Welcome, Sweet Dog

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

Welcome, sweet dog.
We've waited patiently for you
and now that you're here
our house feels just right.

We've all needed your
unconditional love, butt wiggles
and playful boxing capabilities.
We just didn't know how much until now.

Our grief over losing Molly
is safely tucked away,
but not forgotten.
An ache we will revisit from time to time.

But you're here!
With energy!
With sweetness!
With us!

Today is going to be awesome.

for better or worse

[Us circa 1998]

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

for better or worse

that’s what we said 

oh so many years ago

when we didn’t know about 

the trappings of marriage

we now move through it all

sharing the roles we were made for

dividing duties

like seasoned pros

making lunches

reading bedtime stories

school pick-up

paying the bills

your stellar knowledge

of math & science

make me glad you’re the 

partner I picked to parent with

it doesn’t sound romantic

but, really, it is

how much we come together

to make this life work

our schedules synced

our mornings hum

our evening dinners

our days recapped

it’s not how i imagined it to be

when we said “i do”

but i think it’s so much

better, not worse

the fog

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment

 of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.  

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

the fog,
thick and pixelated,
blankets the world
just outside my window.

dewy, wet branches
breathe a heavy sigh
as the sun fights to emerge
through the slate-colored sky.

the sun surrenders.
grey wins.
the dampness is absorbed
by the ground, the air, the day

melancholy fills the ether,
sadness takes up residence,
reminding us to sink
into ourselves and feel

the fringe of darkness
just beneath the surface
of our body, our mind

with tendrils of love
and acceptance
gently traveling down
to the soles of our feet

we remind the darkness -
we are rooted,
we are strong,
we are loved; and
soon we are going to

shine.

haiku :: country alarm clock

{This series was inspired by my son's sixth grade english assignment 

of writing for six minutes, without edits or overthinking it.

I'll be posting daily quick writes for the month of March.}

haiku :: country alarm clock

turkey gobbles serve
as my morning alarm clock.
no-snooze button found.

Mamalode Issue 19 :: It's Complicated + GIVEAWAY

Earlier this summer, an email showed up in my in box that both delighted and terrified me.  It was from the publisher of Mamalode magazine, Elke Govertsen, asking if I would consider collaborating with Annie Flavin and illustrating eight of her poems that would be featured as the centerfold in the next issue.  EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS!  CENTERFOLD!  IN PRINT!  The theme would be It's Complicated.  Further explaining that while the theme could be interpreted as complicated, it didn't need to be.  

[To buy an ad-free copy, click here.  As a bonus, you also get an online version FREE.]

Well, I think I replied with some little joke about the J. Geils Band's 80's hit single Angel is a Centerfold and them immediately said yes.  HELL YES!  I quickly decided that I would use Micron pens and watercolors and, in keeping with the theme, keep my line drawings clean and simple.  I jumped up and down and shared the news with my husband and son.  And then it really sank in and I freaked out a little bit from time to time, but I think that's normal, right?  Right.

Mamalode gave me total creative license, but shared their preference for handwritten works.  Annie requested that her poems be read in a certain thematic order and that really helped me with my creative process while interpreting her words and sentiments.

I came up with a lot of the concepts while I was in Homer, Alaska in early August, which just so happened to be the publisher's hometown.  I was so fueled my the natural beauty that surrounded me, as well as an amazing ferry ride over to Halibut Cove, that I almost had too many ideas to sort through.  I frequented their library to look at reference books on native plants and Alaskan Native art books.  I took dozens of photos of their ubiquitous fireweed and tried to absorb all of the soul-piercing beauty and culture that surrounded me.

Fun fact ::  The Homer Library denied me a library card the week that I was there, so I had to do most of my looking and note-taking at the library.  Not a bad thing, but I really wanted a library card from Alaska.  And, yes, I'm a complete library dork.

I started working on watercolor paper at first, but then changed to smooth legal paper in the end because the watercolor paper was too textured and it was hard to drag my lines across the paper.  These weren't going to be originals for sale, so I opted for plain old copy paper and my Micron pens responded with clean, crisp lines for most of the illustrations.  I also played around with a Copic drawing pen [size F02] for the hand-lettering.  This pen was great during the assignment, but has proven schizophrenic when I tried to use it after the fact.  It barely completes a letter without breaking the line.  I'm so glad it held up during this assignment.

Motherhood, as well as the relationship between men & women, were always in the forefront of my mind while interpreting Annie's words.  Gender roles & stereotypes, assumptions based on those stereotypes & the perceived simplicity of youth were my guides.  The physicality of pregnancy and physiology of sex played a part in these line drawings, as well.  

Wanting to keep a simple color palette, I chose hot pink gouache to represent girls-women-females  and a vintage Prang turquoise blue watercolor to represent boys-men-males.  I did throw in yellow and chartreuse green to marry the two typical boy-girl colors throughout the series.  The pink and blue are symbolic and really pulled me into the stark, black lines and the stories being told through Annie's free verses.

Umbilical cords (inspired by Alaskan seaweed) were the backdrop for "Before I Was Me, I Was You"

A curvy, endless road that we're all on as parents inspired by "Each Time" 

Orgasms.  Big & Small.  Period.

Wonky flowers.  Each different.  Like our children.  Inspired by "Our Gifts"

Womb with layers of love stacked up like spoons + the baby at its core.  Inspired by "Spoons"

Double fencing and/or walls around the words in "The Way Home" serving as security; keeping home & those relationships safe inside.

Fish scales inspired by a line in this poem; also representing the number of choices we all have.

Radiant beams of light, positivity, hope.  Little rays of sunshine inspired by "When I Die"

I absolutely loved working with the Mamalode team and Annie on this project.  I'm so proud of what I was allowed to do and feel complete respect for creatives all over the world that put their art out into the world for all to enjoy.  It's not easy, but what an absolute gift.  One that keeps on giving in terms of inspiration, motivation and confidence over here.

Speaking of gifts, I'd like to offer a little giveaway.  Please leave a comment on my Instagram feed or in the comment section below sharing how you plan on making this coming holiday season a little less complicated.  I'd love to steal a few of your good ideas!  I'll pick one lucky winner to receive a print of your choosing from this collection (printed on 80# card stock).

UPDATE:  WINNERS SELECTED.  

I couldn't just pick one, so Amy Larson, Tricia Kushman Anderson & Rudri Bhatt Patel all win.  Thank you for sharing how you plan on keeping the holidays a little less complicated.  Email me your mailing address and the print you would like and I'll pop in the mail next week.  Thank you!

Mamalode will also be giving away one of my prints to a lucky reader next week.  Have you started following Mamalode on Facebook or Instagram?  Are you signed up to receive their newsletters?  Have you ordered their ad-free copy of this next issue?  Well, what are you waiting for?  Sign up and you'll have another chance to win a print.

You can also submit your genius to the editors at Mamalode by following this link.  Go ahead, do it.  The theme for next month's online issue is also It's Complicated and they're are accepting submissions right NOW.  Do you have a story to tell?  I think we all do.  What's yours?  Poetry, photographs, essays & cute quotes from you kids all accepted.

Annie Flavin is also offering a giveaway of one of our prints from this series.  Follow her on Facebook or Twitter for your chance to win.

This was my first illustration assignment and I couldn't be more proud or pleased with the results.  Thank you for taking the time to read this long-winded, promotional post and following along in this fun journey I'm on.

I can't wait to see where it takes me next.

Buddhist Mother by Annie Flavin

Watercolors + computer generated words

My love of watercolor is evolving and growing.  Lately, I'm paying closer attention to the color spectrum of the natural world around me.  The blooming fennel on the roadside is the most brilliant shade of yellow.  A walk on the beach can provide inspiration with all of the blue color variations from the sky to the bay to the ocean.  Children suited up in bathing suits, plastic sand toys & umbrellas dot the beige sandy coastline with pops of primary colors.  All of this color is seeping into my bones and I notice I'm dressing with more pattern and intentional hues.  Shoes, purses and jewelry echo my recent love affair with hot pink and geometric shapes.  I'm thoroughly enjoying this new perspective of what's always been around me.  I'm paying attention.

I just signed up to take a six-week workshop with the oh-so talented watercolorist, Jean Warren, at the Sebastopol Center for the Arts.  I met Jean when I owned the wine bar and my husband helped the Warrens find their dream home overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Bodega Bay.

Grady was lucky enough to study with her off and on over the past few years.  Jean helped guide him with the paintings he did for his last art show with Scott Vancleemput last year called Bananas! and she encouraged him to submit some of his earlier works to the West Marin Review.  One of his watercolor paintings was accepted and I wrote about it here.

Jean is a generous artist, as well as a soft-spoken and kind soul.  I'm looking forward to being her student and learning technique from such an accomplished painter.

Scans of my work just can't show you the color variations and textures like seeing and holding the real thing.  I love the rich, thick feel of watercolor paper.  I have a go-to palette of colors that I know work well together and I'm using neon pink in almost everything I'm painting right now.

This poem is one of Annie's most recent.  Check out her website for more of her wise words and her fresh, smart perspective on life, love and parenting.

I'm collaborating with Annie on a new project that will be revealed in the coming months and I'm working hard this month to create a series of illustrations to accompany her poetry.

Stay tuned.

When I Die by Annie Flavin

"Worlds Collide" Watercolors + salt treatment

Several years ago I attended the funeral of a friend who died way too young.  She was a mom of a little boy and only 42 years old.  Tragic, heartbreaking, sad.  All of it.

I couldn't find a sitter for Grady, who was almost three at the time, so he went with me.  I sat in the back of the church for a full Catholic mass.  I had no idea how long that service would stretch and I sweated profusely and tried to respectfully listen AND keep my three year old in check and occupied.

"Large Dahlia" Micron pen 1.0 + colored pencils

I have a feeling my friend would have understood his sudden outbursts, his untimely laughter, his screeches and his need to climb up and over the pews.  I like to think she would have laughed her infectious laugh and encouraged more of this toddler behavior from Grady.  She totally understood little boys, especially her own.

I wish I had read Annie's poem before I went to that service because then I could have seen my friend in Grady.  Instead, I just shushed him and left feeling like I was only was half-present during the mass and, to be honest, a little (okay, a lot) frazzled.

Annie's poem is a beautiful reminder to appreciate this precious life right here, right now.  I especially love the last stanza.

Let them fill the void that I have left.
Let the children be children and 
let their light shine
through any sadness.
Let them be.
Tell them my name, maybe a story, too.
Remember me.  See me.
In
the
children.

I want to burn this on my brain and remember it when I hear children screaming at a school event, at a funeral or the grocery store.  When I'm uncomfortable at something my child has said, but is his truth.  I want to recall these words to help me have more compassion and see the beauty in the little ones I encounter at the park, the beach or in a quiet movie theatre.

I want to let them be.

I want to remember my friend this way.

In the children.

Spoons by Annie Flavin

Earlier this year, I took a line drawing class that was taught by one of my favorite artists.  It quickly became clear to me that her work ethic and design aesthetic would seep deep into my bones.  My lifelong fascination and appreciation for circles have found a prominent place in my doodling.  Full circles, oblong circles, semi-circles in all shapes and sizes.

Annie Flavin's poem Spoons needed some illustration work.  Annie held a Facebook contest a few weeks ago and she offered a few original illustrated poems as her prizes.  While Grady attended a local day camp this week, I set out to create a few new designs to go with her words.

Black Micron Pen 1.0 + colored pencils

Since I can't really draw actual spoons, I decided to work on interpreting Annie's poem in a more abstract way.

The illustration (above) would have two rows of semi-circles resting back to back, as humans would when spooning.  The pops of color and the not-so-perfect semi-circles would represent all of us.  No two matching or perfectly formed.  Imperfectly perfect.

Black Micron Pen 1.0 + Red Micron Pen 0.5

This design is my favorite (above).  The empty space in between is where I think god/God or energy/Energy is.  It's empty on purpose, but also could be construed as rigid or divisive space; wide open or set free.

The semi-circles on the right and the left stand to represent all of us, as referenced in the poem.  The two red semi-circles (on the right and left) could be the person(s) in the night searching for their god or God, trying to find their church.  The one on the right most likely feels like the one on the left, even though they are separated by the emptiness in the middle and, therefore, they are not alone.

This grouping of semi-circles could also be construed as a congregation.

We are all the same, no matter who or what god or God we believe in.

Micron Pen 1.0 + colored pencils

This last illustration (above) is a series of three wonky hearts (as Annie has three little ones), split in two.  They could easily be fused back together with the assistance of deep love, strength, or gratitude, as mentioned in the stanzas of Annie's poem.  Once again, the semi-circles and sporadic color choices reference all people or the masses and the blank space stands to symbolize an unknown, invisible god or God.

I'm really enjoying reading Annie's thoughtful words and interpreting them through my drawings.  All of these musings are mine and not meant to taint or change the poem in any way.  I'm just sharing how I'm receiving her words and how they flow through me and out onto paper.

I actually quite enjoyed the purposeful negative space in these drawings and they felt hopeful and spiritual to me.  Annie's concept that church can be anywhere struck a chord with me, too.

I'd love to hear what you think.

As Long As She's Mine by Annie Flavin

Black Micron pen 1.0 + hot pink screen printing ink + water

Over the past few months, I've been collaborating with a very talented woman named Annie Flavin.  She writes about motherhood, real life, marriage, love and kindness (and so many other wonderful themes) and has such a fresh and enlightened perspective.

My role in our collaboration has been to illustrate her powerful, truthful words.

Watered down hot pink screen printing ink

I'm learning a lot about my process and myself along the way.  Like, I'm most inspired in the morning.  First thing.  I want to create almost immediately upon waking.  I quickly brush my teeth and put the coffee on, scan my phone and check in on my Instagram account.  I'm ready.

I pour out the contents of my trusty pencil pouch and grab my go-to black Micron pen and the ideas and concepts start to flow.  I grab a small glass of water, paper towel and jar full of paint brushes.  The need to get my ideas out and onto paper feels urgent and I'm fueled now by the coffee and the images swirling around in my head.

Black Micron pen 1.0 + hot pink colored pencil

For this particular poem I felt like I had to use hot pink.  Now, I'm not usually a pink person.  Nothing in my house is pink - nothing.  In fact, I grew up in a house that had an entire living room covered in pink cottage roses.  The couch, loveseat, oversized chair and ottoman.  The curtains, valances, porcelain candy dishes and fine china, too.  

Pink used to repel me, but a few years ago my mother-in-law sent me this Marimekko purse and I softened to the color.  Hot pink started to feel strong and bold to me.  I recently changed purses and pulled that gifted Marimekko bag out from the back of the closet.  That same day I thrifted these beautifully patterned outdoor pillows.  Hot pink was infiltrating my little world and I was starting to like it and noticing it in my day-to-day life.  I quickly went out and bought a hot pink colored pencil and a tube of hot pink screen printing ink and was eager to get started.

This particular use of hot pink symbolizes the She or "the soul" in this poem.

The imperfect circles and lines serve to symbolize all of us and our imperfections at birth, during our teenage years, in adulthood.

The small inner circles in all three illustrations symbolize the unknown She.

The larger circles symbolize the mother's womb.

The first illustration at the very top of this post is my favorite.  The semi-circle is most definitely a womb and the inner circles symbolize the layers of love stacking up on top of this little soul.  The small dot of pink at the innermost part of the circle symbolizes the baby, the soul, the she.

Today I'll package these up and ship them off to Annie to do with them as she pleases.  These illustrations kind of feel like my little children.  It's comforting to know that as I send them off and on their way they are going to a good home.

Poem :: Autopilot

autopilot

i rub your back
open the shades on your bedroom window
morning, little man

i start the coffee
and crack open eggs 
for your breakfast

you shuffle to the bathroom
book in hand
hair - big and puffy

i pack your (predictable) lunch
pretzels, PB&J and apple slices
adding a note for your later amusement

your father rises
ruffles your helmet hair
banters back and forth

All of a sudden it’s time to go
and you two leave the house
and trek the seven country miles to school

fueled by coffee
it’s time to pay bills
and sign permission slips

work on our social calendar
tidy up paperwork
and send out handwritten notes

i shower
dress 
and head to the office

work, grocery shopping
thrifting, library
home

i hear the brakes on your school bus like clockwork at 3:34 pm
you saunter up our dirt and gravel road
hi, mom.  can i have a snack?

some days i make it for you
but lately you make it yourself and plop down to read 
tuning out the world and diving into your own

chores get done
homework comes out of your backpack
dinner gets started

your day 
is the centerpiece of 
our mealtime conversation

what did you learn today?
what are you reading?
what do you want to do this summer?

showers are preferred over baths lately
lightning fast teeth-brushing sessions
kisses and hugs goodnight

can i read? is the nightly question
sure, but lights out at 9 pm
thanks, mom

i tidy up the kitchen
put order to my desk
kiss my husband goodnight

5th grade has been such a good year
independence
coupled with new and improved self-confidence

this is us right now
in a rhythm 
and it feels like we are all on

autopilot 

Where I'm From :: Poem

Where I’m From

by Tammi Salas

I am from the sound of an early morning alarm clock waking my father for work

I am from sugar cinnamon toast for breakfast and chocolate milk mustaches

I am from the astringent odor of Aqua-net hairspray keeping my tight pony tail firmly in place

I am from striped terrycloth shorts and matching tank tops

I am from a wood paneled living room, giant canopied bed and kidney-shaped pool

I am from the most well vacuumed house in the neighborhood

I am from tuna casserole and warm Spam sandwiches with tangy yellow mustard for dinner

I am from 1970’s Southern California suburbia

I am from a hardworking, blue collar man who, at age 12, was made an orphan

I am from a skinny, teenage girl who ran away from home to start anew

I am from secrets and whispers from behind closed doors at night

I am from a surprise to both of them

I am from hopscotch-covered asphalt cul-de-sacs and my mom’s piercing whistle calling us home for dinner

I am from Blue Bird troupes, drill teams and cheerleading squads  

I am from a short line of siblings that make me the eldest

I am from good grades and trips to the Little Red Schoolhouse for back-to-school supplies

I am from unstructured playtime, candy necklaces and record players

I am from bedroom walls that secured my most prized possessions - my albums, my typewriter, my Laura Ingalls-Wilder books and my writing desk with a secret compartment

I am from art-lined closets that housed my drawings, relegated there because they “don’t go” with anything else in the house

I am from Friday nights eating homemade popcorn and watching The Love Boat

I am from Saturday morning big breakfast rituals and manic “girls only” housecleaning chores 

I am from Sunday night baths and the sound of a stopwatch ticking indicating 60 Minutes was about to start

I am from a family that created itself from nothing

I am from a family that played house for over two decades

I am from a family that imploded just as I was navigating adulthood

I am from all of this and it serves me

I am from all of this and it haunts me

I am from nostalgia

I am from young love

I am from George & Donna Beth.

Exhale by Annie Flavin :: Take Two

I decided to re-do the artwork for Exhale.  I wasn't comfortable with my last design because it looked too much like a carving that artist, Jen Hewett, shared on her blog a few weeks ago.  I wanted to make my own, original artwork for Annie's beautiful words.

I used grey card stock and white acrylic screen printer's ink.

I typed this up on an IBM Wheelwriter 5 typewriter.

I centered the poem and tweaked the spacing a little bit.

I used a large Speedball Speedy Cut carving block.

I carved the large oblong circle to represent the place from which he grew.

I carved the smaller, inset circle to represent him.

Scanning artwork really doesn't show the beautiful impression the ink and the typewriter make on this card stock.  Take my word for it, the real hold-in-you-hand-version is better.

To view more of Annie's work, please visit her website or "Like" her page on Facebook.

Exhale by Annie Flavin

Annie's poems have been feeding my need to make art lately and given me the (ahem) excuse to do so.  I've been playing around with block carving, my typewriters, rummaging through my stash of papers and experimenting with new tools.

Last Friday night, while my guys were knee-deep into a marathon game of Monopoly, I carved the three circles on a large Speedball soft carving block.  It was time-consuming and meditative.  The above design was inspired by the lovely artist, Jen Hewett.  I used bright yellow fabric paint (normally used for screen printing) because I just loved how it quietly popped from behind her words once pressed on the white card stock.  

The circles aren't perfect and that's exactly what I like about it.  I'm really embracing the imperfectly perfect concept lately and finding joy in playing at my kitchen table with my supplies spread out, surrounding and surprising me with what they can do.  This Virgo is letting go of perfection a little bit at a time and holy hell! - it feels good.

The large circle represents Annie and her boy and the place from which he grew.  The second and third smaller circles represent his growing up and finding his own love.  The smaller circle could be Annie tucking her knees tightly into his spot or it could be just him on his own looking for true love.  I'll let the reader interpret as they wish.

Annie has a new website for her beautiful words here.

My Gifts by Annie Flavin

My new friend and poet, Annie Flavin, read these words aloud during the writing workshop I attended last month.  This poem was also recently published here on the parenting magazine website  mamalode.

She completely nails motherhood for me with this poem.

In her words.  

In her demeanor.

She walks the walk.

Using the IBM Wheelwriter 5 typewriter from my office, I typed up the text and made about 20 originals.  After that, I set out to create some original artwork to embellish the empty space in the right hand margin.  I tossed out the idea of using her children's fingerprints, but she wanted something else.  We decided on a few designs that I'll just call a circular flower garden.  They are sweet and simple and don't detract from her words.

Circular Flower Garden Samples

Carving stamps is one of my favorite mediums.  Spurred on by my carving this weekend, I went ahead and signed up for a block printing class at the Makeshift Society later this month.  Our teacher will be the oh-so talented artist, Jen Hewett.  I can't wait to learn her tricks of the trade.

I'm shipping the originals of My Gifts off in the mail today to Annie, along with originals of god's voice.  It delights me to know she will spread them around her world to friends and family.

It feels like I'm sending a little part of me, too.

god's voice by annie flavin

I finally finished the artwork for Annie's poem.  There is purposely no title for this poem, but we have been referring to it as god's voice.

I used Reeves' lemon yellow watercolour on vintage Grumbacher Society Watercolor Sketchbook paper that I thrifted a while back.  It's thick and sturdy and absorbed the paint beautifully.

I ran into a few hiccups along the way with the typewriter I was using, but was able to improvise and play around with old catalog pages from Toast UK to test out my margins.  Their paper and images are dreamy.

I'm not sure which one I like more.

You decide.

Process.

Page from my journal [stamped letters + hand-carved stamp]

I woke up early this morning, eager to get out of bed and start work on a new project that will combine my love of letters and art.  This little project has been percolating all week long with this lady.

I feel like I'm floating this morning, barely awake and forcing myself to make coffee and get caffeinated for the hours of creating that lay ahead of me.  I quickly grab my trusty container of sharpies, hand-carved stamps and ink pads.  I turn on my typewriter and surround myself with rich card stock, original watercolors I've painted earlier in the week and beautiful, loose pages from a magazine I've been saving (just so that I could type on them!).

I futz around with the settings on the old IBM resting on my kitchen table and familiarize myself with the storage and margin settings.  I almost can't start because I have so many questions and concepts funneling through my brain.

UPPERCASE? or lowercase?

Capitalize? or all lower case?

Hard left margin? 

or centered?

Bold?  Underlined?  Italicized?

[Brackets]? or (parenthesis)?

Typesetting (and letterpress printing for that matter) are an art form all on their own.  After checking out and perusing dozens of poetry books this week, I realize that the words and the art most definitely go hand-in-hand and I have an important job of getting it right.

Kitchen table turned temporary art studio

I finish a few mock-ups and ask my guys for their opinion.  I shouldn't have done that.  Now?  I'm second-guessing myself.  Back to the drawing board, paint some new pieces, send a few samples to the poet for her feedback.  

And now I wait.

It's funny because I know what I like, but I'm not sure I'm ready to hear the opinions of others.  Good, bad or indifferent - I'm not sure how that is going to land over here with me.  On one hand, it's exciting to collaborate.  On the other, I kind of like the safety of just making things that I like.  

Digital + Analog

One thing I've figured out for sure is that process is just as important as the end result for me.  I have to like the making I'm doing.  For example, my husband thought the typewriter font was too small for the poem I was typing and suggested I just use my computer and play with the fonts.

Hold. Up. Mister.

Whoa.

Um, no.  No. No. No.

Letters + Concept

You see, I wanted to hand-type all of the poems.  I wanted to carve the stamps or paint the artwork myself.  That part makes me really satisfied, really content.  Somehow that feels more authentic to me than cranking out mock-ups of different fonts from my laptop.  It's not only the fonts, but I would have trouble pushing my art through the printer and getting the line spacing and margins just right.  That part would drive me absolutely and totally insane.  If I'm being honest, I have to tell you that I have a love-hate relationship with my printer.  This dysfunctional relationship has been going on for years.

Even though my husband politely pointed out that I was, in fact, "storing" the words in the typewriter memory and wasn't that the same thing?  I kind of hate when he makes a good point.

Well, I just don't see it that way and feel it's different than using a computer.  We agreed to disagree and I kind of stomped off.  Yes, I stomp for effect sometimes.

I'm settled now.  

I've painted some new watercolors and now I'm about to carve a few new designs on my brand new slab of Speedball Speedy Cut.  Carving stamps is meditative and soothing.  I really like the process of creating stamps and then embellishing paper with them.

It's 2:31 p.m.

This has taken me most of the day.  I've loved the process of making and creating.  Even my castoffs are beautiful and unique.  I love the marriage between the printed word and the bursts of colorful designs planted right on top of them.

Works in progress

My need for approval is quietly hovering above my work, but my work satisfies me and fills me up.  It's a new feeling.

It feels good.

It feels like just enough to keep me going.

Full Circle :: Write Doe Bay

Write Doe Bay :: micron pens on kraft paper

Circles are omnipresent in my life.  I seek them out, create them and wear their symbol around my neck or wrist as often as I can.  They are beautiful, unique and calming.  There have no hard edges and feel complete to me.  Looking around my home I notice circular windows and mirrors line my living room walls, fabrics with little round oblong discs cover my desk chair, area rugs with giant dot motifs selectively cover my douglas fir floors and my drawings of anemone-like shapes are temporarily pasted on the walls above my desk.  Lately, drawing circles feels like quiet meditation and I can't seem to stop.

I've been reading a book by Leonard Koren about the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi.  He states that wabi-sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.   It is a beauty of things modest and humble.  It is a beauty of things unconventional.  Once I started thinking about it, I figured out that circles (like the kind I've been drawing) and people are not all that different.  There is so much beauty in the perfectly imperfect.

This weekend I met a lot of circles at Write Doe Bay and slowly over the course of days, we gathered up with all of our differences, expectations, fears and stories and slowly came together like this drawing.  Some had quiet voices, some hardy and loud.  Others were funny, gregarious and self-deprecating.  Some were really good dancers (you know who you are).  The circles I gravitated towards were respectful, honest and made me feel safe enough to share the unedited version of my true story for the very first time.

All were brave.

This workshop dug up one of my earliest childhood memories of writing.  It was in Mrs. Burke's 5th grade classroom back in 1980.  I can still see little 10 year old me making small careful tiny loops across the page, wanting my cursive writing to be neat and readable.  The little Virgo in me wanted it just so, as well as getting the Super! note from the teacher it would receive.  I set about to carefully illustrate the words that sprang from my young mind and settled on a pale blue surround using a half broken crayon plucked from the stash in my desk.  There was bare white space in the middle of the page shaped like an ice-skating rink where my words would rest.  I'd like to share it with you here:

ICE SKATING

I'm learning to skate on the ice,

It really is quite nice

I can skate very well,

Though it is hard to dwell

I glide on the ice like a seal,

Though it is not very real

It's only a dream,

A great big dream

I'm learning to skate on the ice

This weekend felt like my first ice skating lesson.   I ended up performing circuitous figure eights with 37 other human beings on a pristine, far-flung piece of land in the San Juan Islands off of the coast of Washington at Doe Bay Resort.  It was exhilarating, hilarious, emotional and a bit like summer camp all rolled into one.

Going into the weekend, I didn't really know what to expect.  It started off a bit bumpy, but leveled off once we started to get to know one another and hear the storytellers in the room.  My heart cracked open at the truth spilling from people's mouths, listening to lyrics written by introspective and talented songwriters and succinct, heartfelt words spoken clearly and softly from poets.

What I went to Doe Bay to do was learn how to write a little better and/or learn about people's discipline and their writing process, but what I actually learned was how to have a little more empathy for humanity.  Everyone has a story.  The next time someone cuts me off on the highway or says something rude to me, I'm going to pause and try and remember that they, too, have a story.  The difference?  I just haven't heard it yet.

Thirty-three years later and I'm attempting to write a little poetry as my new daily practice.  That's what inspired me most this weekend.  And here is my offering today:

FULL CIRCLE

a raw bundle of emotions 
lay dormant in the pit of me
quite often left alone 
buried deep and dark

jumbled like a ball of yarn
messy and tangled
eager for order

the trigger to release them is fickle
country music 
an unexpected kiss good night
a locked gaze with a new friend
too many cocktails
the truth

they dart through my body looking for an exit
and climb out of my mouth 
and leak from my eye sockets
and reach for a warm body to hold

once busted out of their prison cell
they are wild and frenetic
unpredictable in their path

out in the open they swirl through the air
and land on people and objects around me
quietly, silently absorbed 

my heart open
softly pounding
head down
shoulders shuddering

received
...or not 
finally free

the ones too scared to be outside of me

quickly float back 

softer, lighter

to be collected 

savored

cherished

accepted

i tuck them away carefully 

back into the dark pit

with sweet acknowledgement 

in knowing they have traveled

full circle.