In honor of a dear friend who developed an urgent need to roast a chicken, and begged for the recipe, here’s the link! https://sueboardman.wpengine.com/simple-pleasures/?
Context and Puzzle Pieces!
It’s been a week of big bruises and recliner chairs and a fair number of pain pills since my fall.
The good news is that I wasn’t hurt badly and am healing well.
The other good news is that I’ve had some extra time for pondering. This is especially helpful as there is a lot to ponder in my universe these days. Much of it has seemed like deja’ vu.
Back when I was doing full time pastoral counseling, retreats, staff development and other interesting things along those lines, I often felt like my job was to take a jigsaw puzzle with no edge pieces and no picture on the box and try to help folks fit them together in a way that felt true.
Turns out that those are handy skills for making my way through the lands of Intentional Creativity and the neighboring territory of Red Thread Circle Guides.
Time out for a footnote…
The Legend of the Red Thread is an ancient tale common to many indigenous cultures across the world. From Asia to ancient Greece (Think Ariadne’s thread and the labyrinth…) to native peoples from South America to Alaska and beyond, there are references to the red thread as that which holds us together in community and helps us support, and be supported by, those whom we were destined to know.
There are even biblical and sacred art references to the red thread.
There are lots of those stories running through my head these days.
Also lots of pondering about the Body of Work that so many of us are building in our lives, whether we’re aware of it or not which, according to Maestra Shiloh Sophia, has something to do with my CODEX paintings, though I haven’t quite gotten that far yet.
One of my favorite things about the Red Thread legend is that we each have our part to hold but we’re not responsible for everyone else’s part. I find that very comforting!
This week, The Legend of the Red Thread and the notion of a Body of Work smashed into each other in my head when I was chatting with my granddaughters on the phone.
My piece of the Red Thread is, to the best of my ability, to live as fierce compassion in the world. From my girls and our three Newfie rescue dogs and those I teach to the food I grow and the fact that I vote.
I imagine the Red Thread as this enormous spider’s web that connects us each to another, to another, to another. (I learned this at summer camp when I was about 12, with actual red thread. Back then, we were talking about the environment.)
And I can feel that call to fierce compassion woven all through my life and work ever since, though I didn’t really know it consciously until this week.
I still don’t have a complete picture of what the puzzle looks like but I know a lot more than I did. And I’m not, in this moment, entirely sure that there are supposed to be edge pieces!
I’d love to know what kind of wonderings these rather rambling thoughts are bringing up for you.
For now, though, a phone call with a woman trying to help heal the impact of child sexual abuse in our world. Which sounds a lot like fierce compassion to me.
Then, the canine fine dining experience and some more green hair for my current opinionated painting!
One of the things I believe…
First, Confession: I’ve spent a fair amount of time, since my fall on Tuesday, binge watching Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix and floating around in pain pill heaven, while smearing my knees and left hip with the magic Hawaiian essential oil stuff for muscles and joints.
We’d been invited, in a generous act of hospitality, to the Passover Seder with our neighbors. Sadly, I wasn’t quite mobile enough to go, though we did send chairs and wine.
Saturday night involved re-heating Mod pizza and more Grey’s Anatomy. The pizza was excellent, complete with olive oil, asiago cheese, sweet sausage, arugula, and the figgy drizzle. (Trust me!)
Grey’s Anatomy was a bit harder. The 13th episode from season 3 involves 2 young women who had left their Amish community, one of whom was dying of cancer and the other, being shunned because she had already been baptized before she left.
I’d seen this episode before. More than once. In a reminder, though, of the extent to which art is contextual, last night was harder.
I mean no disrespect to that tradition, about which there are surely many things I do not understand, but last night I was watching with Easter eyes. And I believe one of the things Easter means is that nobody gets shunned.
More confession. It’s not easy. There have been times in my life when I have felt shunned. And times when I have shunned others. Not because of their beliefs, so much, but because of their actions. Use your imagination. I’ll bet you have some, too.
And there’s a rather (in)famous one, these days, who’s quite gifted at shunning. I’m still working on that. Again, use your imagination.
But shunning people doesn’t create change. It just creates more shunning.
And less peace.
Which is not an Easter sort of thing. Nor, in my opinion, a spiritual sort of thing.
So, having pondered Maundy Thursday with a moment for an organic, local Georgia sourdough cracker and a glass of wine, and more or less missed Good Friday and the Passover Seder, I woke this morning in time to see the sun rise and keep working on the parts of me that have, in the past, understood shunning.
Watching the sky behind our pine trees turn pink, I committed myself to shout Hosanna and celebrate this day of days, while doing my best to welcome instead of shun. (Or at least recognize that this was the lesson of the one who is risen again.)
The artwork I chose for today helps. It is one of my photos of an ancient stained glass window from the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella in Florence, Italy. Not necessarily Easter-ish per se, but an image of love that moves and encourages me profoundly.
May love surround you and yours, whatever your traditions.
Blessings, Sue and the furry studio angels (who have a great deal to teach about love themselves!)
(The hymn quoted above is Christ is Risen! Shout Hosanna! Contemporary lyrics by Brian Wren and music from Hymn to Joy, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. Grey’s Anatomy was developed and is produced by Shonda Rhimes.)
Some words from a wise friend and a demo painting…
Yesterday I led a workshop called Holy Polka Dots for some students at Columbia Theological Seminary. Our topic was an introduction to the practice known in Intentional Creativity land as praying in dots.
We began with this poem, from the book, Tea with the Midnight Muse from the very gifted artist and poet, Shiloh Sophia McCloud.
Just Dare
Dare to re-invent yourself
when you don’t know what that looks like yet.
Dare to dream bigger than
you feel comfortable dreaming.
Dare to love unreasonably,
even if you have been hurt.
Dare to practice radical self-love
even when you aren’t sure how.
Dare to practice big compassionate love
for others, even those you don’t know.
Dare to say yes to your own self
when family or friends don’t understand anymore.
Dare to not let fear get in your way,
and when it does, dare to keep moving.
Dare to be the most you that you can be
while accepting yourself right as you are.
Dare to discover what beautiful means,
to you and only you.
Dare to call yourself an artist, a poet,
a dreamer, a thinker, a revolutionary.
Dare to take passionate action
so that your fire will be lit within you.
Dare to take risks that make you feel hopeful
when you don’t know how it will all work.
Dare be a colorful being, and dance alone.
Dare to live. Dare to love. Dare to laugh.
Dare to not get it right. Dare to get back up.
Dare to live in amazing grace.
The group was so touched by the reading, and I with them, that I just had to share it with you, today.
I, literally, dared to get back up yesterday after a fall on the steps, re-loading the car after the workshop. I’m sore and bruised but, as far as I can tell, basically intact. (Nothing making creepy noises!)
The getting up was hard. And I’m grateful for two friends helping. The biggest thing I noticed, though, was that I had to figure out how to do it. And believe that I could, even though none of it made much sense. That felt like amazing grace. (Even though it hurt!) And something to share with our beloveds.
Here’s one more thing to share. shilohsophia.com
What will you dare???
Storm Warnings
The local weather folks are having one of those days they live for. Tornadoes, it seems, are likely. Any time now.
The big dogs have been out and are safely back in, jockeying for prime real estate on the bathroom floors after an uncomfortably warm night in which our air conditioner decided to take a break.
The first rumbles of thunder are muttering in the background. The wind is picking up.
I have hot water in a stainless thermos, lest we run out of tea.
It is another storm, though, that occupies my mind for yesterday I took my Black Madonna painting to the amazing digital arts studio for her turn to be scanned so that giclee images on paper can be made.
She was painted in a storm, that one. While my dear friend was in the hospital, hurricane Irma raged on and I couldn’t get to Florida. And so, I made dots.
Prayed, literally, in dots.
I do mine with the handle end of the brush. You’ve heard the routine before. Dip. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dip. Repeat. Lots.
And with each dot a prayer. A word. An intention. In this case, names. Friend. Daughter. Mom. Irma (for all the folks in the path of the storm.)
Friend. Daughter. Mom. Irma. Hours at a time.
And now, as we wait and watch, I am preparing to set my first ever painting, the Black Madonna, free into the world where, maybe – just maybe – she will help others through their storms.
It was actually a pretty big trip to see my friends at digital arts studio yesterday, for we were picking up as well as dropping off! I have, right on my desk, the first few museum quality prints of my work!
With lots of help from Barry and Bill, the paperwork is close to done and my online gallery should be open this coming week. (Watch for more information!)
In the meantime, I’m contemplating entering my first juried show. The timeline is pretty tight and there’s some potential overlap with dropping off and picking up and Luther’s upcoming eye surgery. There’s part of me that just wants to paint, which sounds like a Muse thing but may actually be whispering from the inner Critic. I’m sorting.
Yesterday, though, we did a bit of celebrating progress and stopped at Ponce City Market for lunch. I’ll bet you can guess what I ate. (The Muse was very happy!)
For now, more tea, and a painting who wants green hair! A few dots for my kids who are skiing out West and quite a few more dots of thanks.
We made it through the storms with a bit of water in the basement and no trees on the roof. May it be so for all.
Grammy’s Manicure
My nails, in this moment, are ragged and ridged and spattered in paint. Mostly purple, just now.
Along with some fabulous help from the kid next door, who is one of my painting buddies, we spent the day doing intentionally imperfect, texture-y backgrounds for a workshop called Holy Polka Dots which is coming up on Tuesday at Columbia Theological Seminary. The theology and physiology of a practice known as praying in dots. (No painting experience required!!!)
Depending on the weather the next few days, my hands will also be stained with organic garden dirt, for I have seeds to plant.
Today I was invited to a Passover Seder at my neighbors’. A rather large gathering of 30-40 people.
My first reaction was, What can I bring?
My second was, Do I need a manicure?
The answer to the first question is still in conversation. Wine seems to be the answer. I’m also going to volunteer for chicken broth, assuming matzo ball soup, but I’ve never been to a Seder before so I’m not sure where that will lead!
As for the manicure, no.
I am an artist.
And a gardener.
A pretty talented home chef of the local, sustainably raised, food persuasion. (Which creates a truckload of dishes!)
And “mom” to three rescue Newfoundlands who eat raw food which means I spend a fair amount of time up to my elbows in beef hearts and other grungy things.
I haven’t had a manicure since my kids got married. Both times.
It’s not that I’m against manicures. Especially the massage part. It’s just that I mess them up way too fast to make it a wise investment of time or money.
And, I’m pretty sure G-d doesn’t care what my nails look like. (Though they may well be covered in India Ink and spatters of gold paint!)
What I’m excited about is joining together with our different (and not so different) traditions.
My granddaughters are Jewish.
I can do part of the prayers in Hebrew, which would be a huge surprise to my Hebrew grammar professor. I was prouder of that C- than all the A’s through all the degrees, and there have been lots of them!
On Thursday, the 18th, I will break the bread and dip it in the wine and remember Jesus, gathered in the upper room with his closest followers and friends.
On Friday, the 19th, I will gather with the Legendary Husband and my neighbors, including my paint buddy, and a whole host of people I don’t know and eat the bitter herbs and listen to the stories and do my best to make the world a more united place.
The people of G-d have been on a journey for a very long time. There are candles to light and questions to ask and chicken soup to make (I think!). And when we do it together, I’m convinced G-d will celebrate.
Even if I did almost flunk Hebrew!
And, then, on Saturday, I will paint some more. Because art and chicken soup are ways to help change the world.
P.S. Thanks to the good folks at the Ace Hardware on Scott Blvd. for their generous discount on the paint! Eleven more canvases to go! Be sure to check back here for photos of our finished paintings!
Big Dogs Snoring and Tony Bourdain!
If I knew anything at all about digital music or how such a miracle comes to be, I think I could create the world’s greatest meditation recording.
It’s playing now, in the live version, as I write.
Yes, you guessed it! A trio of big dogs snoring gently in a unique chorus of peace.
(If you had a digital version, you might not still be freaked out from the big event of the evening in which the bass member of the trio urped his dinner all over the blessed rubber mat on the floor in the place formerly known as the breakfast room and the resulting yuck involved in solving that problem!)
Please keep reading… it will get better, soon!
After all was clean again, I repaired to the magical chair, always willing to adjust to whatever my knees and back desire in the moment, and, deciding on a brief vacation after a major meeting with my new friend Barry at digital arts printing, summoned Netflix where I encountered Parts Unknown and the late Anthony Bourdain, mid-episode, in the Republic of Georgia.
I was intrigued.
Let me admit, before I go on, that my grasp of contemporary world geography is nowhere near adequate and I missed all of the 1980’s as a single mom earning four college degrees. Then, I spent the 1990’s enmeshed in church politics so it’s safe to say that I am in need of a bit more learning on many of these matters.
Tony, as was so often true, was glad to oblige.
Beyond quite the soliloquy on homemade hootch and something to do with chicken baked in a pumpkin, much of the conversation had to do with Georgia’s precarious geographical position, essentially between Europe and the former Soviet Union. Here’s the sentence that hooked me.
We wake up every morning and find out where we live.
This I understood, for I heard the same stories when I was in Hungary, just before the former eastern bloc fell. I was, naively, I suppose, mind boggled by the notion of waking up to find out who had taken control of your country overnight.
Now, if you’ll pretend for a moment that it’s time for a commercial break, I will take you with me to the land of Shiloh Sophia and Intentional Creativity where we are painting about consciousness. We’re pretty much always painting about consciousness but it’s been particularly intense for me, having two CODEX paintings in process at once.
Basically, that means we’re painting about thinking about thinking. And, in the moment, we are allowing any of the things that may have been non-conscious historically, to become conscious if that is safe and helpful at this time.
We’re not really talking about consciousness in the sense of above or below but, if you want to paint it you have to have some way to represent the whole thing visually. The picture above, which you’ve seen other bits of before, is essentially an image of those things that are safe and helpful (though sometimes a bit unsettling) “rising” into awareness.
Now, let us return from our commercial break to Tony and the Republic of Georgia.
First, the big flash for me. (It’s ok if you’re ahead of me here. We all learn when we’re ready.)
You don’t have to live in the former Soviet bloc, or in a tiny country between Europe and Russia and parts of the Middle East to wonder who will be in charge when you wake up in the morning.
It’s just as true in the United States of America.
The thing that really blew my mind was the hopefulness of my new TV friends in the Republic of Georgia.
We’re hopeful, I heard most of them say. What else can we be if we want a better future?
And, somehow, because of the place where inviting new consciousness meets embodied memories of eating and drinking and dancing with old friends in Hungary, I suspect I will be more hopeful, as well.
And busy making prayer dots. Wearing, I might add, my Fiercely Compassionate Grandmother tee-shirt! My girls are growing up in this country!
For now, warming a bowl of really good soup and wondering where Tony is headed next.
PS… Just in case you’re curious, where Tony went next was Senegal, where a native leader said: This world is going to be a better place when more cultures are actually given a chance to be put at the table. And, after a few bites of lamb, Tony responded, Democracy, as it happens, requires regular maintenance, diligence, and a willingness to stand up. RIP, Tony.