styrofoam, clay, stone and ashes

I am on the flip side of a few dark murky weeks.  Vivid light beams bright inside as my soul takes some refueling deep breaths and stretches its arms wide.  Skip rather than slog.  Grin rather than grimace.  PHEW!

One would think that having gotten settled into my NEW studio I would be FULL of light and skipping incessantly.  Alas.  Not.  Quite.  A combination of Styrofoam, clay, stone and ashes have kicked my butt and pummeled my heart along with some dark sticky monsters from the family closet - but those I will explore later - via my art.

Meanwhile, styrofoam and clay are not a regular medium for this gal who LOVES the smell of wood chips and sawdust.  BUT – they are a good choice for the current commission SO despite the brand new impressive HEAVY DUTY hoist and I-beam system in my NEW studio begging to lift a heavy load - I found myself staring at these two blocks of Styrofoam -more intimidating somehow for me than a 2000 pound log. Seriously.

Luckily Jake was an enthusiastic assistant for the first few cuts:

Somehow there is a dog in there.  But.  Where?!

Progress seemed slow.  While I am overflowing with inspiration and near-to-bursting with ideas for creative pursuits in my NEW space – the commission was frankly - in the way. Blocked in the inspiration department for this particular project I found extra distraction and resistance because of another looming project.  Life stuff was taking up much of my heart along with my time.  I can’t go into all of it without sounding like a full multi-episode Oprah show but I will mention the other project:  My mom asked me to create a design for Dad’s gravestone.  The shock and intensity of his diagnoses and death last year along with my father’s wishes to be cremated and buried in the Nebraska town where he was born resulted in a family decision to postpone the funeral until this summer.  So I spent all of Memorial Day in my studio drawing embellishments for my parent’s memorial stone.   Hummingbirds for dad and roses for mom – my parent’s memorial marker was an emotionally weighty task.

Last week was the anniversary of Father’s death.  The “replay” button in my mind has been stuck playing difficult passages from those last weeks with him – as if it had just happened.  Grief can be like that.  I believe the lack of ritual and closure intensified feelings not-yet expressed.  I spent the anniversary of his death (June 2) with mom.  We went to lunch and spent the afternoon together.  That evening I was at the Museum of the Rockies hosting an event for which last year I was a featured artist.  Last year the fanfare evening honoring myself and other artists took place the day after my father died.  I went directly from viewing his body at the funeral home to the museum for the exquisite event– what a blur.  Being back at the museum on the anniversary of his death for the same event intensified the emotion and memories although this time I enjoyed promoting other artists rather than being the subject myself.

My moodiness seems on par with Momma Nature this spring.  Impressively dramatic and “switchy” with her spring wardrobe, Mother Nature buried us in snow over Memorial weekend and continues the drama with booming thunderstorms, popping hail storms, drizzly rain and bits of sunshine.  I don't mind her moodiness but would prefer less drama on my part.  Darn it – I’ve been a bit of a wreck. BUT I find solace in the children and in venturing outdoors (ok – maybe the hailstorm that nailed me yesterday while mountain biking wasn’t exactly comforting but something about being chilled to the bone and humbled by nature can lighten the emotional load).  I recently broke through the creative block with the dog sculpture (photos to come).  The memorial stone will be etched tomorrow and placed this week.  I will pack tonight, scoop Mom up along with Dad's ashes and take off in their o'l Lincoln Continental Town Car to begin the journey to my father's birthplace in Nebraska.  The graveside funeral is Friday.

sunshine and snow flurries

Wound up and worried about my mother, Paul suggested I leave the studio for some air.  I stoked the wood stove with scraps and headed out on a hike up the mountain with him.  Admiring the fresh green stuff sprouting everywhere, Paul said, “Looks like winter has lost its hold.”  Just then (and I mean just as he finished his sentence) it started snowing. Honest.  We got pelted with white stuff until we topped out in the “Sound of Music Meadow” where super tough yet delicate looking wildflowers have begun to show off.  Bold defiant bits of bright color hovered close to the green ground and the snow bounced all around us.  A little over a week ago I post-holed knee deep through large sections of snow on the same hike.  Today the snow patches are simply little “patchlets” that can be walked around.  We stood at the edge of the meadow above a ravine and looked through the snow flurry toward the valley at the engorged Yellowstone River below.  Roads, highways, and the interstate surrounding Livingston are closed due to flooding - springtime drama in the Rockies.

Now I sit at my desk in the office studio.  The fire crackles.  The sun shines.  I can see clouds unleashing more snow yonder above the Crazy Mountains.  I feel like the sky – a mix of sunshine and shadows, fluffy clouds and daunting heavy grey cloud banks.  Sleep deprived and a bit overwhelmed, I could easily curl up under a quilt in the nap room and sleep away the afternoon.  But the deadline for two commissions looms.  Then too – like the clear patches of blue and sunshine – I have a focused direction and creative mission for my own work once I complete the commission.  The commission is a bit like the lingering winter weather, a storm in the way of bright light blue sky creativity.  I have a bad case of “spring fever” right here – inside. Another snow flurry or two (or three) and then some mud to navigate.  Meanwhile, I appreciate the defiant tough wildflowers and each little lick of sunshine that beams between storms.

jumbled fizz and feathers

Yesterday I enjoyed a sweet scrumptious day ALONE in my new studio for the first time. Ahhhh!!  I love to watch the sun come up from my cozy cabin before walking through the woods with Zaydee to the studio.  I love being alone up here.  I love LOVE LOVE my new studio!!!  Where to start? Of course there are two commissioned sculptures which I have begun but  vivid images and the feelings left from the “dead duck” experience entice me to explore (see post below).  The “feathers stuffed in my chest” feeling has gagged my innards and crunched my soul frequently during the past months.  Strange that I felt jammed with chest hurting sadness between moments of elation when the studio of my dreams was being built.  Similarly, the horrific “THWAP” duck death contrasts with an odd beauty held in my memory of the scene in the rear-view mirror that morning- white feathers swirling like frenzied fairies in sunlight.  Only now, after a day alone on the mountain and in my studio do I realize just how much the dry fluff stuffed pain in my chest comes simply from my need for solitude, my love of sky and the overwhelming desire to be settled into a space and place creating.  I need freedom to explore without stuffing huge armloads of emotion down my throat to hold tight behind lungs and I prefer to be alone without interruption during much of the process.  Chaos exists inside thus I desire a sense of place and a settled down-ness around me before opening Pandora’s Box. I am overwhelmed.  A zillion thoughts, ideas, images, and impulses fizz inside like a soda can bounced three miles down the rocky road from my cabin to the river - ready to explode.  Carefully tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Breath.  Release a teeny tiny bit – Open.  Sputter.  Spew.

bump in the road

I hit a duck while driving to Mom’s.  Broke my heart.  The shiny green-headed little bugger just ran out in front of me…then tried to run faster with neck stretched, wings flapping feverishly.  I sucked in my breath and slammed on the breaks.  Heart in my throat but full of hope I glanced into the rear-view mirror.  A cloud of white feathers swirled chaotically in the early morning sunshine.  Gulp.  My tummy and chest felt like all of those feathers and the duck itself had been stuffed down my throat.  DAMN! Double damn.  I have an especially horrific ghost in the dark closet of memories involving unavoidable car carnage.  Maybe I will write from that closet someday but for now I would like to think of the magic metallic glistening green Momma Nature bestows on the heads of male ducks.  I will create a piece and homage to the little critter – glitter and all.

bear with me...

Spring is (among so many wonderful things) the season when bears awake from a long cozy slumber to roam and forage, driven by post-hangover munchies.  Thus it is also the season when I must once again retrain myself to grab the bear spray before my daily jaunts in the woods behind my mountain top home.  I never think of the spray until I am well away from home tromping through mud or post-holing through knee deep snow polka dotted with critter tracks – moose, elk, deer and the sweet wee-baby-versions of each.  I simply need to get back into the habit of grabbing the bear spray before I go.

Similarly, I must re-establish the habit of blogging.  I am constantly struck with the impulse to share and yet last month went by with nary a word.  Transition has me floundering between habits and whatever semblance of routine I may have had.  Finishing and moving into the NEW studio took precedence over any type of writing routine.   I am still juggling the addition of three wonderful children in my life with Paul along with the scattered part of living in two towns and the addition of caring for my mother since my father’s death last year.  The New Year brought a commitment to getting back into the level of fitness I had before my surgery.  I have lost 15 pounds so far and feeling more like my o'l self.  I just completed a wonderfully intense webinar course for artists with Paul Klein and traveled to Chicago last month - invaluable as I gear up to launch NEW ART and connect with the right audience for it.  Most recently the shocking untimely death of a sweet friend knocked the wind out of me and the little community I live in.  Thus the world on my mountain and beyond continues with endings and new beginnings along with the gamut of emotions for each.

Winter lingers in the Rockies.  Spring has a tough job trying to move into the high country bit-by-hard-won-bit.  My progress this past month is on par with spring- bright moments of light and promise in between the mud and muck. The lack of blogging had nothing to do with the lack of content, ideas or events – life has been full. Somehow blogging and social media bumped my old fashioned habit of journaling right off the shelf.  I missed it.  The need to scribble words and doodle ideas on paper has returned just in time to spill over and into my new studio space.  Juicy stuff which I promise to share via the blog.  Bear with me...

wynn

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.   Recently Wynn 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.

moving

A splot of metallic copper paint is shimmering on the back of my hand as I sit down to the computer for a moment – a leftover smudge from the final coat of faux copper painted onto the ceiling of the studio nap room – aka  “the nest.”  Serene.  Heavenly.  Sweet.  The nest has grand views (five windows).  The copper and faux Venetian plaster is a warm earthy cozy welcome respite from the zap happy lime green study below.  The floor will be painted deep purple and a henna-inspired mural painting of the Tree of Life will bloom itself up a wall and onto the ceiling - someday. Birds and Buddhas are the theme for the nest.  Dreamie. Last Friday Paul and I packed up all of his tools and took down the scaffolding.  I swept.  We opened the doors so that Momma Nature could blow out the sawdust while I spun around.  The amazing brand NEW pristine inspiring space is…mine.

I wept.

Simply sat down on the cement floor of this elegant empty clean-slate compelling place, I felt overwhelmed by the gift, the grace, the years and years of dreaming/struggling/believing and then…this! Even as I begin to move each truckload of studio stuff from storage I find myself shedding tears and grinning.  I see myself on this big blank first page of a new chapter in a vivid richly packed fully lived book of my life.  Little o’l me…not much bigger than a punctuation point.   There.  On the white page, in the white sunlit studio - a question mark -an exclamation point and three little dots.

? ! ...

paint, stain, trim - nearly "IN"

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.

art juice and steamboat powder

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

sheetrock and eaglemount warm fuzzies

One of the commitments which pulled me from the studio Tuesday was my weekly volunteer ski day for Eaglemount.  Jackie giggles and grins her way down the mountain.  Sometimes she makes race car noises.  She gets cold easily so we “group hug” on the chairlift spinning tales, singing made up songs and thinking of ways to make her giggle more.  She always has a stuffed animal or two for skiing companions.  I am still learning the intricacies of just how to guide the sit

ski down the slope which means Jackie and the stuffed animals get more of a bouncy ride when I take the tethers but she seems to love it – ALL.

Each day in the studio brings exciting changes - Calypso Blue in the bathroom complete with a vanity which I stained deep purple, doors, windows, trim, etc.  More pictures soon…

let the finishing begin!!!

What does an artist do during 3 months of being totally studio-less?  Obsessive Ebay searches and paint chip collecting. I have lived in a log cabin for the last 16 years and the studios inhabited haven't been mine to mess with so for the first time in decades there are brand spanking new white walls craving color AND I get to dowhatever I want!!! Also a heated cement slab floor and some plywood floors will be stained - colorful of course! The kids are excited to help.  We’ve packed brushes, rollers and winter gear for the first day of painting and staining the studio interior.  Epic sledding breaks are planned (thus the winter gear).  Crazy happy excited to launch into the space and begin the process of making it my own.  Of course the main studio will remain white so that I have a blank canvas space to work within.  My Sunday will be spend snoopy dancing, paint flinging and grinning inside the NEW studio!!! How about this festive Talavera Mexican sink I found on Ebay for $24.00?!  I will be staining the cabinet deep purple for this bright happy sink to set into.  Yesterday I bought a BIG utility sink for the studio - funny how much fun it was to purchase a big o'l utility sink of my own!  The silly sink has no idea how much work it will do.  Right now it is so clean and shiny that I am tempted to put a bow on it.