Category: Art Journey

One of our very early dogs was a black and white English Springer puppy whose AKC name was Wee Maude of McClellan. She joined the family when I was about 3 years old.

Being a bright sort, Maude quickly figured out that suitcases and packing boxes meant moving, which happened really often in those days.

By the time the moving van would arrive, poor Maudie was a nervous wreck.

I, being highly verbal by that stage, and a fairly observant sort, realized that the boxes and suitcases made Mom anxious, too. (Dad, as I recall, was often already off to the new land, and missed all the fun!)

One of Mom’s coping strategies seemed to involve lots of tape and magic markers. All our worldly goods, sealed up tight and labeled in huge letters, complete with information like Kids’ Room or Kitchen.

I, too, have become something of an expert at the moving bit, complete with tape and markers. And they really do make things easier.

Eventually, though, when I was a second year Seminary Student, I realized that the boxes stored in my head might work differently than the ones in the physical world.

It happened, as I’ve probably mentioned, after a student trip to Hungary in 1989.

I learned a lot beyond a very kinesthetic lesson on freezing feet!

The only metaphor I knew for what had changed in me on that journey to a very different world was the notion of boxes. In my brain.

They all fell apart.

After a while, I began to feel like I had the boxes mostly sorted and re-packed with some new labels.

Life went on. Marriage. Moves. Churches. A kid venturing from elementary school onward toward college.

Polity. Politics. Several doses of not from around here.

And I kept patching up the boxes.

More recently, though, that strategy has worked less well for me. Slowly, I realized that I was tossing some of the boxes, altogether. Re-labeling a bunch of them. And adding some entirely new ones.

Kind of like editing my mental library. Becoming a grandmother was a huge catalyst!

The pace picked up even more in the last few years, as I began to paint.

Neurologically, it no doubt had to do with processing history and events and ideas with more of my awareness. Rather like upgrading a hard drive!

Even more recently, the editing has become more and more about making choices, in the face of the world around us.

Some of the remnants from those old, old boxes weren’t working anymore.

Like the ones about who’s in and who’s out. About who gets to decide who gets to decide.

About love and healthcare and the relationship between faith and law.

There’s more… as you no doubt imagine.

Liminal spaces are like that!

For this moment… I get to sort and pitch and label the boxes in my head. To choose new things to add.

And so do you!

It’s likely that the world will keep moving and more boxes will be useful. And I have lots of ideas about how to put this metaphor to work.

And more cool tools to stash in my Medicine Basket!

For this moment, though, my new Legend painting is calling my name, complete with her chosen intention, which I can feel clear to my toes.

And that, dear friends, feels really good! (So does having my fingers in heavy body paint!!!)

ps… if you relate to the between-ness of life in this world and could use some help in the between spaces, let’s talk! I’m making room for three new individual clients. Curious??? CLICK HERE to find a time! (45 minutes as my gift. You bring dreams, questions, and a bit of red thread if it’s handy!)

pps… that new Legend painting has already gone to meddlin’ and you can help!!! From now through Thursday, September 22 – the Autumnal Equinox – I’ll send 20% of ALL FierceArtWithHeart profits to make Georgia even blue-er! Get some inspiring art… from original canvases to mugs and hats for warming the season… and make a big difference at the same time! Great way to shop for the holidays, too! (Stacey, Raphael, Hank, Lucy, Nikema, Marcus, Jen, and Bee will be thrilled!)

I’m guessing you remember, as I do, the old days when people (like me) edited things with red ink and those quaint old conventions known as proof-readers’ marks.

One that’s probably still familiar is this one – # – which we now refer to as hashtag. It used to mean space.

And a personal favorite of mine – the ^ – which used to mean insert [whatever] here.

I was less fond of the actual red ink, implying that something was wrong, rather than an inspiration for making it even better. (A concept my son’s first grade teacher never grasped, no matter how hard I tried!)

In fact, I actively avoided red for quite a while.

Then, I wandered into the land of Intentional Creativity® and a whole new relationship to the color red was born.

Today, I am hearth tending in The Red Thread Cafe, on work-in-progress Wednesday. I love hearth tending!

Sisters from all across the globe posting their own work. To get acquainted. To be witnessed. Sometimes to ask questions.

(Once, when I was very new at all this, I actually got brave enough to ask for advice on washing paintbrushes and was met with a gracious fountain of wisdom!)

I like hearth tending even better when I bring along my red thread. The actual/virtual/legendary connection between willing people across place and time and lives.

Often, red thread comes with questions… an inquiry, if you will. The one I shared this day was about what we’re noticing and wondering as we work on our works-in-progress… and they on us.

I started my own day with dots. Dots of prayer and intention. (Surprise!)

And, between virtual excursions to the Cafe, I watched, with much of the world, as countless people gathered to pay their respects to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on her last journey in this world.

The first thing I noticed was overflowing tradition! All the talking heads attempting to explain the locations and uniforms and characters and ways we’ve always done it in the touching drama as it continues to unfold.

Then I realized that I was noticing as an outsider, surely, but also as an insider on many levels.

Outsider in that I’m not, as we say in the South, from around there.

Insider in that a great many of my genetic ancestors were, indeed, from around there. Names I know and names I don’t. (Names you would know, too!) And, better than the names, the stories!

Insider in that my first granddaughter was born in Scotland. (I was there!)

Insider in that I, too, have lost loved ones and planned funerals, trying to respect their wishes in a complicated, changing world.

Insider in that I, too, am a clergy person, counted upon to carry the traditions and the hope of faith in the midst of loss.

And, if you’ve known me more than about 10 minutes, you already know that I cried as I watched. And made finger knots in my ball of red thread as I began to see – through the CNN lenses and my OWN filters – new connections.

First, let’s recognize, together, that my filters are my own and I’ve been practicing editing them for a while. You, if you’ve been watching, no doubt saw different things and made different meanings. That’s the way it’s supposed to work!

Here’s just a smidge of what I saw…

I worried, during the processional through the streets of London, about the new King Charles and his knees. I saw orthopedic pain in his gait, along with emotional pain in his face. And I made some dots for him. And for all those who mourn.

I saw almost no face masks in the vast crowds and I made dots for the health of all the people. And the world.

And, when the choirs sang in Westminster Hall (which is emphatically not where the dog show happens) I saw a brown-skinned man with a head turban in the adult choir and Black and Asian boys among the children’s choir. And I made dots of hope for the world.

And, underneath the images, the news ticker ran on and told of Ukrainians taking back a large area of their country from invading Russians. And I made dots of peace for all people.

There was more… much more. The particular details don’t matter as much as the noticing and wondering, for that involves seeing more than we expected to see and being open to newness.

For this moment, a reminder of something you may have heard me say before…

Nothing that’s ever been written, in the whole history of the world, has been written without vested interest… and my words are no exception.

I will, however, own my vested interest…

I have two granddaughters growing up in this world!

I write these words which were, in some sense, given to me and which, in other senses, I’ve spent my life learning, in the hope that we might all notice and wonder. That we might see new things and be curious rather than terrified or hostile. That we might edit our filters with the red thread of our common humanity.

May Elizabeth II rest in peace. May the world grow in hope and love and peace, even as it changes, for it must. May you and yours be safe and well. And may abounding grace go with us all.

ps… the quilt at the top insisted on appearing today. It’s my Liberated Wild Geese quilt, named for the place where a traditional American block, known as Flying Geese, meets the Celtic tradition of Wild Geese as symbols of the Holy Spirit, pieced in the liberated style of the great Gwen Marston… which somehow makes huge sense for the Holy Spirit!

pps… I’ll be back soon with some more ideas about the whole filter thing. For now, let’s just say that if I had only one tool, it would be this one!

ppps… huge thanks to Shiloh Sophia McCloud and Jonathan McCloud for their courageous conversation, The Heart of Man, which is so deeply related to this conversation.