Earthquake in India...

Listening to the radio as I drove home last night I heard about the earthquake in India. My hand flew to turn up the volume with "oh-my-god" speed. This is not the first time I've feared for the safety of my Ladakhi family. Nor will it probably be the last. While in India, I lived with a family in a remote village of the Himalayas. Over the course of a month and a half they became my real family. I love them and miss them. And am grateful beyond words that they are ok.

God I miss them!

"BIG" dreams

While surfing for a good deal on canvas...look what I found! 160" aluminum and wood stretcher bars (that won't warp!!!).

THAT'S 13 AND A HALF FEET! Oh-- can you imagine?!?! That much stretched canvas is an artist's dream (well mine anyway)! I'm drooling. But (for now) I might have to settle for the 48"-60" range.

Once again, all is quiet on the gallery homefront.

Oh blessed Saturday, how I love thee.

But I am soooo tired...soooo stiff... I would like to crawl under this desk and sleep like a cat. But I remain upright in my attempt to remain (at least slightly) professional. Needless to say, there is some pretty good art up this month. If I actually owned a digital camera I would post pictures of my favorites...but I don't. I would link to the BCAC site...but why bother? It hasn't been updated since last May. I wish I would have actually remembered something from Web Design class. I would update it myself. But my mind is a technological sieve... and I don't have a camera... or permission. blahblahblah. Yeah- I told you I was tired!

This evening I will unload another van-load of stuff. Then I'll paint our bedroom. "Whale." That's blue-gray to you humans. In the meantime... I'm beginning to feel like I'm floating.

Over and out.

Tonight the sky is a Turner painting. Tidal waves of black clouds washing away a blue sky only to break apart and reform themselves in new configurations of light and dark.

I just returned from hiking with wolfie. Several hours of tromping in the wet woods behind my house. Dang, how many people can literaly hike for hours and not see a soul-- in their back yard? I can. I didn't want to turn back home, thinking that it might be my last opportunity to walk these woods. Very soon it will no longer be my back yard. I force myself to return to the present...

It was cold and wet and wonderful. I kept finding myself stopped and trying to memorize the trees and skies. I couldn't do it. I had to give up and just breath it in. Eventually Anu and I got "unlost" and returned home where I just finished the best bowl of Indian style lentil soup with fresh tomatoes in my life. Mmmm--cold day, long walk, warm soup. I could be happy this way.

SnowSnow! I saw snow!

At 6:58 this morning, as I rounded the corner between Bridgeman and Hagg-Sauer, floating gently from the dark sky into the orange glow of an outdoor light-- was snow!

Oh today is a good. The first snow fall--my favorite day of the year!

aniversario numero dos

2 dozen apricot colored roses
dinner including:
candlelight,
champagne,
a shared meal,
and triple chocolate desert
the yearly photo
coffee
movie
and
dancing to our wedding song.

Life is good.

Happy Anniversary Vincenzo!
xoxoxo

Well, well--look what I found.

My first blog. Back when I went by the name of Iris Rain. I miss her.

and am reminded...
"Every time you don't follow your inner guidance, you feel a loss of energy, loss of power, a sense of spiritual deadness." -- Shakti Gawain

They're talking snow.

But I fear not.
We are as tough as last year's brussel sprouts.

Yellow Marigold and Oregano.

I've spent the last several days...uh... god, where to begin? I'm not sure it's interesting enough to recap.

The move has begun.

Friday involved moving the basement... or at least a load that reached from front to back, and top to bottom of the mini-van. That's only half of it and I'm amazed at the amount of stuff I have accumulated down there. But after reorganizing it is magically seeming to fit in 1/10 of the space. Plastic totes are a good thing (I suppose).

Saturday involved painting my new "Writing Room" Marigold Yellow. It took an entire day. I did the ceiling, the trim, the doors, the walls. And then when I was done I felt like I was going to have a heart attack from the intensity of the color. My eyes bugged out and I started talking faster and faster to all that visited. I went home that night and had nightmares... all involving Marigold Yellow. Bummer. It was such a beautiful color-- but it had to go.

Then came Sunday and V. and I spent half the day driving to Grand Rapids to sell a painting. I was hoping to come home with an $800.00 check, but instead only came home with a half a tank of gas and nothing to show for it except a beautiful new journal that I found (and should not have bought) from Brewed Awakenings. The guy that wanted to buy it is from the cities-- a professor of architecture at the U of M. He brought his art collector friend with to help him make the decision to buy or not-- and they decided that the brick color of his wall would not do my painting justice. I thought--fuck that-- $800 bucks would do my painting justice! But whatever. I was dealing with "the big guns"-- REAL art buffs. You know, the kind that know what they're talking about and know what they're looking at. The art collector told me that I was a good painter-- a really good painter-- and that is rare because there aren't many. Well thank you for the compliment. But I went home poor. The rich architect went on his merry way completely oblivious to our own busy schedule and the time we sacrificed just so he could "look" at the painting again. Argh. Ok... he's still interested. Who knows. Maybe I will still sell it. Geez, and we drove right through Deer River and couldn't even stop to say hi to Audrey cuz we didn't know her #. Damn. What a waste-- I tell you!

Instead, V. and I spent the drive home arguing about riduculous things--namely, my thesis. To be honest, I'm completely stressed and a little freaked out about the whole thing. So-- unable to cope with the complexites of graduating... after returning home I drove BACK into town and painted into the dark hours of the night a wonderful Oregano green. Oh yes-- this is the color of inspiration. I WILL write that thesis!

I slept not nearly enough and this morning rushed to town to deposit money to avoid impending bouncing of checks (reminder to self: balance your damn checkbook more often!). Then cleaned the new house with my mom for a few hours.

It smells like oranges now (verses old, spilled beer).

At the moment I should be grading papers... but instead I've just spent nearly a half hour filling you in on my oh so (not) interesting life! Oh----but the green is not boring!!!!

Did I mention that moving is a LOT of damn work?! Oh yeah, you all know that. And it will be a miracle if I graduate--but yes vinny, miracles DO happen-- so there.

By the way, tomorrow's our anniversary. :)

seeking words...

I think I'm trying to write about Mexico--about the colors, the smells, the sounds. But I was only there one day, last spring. Mexico holds magic over me. Spanish syllables weave a spell over my brain and body.

Trying to write about it, well, that just makes me incredibly sleepy. I wish I could capture, in words, the thoughts that sift through my head. But they are like water. Transluscent and evading capture. They become black muddles on paper... if even that.

Meanwhile, my little black Mexican cat, Viscosa, meows and nibbles at my toes wanting onto my lap to be pet and whispered to. Yes, she is my little Mexico. She makes me sleepy too.

ok... that last post wasn't very nice. i'm sorry.

daily soap operas...

sometimes i'm amazed by the number of psychotic people i know. is there anywhere to hide?

today's work:

just a start... an underpainting. i've considered being secretive until the "unvieling"... but i can't help myself. this one i'll title: "Visiting Georgia."

Home Sweet Home

fuck it. who needs a house?

my sister FINALLY sent photos from our Canada trip. a punk rock couple pulled up in this humble abode. i envisioned one belonging to v. and me.

cuz scampis make good dream homes.

on the 267th day of 2005 the sun rose at 7:08am. it was hidden behind rain clouds, but i was sleeping anyway.

It's another tired day where I sit beneath grey clouds. The triple shot mocha that I sip on is making me sleepy rather then caffeinated. I'm sitting in the gallery, which has become my favorite place on earth, listening to public radio, and otherwise dreaming.

V. and I are now the proud tenants of a little house with a fenced in yard and nice neighbors. It still sits empty, and will until our house closes in October. Until then, the transition can be made slowly. I am relieved to know where we'll be living next. And maybe this sleepiness has a little to do with the sense of relaxation that washed over me as I walked out of the front door of our new home with a new key added to my key-ring.

Having an obsession with color, this morning, I found myself browsing through paint-chips at the local paint shop. I could sit here all week looking at these little squares of color. Really--I'm obsessed.

This morning I woke up crying from a dream I had about my old dog, Abe. I can't remember the dream. But I remember missing him, because I feel it now. Like I feel it everyday. The only thing our new place is missing, really, is him.

oh, the fertility of nature...

I never had allergies, but I'm afraid I have them now. It kinda feels like someone grabbed my ankles, swung me around, then bonked my head on the ground--repeatedly.

Anyway...
I feel the need to make a list of things to do this weekend.

• Read thesis proposals/artist statements in hopes of coming up with one of my own.
• Plan class for next week.
• Work @ the gallery.
• Finish another painting.
• Look at graduate schools... try to find some direction for my future (hahaha). Take notes on what I find.
• Repot dying plant.
• Clean house.
• Mow lawn.
  
• Write a piece for class.

Uh, thank you. I feel better now. But I don't think I'll clean. blah.

never blog when you're tired.

a thought that crossed my mind while driving...

you know... i'm just glad that i'm finally doing what i've always wanted to do: teach writing.

I want...

...a comfortable chair, peace and quiet, my laptop, and lots of time--
cuz my back hurts and my list of things to do is much too long.

Today I went in search of words...

...but what I found instead was painterly inspiration. I'm not surprised. Secretly I think that is what I was looking for. I've got a good start on the December show and, to by honest, I don't want to stop. But I've been searching for words for a long time. And I guess, maybe, I'm beginning to fear I have nothing to say... at least not with words.

Yesterday I asked V. to come to the studio to critque my latest painting. It is an abstract landscape. I wasn't sure if it was finished until I explained to him what it was about. Explaining it, I burst into tears...and that's when I knew it was complete, that I had expressed what needed expressing.

This series of paintings that I'm working on--they are about color, but also about emotion. They are about the communication of emotion through color. During the process of conceptualizing this project I began to notice how deeply the landscape is connected to my sense of being. I am perpetually amazed by the way nature combines color, the way those colors are effected by light, and in turn the way it effects me. The night that Abe died I remember, vividly, the colors of that night. The dark sky, the grass, the dew. I remember just as vividly the colors a day, a week, a month later. My world, these past months, has been filled with both death and loss. But, at odd moments, it also becomes filled with hope.

When I began I thought that, for the first time, my work might become truly dark. I was willing to let it if it needed to be. But the light keeps sneaking in. Deep yellows, rich blues, vibrant greens. I also thought I would paint pure abstractions... but my inspiration for using colors keeps coming from the same source over and over-- the landscape, the sky. And every time I notice it, everyday, it takes my breath away. I clear another corner of my brain to make room to remember it, attempting to hold onto it just long enough for it to reach the canvas-- those colors, holding emotion--emotion that I cannot seem to write about, but that I still search for ways to express.

This open space...

...It is like breathe...
...found in combinations of color...

...everywhere.

And although I am still searching for words--
the bare canvas awaits...