THE THREE H'S

Honesty, Humility, and Humor: the three attributes that I most admired about my dad.

He was honest to the extreme: he would take back pennies to a store clerk when he found that he had been given too much change.

He was humble: he didn't brag about himself, even though he drew the Bugs Bunny comic strip for 30 years. He shared his talents by coming to schools for demonstrations, and sending strips to fans who wrote to him. (I still have the 3 binders full of fan letters that he received.)

And he always looked for the humor in things. He loved visual jokes.  One morning I stepped into the bathtub to find a smiling face painted on the overflow plate just below the faucet. I laughed to see that the lever that controlled the bath plug now was the nose of a funny face.

This is my drawing of what the plate looked like after Dad's handwork.

I think I have picked up some of my dad's humor in my artwork. I still see faces everywhere. I may draw something from nature as if it had a personality of its own. (And who knows about the plant world, maybe they do!) 

Other times, I see faces in real objects and photograph them just because they make me laugh.

Each time I see a 'face' I feel a connection with my dad.  Though he is long gone, his traits of honesty, humility, and humor that he held dear are traits that I still admire and try to emulate.

What traits do you most associate with your dad?

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Check out the latest Zen Doodle from F+W Media:

I am thrilled to have my ZenDoodles included in this book!

http://www.northlightshop.com/zen-doodle-coloring-book?utm_source=email&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=cmm-kjc-bl-150521

WHEN ARE WE GOING TO STOP?

I could hear the tears in the voice of the reporter as he talked yesterday. "Not again," I thought as the tears came to my eyes too. Today I had written a Father's Day posting, but I've decided to postpone that post in honor of the people in the church in Charleston, South Carolina. May they rest in peace.

This is the year when we need to step forward and come to terms with our past and our present. Let us start today, one step at a time.

MURDEROUS HEART

I'm a gardener.

Sometimes I am at war with my garden. Not with the plants necessarily, but with what the garden brings out in me. This week, on top of 100+ degree weather, I have been battling the snails that have taken over with abandon.

If there is an afterlife, I know that I will be there surrounded by all the snails that I have mushed, smashed, thrown, crushed, broken, splintered, kicked, and salted.

Quick sketch of a snail. They move so slowly, but they don't stay in one position for long.

This is my ode to snails:

Snails devouring a bush
A five-foot tall bush, mind you
Their shells hanging from every branch
In clusters like brown flowers
Ready to open.

I'm murderous
Plucking off each one, hundreds of ones,
I feel their shells soft between my fingers.
I know I could crush them or throw
Them against the wall.
Instead I watch, hideously,
As they bubble in the salt pools
I lay down for them.

My apologies to you, snails,
For my torturous ways.
You just overpowered 
My will to be kind.
You outnumbered me a thousand to one.
What was I supposed to do?
My poor plant was crying out for help.

If the weather turns cooler, and the snail season abates (with a little help from SLUGGO), I am sure that my normal, cool, calm self will return so that I can once more enjoy the fruits of my garden labors without my murderous side bubbling to the surface.

But have you ever seen a banana slug?

STILL IN LOVE

Today, my husband Bill and I celebrate our anniversary.

I love my husband.

If you know Bill, you know that he commits himself to everything he does 120%. He is a 24/7 kind of guy, he loves sports and debates, he rides in 100-mile bike rides, he takes beautiful photos, and leads a group of men to empower themselves as entrepreneurs. He will be there when you need him. He's a stand-up kind of guy.

I love my husband for that.

The other day as we were walking into the post office, he stopped, looked up to the roof, and pointed. I followed his gesture, and saw a baby bird flapping its wings, begging for food from its parent. Bill stood transfixed by the sight, watching.

That, more than anything, is why I love my husband.

Happy Anniversary, Bill!

If you have someone close by today, give them a hug, 

even if it isn't your anniversary. 

Share the love!

LAYERS

How do you get to work?  Do you make lists? Draw up a plan? Or just go wherever you may go?

As a writer, I write draft after draft of a story or essay until I am happy with the results.

As an artist, I learned to sketch out my ideas, using design principles that became intrinsic to me the more I drew.

My first inclination, even if I don't sketch out a design first, is to stop when I feel I've reached a good piece. I don't usually add lots of layers, gesso over something repeatedly, or cover up parts that I really like. Here's an example of a piece that I did quickly:

This piece was done with spray inks, stencils, torn up napkins, and acrylic paints.
Done.

When I first started making collages, I usued scraps from magazines, copies of photos, and other ephemera to build up a page. Except for images from napkins, I don't do that anymore because I like to use my own artwork within a piece.

This is an altered book that I made at Castle in the Air in Berkeley.

This piece was made with torn napkins, music sheets and acrylics.

Last Sunday I spent a delightful day at the Juicy Soul Retreat at Work of Heart Studio in San Jose, hosted by Andrea Chebeleu. We played with spray inks, tissue papers, napkins, acrylics, stencils, stamps, and bits of ephemera. What a great day we had!

While at the retreat, I tried letting go of my normal way of making art. I know that many collage artists build layer upon layer of torn paper and paint and end up with extraordinary results. But I find that process to be hard. I don't like to cover up images that I like with gesso. I find it difficult to add lettering on top of a finished piece. But I'm trying to learn.

Once I had several pieces complete, I decided to risk my last one. Rather than stopping when I felt I had a good result, I decided to continue to add layer after layer. Here is what happened to my last piece.

On our back deck, just ready to start layering.

My theme was Letting Go.

Last version after several layers. I was beginning to feel that I was just making a big mess!

I finally cut the piece into ATC (Artist Trading Cards). 

Sometimes things look better when I cut them into smaller pieces. 

Now I have ATCs to trade. 

I think I have miles to go with these techniques. 

What do you think?

Check out these sites for workshops and good ideas:

Andrea Chebeleu at the Work of Heart Studio:   https://aworkofheart.wordpress.com
Julie Valentine:  http://www.thereddragonfly.com
Castle in the Air:  https://castleintheair.biz 
(sometimes I turn on their website just to listen to the animal sounds I hear in the background)


67

SPRING AND THE OWLS ARE CALLING

The owl hoots echo through our windows as loud as a foghorn, with that same haunting undercurrent of sadness. When we first moved to our house over 30 years ago, an owl couple inhabited the neighborhood. The owls liked the crossbeams on our neighbor's house. They would sit there in the evening and hoot at each other. One evening as I stood at the top of our hill, one of the owls glided slowly by me. Its wings stretched wide as I ducked out of its way. There weren't many trees then for them to nest in. The owls disappeared from our neighborhood until recently.

The redwoods that we planted on the hill have grown taller than our house. We didn't think as we planted them that it would matter that they grow several feet a year. After 30 years, they are over one hundred feet tall. The owls have come back and call out in the spring one to the other in their deep, lonely voices. They sometimes screech and are joined by the yips of the family of coyotes who come to hunt ground squirrels on the golf course next to us.

The two owls call to each other until midnight. I imagine they are Great Horned Owls, who inhabit large areas of North America. They have found a good spot in our neighborhood where there are plenty of mice, squirrels, birds, rats, and other creatures that take refuge in the dark.

They have been calling since the start of an unusually dry Spring in February, while the daffodils flowered, while the evergreen pear leaves unfurled into the Spring green that I love, and while the cherry blossoms filled the air with their sweet scent. They still hoot as the rose bushes begin to fill out their leaves, the wisteria shoots out flower buds, and the birds clamber over the bird feeders -- one species pushing another out in their frantic Spring feed after a cold and barren Winter.

The owls continue to stay even as the crows, new to our neighborhood, have chased the one hawk until she has temporarily abandoned her nest in the sycamore in our front yard. I would like to see the owls, but our backyard is too dark at night and the redwoods give the owls plenty of cover to hide from prying eyes. Their slow hoots are a welcome sound, an unusual Spring welcome in our hurried world.

A VOICE CHANGED MY MIND

I love maps. I love the feel of paper maps and the intricate way they unfold. I love that I see the lay of the land once they are open. I do use Google Maps when needed for written directions. Unlike my husband Bill though, I've been reluctant to listen to the GPS voice on our car, which directs up to a specific place once we give the Voice the coordinates it needs.

I have changed my mind. A couple of weekends ago, we went to Seattle. I needed to drive to Lynwood, a suburb north of the city. I keyed in the address into the GPS and followed the vocal directions. With only one mishap (the Voice didn't know which parking lot to choose) we, the Voice and I, arrived at our destination. When I got out of the car, I realized I was relaxed and ready for my day's adventure. I didn't have the leftover anxiety that would have been there if I had ventured out on my own, dependent on either a paper map or the written directions from GoogleMaps. My serenity at my arrival was a wake-up call for me to change my mind.

I went to Seattle, Bill in tow, to attend Letters of Joy, the annual calligraphy conference put on by Write On Calligraphers of Edmonds. Of the more than 30 workshops they offered that day, I had to pick three. While Bill went on a photography expedition on a ferry ride around Seattle, I sat in classes with three encouraging, dynamic instructors: Jocelyn Curry, Dewey Henderson, and Kathy Barker. We added flourishes to our Chancery script, wrote letters embellished with calligraphy and drawings, and worked with basic design principles to make a more pleasing piece.

Envelopes sent by Letter of Joy registrants.

At Letters of Joy, I signed up for the Decorated Envelope exchange. I will practice my penmanship throughout the year as I send birthday greetings with a flourish to each person on my list. In return, I will receive a wonderful birthday present from each of them. Here are some samples from previous years:

Calligraphy keeps me connected to hand-made things. The hand-eye-brain concentration helps me focus and weeds out the worries of the day. But I also like the depth of the Internet: I never would have found Letters of Joy without a search on a computer. I like how the old and new can be a source for new adventures and enrichment. I include my acceptance of the Voice that comes with our GPS in our car as a new source for fun and growth.

We haven't taken the step of naming our Voice. Have you?

Have you had a change of mind recently?  Tell me about your experience.

Check out Write On Calligraphers

http://writeoncalligraphers.org

These three calligraphers do beautiful work:

Kathy Barker

http://www.calligraphersguild.org/GE2010/Winners/kathybarker.html 

Jocelyn Curry

http://www.jocelyncurry.com

Dewey Henderson

Her work can be seen at the Letters of Joy page of the Write On Calligraphy site.

Also check out Jean Wilson's blog for more decorated envelopes:

http://pushingtheenvelopes.blogspot.com