Sacred Spaces

Keeping Vigil

Do you have places that are sacred to you?  Places that cause you to exhale when you are there and feel at peace?  Being fairly reclusive, my "sacred places" are mostly in my home or - like this one - in my yard.  As I sit typing this at my desk, I am looking out the window directly at this small island of peace that has, in recent years, also become a memorial.  The stones encircling the glass insulators mark the grave of a beloved old dog.  The insulators are part of a treasured collection put together by my late husband.  St. Francis was given to me by my mother who crossed over several years ago.  So while this space has always been special to me, it is now also sacred.  These spaces (my studio being one of them) help me center my thoughts and feelings; remind me to breathe and think fully... mindfully.  A moment spent quietly centering myself prepares me to draw on my inner "sacred spaces" where my art work comes from.

Lovely Crabapple

My frequently photographed crabapple tree (this photo is from 2 days ago) is another cherished place valued for its dreamy sky and mountain views framed by branches that change with the seasons from snowy blossoms, to bright red and gold, to ice encrusted black lace.  This tree also provides me with sacred ritual - each fall, I pick a neon red apple and place it on my white kitchen windowsill.  There, it reminds me of growing things throughout the long winter and slowly shrivels until I replace it the following fall. 

Tundra Fire

I like my work to reflect thoughts, feelings, and places that are sacred to me.  I have not been able to get into my studio yet, but have been furiously making collages on poster board using a box of photographs and magazines I keep for this purpose.  Limiting myself to these materials has freed me to work quickly and spontaneously and just have a lot of fun.  Tundra and all things ice are especially close to my heart which is interesting given my enormous struggle each alpine winter (45 degrees latitude, 5,300 feet altitude) to keep my good humor.  I am reflecting on this dichotomy and pondering how I might incorporate my collage technique in my art work


Wishing you peace and enjoyment of your own sacred spaces.

Recovery Ramblings

October Crabapple

Yes, I'm afraid so.  Can you believe this is the same cheerful crabapple I photographed in my last post?  This is the early morning scene off my back porch.  Checking my journals from previous years, this is a mite early for a sticking snow even for us.  Hunters and skiers are jumping for joy.  Me... well, I'm sure this is a passing anomaly and I'm so close to real studio time...

I am one week post-op today and, though frequently tired, am doing extremely well.  My "swelly belly" is slowly diminishing and as of yesterday, I can walk upright without too much mincing.  I was feeling and looking like Yoda there for awhile, but I rapidly improve and am enjoying catching up on a few things that are couch friendly...  like FINALLY putting those 1998 pictures of my trip to visit my sister who happened to live in France at the time in a photo album.  With narration.  Of course.  Words, words, words, I love and live for words.  I think about them all the time.  Running narratives populate my mind constantly.  I was writing this blog in my shower this morning while gazing out the bathroom window which has returned to it's winter state of reflecting dappled gray and silver light.  See what I mean?

Oh Happy Day

My good recovery is aided greatly by my wonderful friends and family who have sent care packages, brought meals, and dropped by to visit.  Thank you thank you.  One such friend drove my car (and me) out to the woods on Monday where she sat me in this chair and took my picture then went off to harvest Valerian.  I was in heaven even without my book..

Cousin Jon:  If you are reading this from your fancy phone and you are still in Michigan, would you please pick up a Petosky stone for me?  I lost my brown paper sack of them when I moved from there to here years ago and it has always grieved me.  Thanks!