel disheartened and a bit let down by Hyalite even though I know how ridicules that sounds.  However I am heartened by the love, respect and care in which the local community handled the tragedy.  I talked with the sergeant in charge of Gallatin County SAR (search and rescue).  He told me it was an honor to be involved – an unforgettable day that felt like he and others had recovered a Viking.

I am too choked up to write more.  Let me share a letter written for The Bozeman Daily Chronicle by my dear friend JoJo:

“As an organizer and emcee of the recent Bozeman Ice Climbing Festival, I want to extend my deepest appreciation to Bozeman, all the great folks that traveled from across the country and Canada to be here, and the entire outdoor community for all your love and support in the face of the tragic loss of our dear friend and mentor Guy Lacelle. Guy (rhymes with see) was lost in an avalanche on Silken Falls in Hyalite Canyon on Thursday, December 10th.

Guy, originally from Ontario and living in Prince George, British Columbia, was the greatest and most accomplished waterfall ice climber to ever live, experiencing routes around the world that may never be surpassed. But more importantly I, and scores of others, knew Guy as the most wonderful and inspiring human being we've ever known. In 18 years of loving and being loved by this man, I've never known anyone to be as ethically pure, morally strong, competitive yet compassionate, such a committed conservationist, and so caring of others and animals.

Last Thursday Guy and 23 others were engaged what we call the Hyalite Ice Breaker. Simply, I designed this as a like-minded event where old and new friends simply go out and try to climb as many routes in Hyalite as they can. Whoever does the most gets only their name inscribed on a special ice axe on display at Northern Lights Trading Company. It is a celebration of the partnerships, bonds and experiences found while ice climbing in the Hyalite Canyon. Guy truly embraced the Ice Breaker more than anyone. He was here for weeks in advance to re-connect with friends and climb and strategize. He was competitive but not in a "I'm out to beat you" sort of way. He just loved the gamesmanship of it. And like the true gentleman and hero he was, he only enjoyed it if you where having fun right along with him.

When Guy's wife Marge told me on Friday morning that Guy and his family would want the Festival to continue, it gave me the emotional strength required to go forward. After all, if there was one thing I knew about Guy, it was that he would be heartbroken if he knew anyone did not have a good time nor didn't get to experience the joys of ice climbing because of his expense, even in dying.

Yet I need to acknowledge the local community again for embracing that spirit and helping us make the most of the weekend. Personally I wouldn't have made it through three more days without you. Thank you to all the participants for your enthusiasm in the clinics, many of you trying ice climbing for the first time. It would have been easy to cancel the whole thing, but seeing so many of you energized by the sport over the next three days made it all worthwhile. Thank you for attending the wonderful public tribute at the Emerson Friday night. Thank you for the respect and care during the private reception we held for Marge and her family at the Emerson Grill on Saturday. They too are humbled and grateful for the love and support shown by the Bozeman community and look forward to returning soon. Many people have asked on how they can donate to the memory of Guy Lacelle and his family. Without hesitation they requested any donations be made to the local animal shelter, Heart of the Valley. Please follow the "Donate Now" links at www.heartofthevalleyshelter.org. Please be sure to check the "In Memory of" option.

Thank you all. May you all have a happy and safe holidays with your loved ones.”

Joe Josephson – Livingston, MT

Fourteen degrees below zero this morning.  I have climbed frozen waterfalls in double digits below zero and actually had fun doing it but today I can hardly muster the gumption to open the door and let my dog out (let alone accompany her for a walk in the woods).  I’m alternating cups of tea with little bowls of oatmeal, fighting flu symptoms and feeling sluggish after a restless night.  I need motivation.  Wish I could pull motivation like a bright eyed bouncy bunny out of a magicians hat.  Instead I feel like the novice blundering magician with a stuffed up nose digging around the deep darkness only to come up with a mismatched sock, a fuzzed out old toothbrush, and a stale marshmallow.

Blah! 

I have a serious case of Monday morning tail-tucking inertia.  Wait!!  I found something!!!  A sweet little spark to share on this cold toe slow mojo day:  One of my newest Patrons sent a “thank-you-for-inspiring-me” note.  What a wonderful warm fuzzy feeling.  Love, love, LOVE it when a spark flies from my world into someone else’s and ignites a fire.  He said I could share bits from his note with you:

“Hello Amber, You inspired me to pick up my oil paints and paint my first oil painting since High School. My first cat Moxie died a few years back at 19. I'd been looking for a picture of her I took that I thought would make a nice painting. I had grabbed my old portfolio so I could decorate my digs in Billings. What do you know, the photo I'd been looking for all these years fell out. So then I brought out my old paints and easel and bought a canvas. There it sat blank all summer while I worked on other painting (the "compound"). Anyway, when I received your lovely print of the cat that looks just like my 2nd cat, I framed it, put it up on the shelf in the kitchen and decided "now was the time" to give it a shot. Well except for struggling with some ancient very stuck lids on my oil tubes I managed to sketch it out and paint the whole thing (18x24) in one night.  So here I am THANKING YOU Amber for a little inspiration.”

Gee.  Golly.  Gosh.  Always tickles me to hear about someone brushing the dust off their hiking boots and hitting the trail after bumping into a story from my life…or getting out the chisels which lay ignored in the closet…or wrestling the old stuck lids off oil tubes and gathering the gumption to paint. 

Thank-you for sharing your painting with me Howard.  Your kind note goosed my gumption.  Ta Da!!  Stay tuned for the rabbit ‘cuz I’m feeling the magic now…

Temps have warmed into the double digits for the first time in days.  Yesterday after tackling a batch of work at my desk, I bundled up and ventured out for a mini-hike in the woods with Zaydee. 

Crisp Crunch Crisp Crunch

I love the sound snow makes at zero degrees.

Jack Frost has been busy decking the woods like Martha Stewart  might deck the halls.  Sparkles galore.  The forest feels super clean.  Tantalizing little critter tracks are carefully placed accents in a fluffed up room cleared of clutter.  The cold air bit my cheeks while I strolled through the picture perfect landscape.  Something ahead looked slightly out of place.  Green gray, it lay like a pillow in the trail.  A rock?  Too smooth.  Too exposed.  Unless?  No…the bears are hibernating and not rolling rocks right now.  ‘Tis the season for gut piles but this wasn’t a pile.  There wasn’t a mess.  Just the misplaced pillow and not a couch around. 

I approached. 

The pillow was full of grass.  A deer’s stomach. So it was a gut pile…minus the guts, fur and gore.  Sounds gross but there was something oddly beautiful about the cleanliness, the color, the shape, the placement.   The only clue was a dot of blood here and there in the snow like carefully placed red candy Christmas cookie decorations.  Cliff has five deer hanging outside his cabin.  None of them have stomachs.  So here amidst the perfect Jack Frost winter white landscape, a beautiful wild creature with long eye lashes breathed it’s last.  Birds feasted.  So will I.  (Cliff keeps me in meat). 

Frozen hard as a rock, the stomach lay in the trail where I  walked carefully with trekking poles; careful not to stumble or fall thus risk ripping my own stitched up innards. 

Life is beautifully odd. 

Twenty days have passed since my last entry. Life has been a bit of a jumbled journey with a focus on healing. Since the surgery I’ve often felt inspired to share stories, emotions, and revelations along with odd, humorous, and touching moments. Much is vivid. Alas…I have been more tuckered than I bargained for. Phew!! Time has sloshed my world with some rather sticky heavy days these past few weeks along with some super slippery days (and days). My immune system has been working overtime to heal from the trauma of evasive surgery. Two weeks after surgery I attended the funeral of a dear friend. I believe the emotional toll of her heartfelt service and celebration took a whack at my already low post-surgery energy level.  A few days after the funeral some flu-ish symptoms presented themselves; my system struggled to fight a “bug.” Reluctant to allow a full-blown flu to hit my “busy” body,  I relegated myself to bed once again (just when my leg bones were starting to itch from the restless urge to move about). I am used to activity and hardly know who I am without energy. Last week I felt quite an improvement in my energy level…just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. A warm-fuzzy friendly fun gathering of friends and children made for a perfect holiday topped with a post feast tiki torch lit sledding course. I am in no condition to sled (yet) but happily lent a hand holding drinks while I cheered and laughed at the top of the hill. Fun! I overdid it. Apparently a few days in a row of bustling about is what did me in (and not simply my duty as a drink holder at the sledding hill). Unfortunately it seems I haven’t a clue I’m overdoing it until it is too late. So while I can report that I am healing more each week; the process has been a bit like sledding in the dark with torches for guidance. I’ve had a few relatively smooth runs, some rather bumpy crazy courses, and found myself at times spun about facing uphill while the sled careened out of control downhill. I have even knocked over a torch or two. Between each run I rest, catch my breath, lay on my back and look up at stars,  laugh at myself (or whimper) and trudge back up the hill ‘cuz I am totally on board for the healing ride and imagine the course will smooth out eventually.

The morning dawned pale and pretty.

Soft. Slow. Gentle.

I took a few deep breaths from beneath the comfy covers and placed those words on my tongue like three healing lozenges. Soft. Slow. Gentle. One week has passed since my surgery. I am on the road to recovery. Lucky. Healthy. Healing. But once again yesterday I overdid it. Oops! 

Seriously…I AM taking it easy!!!!

Considering the level of activity I’m used to and the level of activity I kept up despite the challenging medical condition, I have been a good patient. Pain would be a helpful indicator for most people but I have an exceptionally high pain tolerance which disqualifies my ability to judge (especially since the pain since surgery hasn’t at any point been any more severe than the pain I’d grown accustomed to before surgery). I have attempted a good impression of a total slug but somehow this “slug” manages to slurp some of that typical Amber “go juice” now and then and light up with a spritely spurt that gets me into a bit of trouble.  Just what does “take it easy” mean anyway? How easy?! I’m learning. Soft. Slow. Gentle. I roll the words around in my mouth- hopefully they will seep and coat my innards with a “molasses movement mantra.” I will keep the image of a slowly unfolding sunrise as reminder of the pace to honor for another week or two or three or…?

Forgive me if this is the first you’ve heard of the surgery. The decision and journey have been very personal. The past months were frightening and emotional yet transformative. Insights land in my lap like autumn leaves picked up gently - the intricate beauty examined appreciatively for detail and inspiration. Insights also get flung in my face like slick sticky mud balls which make me laugh even while I spit and sputter with grit and grime left in between my teeth. Life offers SO much!! Dark places along with bright beaming light. One week ago two skilled surgeons removed a few body parts along with a football-sized tumor.  I am on the road to recovery and discovery.

Image above titled, “Amber Darkness 7” by artist Rocky Hawkins.  The painting was a pre-surgery gift from Rocky and has been near the bed under the vase of sunflowers he and Kat brought by after surgery.  (The painting is part of a series by Rocky – the “amber” part is a coincidence).  I have been so well cared for…and will share more soon!

Not a single star blinked back at me while I bounced sleepless about my cabin last night - unless one rolled out from under a thick warm cloud blanket sometime after 4 a.m.  Sleep has been more than evasive this week.  Sleep scuttled into a small dark hole out of the cat’s reach under the kitchen cabinets where it scratched and scratched and scratched.  Incessantly.  Irritatingly.  Persistently.  Maddeningly.  All night sleep poked and pointed, nipped and bit, sniffed and slunk.  Finally just before sunup I grabbed it by the arm, rousted sleep from its ruse, and shook the dust bunnies off.  I glared at the mocking little bugger until the gleeful defiant glint softened in surrender, shuddered and sighed.  Limp.  I turned my back to the starless sky, curled up and slept.

Mother Nature got up from a languid autumn nap.  Stretched.  Then browsed a catalog of weather while drinking a double-shot of espresso.  The result?  A caffeine infused shopping spree of snow, sun, cold, more snow, single digit temps, creative cloud skies, warm weather, lightning, rain, thunder, hot afternoons and mud. 

 

Loop hike on my mountain (last week)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today?  Rain and more rain after a starry night.  Life itself feels super-charged like the weather.  Moments during the past week were as dark and thick as sludge left in the bottom of a delicate white coffee cup.  Soft and hard.  Tender and harsh.  Poignant and painful.  Sweet and bitter.  Precious and precarious.  The result?

Inspiration.

Morning dawned white with snowfall. Treetops fade toward blank frozen sky. Maya finally settled down after a serious case of cabin fever, she hates cold weather. Zaydee is covered in wet dirt from futile hours spent digging after little bunnies hunkered in hiding places under my cabin. I feel like losing the day to a good book, warm food, and Baileys. Sounds uninspired but actually I am brewing like a slow batch of cider on the stove top. Feelings and images rollover each other inside my head like cozy kittens. I’m torn between the desire to reach in and pluck one protesting little mewing kitten from the bunch to see just where the feisty critter takes me…or…letting the little nuzzled together squirmy buggers nurse awhile longer. The ideas are tangled together in a warm slurping mass of possibility. Maybe they need to fill their tummies and nap a good while before I break up the bunch and get to work. I can hardly wait.

I can’t begin to describe how much the image of this piece touched my soul this morning. The sculpture is a perfect visual rendition of how I feel. Delicate, tippy, weepy, broken, flawed, and attached . My soul and heart are touched by the sewn together parts and the oozing femininity. Wish I owned the piece and nearly feel like I could have created it. Honestly…I haven’t a clue about creating in glass and don’t mean to sound disrespectful of you or your work. I guess what I mean to say is that the sculpture speaks to me on so many levels…deep and personal. I have even equated pink roses with both my mother and grandmother (they have occurred in my sculptural works…i.e. “Grandma Smells Like Roses”). The china, the glass, the visceral rope-y parts, the slump, the spill…a connection to current events in my health and psyche.

The timing is poignant. Yesterday I scheduled a hysterectomy after a life-long struggle with endometriosis and more recently a VERY large fibroid tumor. I always thought I would have children….have held onto hope and my uterus. Realizing just how detached from the pain I became over the years, I feel almost like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me as I acknowledge the depth and frequency. Maybe I need to fully feel the pain to justify my decision. I’m startled and a bit scared by how much I denied for sooooo long. Unfortunately the earliest possible surgery date is more than a month away. Emotional rollercoaster. The morning brought several rounds of tears and weeping…then the image of your lovely sculpture. Even the teapot is womb-like…

I have never written an e-mail like this Susan. I don’t expect a response. Just know that through a cyber-connection your visual poetry has perfectly placed archival pieces and parts in front of me today which entered my soul, touched my inner girlie parts, and struck a chord beyond you, me, my mother, and my grandmother.

I look forward to following your work.

Deeply touched by the image of another artist’s work this morning…the timing could not have been keener with events, thoughts, and emotions in my life today. Even some of the imagery she used resonated with imagery from my own work.     A piece from my past:   The fountain “Grandma Smells Like Roses" was one of five sculptures in my first public gallery show after graduating from college. I put rosewater in the fountain; the whole gallery smelled like roses. The blue birds are glass knick knacks like the ones which caught the sunlight on the windowsill above the sink in grandma's kitchen. My mom had rose wallpaper in her bathroom, roses on her fine china, and the most elegant gown she ever wore was floor-length, white, and embellished with two beautiful red roses which climbed from the hem to her torso in embroidered silk. I created the sculpture well over a decade ago.  The fountain traveled to Nebraska for my grandmother's funeral a few years ago.  Small roses adorned the metalwork on her casket. The rhythmic soft splash of water pouring from the “Grandma Smells Like Roses” fountain added subtle life and melody to the standard mortuary silence. The glass sculpture I saw today ties in with imagery and feelings woven intricately between past memories and current events. If I were ever to get a tattoo it would be a delicate rose as an expression of the ultra feminine lineage I share with my mother and her mother.   View "Grandma Smells Like Roses" on my site  

 

My current favorite ink color is this deep rich purple tone…somehow it looks both antique and contemporary. “Evening Bird” is entirely of the purple ink and…WOW…a big robin just hit the window and is recuperating on the windowsill. His (her?) beak is wide open…panting? The stunned little bugger can’t see me so I can get my nose right up there next to him. I had no idea that robin’s have…whiskers? Maybe they are super long eyelashes but they look like black whiskers. Poor fella.

Anyway. I was going to tell you about “Evening Bird” shipping off to a new home this week but the robin is still hanging out and worth looking at…

Later…

 

My big o’l 2000 pound logs are sitting on a truck in Texas. While my chisels lie sharpened and waiting for the lovely mesquite in their near future, I myself haven’t let any dust settle. Thanks to Paul’s foresight and ambition, two large trailer loads of free logs have arrived on my mountain and will someday be part of The Studio. We unloaded and selectively piled ‘em up near the tractor-powered sawmill while he explained which ones are going to be beams and which ones trusses. Feels good to gather materials and begin to manifest a studio…it’s been MUCH too long!! Hard to believe I’ve been studio-less for a number of years. Luckily, site-specific commissions kept my business as an artist rolling (a bit bumpily) along. The small works on paper don’t require much space to produce (thankfully Cliff patiently lent me the use of his dining room) but it is really…really…REALLY time for this gal to have a “room of her own” again. I even had my own studio space in high school while a student…complete with a key to access it on weekends (yes…I was obsessed with creating back then too!) I never imagined myself without a studio…so a few years ago when I found myself suddenly studio-less I panicked. My identity and my livelihood had sprung from within studio walls for much of my life. Just who was I without a studio? Like a traveler who’s suddenly lost their luggage and their bearings, I took a deep breath and embraced the question, the unknown, and the adventure. Freedom comes from letting go…new possibilities arise…demons lurk…emotions swell and swirl…exploration intensifies.

Life gave me an unexpected sabbatical…time to adventure both within and without. I had just discovered climbing and found strong similarities between the world of rock, ice, mountains and studio life. The urge to create pushed me past excuses into uncomfortable places. Growth.

Alas, growth is rarely pain-free. I just re-read the words above and feel compelled to confess; I cried. I wailed. I sobbed. I whimpered…more than once. I cursed the Universe. I curled up in a ball. I gnashed my teeth (at night…in my sleep). Do you know what it is like to have a head full of ideas like monkeys all screeching for attention? Did you see the words “demons lurk” snuck in-between the positive rambling toward the end of the paragraph above? Stripped of a studio, I was (and am) at times totally discombobulated. Lost. I am not all grace and graciousness. Yes…I explore. I seek adventure. But I can be a klutz and I certainly am not without fear. I did take a deep breath each time. I plucked myself from despair.  I donned a pair of tinted sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes and to cast a rose-colored glow on a seemingly hostile studio-less world so that could gather my gumption and move on. Am I better for it? Sure. (?)

BUT I am more-than-ready to return to studio life. I have yet to commit to a temporary space for the mesquite sculpture project…a short stop on the journey home. My guess is that another temp studio or two are in my future before I get to move into a “room of my own.” I will be lugging new suitcases filled past capacity with riches gathered during an unplanned journey. Maybe I increased the girth of a few muscles. I definitely have a few more scratches and scars…a deeper appreciation…a zillion ideas…a deepened thirst…and some new skills.

I stood outside just past dark this morning and watched as the sun (with much effort) slowly lifted thick heavy dark eyelids and began to consider waking.

Later I returned outside to find a pretty pink perky sunrise, complete with glow-in-the-light lace.

My girlfriend Liz gave me a slender colorless black tattered copy of “Letters to a Young Poet” by Rainer Maria Rilke sometime during my early 20’s. The book did not look interesting, yet her hand written inscription was like a bright colored ribbon on the faded opening page. I was compelled to give the uninviting beaten up dark little book a chance. I was smitten. The book became a bible…a guiding light…a comforting lap to crawl into when the struggle to put myself through school left me disheartened and weary. I was living a rather bohemian lifestyle in a low-rent building right on main street in Bozeman. My apartment had a tall ceiling but no bathroom. One window opened into the upper story space between buildings…just bricks and windows. The other window overlooked the alley, more rooftops, and the stained glass steeple of a church. A carpet of tree tops stretched toward the jagged ridge of the Hyalite mountains past the edge of town. Passion to create meaningful art drove me. Juggling three jobs and a student load left little time to read but “Letters to a Young Poet” was read and reread along with other books by Rilke. Just yesterday a Rilke poem landed on my desk, soft and bright like the first yellow leaf of autumn…impossible to miss… full of meaning…a gift to share:

 

"Sunset" by Rainer Maria Rilke  

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth.

leaving you, not really belonging to either, not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent, not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing that turns to a star each night and climbs-

leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads) your own life, timid and standing high and growing, so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out, one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.

 

Last Saturday morning came early. I’d been out late the night before at the Livingston Art Walk…which would have been ok in itself except my obnoxious old unwelcome prickly bedmate Insomnia has been a rather constant companion this summer. I lay there in the wee morning hours thinking I should simply give up on sleep and get out for a super early alpine start…wouldn’t it be spectacular to be on the summit for sunrise?!! Each time I got out of bed, I felt sick-to-my-stomach-tired, turned around and crawled back into bed. But sleep eluded me. Insomnia scooted the minute my alarm clock went off. Here’s how it goes: toss, turn, toss, turn, ALARM…sleep. I swear the alarm clock is to Insomnia what garlic is to vampires…the instant the alarm sounds, insomnia flees and I’m free to sleep…except I CAN’T because I HAVE to get up. Do you think I should set my alarm for an hour or so after I go to bed and TRICK Insomnia into vanishing? I had to drag myself from beneath comfy covers and bumble about the process of packing and eating while groggy from only 2 hours of sleep. Thankfully the peak I planned to climb was not technical or extreme (although I have climbed technical AND extreme peaks on far less sleep). Black Mountain is a 10,941 foot peak above Pine Creek Lake. Thomas Turiano, writes in his book, Select Peaks of the Greater Yellowstone, that Black Mountain is the “most spectacular mountain in the Western Beartooths north of Mount Cowen. He goes on to say, “Most first-time visitors to Pine Creek Lake are stunned by its sheer size, which is completely unexpected in such steep mountains.” The trailhead to Pine Creek Lake is only about 20 minutes from my house and is a popular winter destination for me since there are some fun frozen falls to climb just a mile up the trail. I’ve been to the lake several times but I have never climbed "spectacular" Black Mountain. While the hike is not extreme, one does gain a mile of elevation during the 7 miles it takes to get to the summit. The final two miles are a trail-less scramble up talus slopes to a rocky ridge leading to the summit. Fun Fun. The scenery between the topaz blue lake and the summit of Black Mountain is beyond amazing since it includes giant blue quartz-like crystal rocks. Very blue…gemstone blue…baby blue. Other giant rocks are a pastel variety of pinks and whites along with charcoal black rocks with hints of purple. Feels like you’ve wandered onto a beautiful Chinese ink-brush painting complete with waterfalls, springs, and bright green grassy slopes perfectly placed between stone and sky. Many mountain ranges and peaks can be seen from the summit of Black Mountain. I shot some video on the summit and have begun to learn the ins and outs of editing (phew!) Soon I will share a whole new series of short candid videos from my life exploring inside and outside the studio. Stay tuned!   top photo - Zaydee and I below the summit of Black Mountain bottom photo - View of Mt Cowen (on left) and Fire Spire (pointy thing on right) from the summit of Black Mountain...and YES!! I have been on both!!

Positive feedback is like a scrumptious snack…but without the calories! As the number of Patrons increases and the more posts I blog, the more yummy compliments I receive. Sweet! I thought I would share one from the newest Patron: “We got the "Handsome Fella" and the whole family loves him! It was the highlight of my week after spending a grueling week working in Las Vegas.” – Paul Mayer – Minnesota Inspiring others is one of my goals in life. Paul went on to write this “I am so glad to have rediscovered your work after all these years, since you showed up 10 years ago in my copy of "Wood Magazine". I am pretty fired up about your work, and it is having some influence on my own woodworking. I pulled out my beautiful set of carving tools that I bought 10 years ago and never used, and I carved a great big spoon that I have named "the van gough spoon" because you need to use your imagination to see the spoon in there. I am not much of an artist myself (although I believe there is one buried in there somewhere), but more of a conventional woodworker. I have also been spending countless hours introducing my father to some basic art concepts, teaching him about woodworking, and helping him launch a business selling his products. It has been an incredible journey so far, and I am excited to see what the next year or so holds because he is really getting fired up about this stuff. I have built a web site for him (http://www.vernswoodgoods.com/) and have started selling his stuff on Etsy as well.” Check out Paul’s father’s work when you have a moment…and…don’t hesitate to send links, photos, and (of course) compliments my way!

My current client has company. Since my commission is taking place just outside his front door, and since I make plenty of sawdust and lots of noise, I have been given a “recess” of a few days. Sweet. Honestly, I’ve grown weary of the task. The creativity part was accomplished during the first few hours while designing more than a month ago. Once I resolved the carving issues, figured my way toward color choices, and put the final glaze coat on the first two posts…the mystery was solved. Two embellished entry porch posts…perfect for the place and space…finished. I hadn’t messed up. My client was pleased. What finally became obvious to him (and what I knew all along) is that the other two posts would also have to be carved. So I am working on them. “Lesser” versions of the central posts (so as not to compete…I want the “climax” and action to build near the doorway while the outside posts quietly hold court like the wedding party to the bride and groom). The commission at this point is mostly pure physical labor. The challenges are boredom, physical fatigue (my poor hands), and Momma Nature. Wind is the most menacing element followed closely by sweltering heat. Rain is not a problem since I get to quit when it rains and certainly won’t argue with lightning. Wind can make me weary; especially since it blows every which way, dusting my eyes and filling my nose with sawdust. A few blood vessels broke in one eye two weeks ago and gave me a possessed look; devil-ish or prize-fighter-ish. I still have a big red spot in that eye. So I am suppose to return to carve on Wednesday but I see that the weather forecast for Wednesday is thunderstorms which actually makes me happy because I would rather be home writing than up Tom Miner carving. Each day I find many things to share. Thoughts flutter and flit with wings so appealing and magical that I want to stop whatever I am doing and explore with words the spark, iridescence, depth, and endless color intricately woven on their surface. I don’t want to just squeak out little accounts of big adventures. Actually, my weekend was rather tame since it lacked adventure of the outdoor kind. No huffing and puffing, no summits or rock or rivers. Yet…the weekend was rich and full. If each idea which popped up in my mind over the weekend to write about was a little lightning bug…then my head would be glowing like the moon…bright enough to cast shadows. I find myself looking back at the last few days as though I just opened a box of decadent chocolates. I want to take a bite from each treat…reveal the mysterious sweet center…and share them with you. I need to write more. Create more. Adventure more. Alas, I must make money. I need to make money now because I haven’t any excess. I haven’t even enough to pay the bills on my desk. The box of yummy chocolates must wait to be opened and shared. The beautiful butterfly thoughts tease, tempt, and tantalize. Worse…they urge me with earnestness born from an awareness of how delicate and fleeting their lives are. The lightening bugs flash, glitter and glow. I must quickly capture them but when do I find the time? The outdoor commission work makes me tired…the kind of wrung out tired that comes when work is uninspiring. Therein lay a key difference between survival work and inspired work. Inspired work is akin to climbing a mountain for an adventurer like me… while the activity may be physically exhausting, the passion infuses. A post-summit-high stirs the soul to Snoopy Dance even if the feet themselves are blistered and worn out. Creativity and passion put a skip in my step and a twist on the path that is living. I cherish the dream to create full time…to sculpt, paint, write, perform and adventure. Wednesday is a coin-flip decided by Momma Nature. Make money or paint with words?

Heavy stifling gooey wet grayness attached itself and slunk into bed with me last night. Strange dreams involved awkward mechanics such as a faucet installed by Shawn too high over the sink which left a puddle on the floor since he conveniently located an existing pipe rather than routing to where I needed the pipe to go. Dreams felt like a “to do” list without end or joy or satisfaction. I woke feeling splashed on and drippy; soaked by disappointment and wrung out. Plumb tuckered and uninspired, the sky matched my mood; heavy, overcast, cold and wet. Forty degree temps in July?! I’ve much to be thankful for. The last few weeks were a whirlwind of activity and joy: my brother and his family vacationed here, various fun visits and events with friends, a road trip to the incredible music festival in Butte, Paul’s dedication, imagination, and hard work on my cabin, cash flow much improved, commission prospects encouraging, art sales good, my health just fine. So why the blues? Sometimes the Blues Monster simply rears his ugly head and wrecks havoc with peace, slobbers on my happiness, burps discontent, farts impatience, and shits a pile of the grumps on the floor near my bed for me to step into…barefoot…first thing in the morning. Creativity is a window for me to crack open on days when the Blues Monster disturbs my tranquility. Occasionally I can leap toward the window and throw it wide open, laugh, and dive into the adventure which waits outside. Other days I muster a little lump of gumption, crawl painfully, and with slow excruciating effort I force open a window that screeches and groans as though the pesky monster painted it shut. Eventually I get out of bed no matter how tempting it is to curl up in darkness under the covers. We all have dark places. Some of us choose to remain in the comforting dark places which require little effort (i.e. under the covers). Some of us blame others for the presence of the Blues Monster. The blamers lie in bed and voice accusations or jump and rant and rave in violent trantrums. Some of us quietly rely on others to open the window, air out the room, and clean up the monster poop for us. I have at different times done variations of all of those things and more to survive the monster visits. Ultimately it seems that my efforts…however klutzy…to fuddle my way through the muck always bring me to a creative place. I am thankful for purpose, people, and passion. And yes…in a strange way I am even thankful for the monster visits.

May 18th

 

What a wonderful family…ALL of you! Your kindness causes my heart to bloom with warmth, enriched with the vigor of a sunbeam. What a gift and a treat to be here in this comfortable ocean abode. The history of this place can be felt: the hard work…the love…the focus on fun, family, Mother Nature and community. I feel blessed that you shared the place with LizAnn and I. My life is enriched by your kindness…and the ocean…and the deep sleep nights. I am held by the sound of the waves. The ocean rubs the shore during the calm nights like an expecting mother rubs her growing belly. Infinite love and life-giving fill the sound…a consistent lullaby wrapped in life. Ocean energy whooshes through my soul with a crisp clear embracing mother love. Good stuff. Hearty healthy pure and easy feel-good lightness…like the immediate “done my body good” feeling one gets after drinking a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Pure vitamin-rich jolt of from-the-source energy. The air is full of it. Gulp and grin. Jack and Ginnie, the love you share for each other and your children along with your vigor for life is inspiring. You “DONE GOOD.” Nick, Chris, and Steve are boys to brag about and I’ve no doubt Nancy follows suite. Your friendship, support, and love have given LizAnn a real boost on her journey. I am full of gratitude (and steak, and ribs, and twice-baked potatoes, and avocados, birthday cake, and wine…!) Fat seals with whiskers, sea otters with old man faces, whales spouting…and I hear there were dolphins and turtles too! I love the sea creatures. Please know that anyone of the Rarigs is welcome in my humble Montana cabin home where you may see a bear, moose, deer, elk, mountain lions, or other small mountain critters. I will blow one last kiss to the ocean before boarding a plane. Hugs and a heartfelt thanks to each of you!

Trees loom large, heavy laden with heavy wet white spring snow cloaks. Snow ghosts in the mist this morning. Burdon. Beauty. Mystery.

Six inches of fresh snow yesterday, actually was a blessing that kept me productive indoors. So much to do since I’ve a “normal” job for two weeks as a carpenter’s assistant. Eight hour days, one-hour commute each way…so that the art part/business part is early morning, late night, and…Sunday (punctuated with a much needed cozy nap with my cat in the late afternoon).

People packed into Elle’s Belles for “Birds, Bunnies, and Chainsaws.” Chairs were borrowed last minute from the bar next door and still the people kept coming. I was blown away…and thrilled to have a room-full and receptive audience. Still feel both plumb tuckered and energized at the same time from the performance, much like the mix I feel after a productive studio day or a climbing day. Different kind of tired…and maybe a subtle different kind of energized, but all good. Really good.

Sleep goblins snatched much needed rest; left my insides coated with sticky muck and darkened my mood last week. Even my best intentions and less-than-lofty ideas got mired in the goo. Any attempts to clean up seemed futile. The more I rubbed and scrubbed, the messier and darker I felt. Many of the yummy things in life have messy moments (i.e. making art…making love) so why fight it? But I was frustrated to tears, frightened, and grumpy. I took Sunday off. Indulged in an order of biscuits ‘n gravy AND a cinnamon scone served by the sweet ladies at Wheat Montana while on the way to Indian Creek Canyon for an afternoon of hot rock and good climbing. Despite the treats and the sunshine, the muck lingered. Fear flared as I took the “sharp end of the rope” and led a few climbs up the rock. I shook. I took deep breaths. I rolled my eyeballs when my partner tried to make jokes. Sometimes men are…well…MEN!! My lips tightened in a grimace more than once despite his best efforts. I could not sincerely grin. The rock was inviting and challenging. I climbed klutzy with hesitation but I did not quit. I accomplished one climb and then another, and another…and another. Here’s where I’d like to write that I climbed myself out of the bad mood. “The sunshine, the happy dogs, the good food, and the kind company polished that black gook into bright dazzling clean happy innards.” NOPE! My mood did not noticeably change. I didn’t kick, hit, spit or scream but felt like the goblins had taken those liberties with me. Pummeled and panting, I continued to climb. I wanted to be happy. I get mad at myself when grasped by the goblins. I told my climbing partner that I felt like a big zit that needed to be squeezed to release the foul fluid suffocating my soul. Perhaps if I could figure out the source of the infection, I could cure it. Many possibilities…but here’s where I’ll edit my journal writing so this remains a blog post and not a whole chapter. Simply said, life can be complicated. You’ll never guess what finally blew my mood later that day from dark and dreary to light and fluffy! But I’ve run out of time and will have to leave you hanging until I can tell that part of the story. Stay tuned!

April 2, 2009

Warm fuzzies linger from the gracious audience at last night’s performance. Honestly I feel a bit awe-stuck from the beauty and intensity of an instant connection…the feedback…laughing… gasps…tears…and warm community. Definitely is a departure from the “hermitude” of studio life. Emboldened from previous performances, I continue to experiment and grow. Last night was no exception…yet…exceptional given the audience and the carefully woven colorful and meaningful elixir shared.

I am inspired to do more.

March 30, 2009  

Stuffed today with kooky creativity, burly business, house-keeping (even scrubbed the bathroom), family care (took my father home from the hospital, visited with Flynn's parents at ICU, and climbed 3 pitches of ice in the evening until 8pm…should I mention the scrumptious dinner out…the big margarita…the soothing soak…the fine companionship? Awesome start to the week!  

    Rapelling off of the falls in the late evening...fresh snow falling...

 

 

March 24, 2009  

Little bits of snowfloat and fall like drunk and lost fluff white fairies. Patches of old snow are strewn across the bare valley in unkempt random piles of clothing left by the Crazy Mountains, a clue to the pre-pass-out revelries. The mountains, hung-over, sleep it off beneath heavy white down blanket covers. Spring time in the Rockies is a bar-hopping extravaganza of mixed drinks and changing scenery. Two days ago warm rock was climbed by t-shirt wearing enthusiasts. Yesterday six inches of fresh snow shrunk in the afternoon sun to two inches of textured wooly white. I post-holed thigh-deep up the mountain behind my cabin last evening. Dawn showcased trees dusted like donuts in a confectioner’s window. I love the mix…the flurries…the guessing….of spring time in the Rockies.

March 19, 2009

"I am in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection, but with Montana, it is love and it's difficult to analyze love when you are in it."- John SteinbeckMontana is a blessing. I happened onto the quote by Steinbeck this morning and must simply say that I could do the “Snoopy Dance” from pure joy at the luck of calling this place home. Home sweet expansive sky home. Home sweet blue mountains home. Home sweet wild spring rivers home. Home sweet cozy cabin home.I am blowing kisses to the heavens with thanks, gratitude and a grin.

March 8, 2009  

I got up in the dark after a night of tossing and turning and tossing and turning. When morning arrived, it illuminated a case of cabin fever smothered by snow white sky. I cannot see the cozy town nestled between the river and the railroad in the valley below. My chest is tight with sadness for the loss of a beautiful soul who passionately advocated for artists and the arts as the manager of Montana Trails Gallery. A freakish apocalyptic gas explosion instantly leveled three historic buildings in downtown Bozeman Thursday morning. Tara was talking to her friend while at her desk in the gallery. Her cell phone went dead. Debris shot in the air, cars flipped, and windows shattered for four city blocks before the fire broke out. The plume of dark smoke billowed with a greedy savageness from the heart of town. The buildings were gone. Simply gone. The fire burned for 24 hours and took a few more businesses with it. Tara is the only casualty; a stick by brick search in the rubble has not yet uncovered her remains. I feel disheartened. After spending the eerie day in Bozeman below the shadow of a darkened sky, I drove the mountain pass home late Thursday feeling whipped. Flinching like an abused dog I tucked my tail and kept my head low. I marvel at how precious life is and how much a few seconds can change the landscape and the soul’s place. I have half-heartedly chipped away at the business part of art, helped a few friends, craved warm food (and lots of it), kept a candle lit for Tara, and tossed my way through long nights where doubt and fear and financial woes lurk. Uninspired to create and like the snowstorm sky which chokes my mountaintop view, my own optimism feels sluggish and short-sighted. I cannot see my way out of the current economic challenge. How best to weather this storm?I am going to pack my bags, pile cat food into Maya’s dish, load up my dog, blow out Tara’s candle and head to the hills of Wyoming for a few days of climbing ice. I must shake the blues, focus my mind and clear my soul of creepy cobwebs. I will blow a kiss to Tara from on top of a frozen waterfall, meet death with life and honor her desire to live passionately.

February 28, 2009

Thus the dilemma of living in a beautiful place when Momma Nature beckons on a glorious Saturday morning dressed in her finest tantalizing outfit to come out and play BUT the same sunshine which highlights the fresh sequined snow also beams in through windows and lights up dust bunnies big enough to make slippers out of.

Bugger

Seems my quaint little cabin in the woods should have a batch of tweetering chubby cheeked birds and scampering chipper little forest critters to take care of the chores for me. If my part of the cleaning scene including singing like Cinderella…well…that thought just burst the bubble on a rather colorful animated fantasy. So here I am, wind chimes with their cathedral-like ambiance, sunshine, and the fur of one cat, one dog, and myself (I shed worse than the two put together) to tend to. But before I drag out my little purple vacuum, let me tell you a bit about a beautiful little detour I took last night after attending an art opening at the Holter Museum in Helena. I’d made the two hour drive to Helena in the late afternoon on dry roads punctuated by the customary stop at the junction of I-90 and 287. The junction is just that, a junction…not a town…nor is it near any town but it has a gas station, a bakery, and a strip joint complete with a sex toy store. The bakery is a “must stop” for two reasons: 1) everything is baked with flour from wheat grown in the surrounding hills 2) the ladies who work there are like a batch of aunts and grandma’s who bake and serve with the kind familiarity of a church picnic. (a third reason would be the cinnamon scones, or the best macaroons in the world, or the homemade biscuits with sausage gravy, or the desert-plate-sized cinnamon rolls of four or five different varieties, or the sack lunches, or…ok…see?!...must…stop). Munching on a warm cinnamon scone, I admired the late afternoon pastel painted sky, saw more antelope than you could count, and marveled at the huge frozen lakes while driving across country to a museum. Cliff called just as I was leaving Helena. He wanted me to look at the moon and the bright spot next to the moon which he said was the space station. The moon appeared as a paper cut out and the space station was brighter than any planet or star; a fact I found both a bit thrilling and totally disturbing. The night drive was uneventful, not even a deer in the headlights. Sometime around 10 pm I got a phone call and an invitation to visit a friend, so while distracted, I had one of my admit ably frequent blond moments and took the wrong exit onto Churchill road thinking it was a shortcut at a junction closer to Bozeman. The slender paved road ambled on past farm buildings, cottonwood trees, and the occasional oversize mailbox before it began to dip, roll, and wind through two sweet little rural communities. Small houses nestled close together with warm lights glowed invitingly. Each small community had an impressively large lit up church. The feeling of “wholesomeness” wafted in the chilly night air as I looked into living room windows with simple furniture and walls full of framed pictures. Barn after barn caught my eye as potential perfect studio spaces. I am drawn to the classic farm outbuilding shapes and have no intention of building a big square box studio. I visualize variations of barns as the ideal exterior for the studio I plan to build here on the mountain. Peering at the buildings in the moonlight, I had the same overwhelming variety of choices as if I were standing back at the bakery trying to make up my mind as to which treat to indulge in. Each offered different potential and nudged me with an odd familiarity. I believe the familiar feeling was linked to an idea I had fourteen years ago. When I set out after graduating from college I hatched a plan; once cold temps and shorter days ended my summer job as a wilderness ranger, I would drive to little communities in Montana and seek out a widowed rancher or farmer’s wife who needed help around the place in exchange for a bed and a barn or shop complete with her late husband’s tools to use and plenty of time to create sculptures. Depending on how deep my well of optimism flowed as I pondered my possibilities, sometimes the widow would be well educated and spry with a deep rooted love of art coupled with an insatiable desire to travel the world. She would actually pay me to be her companion. We’d settle down between trips at the picturesque ranch or farm for long periods each year during which I was free to create art. The memory of that very real fantasy swung along with me as I lightly zipped and rolled over the snow covered hills and hugged curves in creek bottoms. The sky felt friendly and inviting; like an exotic sparkly canopy the heavens shimmered with stars and a space station. Zaydee looked out the window attentively with expectation; I matched her mood and laughed out loud, wondering where the road led but never actually feeling lost.

2/14/09

 

I pulled on some silky long johns, blue jeans, and thick socks as the sun rose. Truck gage said nine degrees above zero. Sipping tea, I drove along the Yellowstone River up Paradise Valley in fresh untainted early morning light to Tom Miner Basin. Zaydee and I saw wild sheep along the dirt road. Domestic sheep with playful little lambs kicked around like jumping beans in the corral on the ranch near the river. Snow sparkled; the river flowed between frozen chunks, the jagged Sawtooth Mountains pierced the blue sky horizon. The ragged ridgeline just this side of Yellowstone Park is just the kind of jagged that makes me itch to climb but today was about cows and dogs. Vern greeted me with his classic grin, the kind of boyish up-to-no-good mischievous glinting grin exceptionally suitable for good natured cowboys. We headed out to round up the cows so we could switch their tags. He’s been training three Border Collies since June. Have you ever seen a good cow dog work? Truly a sight…pure joy, plenty of smarts and subtleness…the impressive connection between dog and owner…dog and cows. Luke, a beautiful trim classic tri-colored Border Collie, rounded the cows up and herded them into a pen. He responded well to commands from Vern. No barking, just keen management through movement. No panic, rather Vern would tell Luke to "lie down" periodically and then "walk up” behind the cows and keep them moving at a slow controlled pace. Duce, broad-shouldered with red, brown and white markings, worked the cows once they were in the pens, moving them from one pen down a chute to another.If you can get past the poopy butts and slinging snot, cows have a quirky calm beauty to their eyes framed by long lashes. Big ears, soft furry foreheads, plump bellies, angular little asses…cows have the ability not to look too far into the distance. The cows we worked today are one year olds, so they are still kind of cute. Our job was to switch out their little calf tags for big cow tags. Just like children on the first day of school sporting new clothes too big, the cows’ tags were over-sized, flopping from fuzzy ears. “They’ll grow into them,” Vern said with a chuckle.We got worked a bit while trying to get them into the trailer. The chute would have made it easier but it was full of snow. We chained the truck up before Vern backed the trailer up the hill to the pen. Vern is gentle but firm…not a proponent of chaos and shouting. I like the way he thinks and appreciate his ability to try different things until finding what works for that particular moment…those particular cows. They are learning, always learning…young cows…bright eager dogs…light-hearted cowhand, in a graceful and klutzy dance full of poop and sunshine. Earlier in the day while riding in the truck, Vern dished some lessons learned when dealing with women. He said the easiest way to deal with a woman is to admit a mistake when something wasn’t working. “Don’t take it personally and simply try something else. Too many men take it personally,” he said.I wonder. But I can say working in the studio is similar to Vern’s approach on the ranch. Studio life is a constant graceful and klutzy dance where humbleness, fortitude, invention and the willingness to try new things allow an environment where one continues to learn and grow…trying not to take things personally yet opening up all of my person to the process. I wonder how things would go if I had a couple of smart working stock dogs to help herd my ideas and a firm gentle wise cowhand to keep things clipping along.

 

Febrary 2, 09

Deep fluffy snow and crystal frost whispers to a quiet place in my soul. A place that holds beauty as gently as a palm cups tiny fresh laid eggs. Heavy whiteness sings gracefully without sound. An unspoken "don't touch" lingers in the air over the delicately bedecked forest reminding me of fragile china carefully arranged on hand crochet doilies at grandma's house. Sky white erases the horizon betrayed by one pale ribbon which startles the morning with a hint of peach, faint as the small faded stain on a formal white tablecloth.

Winter is here.