Aubergine

Cute

I made these two stuffed cat toys this weekend, for two special little boys.  They were surprisingly fun to make.  I went into the project expecting the work to be a little fiddly for my taste, but I the pattern was pretty simple and they came together quickly.  The handstitching on the faces took the longest, but I enjoyed that part the best - giving them personalities.  I love their patterned bellies.

I gave one with a small apology, because I know that family is a dog family, and the parents are not at all cat people.  But as it turns out, the small one is currently obsessed with cats, which I didn't even know.  Perfect!

I am in love with this world...

 

 

 

"The longer I live the more my mind dwells upon the beauty and wonder of the world… I have loved the feel of the grass under my feet, and the sound of the running streams by my side. The hum of the wind in the treetops has always been good music to me, and the face of the fields has often comforted me more than the faces of men. I am in love with this world...I have tilled its soil, I have gathered its harvest, I have waited upon its seasons, and always have I reaped what I have sown. I have climbed its mountains, roamed its forests, sailed its waters, crossed its deserts, felt the sting of its frosts, the oppression of its heats, the drench of its rains, the fury of its winds, and always have beauty and joy waited upon my goings and comings." - John Burroughs (quote borrowed from Ali Edward's blog, photos from the market and our garden this morning.)

beauty in the morning

while I was gone

My favorite rose bush bloomed.  It is a fragile, old-fashioned climber.  It blooms only once each season, early in spring, and turns one side of our backyard frothy pink for just a week or two, then it is gone.  I say fragile because every year it gets infested with aphids and spends most of the summer covered in mildew.  But it is actually a volunteer that grows out from under the neighbor's side of the fence, blooms heartily with little attention from me, and comes back year after year after year.

I had a surprisingly good time in Las Vegas.  My previous two visits to that city weren't especially enjoyable, and I was very glad to leave the place at the end of those trips.  This time I stayed long enough to find my rhythm with the place, find my way around, learned how to overlook the cheese.  It helped that I had a guide to the finer dining experiences this time, and dine finely I did.  I got to meet some new people that I hope to work with in the future, and got to others better. I also really enjoyed working the show floor at NAB this time.  I was very nervous before my shift, but by the end of it, I was sorry that I had not been signed up for more shifts.  I really enjoyed talking with people about what they are using our stuff for, and what they'd like to use it for.  I was also working the station where the only Apple TV unit was being shown, and it was cool to introduce people to a new product and see their excitement about it.  It is easy to lose sight of the fact that there are people out in the world using the stuff we work so hard on, when we are heads down in development, cut off from the customers.  We hear the negative feedback in the form of bugs, but rarely get to see the excitement and enthusiasm.

books and men

I just read that Kurt  Vonnegut died last week, and found this poem by him that made me catch my breath:

Requiem

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done.”
People did not like it here.

I associate Kurt Vonnegut with my yearsandyears friend Scott, who is a big fan of Vonnegut's writing, and who gave me a copy of Bluebeard to read early on in our friendship, when he found out that I was studying art in school (that gives you a clue how long we've been friends...).  It was a really good book and parts of that story come back to me now and then, even all these years after reading it.  I haven't read as much Vonnegut as I would like to, and I hadn't read any of his poetry before.  I wonder when he wrote this one?  It is so timely, but I suspect it is not really so recent.  I am less mourning the death of Vonnegut than feeling grateful for his life and writing, and also for the friendship that was formed over a connection forged by his words.

I have another friend who I also associate with a particular author.  Steve and I were counselors together at a summer church camp when I was a teenager.  He was a few years older than me, and I admit I had a bit of a crush.  OK, a REALLY BIG crush.  I'm sure Steve was well aware of my crush over the years (I was 15 when we met, and probably not very subtle), though we really never discussed it.  He was always a perfect gentleman to me, very sweet and protective.  Steve was a Lit major and a big fan of John Irving. One year, between summers, I checked out a couple of John Irving's books, just to see what the fuss was about (and so I'd have something to talk to Steve about the next summer).  I liked those books so much that I read everything he'd published up to then - and he's a prolific writer.  Since then, I have shared Steve's love of Irving, and  though I've lost touch with Steve now, I imagine him out there in the world somewhere, reading the latest Irving novel along with me.  Unfortunately, I haven't liked the last few books he's written very much, though I plod all the way through them anyway.  I should go back and read the old ones again.  My long talks with Steve over campfires after our kids were asleep in the cabins were probably my inspiration to study literature and creative writing when I got to college myself.  I'd always loved to read, but the way he talked about characters and themes and metaphor made me realize that a book could be so much more than an entertaining story and I wanted to know more about how that worked.  That exploration has turned into a  life-long love of words and writing.  The last time I talked to Steve, irony of ironies, he called me up kinda out of the blue and asked me out - about a year after I got married to Lisa. 

Recently I have been becoming good friends with another man, who also gives me books to read.  No particular author in this case, and so far all non-fiction, but it is nice, this intellectual connection that we share.  I hope it continues to grow.

I seem to have a bit of a weakness for men who read.  They make the best of friends.  Reading this, I realize there are other similarities to these three relationships.  All three of these men are sweet, gentle and a bit vulnerable in their own ways, but also have big strong personalities and are plenty manly.  They are all several years older than I am, though never treated me like I was too young to bother talking to about serious things (even when I was 15).  They are each consummate gentleman, and a tiny bit old-fashioned.  They have all acted fiercely protective of me at one time or another, have offered their honest advice when I have sought it, and have supported me even when I've made a life choice that went against their advice.  And in a couple of cases, they've also soothed me when those choices eventually caused me pain, but have not pointed out that they predicted that outcome.  They are all three sensualists - lovers of good food and fine wine and observant of beauty in the world.  With each of them I have had long, wandering and wonderful conversations, often late into the night.  I believe I'm a little bit in love with each of them, but it is the kind of love that only wants deep happiness in their lives, in whatever shape life creates that for them. 

There have also been a couple of men who gave me books to read but I didn't like the books.  Those men are no longer in my life.  I guess it is a measure of our compatibility - if I like the books you like, I will probably like you, too.  And if we share a love of the same books, you'll live in my heart forever.

gems from Artfest

Each evening after our workshops, we'd all return to the house and display our projects on the mantle in the living room and talk about what we'd learned.  11 talented women in one house.  "That's a lot of girl art," a friend at home said when I described our little ritual to her.  After three days, our creations had spilled out onto the nearby bookshelves and the coffee table.  A room full of inspiration.

The three encaustic pieces in the top photo were made by Stephanie Lee. The rings are mine.  The metal and glass book in the background was made by Lori Brofsky.  The bird head in the background of the second photo is also Stephanie's, and I made the heart and pomegranate in the foreground in her class. I'm not sure who the zebra/fish-bellied sculpture belonged to  - it showed up overnight one night, an import from the Art Asylum, probably.

I rented a car this trip and travelled alone, a different experience from my previous Artfest visits, but a good one.  Time to process what I'd learned, time to just be.  I left Port Townsend pretty early and drove slowly through the pretty countryside back to the Bainbridge Island ferry.  Once back in Seattle, I walked through Pike Place market (pretty crowded with tourists on a Sunday afternoon, but the flower stands were amazing), and then along 1st street's botique row before a quick stop at the Daniel Smith store before heading back to the airport and home. 

I was so tired at the end of this trip - I didn't waste time sleeping when I could have been spending time with my friends talking about art and life and kids and everything in between, and was feeling the lack of rest by the time I got home.  I'm normally very protective of my sleep hours, but I have so much crazy energy to burn at Artfest that sleep is the first thing to go.  Also so much creative input and inspiration makes my brain spin so fast that sleep would be impossible even if I tried. 

Returning to work felt a lot like re-entry from outer space into a forgotten atmostphere. I had been letting my artist self hang out in the open for a few days, feeding her, honoring her, and then *slam* back to being a manager, back to the fast pace, the details and emergencies.  I endured a few meetings wide-eyed and overwhelmed, and I was pretty crispy around the edges after that first day back at the office.  These two lives of mine are sometimes hard to reconcile.  I was describing my "other" life to my friend Lori one night at the fort, late, sitting out on the porch of our big creaky house, smelling the ocean air, paint bits coloring our hands and jeans.  "Which one is more you?" she wanted to know.  I wasn't sure how to answer that.  The artist, I think, is more real, but also more often hidden.  Certainly she has a longer history.  The career woman is no less true to myself, but also more polished, less raw, more a public face.  The artist is who I am when I let my hair down.  When I feel safe.  More and more though, they overlap.  The frank curiousity and devil-may-care attitude of the artist is influencing the manager, and the organization and determination of the manager is starting to show in the artist.  And this, I think, is a good thing.

Easter Sunday at the Arboretum

Beautiful.  It was a gorgeous day.

I loved best the "scented garden" in which I expected flowers, but instead found herbs and other plants that  had scented foliage.  Sages and oregano, scented geraniums.  Simple plants, surrounded by pretty painted concrete paths and striking container displays like this one above.   I want to create a space like this in my own garden.

swoop

Lisa brought these gorgeous parrot tulips home from the market this week while I was away at Artfest.  She said they were lime green before the buds opened, but have mellowed to this buttery yellow streaked with red energy.  They look to me like they are dancing, or flying, on their long flowing stems.