Friday, December 31, 2010

Year's End       

Thanks to all who have enjoyed this blog and for your kind comments and support.
I leave you with a few fond remembrances and things
 for which  I'm grateful for in the year 2010.

The new one,

Driftless area of Wisconsin

 exploring and finding
unexpected gifts



Willow Springs Gallery
Mineral Point WI.

Nov.1992 - Dec.2010

1991? - Oct.2010

The windows of Marc Chagall

Best Wishes for the New Year!

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

The Peace of Wild Things


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Stary babka  old woman -pen drawing

As the holidays approach and the days get more and more hurried  I find myself staying closer to home,  content with my thoughts.

Imagery has always been a source of  fulfillment for me, and lately I've been drawn to the Grandmotherly image . 
This is the time of year I sometimes dream of befriending an old woman in a hut in the woods...

She sees me coming and greets me at the door with a smile and calls me "dear girl" while she pulls me into her kitchen. There she would fix me a hot tasty meal and tell me wonderful stories about the old days.

She would have a cat or two that she would talk to as if it understood and pet goats for milking. I would sit in her kitchen and watch her cook with out measuring. We are delighted to be in each others company. I receive from her unconditional  love and I am hoping she is receiving the same from me.

She is patient and kind and laughs at herself. Her clothes don't match and we eat graham crackers while the pot boils. I hide her spoon and laugh when she slaps her head for misplacing it. 

Sometimes she talks to me in her native tongue and I act as if I understand  so that she will continue and I can listen. She is magical in the way she transforms me. 
When I am with her, my troubles fall away and she and I are all that is.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

 Sleeping Misha
 Bernie preparing to nap.
Snoring Mimi

A few drawings with pen.We all seem to be in hibernation mode these days.

Monday, December 13, 2010

A wonderful description of getting lost in the reverie of nature. 
 "In the darkness round me flitted thousands of fire-flies and out beyond this pool of utter night flew by unceasingly the white foam of the rapids; sound there was none save their thunder.  The majesty and beauty of the scene fascinated me, and I stood leaning with my back against a rock pinnacle watching it.  Do not imagine it gave rise... to those complicated, poetical reflections natural beauty seems to bring out in other peoples minds.  ...I just lose all sense of human individuality, all memory of human life, with its grief and worry and doubt, and become part of the atmosphere.  If I have a heaven, that will be mine.... " Mary Kingsley Explorer 1862-1900.' Travels in West Africa'

        My interpretation,

Ink pen and Water Color

Wednesday, December 08, 2010


I brought in a sprig of Winterberry today,
so bright and crimson it was

against a black velvet pillow.

so beautiful is its shadow.

A small window of time, after the first snow, before they are taken for food I  bring in winterberry from my shrub behind the house. A male and female plant, they are interdependent on each other to bear fruit. 

Tiny beads of crimson joy.

Beauty is not caused. It is.      Emily Dickinson

Friday, December 03, 2010

Wonderment and creating stories. 

While driving in the country a few months ago I saw some images that reminded me of a poem I once read about an abandoned house.

 Homes that are abandoned,  particularly farm houses, are aching to tell their stories.

 I no longer have the poem to quote from directly but here are some sketches and words that came to me.

The curtains blowing out of a window propped open.
The stillness and quiet that surrounds, made more poignant by the sound of blowing leaves and wind.

Who lived here? Why did they leave and where did they go?
Free to imagine I look for clues, one thing leading to another until at last I have the story, my story and convince myself that I know these people.