Life is an Art

April showers

Walking between the raindrops

The Shepherdess’

This mixed media piece is from my time at Artsplace in Annapolis Royal. I created a dozen new pieces while in residence and experimented with a few new alternative techniques I had wanted to explore. These girls figure prominently throughout my grandfather’s album. They cared for the sheep when everyone was off at war. They harvested the potatoes, cared for the horses, chickens and all the beasts until the men came home. Some didn’t, come home. I spent a month this winter working on images from the past, the distant past, a century ago. My grandfather’s photo album allowed me to weave stories. I peered at the faces of folks who were part of my family. Uncles, aunts and parents of the “great” appellation…long gone, never met, yet part of me and my raison d’être. I brought them to the fore, and spoke to them, introduced them to my century, and now they rest in my studio like they are waiting for the next train to continue their journey. Destination unknown at the moment. Time will tell.

today

It’s April, and perhaps you’ve heard about their famous showers …

I walk uphill almost every day, rain or shine, even in snowshoes… It’s my check-in time. I check in with myself. We have a grand old chat, and I come home with ideas and a sense of purpose. The hills speak to me in whispers and the crackles of winter dry leaves. Marcescece, it’s called, when the russet leaves cling to the branches all winter. And they speak to me as I pass. Secret rustles. They’ve told other stories, but I wasn’t there to listen.

My pup runs ahead, and alongside, into the fields, leaping, rushing forward and turning on a dime when her nose senses something worth investigating. Her strength and youthful energy are a balm for me and my old soul. She comes when I call or if she sees me looking for her. Then it’s full tilt and she streaks by me, her feet thudding faster than the speed of dog. She narrowly misses me and in her excitement, she skids to a stop just past me. Her face is happy, her ears awry, and her tongue glistens with the joy of speed. She’s young. My heart sings for her.

Shifting

I’m shifting my garden again. I have a new mini greenhouse. Even though I held out hope, I couldn’t afford anything bigger, so I transformed a domed cover into a 4×8 ft bed. Now, I have 120 sq feet of garden, plus an asparagus bed with strawberries intermingled and a garlic bed of 40 heads.

But my shifting mind is far away today. A man I knew, and loved, has passed away, on far shores. We hadn’t spoken for a long time, but I’d written him letters. He never answered, because that wasn’t his style. I will miss him, have missed him, and now he’s gone. Life goes on without those who pass, but like those in my grandfather’s album, they live on in our minds and imaginations. The seeds of them are inside us all. The stories revealed, uncovered and simply imagined can come to life. Its a magical process. I recommend it highly.

Shifting

The garden is holding my attention outside and some final painting projects inside.

I’m taking applications for artists’ retreats now. Two rooms; a bedroom and a studio, are waiting for your creative energy to fill them. I welcome artists into my home for retreat-type stays: no pressure to produce, but the time and space to do so if you wish.