a proper goodbye

ekh, assembled from text fragments 12/28/2010

Winter 2010

Hello winter.

Hello hot toddies and board games on Friday nights.

And wood stove fires.

Hello creative crafty wonderland at the kitchen table in the spirit of holiday giving.

Hello winter gray, Portland green and red and blue.

Hello holiday travel #3, aerial view.

Hello mom, love you.

 

accidental poetry (#5)

By the Way

 

They color and show

to live in

warmest pleasure

chiefly

with the eye

(assembled from gathered text fallen, collected, reassembled November/December 2010)
 

Delivered by pony

I'm about to get a new phone.  It's one of those fancy i-Phone droids that most of Americans already have (if they don't already have the real deal i-Phone of course), with bells and whistles, and music-file-storing-and-playing capabilities, and INTERNET ACCESS.  It was a "free" upgrade.  So American!  But its the last bit that blows my mind: internet in the palm of your [my] hand.  And frankly kind of frightens me a bit.

I have had my current phone [model] for something like four or five years.  In fact, I spilled coffee on it back in 2008 and had to replace it, with the same model, and when the buttons started getting wiry from too much usage last summer, I went on eBay and ordered the same old fogie phone to replace it.  When it comes to electronics, and well, most things in general, I try to stay behind the times.  There is something un-"American" in me that despises and disdains the materialism, the "new and improved" aspect of things, actually just waste and frivolity that America touts...wears like a badge.  This is especially apparent around this time of year.

Sometimes when I get out into the woods and go backpacking, or travel to another country, I delight in my forced inability to use my phone.  There is no need to make an excuse for being out of reach.  It just marvelously is.

(See look how happy I am!)

Now, with the internets right there in my paw, will I become like so many around me, always scrolling, punching, thumb-writing out brief and misspelled emails just to be the first one to respond...not taking the time to craft a "letter" (even if digital) or re-read and re-read, and re-read again, to develop just the right tone and phrasing in my word choice?
 There are a few remaining antiquated spinsters like I, who appreciate the beauty of the written word and the elation that comes with getting something delivered in the "snail mail" (that isn't junk or bills or taxes or pay stubs)...

One is my friend Elyse:

'angles' by elyse

She is my original Mail-Art companion.  We've been sharing art for almost as long as I've had that fogie phone...four years.  When we lived blocks away from each other in Manhattan, we'd still put a stamp on, drop it in the big blue box, and wait to hear of its arrival down the street.  We've pushed a couch by hand further than those art posties have gone by mail...

'arm, arm ( the couch story)', 2007 by me

I also enjoy being art pen-pals with my six-year-old cousin, Kate.  She has no idea about the i-Phone or email or any of that stuff that clogs our brains and depersonalizes everything personal.  Her work is innocent, spontaneous, and sweet.  (...and I gotta get that while I can!)

 

diptych by kate

art trade for kate, 2010 (by me)

And finally is my un-"American" soul mate, also "discontent with the sedentary life of the modern world and prefer to throw our hearts into the wind" , to use his words, who recounted how he once told his mother, when asked what "I will be when I grow up", that he would like to work for the pony express.
Daniel:

deer and two hearts by daniel

'I'll give you my heart(s), if you give me yours',  2010

_____________________________________________________________________________________

No, thumb-punched emails on my hand-held digital universe cannot, will not, replace the joy of receiving hand-made art or handwritten letters in my literal physical mailbox.  He sums it up quite nicely:

"And so alas, I remain a modern man in the modern world scribing careful post cards only fit for some one else who also understands the romance of receiving mail delivered by pony."

inspired

The denouement to my Thanksgiving this year was a little dose of inspiration from young Joey Lawrence: at just eighteen his magnificent photos and heartwarming travels to Ethiopia where he befriends and photos the people of warring native tribes tore at my soul and generated sorrow-sweet saudade.  I remembered a younger version of myself who at one time just would "get up and do", was hell-bent and determined to combine art and anthropological [i.e. "people"] experience in sub-Saharan Africa, to make it a way of life:

constructing, mozambique 2006

blowing bubbles, mozambique 2006

dedication of houses, mozambique 2006

It's true that time has the ability  to fly by and before you know it, you realize you are somewhere else completely...for better or for worse.  I still can't help but wonder what happened to that woman?  When I see the ambition and creativity and spirit and soulfulness of individuals like Joey, still hell-bent on the going-out-and-doing I want to resurrect that criatura, that woman who is within me, and have her drive this vehicle again.  It is still in my essence to get out, get going and do something big.  For a moment I remembered this.

See the trailer below for a glimpse into sweet young Joey L's return journey to visit the tribes a year later as seen through the film "Faces of a Vanishing World", my thanksgiving reminder.  It will reassure you that marvelous, simple spiritual good does exist in this world.

'Work' of Art III

'birds'

'Work' of Art II

Welcome the latest addition to my new favorite series of minis: 'Work' of Art, featuring miniature paintings born in the workplace....

"every day"

Movin' On Up

I am excited to announce my first "formal" show in the arty district of Portland...a quaint group show at Everett Station.

'The Screened Show', a group exhibition of printed works by Vanessa Calvert, Erinn Hatter, Jamey Herman, and Michael Rutledge at the Nisus Gallery in NW Portland, OR for the month of December.

 

For the event I dug out some hibernating prints that I've been meaning to play with, ruminate over, converse with and create a family of paintings from, for far too long...they got filed away and needed love, needed to be shared, seen. Thankfully an opportunity, a timely reminder, fell into my lap.  Getting these little guys ready for display, all primped and coiffed and ready for the party, has inspired me to ge my hands busy with carving, screening, dragging inks and rolling brayers!  Yes, procrastinating Erinn, its time to bring out the press and get busy...

study for aerial series I & II

  ...but first...The Opening Reception at Nisus is December 2nd (first Thursday) from 6-9 PM.  I invite you to come, chat, drink some wine and peruse the gallery circuit of Everett Station with me and celebrate the next step in the journey, won't you?

'Work' of Art I

Part of having a day job involves the struggle of finding balance between the monotony of punching the time card for two thirds of a week's waking hours with the fulfillment of practicing creativity.  I go through waves of learned helplessness where I am completely drained by this external obligation, leaving my spirit with no juice left to pick up the brush or pencil by the time 'work' is through.   There's no time or energy left to do the work of the creative life dream.

Unless or until (!) we have fiscal sponsors to save us from 'work' that is not the work we aspire to do or the work of creating, this tug-of-war will go on.  Right now I'm riding the wave of inspiration/creative motivation, however.  It's high tide.  I'm practicing creativity in my gnome-hole interior office...the first of a series of trading card sized 'minis'....'Work' of Art (I)

"blowout" from 'Work' of Art series

the power of dreams and the jar of gods

My mind has been working over-time lately.  I don't know if I can attribute it to life events, the waxing and waning of my creative flow, or simply the changing of the seasons.  Winter's onset always hits me hard.  I've learned the challenging shift from summer to fall, from lightness to dark with the added impending introduction of winter, and all the things that come with this shift, are aided by simple rituals.  Whenever I am feeling resistant, stuck, blocked or fearful about what my life is, what it is becoming, who is around me and how they are, and how I will integrate the whole of my "self" into society for the long haul, I consult a sacred vessel.  And I write down dreams.

the jar of gods

 The jar of gods retains my fears and overwhelms so I don't have to tote them around all day and night.  My dreams share insights, 'knowledge I know but I don't know I know' until I put down words on pages.  Words on pages help me process it all...to witness my growth and transformation when I am certain there is none.  Even better, the reward of these two practices is new room for inspiration, creative flow.  When I purge the obsessiveness, control and doubt, and recognize that changes are occurring I am able then to fill the creative well....stock the pond with living fish.  So, to honor these little winter tricks, I chose to render my sacred vessel with a series for my painting class....

triptych-left

triptych-center

triptych-right

...And it was bought by a classmate on the spot....what a testament to the power of dreams and the jar of gods!

South Paw, or, the Workings of the Universe (part 1)

There's that saying we've all heard from another in conversation about how, when something isn't going the way you expected or when you are faced with a struggle, it is best to remember the idea that 'the Universe presents you with exactly what you need'.
Even if it doesn't seem as so.
That's a hard pill for some to swallow, especially in moments where you want to yell "WTF?" (though it doesn't hurt to do that too...)
...like when you are hurling yourself in the direction of your creative life dream, grinning wide, coattails flying behind you in your creative dreamy arty breeze, and you receive some staggering unexpected and weight-y news that flips the whole scenario over like a sidewinder ripping through your living room, leaving chaos on the floor and a giant mess to sort through and reorder.  And just as you begin to identify "oh, this goes here, that was there" in the make-up of your entire creative and thriving self, you break your hand.

at least I achieved a sweet arty cast...

And at that moment you really begin to question what the Universe is going for here. Really?

But I'm learning it's all about faith. (Man, I never thought I'd be using that word!) A frame of mind.  A zen practice.  A connectivity to something greater. Cosmic.

It seems like all my work in trust and openness to the will of the Universe these days/weeks/months is not for nothing. There has been an internal shift that I cannot deny- like tectonic plates underneath our own feet.  Where once my avalanching snowball of negativity rolling down the hill would bury "trust" under the heavy pile of defeatedness, now I can step out of the way and trust that the Universe will intervene and that even if it doesn't seem like everything could possibly be alright, it will be.

Perhaps it took such a brute force and final straw that broke the camel's back (i.e. my hand...but it WAS the right and I'm a southpaw...) to recognize this legitimate growth, this shifting of plates within.  This is not to say that the road immediately ahead won't be bumpy and frustrating and at times heavy, hard.  But if I can trust the Universe, I can begin to trust myself...my worth.  And then later, others.

Stunning.

Color in Portland

 

 

* inspired by, and to rival, the lovely Amy Komar's Color in Fairbanks   ;)

9:53 am, Sunday

Sunday is my favorite day, and I'll tell you why.  It inherently has a sense of calm, rest, ease, and stillness-a natural 'pause'.  It allows us all to take in the moment we exist in now, and sit with it for a millisecond longer...to sip tea with a book, don sweaters and go on wandering walks, partake in something a little less ordinary or rushed, and not too far planned or ambitious.  It encourages us to converse with others, eat substantially and to fill bellies and souls with nourishment. On Sundays we remember time that has passed-both recent and archeological, more grandiose- and anticipate time that is approaching.  Sunny Sundays feel like possibility, rainy ones are comforting and familiar, and evoke saudades.  Sunday has no agenda or expectation.  Sunday just is.

one of my original minis, now in the hands of a lovely patron

 Today I will enjoy this blustery fall Sunday with a bit of easiness and flexibility- a lightness and calm reflective of this day of pause.  And I hope you will too.

Arty Party

Announcing my latest show in the coffee shop circuit, Cup & Saucer, Kenton!  As is customary of all  neighborhoods to celebrate their neighborhood-y glitz & glory with an art walk on a random night that becomes 'no-longer-random-but-special-and-unique-in-its-randomness-of-selection-and-tradition' (an attribute that really gets to the heart of things...makes Portland what it is) Kenton, i.e. downtown North Portland, shines on with "Third Thursday" in the style of the more common "First Fridays" known the nation-over.  Yes, most of the other Thursdays in the month are taken by the Pearl District, and the Alberta Arts District, and Monday just doesn't have that certain je ne sais quoi.  Third Thursday it is.

So, there will be a lovely reception on the Thursday coming (October 21) from 5-8 pm where I will be holding down the fort in the company of wine and cheese and waiting for onlookers, patrons, and obligated loved ones to partake with me and celebrate how well the rust-orange walls and sea-foam booth seats go with the palette of my work:

 

....right??  

I hope to see you there~  8237 N Denver Ave, Portland, OR 97217.

Back to the Drawing Board

It's no secret,
I'm hoping to lose my nine-to-five.
It doesn't fuel my creative fire
It rather leaves but burned out embers.

But in the meantime,
I am trying hard to problem solve
A tunnel through to the other side.

There are a myriad of limited solutions (ha!)
 Each day its back to the drawing board

I try some other constructive means to get to three p.m.

But today
I decided to stick with a plan to sketch my way in and out of days:

ryan

shaniqua

10.10.10

"X" (10)

The shushing of the rain, the low hum of housemates' voices wakens me.  The lingering low din of the train's horn in the distance too.  Everything is submerged in a gray-cloud shroud.  Today is a stay-in-bed day, or a paint-my-heart-out day, once I get the Sunday motivation. 
Sunday motivation is different from other days.  It is gentler, more forgiving, flexible, willing to negotiate, compromise.   My handwriting today looks different than usual.  It suggests a touch of madness, creative frenzy.  It begs to keep filling the page frantically, poetically- or at least more poetically than usual.   The air is heavy, hot...almost saturated-wet, thick.  Last night over dark-and-stormies old songs from formative years summoned saudade.  Missing-moments.  That is, moments of missing.
These are signs of feeling fall: the shroud, the wet, the moments of missing.  Best go paint it out.

Last Thursday

I just discovered my favorite new gallery on Alberta street:

Together Gallery..

photo courtesy of together gallery

...a quaint unassuming little rockin' space, it was unbeknown-st to me for far too long.  They have some great local artists' digs in the store, like prints by two I like- Yellena James, Jay Howell- and others.  Zines, handmade books and cards, jewelry and other "merch" by local artists. Bravo Together Gallery~


Here's my Last Thursday experience (as part of the early evening crowd):

my wares

caravan?

provisions

vegan goodies