aren't we all shapeshifters

A subtle houndstooth pattern behind, and delicate feathers underfoot, this fox is a meditation on, yet again, seeing things from both sides.  This was the first piece that I began for the Lone Pine Show, and I started it in early summer, in a time that was a bit of a kaleidoscope for me personally.  The fox had been in my sketches for a while, and when I finally started to dig deep into it's mythology, it just proved to be another little lesson.   Foxes symbolically carry a strong sense of intuition, of maneuvering in tricky situations, or being a bit of a trickster themselves.  They are adept at walking in between shadows, in order to observe what is really going on.   Trying to figure out the foxes relationship to it's environment (as well as the fact that there is a pile of feathers underfoot, now how did that happen?) was a great metaphor for taking a look at the featherbed I'd made for myself, and the mischief I sometimes distract myself with.  I mean, have you seen Wes Anderson's version of The Fantastic Mr. Fox?  Talk about distracting yourself with trouble...

It could also be said that on some levels, this is simply a portrait of Kelty.

She's pretty foxy.

the backdoor studio

I sit on the steps of my backdoor. It is the patio, the courtyard, the secret garden, the secret studio.  I don't have a monkey on my shoulder like Frida, but I do have a Kelty dog sitting at my back.  We lean against each other as I pause from the work, taking a moment to stare at the chiggers crawling around the stone steps, hoping they don't crawl in my jeans.  The painting I am working on (well, mixed media now; I am covered in pastel dust) is one that I originally did for the bike show at the wine shop back in December, but the bikes are gone now, the painting is flipped upside down.  Now just a sea and sky swirling together, melting into each other, bubbling foam becoming clouds.  This piece is completely Un-Serious.  The forms are foggy, the colors thin and slightly muddy in spots.  I don't intend on showing it. I intend on hanging it in my bedroom, where only I and my furry assistant can see it.  It's more for the movement, the act of drawing tiny accent lines with pastel, the process of trying to get creative energy moving around.  Sketchbook process on a bigger level, perhaps.  And it gives me something to do besides dig in the dirt.   The courtyard is lovely.  Stones and leaves and light- blues sky and random artifacts of former tenants.  It's  just kinda peaceful, and that is all it needs to be.  I see it becoming a habit.

Recipe for a Summer Evening

One part Bike (borrowed) 

Two part Friends on Bikes

One part Kelty

One glorious River.  

Followed shortly after by:

Two parts Sangria

One serving beans/rice/chorizo with fresh cilantro and avocado

One very skinny hiker freshly home from twenty-one days on the John Muir Trail

One record player with splash of  Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Willy Nelson, etc...

Three chairs on a balcony.

When the stars come out, so do the stories. 

Oh- And I'm kinda obsessed with this today: the Avett Bros-

Paint the Hills

I am windswept and sun bleached.  

Eastern oregon is an amazing, inspiring place.  Which is the main reason for the adventure of the last three days.  Cyr, Jo, Kelty and I left on sunday morning to drive to the Painted Hills, part of the John Day Fossil Refuge about two and a half hours east of Bend.  Our friends Lori and Shane joined us for the first leg.  We had no destination besides the hills, with  Cyr's camera in tow, as well as costumes and a vintage black film sign with moveable letters.  

Cyr took 345 photos.  

Much of the trip was pulling over at old farmhouses, or walking up the fossil bed self guided path so Jo could play her violin in front of green clay cliffs.  We found an orchard, the John Day River, a baby bird in an old pioneer cemetery, several old bridges, a shoe tree, a coyote dead on a fence,  a rickety foot bridge with cowboys driving trucks through the river nearby, two perfectly suited camp sites, a hundred year old country store, a chocolate blackberry milkshake,  and most of all- silliness, laughter, and poetry.

I'll show photos eventually.

Kelty is an Artist, Too.

Kelty sports her new summer do, while I clean the studio.

I have been doing a lot of spring cleaning in the last few days. The studio doesn't look like it, however, because I started creating again.
The Airstream, however, is getting a face lift- we have started it's renovation, and so I have been organizing and shuffling and recycling and goodwilling. It's a process. During said shuffling, I came across a memory card. Popped it in the camera and look at what I found! Pictures from Kelty's early days as a budding artist.

Back when she was less then a year old, Owl and I lived in a makeshift apartment- the remodeled attic of a house in the Boro that was built in the thirties. It was quirky, but I loved the sloping eaves and keyhole window in our bedroom. My studio was in one of the spare rooms, and I thought I had puppy proofed it quite well. Kelty is a determined dog, however, and one sunny morning I awoke to her jumping on my head. This was her usual way of starting the day, so I ignored her at first. The jumping grew more persistent, and she used her cute little yowling, sing song voice- saying "get up! I have something exciting to show you!" As I opened my eyes, I saw yellow. Everywhere. On my fluffy white comforter, on the floor. Kelt grinned at me, a sheepish version of Big Bird, her face neon yellow, and her front legs covered up to her knees in (Oh. My. Goodness) Oil Paint.. After I called the vet to make sure the oil paint wouldn't kill her (thank goodness it wasn't a tube of flake white) Owl and I tried our best to clean her up. She was yellow for weeks.

Kelt and Kat's Art Discussion

A stitch in Time

Sundays usually consist of either a hike or some kind of outdoor endeavor. Yesterday, after a nine am yoga class, Al and I decided to mellow out a bit. I had called my dear Heather friend in Tennessee the day before for her advice on begining to knit a cap, and really wanted to get going on it. Now, improvisation really works well in things like jazz, and in Al's case cooking (while I was knitting he was improvising a delicious curry). Improvisation doesn't work so well when knitting. I realized that my project was more leprechaun sized than husband sized. Oops.

The only local midgit at my disposal was Kelty.

She looks very happy, No? Well at least she won't get pinched today. Happy St. Patrick's Day!