Crumbling Fortresses

Now and again I stumble over a box of things I haven't yet tossed out or sorted that my deceased husband, Neil, had collected, many of which were of paperwork or photos that had been part of his life before we met in 1984.  He was an avid photographer, so there were (maybe literally) tons of prints I have already sorted and recycled or filed.  

Earlier this year I found a box full of photos Neil had shot when he was working as a government contractor in Washington D.C., on one of his many trips to Europe during the '70s. What a treasure trove!  They were in color, and he had shot scenes in a city in Spain (not sure which, it didn't say anything other than "Spain"), some children holding a puppy, and some gorgeous architectural shots in London. I've had them stacked on the corner of my drafting table since I found them, hoping they would spark the Muse. 

A few weeks ago I was looking to play with a little collage, and began staining and tearing bits of thin Japanese paper and deli paper.  I took out a sheet of Stonehenge Kraft toned paper as a background, and sorted through my stack of Neil's photos. There was one he had taken on a beach near ROTA Spain.  Apparently there are (were?) bunkers from WWII scattered here and there along the shoreline, crumbling from the shifting sand, he was fascinated with.  

My heart had been saddened that very evening after reading about the state of military affairs in the world lately, and our role as a country within that arena.  I'd gotten myself pretty depressed.  But interestingly, the beach scene in Neil's photo seemed soothing, calming.  I could see clearly how the struggle of man through history to build fortresses and armaments against others of his kind (and I do use the gender pronoun purposefully) is gradually crumbled and disassembled by Nature gently, over the course of countless tides. Somehow, I felt this was a gentle message from Neil, who'd spent most of his career as a contractor in the Military Industrial Complex. "Don't worry," he seemed to say, "even at the time I photographed this, I knew this war stuff meant nothing, and the sands of time will crumble it away again."

In the photo, the footprints are of a single Human, which turn and come back on themselves (were they Neil's?).  In the painting and collage I created (above), the prints are a pair, and go on toward the horizon. The scraps of Japanese paper and torn deli paper are the bunker, as well as the cliffs that meet the beach.  Painted with gouache and love. 

A Fave Place To Imbibe

I am appalled at how little I've posted on my blog lately!  I feel so neglectful.  The stories and images are a comfort, as well as providing me a trail of breadcrumbs I can use to trace my way home when I get too far extended in my life.  When I'm lost out on the desert of "normal" reality, and have lost my creative compass coordinates!  

Jim and I spent some time a couple days ago visiting our younger daughter's jewelry display at the show on Bainbridge Island she was participating in.  Speaking of Divine Creativity! We met our other daughter there, who had come over from Seattle.  We left Crystal to her show, and the three of us travelled to Poulsbo to enjoy some Spanish Tapas at Paella Bar.  The atmosphere, food and wine are superb.  I especially recommend the bacon wrapped, goat cheese-filled dates!  Wow. 

It's amazing how much richer the participatory experience is at any location or event when I sketch it! 

(And in answer to the question of many who have seen my sketchbook, no, I do not do the entire sketch while sitting at the location.  I will get the basic rough ink drawing in, do some random patches of color here and there to remind myself, as well as lots of squinting and memorization of shadow angles, items on tables or displays or walls, and finish the sketch at home later)

Treehouse On Masa Paper

As a kid, most of my non-school and non-snow days were spent in trees.  TreeZone seemed a natural place for my sister and I to hang out, and as time went on, I think it was clear to our dad it might be safer if there was an actual supporting floor under us when we were up there. That didn't stop me from tightrope walking on long, swaying branches that bridged My Tree and the garage roof, but at least I had a place to stash my snacks and sleep above the coyotes on summer nights, once he built a treehouse for me. Popular Mechanics magazine had just the blueprints for that little Ponderosa kid fortress, and Papa put his best carpenter's hat on and went to work.  

I should tell you that the above illustration is not my childhood treehouse.  But it is someone's childhood treehouse in Scotland.  Jim and I have a few books on tree houses of the world, and leafing through them a few days ago, I had some nice visions in my head of uses to put my newly minted, crinkled and stained, Masa Printmaking Paper cards to. I don't think the blueprints for this particular treehouse were published in Popular Mechanics.  

In my next lifetime, I will be sure to inherit the estate this tree palace occupies.

Giselle Finds The Perfect Leaf

So the pigment spill I thought had been the basis for a wild floral display, the plastic-wrap print in the center lending itself to a cut crystal vase, actually turned out to be a woman gazing at a windblown storm of Autumn leaves swirling around her.  It's a thrill to collaborate with what the patterns tell me after some deep meditation on them.  

What Is This?

A very disappointing Pigment Spill experiment I tried a couple nights ago almost became "collage fodder" (only fit to be torn or cut up and pasted into other projects), but last night I thought better of it.  With nothing to lose, I stretched it on my board again, spilled pigments here and there, letting them blend.  What had been a bleh sheet of vague beige, tan and mauve, was now a riot of color explosions.  Jim and I both keep seeing things in it, but who knows what I will end up teasing out of the patterns.  

The Deer Dynasty of Lopez Island

The San Juan Islands of Washington state are each ecosystems unto themselves in some ways, and when Jim and I spent more than a week on the Islands recently, we were reminded of the unique personality of each, as well as the relatively unique land masses and shapes.  The demographics are apparently different, also.  Certain sorts of folk prefer one over the other.  Lopez was new to us this trip, and it seemed more laid back, so to speak, in comparison to the other islands.  Less to offer for those who love to have excitement on their getaway, but more friendliness. The drivers all wave at each other as they pass.  Everyone we talked to seemed to already be our best friends.  Most take the time to chat.  The landscape was breath-taking, and many come there to bicycle around the island or kayak.  It seemed a great place to spend some quiet time writing one's next Great American Novel. The wide variety of family farms supplies the two local grocery markets with organic produce, as well as meats raised sustainably and without the usual crap that are fed to most stock.

The house we rented on Lopez overlooked the village and the salt water beyond.  The property was also occupied by a multi-generational family of deer who each do their part to work the family business of harvesting apples from the trees.  There is fierce competition, apparently, from the yellow jackets.  They would often send the young fauns off with much ear and tail-flicking, and head shaking.  The rabbit population didn't seem to do much but mow the lawn.  They were the greens keepers.  

The Bird Piper of Lewis

My previous husband, deceased close to thirteen years ago, was a McLeod whose ancestry was from  the Isle of Lewis. This last week I've been playing with paint blobs on watercolor paper stained with Noodler's ink (Australian Rose), still damp.  It took me two days to finally "see" the piper, then the fun began! Jim saw the soaring bird near his knees, so I had to make it so.  I saw a different face than he did, though.