Blues Monster

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.

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Family Picks


 

I love seeing just who is drawn to what when it comes to the basket full of finished original works on paper. Each child got to select one as a gift from me. Here's what they chose:
"Henri" chosen by Chloe (13 years old)
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

"Little Boo" chosen by Kiera (11 years old)

 

 

 

 

 

"Leala" chosen by Zach (15 years old)

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Art walk'n and a good o'l campfire clutch


 

Livingston Art Walk with a gaggle of gals followed by wine and s’mores…half a dozen ladies and three happy dogs on my deck by a fire under a big Montana summer sky punctuated with a bright big sliver of moon.

 

-[photo} Dierdre and me on the four wheeler hauling firewood for the campfire.

Meg and I found a tiny little nest with itty bitty eggs while gathering marshmellow sticks. She was wandering the woods in a pair of my slippers and a flashlight, while I wielded the Leatherman and glass of wine.

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Plumb Tuckered

Tail end of the nasty cold still has me feeling almost too tired to see this computer screen.

Today I launched into a new commission…on site…at a home up Tom Miner Basin. Lucky me to enjoy perfect weather for working outside on front entryway posts. Shade until early afternoon then a little tease of a breeze helped a bit with the hot afternoon sun. I must try to remember to take pictures…but honestly once I start working I can scarce remember such a thing as picking up my camera.

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Sweet potato fries, a cold and a collector

Sunday June 21

A cold-bone, sore-throat and headache-y bug has me and the sun just came out…! I’ve zillions to do before beginning a few commissioned carvings up Tom Miner Basin but just want to curl up and nap. Who gets a cold in the summer time? Chastised myself for overdoing it…am I getting too old for early mornings at my desk, followed by long physical days working, plus climbing and biking while averaging about five hours sleep?! Mmmmm….
But no! I just found out that everyone at the camp on the Grizzly Creek Ranch is sick. The camp was established to offer underprivileged youth a chance for an outdoor wilderness and leadership experience. http://myeconnect.org/ Pretty neat. The days spent up Tom Miner Basin have felt good...just simple outdoor physical labor for 10 hours a day rain or shine scours rusty spots from the soul. Hauling hay, catching horses, welding steel patches on cattle guards, and pruning trees in a Scotch Bright world complete with big-kneed animal babies and dramatic Montana skies. Good stuff.
A new collector visited over the weekend to discuss a commission for her Texas saloon. Loved her idea inspired by the Reliquaries. She walked away with 10 original works on paper and a belly full of fried food. No…I didn’t actually fry food myself but took her to this yummy little fried food stand in town where they served us seafood, sweet potato fries, and okra. We licked powdered sugar from our fingers while we ate the yummy fried Oreos… sugar lips and grins.

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Phew!!

What?! Friday already? A week ago today I attended the first Art Walk of the summer season in Bozeman. I had a skirt on but luckily switched to jeans since the evening was crisp, cool and goose-bumpy with the spring smell of distant thunderstorms in the air. People were out in droves…a wonderful festive and good-energy feeling and much needed salve for the wound of the explosion that happened in March (see blog post about the explosion). I believe the best way to honor Tara’s untimely death was to celebrate art and artists.
Early Saturday morning I caught up a bit with the desk part of life before pulling on padded shorts and driving to the Natural Bridge up the infamous Boulder Valley. Two girlfriends and I panted and puffed our way up Green Mountain on our mountain bikes. Wow…I’m out of shape. But we actually made good time, sat “on top of the world” in a wild flower filled meadow. I shared the elk salami and dark chocolate packed for lunch, we took in the views, giggled a bit and laughed a lot while Zaydee rolled gleefully in the thick grass. The descent was a fast and furious spin downhill over rocks and roots without any accidents. I changed in the trailhead parking lot and “gussied up” a bit for an evening at a Women’s Spirit camp. I had been invited to speak so I drove the primitive road another 12 miles up the Boulder Valley in a downpour. The ladies were inviting and fun…the evening entertaining and sweet. The barely made it home by midnight without falling asleep at the wheel.Five hours later I was putting away the mountain bike backpack and loading up my climbing backpack for a day of climbing with two other gal pals. I’ll post a few photos rather than ramble.
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"Jazz"

Honored that I was asked to be one of the first artist's to donate artwork for the Bridger Alternative High School permanent art collection. The art collection is the brain child of Stacey Herries who launched several new programs for the students during the past year. Her dedication to “at risk” youth is unwavering, empowering and downright impressive. "Jazz" found a good home.

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Dirty Fingernails

Saturday morning I grabbed leather gloves, threw a shovel into my truck and sloshed a mug of hot tea down with yummy wheat-free cookies from the Nova (yes…breakfast!) Heavy dark clouds loomed large and ominous but actually cooled things off nicely for the work ahead. Five local fellas and I created a brand new trail to the local climbing craig. Zaydee hung around and kept us company. We made quick work of it and loaded the tools back into our trucks just before the rainstorm (which turned into a SNOW storm). Late afternoon I soaked in my sweet claw foot tub while a blanket of white snow hid the bright green forest floor outside.

The following post was written by Jim Earl for the
Montana Climbers Coalition website

"At the early-bird hour of 9:30 AM, six of us met at the parking lot for Allenspur. Our goal-to build a new climber access trail on a recently obtained trail access route- which mgiht become permanent after one year. On the crew were Amber 'dig it' Jean, Dustin 'chainsaw massacre' Gaines, Ted 'trail pro' Wood, Hermes 'pick ax' Lynn, Mark 'spud bar' Wolfenden, and myself, Jim 'lazy ass' Earl."

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Exposed


 

I found myself exploring this big cave while wearing a little skirt and no underwear. The explanation is actually quite reasonable and boring (night out, tent in, plans to mountain bike and lord knows undies are uncomfortable under padded biking shorts). Understand?
Anyway the cave was an unplanned detour on our way to a mountain biking trail. So here I was in a cool dank dark and scary place feeling especially exposed. Funny how a little bit of cotton fabric can add extra bravado and a sense of security taken for granted unless it is missing.
 
I would love to create an experiential sculpture exhibit that would illicit the combination of curiosity, compulsion, fear, vulnerability and magic that a cave holds.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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Rotten wood, good ribs, and a two-seater

Friday May 22

Woke to 6 a.m. sunshine and the promising feeling of a summer day when summer days are still fresh and new on the tail of winter and mixed up spring weather. So many possibilities! Cliffs to climb, trails to ride, peaks to summit, grass to roll in, wild flowers to witness, baby animals to “ooh” over, ice cream to eat, and margaritas to drink.
But I had to work….a real job…not studio time or desk/business/marketing time…just plain labor and “pay per hour” kind of work. Lucky for me the work involved my handsome boyfriend and a shipping container full of reclaimed wood in a beautiful part of Montana just a valley or two away….could be interesting anyway. We picked up a skid steer on our way out of town, sipped hot drinks and drove.
The reclaimed wood came from Florida…mushy, moldy, and rotten…most of it anyway. A few painted boards and a rare slightly carved piece caught my eye but none of it belonged to me. We labored while the dogs played in a nearby pond. Late afternoon we cleaned up a bit and had dinner at the sweet old Willowcreek Café. Super sweet. A rusty red old tandem bicycle leaned against the porch post out front. Haunting and compelling, the old bike invited plenty of conjecture. No doubt plenty have sat astride the broad worn out seats…young couples oozing sexuality and hyper-awareness…sweet slow loving old couples…giggling children… drunk cowboys yip’ing and hollering on a good natured dare… maybe even a bright-eyed shining pair of newlyweds? Stanley G West mentioned the bike in his book “Blind Your Ponies” (highly recommended read). We enjoyed a few drinks and home style ribs before driving off into the sunset, up the Jefferson River to pitch a tent and camp in the moonlight and cactus with the dogs.

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Selway River

Momma Nature has unleashed spring. The Yellowstone River is engorged like an overfed snake winding through town and the valley below my cabin. I was actually supposed to be on the Selway River right now. I was lucky enough to draw a permit. A dozen river rat friends and I put in for permits every year but Selway permits are rare. Second only to the Grand Canyon trip on the Colorado River, the Selway is extremely difficult to get a permit for. Only one group is allowed to launch each day. The wilderness river is a classic challenge very few are priviledged to attempt. Only fifty percent of the lucky people awarded a permit actually get to launch since river conditions must be carefully monitored. Seven years ago I was the only girl to join a group of guys on an early season Selway river trip. Two days into the trip, spring run-off coupled with high mountain thunderstorms raised the river three feet overnight. FLOOD STAGE. We camped on the edge of the raging river and waited. Huge rocks made the rumbling sound of thunder and vibrated the earth beneath our feet as they rolled in the strong current. Giant trees tumbled like twigs in the tumultuous murky ice cold water. Each morning we hiked to the rapids below our camp, tucked our tails, and returned to camp. We actually hiked to high country one afternoon carrying hammocks to nap away from the loud fury of river sound. Seeking whitewater high adrenaline thrills, we found ourselves in awe of the river and actually more rested up and relaxed in the forced stand still. I literally watched snails move on blades of grass in the early morning sun, ate chocolate covered raisons and drank wine in the middle of the day while reading out loud.
Eventually I packed a small fanny pack and hiked 20-something miles downriver out of the wilderness and back to civilization. The boys waited out the flood…for weeks…before giving up and flying out. They returned by small plane many weeks later to get the rafts and gear.
So…I have floated part of the infamous Selway River. Someday luck and Momma Nature might give me another chance. Meanwhile, I am glad for the spring and the moisture. Right now rain is pelting my metal roof; the forest floor is gratefully and greedily quenching it’s thirst, and I am reveling in the lush life-full green.

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Animal Shelter Donation

Livingston has an exceptional animal shelter.

 

 
Each year they host the "Fur Ball" to raise money.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Jon Ellen Snyder wrote on Facebook about the two artworks I donated to the Stafford Animal Shelter. "They were both BIG hits! Thank you so much!!! You helped us raise lots of money for the Shelter and we appreciate your generosity VERY VERY MUCH!!!"
 
 
I'm always glad when my artwork is "adopted" into loving homes...but especially glad when the art helps a good cause.
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Thank-you Rarig Family

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!
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