Category: Art Journey

Nope. We’re not branching out from Newfoundlands to chickens!

Last night the Queen Muse, also known as the Mermatee, and the two Muses-In-Progress staged a coup d’e´· tat, which is to say that they took over.

I’m fine with that in principle, but 5:00 am is pushing the overthrow thing by several hours!

When I went to bed I was a lot closer to contented with this image which will eventually be the Muse for my Blossom and Roar class, which means, essentially, that she’ll be helping with financial growth around here.

After an early morning trip down the hall which involved bargaining with Phoebe for prized floor space in the bathroom, I wandered back to bed, only to discover that the Muses were having a tea party in my head and they all had ideas about what to do next to solve the issue that there was very little viable space left for the newest Muse to actually emerge from the canvas.

In my defense, this had actually occurred to me before bed! In any event, after I laid there eavesdropping for about half an hour I finally got up, made some tea, and spent quite a while staring at the canvas and listening.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that band aids and making do weren’t going to get it.

So, as you’ve probably guessed from the photo at the top of this post, I got out the white heavy body paint and a palette knife, reminding myself all the while that the energy of all those under layers would still be there in whatever the final painting becomes.

The process was really quite redemptive. No shame. No blame. Just claiming what works and moving on to something that will (eventually) work even better.

And, as these things often happen, while I swiped and scraped away with my palette knife, what passes for vision in my world grew.

I’m tired, but excited. And, while I heat some soup and write these words, there’s a big part of me that’s still, after all these years, hearing the voice of my friend Steve Glenn who created the program, Developing Capable People, reminding me that it’s very difficult to learn anything new when we’re wallowing in shame or blame.

Wow, am I grateful for Steve! This particular bit of wisdom is one that I’m working hard to pass along to my girls.

And, somewhere in all that white paint, is a message from the Muses helping me actually embody the wisdom of Steve which I’ve been believing in for about 35 years now.

Just in case you might have a bit of shame or blame taking up space in your world, you can put it in the box where mine goes when I set it down. If you decide you want it back later, that’s fine… but I’m betting you won’t!

For this moment, a reminder…

Through August 25th, I will donate 15% of my proceeds from all art sales on my Fine Art Marketplace page to Grandmothers Against Gun Violence.

The new Muse won’t be there yet, but she’s got lots of friends waiting to inspire you and help do some good in the world.

Thanks for being you!!!

 

 

 

It’s been an interesting week.

The mean voices of my Inner Critic, which live in my left brain, have been pretty rowdy. It makes sense, when you think about it.

The Inner Critic’s task is to run about like Chicken Little, yelling that the sky is falling! She reaches this conclusion by using the interesting strategy of predicting the future based on the worst disasters of the past.

Often her statements begin with How could you…. What were you thinking… Nobody with any sense…

Well, you get the drift.

I find this learning from my teachers in all things metacognitive, Shiloh Sophia and Jonathan McCloud, to be vital in deciding how much power to give the mean voices in any given moment.

If there is, in fact, a 12 foot gator snapping its jaws just below the footstool of my magic chair, it’s well worth pondering the perspective of the Inner Critic.

Lacking the gator, or its equivalent, it might work to get a mug of bone broth, take some deep breaths, and ponder the bigger picture, preferably a bright, clear picture of my deepest, most true dream.

A couple of nights ago, the voices of the Inner Critic were joined by some other loud noises.

The first was the horrific squall of a smoke detector begging for a new battery. The studio angels and I were not amused. While I ran to put the poor beasties outside, Bill got the step-ladder and saved the day.

By the time my heart rate reached something resembling normal again, I remembered to give thanks that it was a false alarm and no actual fire was involved.

A bit later, the TV made the almost equally horrific bast that signals some sort of public alert. Relieved that it wasn’t an Amber Alert for a missing child, I was still less than thrilled to discover that we had a flash flood warning posted. Floods, you see, are a touchy subject around here, after some recent challenges with our basement.

Shortly thereafter, the storms that one would assume went along with the weather warning began in full force.

Torrents of rain. Thunder and lightning. Another of the beasties’ favorite events. And, lacking advance notice, no CBD oil on board. It was, in the immortal words of Snoopy, a dark and stormy night.

Blessedly, we did okay.

No water in the basement that night or the next morning, thanks in large part to the brilliant detective work of my friend and handy-wizard, Greg Camp. No trees down, which is far from a sure thing in our neighborhood. And the morning chorus of birds on the job.

First, I let myself feel the relief.

Then I pondered all the folks who might not have been so fortunate. And I made some more dots.

There were gunshots very near our house Friday night. Again. And I so wish I didn’t know instantly that they were gunshots.

Then, I woke today to an email from Bernie Sanders with news of two more mass shootings this weekend.

I signed the petition to push the Senate to come back from recess and allow debate on gun safety.

I made a contribution to Gabby Gifford’s PAC  to end gun violence.

Then I noticed that amidst my anxiety and anger there was a river of gratitude, flowing gently. And I learned something new.

The gratitude is not simply, or even mainly, about the fact that we, and those we love, are safe… though that is certainly true.

Instead, the gratitude leaves me more free to care. More free to act. More free to reach out in the world even when the Inner Critic is in full battle cry.

That feels like a good thing. That and a mug of bone broth. And prayers for you and yours.

Oh, and check here for a free gift from Shiloh Sophia… a painting class called Colorful Scars which is all about the healing power of self expression. (No experience needed. Really!)

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s been a week for dots. Lots and lots of dots. And dots, in my world, mean prayers. It has assuredly been a week for that, as well.

From the tragic festival shootings in California and New York last weekend, to struggling friends, to rainforests, to last night’s debate, to the need for some embodied prayer in my own world………………………………………………… Dots!

This is, as many of you know, a whole person way of praying, or holding intention, that combines verbal/auditory, visual, and kinesthetic processes in a powerful way. (In this instance, the kinesthetic part is the movement of making the dots, as well as the feel of the brush on the canvas. If you use the handle end of the brush, as I do, it almost becomes drum-like.) Music that moves you adds to the journey. And, of course, favorite paint colors!

In this case, I began with a canvas already holding the drippy under layers of another painting, only begun. (It volunteered!) The limey green, purple, and orange are some of my favorite quilt colors, comforting and familiar.

Generally I make prayer dots while holding a particular word or name or thought in mind and repeating it (silently) with each dot. This week, my dots were doing double/triple/quadruple duty so I needed a slightly different plan and, like my canvas, the Metta Prayer (Or Great Prayer of Compassion) volunteered.

This is an ancient prayer, common to a variety of traditions and different languages, which, for me, kind of says it all, despite the fact that it is not a prayer they covered when I was in seminary!

I begin my dots with the specific names or events or challenges that are in my heart, making a dot for each.

Then, the first “verse” of the version I know best:

May I be peaceful.

May I be happy.

May I be well. 

May I be safe.

May I be free from suffering. 

Then repeat, substituting all people for I. 

May all people be peaceful…

And repeat again, substituting all beings for all people. 

Now, just in case you’re wondering, no, I can’t do all those words and make dots at the same time. Yet!

Here’s what I can do. Metta… Metta… Metta……………………………

It’s a bit like emojis, I’ll admit, but if I set my intention and focus, it really works. And decreases stress at the same time! One of those both brain hemispheres at once things, kind of like knitting which, by the way, works for praying, too!

If you want your dots to stay in distinct colors, do one color at a time and then get a cup of tea while they dry. Add more dots, one color at a time, until you feel complete in your prayer.

Small children, especially those experiencing grief or stress, can learn to make dots with their fingertips, repeating a name or an emotion, like sad, or a petition, like safe. (This may be best done outside!) Always be sure to use non-toxic paints, please. Or crayons on paper!

As I write this, I’m sitting in my magic chair, with my Liberated Flying Geese quilt which is, for me, a symbol of the Holy Spirit. It is also, providentially, backed with these amazing swirls of gem-toned dots!

Phoebe, our chief studio angel, is dozing on the rubber mat below my footrest.

Suddenly, she stretched and reached a back foot up where it brushed the bottom of my own foot, softly, a connection to a loving, living being that was a blessing in itself.

So be it for you, as well. Amen.

 

 

Hi! It’s me, Luther.

Things have been pretty crazy lately, but Mom told me I could blog again whenever I was ready. I think I’m ready, now. Mom’s happy to type for me, especially since there are lots more people like you these days who might wonder what we’ve been up to.

In the time called May, I had eye surgery. Technically, I already couldn’t see, but had my eyes removed because they were growing things called cataracts and they hurt a lot.

It wasn’t fun. Mom and I had to be very careful that I didn’t scratch or run into things before my sutures were healed. That felt like a LONG time.

Then, my Auntie Karen came one day and it took a whole lot of time to get black (!) sutures out of my face. It really wasn’t much fun.

I’m doing better, now. My family and friends are learning to help me by saying words I understand. Step is one of my favorites because it tells me a very important thing.

I have a new outfit. It’s a harness that has signs on the sides that say, Luther. Blind. Friendly. People read it and want to be my friend, which I like a lot.

I also like people coming to paint. Mom has lots of friends who come and do Intentional Creativity ®. Frankly, that’s hard for me to understand, except that I run into easels now and then, but it makes them happy and we all hang out together and I think that’s a good thing.

Mom paints the most. We listen to music and sometimes she dances and sometimes she cries.

She always reminds Phoebe and me that crying is not a bad thing. Sometimes it means that you just feel things a  lot.

We understand that. We’re Newfoundland rescue dogs. Being a rescue dog is hard in a lot of ways. We’ve both been through times when we didn’t have enough love or food. Sometimes we were hurt. And we’re still missing Sarah.

Mom says there’s a painting called Apothecary like that. It has to do with turning tragedies into remedies.

I think remedy means that now somebody loves you and you are enough and there are more good days to come.

At least, I hope so.

It means that our girls love us, too. And loving ourselves also counts!

Today is our first day of what Mom is calling Radical Self Care. She says that if she takes better care of herself she’ll have more choices about things that are important to her. Dad is in charge of something called moral support.

Phoebe and I are important. And Mom and Dad are working really hard to help me have fun, even if I can’t see, which may be kind of like what she’s talking about.

There’s also a rumor that it might mean more of the thing called grooming. I’m getting better at that!

Sleep is sounding good tonight. And, tomorrow, more paint.

May whatever is sounding good to you be true, as well.

Love, Luther

PS… Phoebe says I should say that we didn’t spill the paint on the floor!