 It was a lark to pause, hit
play, and watch the series, Portrait Artist of the Year. Would it be interesting to watch someone paint? To see what it takes to paint a portrait in just four hours? It is. And because of it, I'm seeing my collage work in new ways. I've never been a painter. Just collage. Painted sheet music. No other papers, inks, or marks. It's come together by chance, but the decision to stick with just the sheet music and paint has limited my choices. And in some ways made it easier. It forces me to find solutions with the materials I have. No distractions or wasted time pining for other papers or methods. Watching the artists on the program gives the viewer insights to the process of painting a portrait, and the decisions each one makes as they work. How they squint at their work, exhale deeply, frown, step back, and stick with it. It's inspiring to watch them overcome doubt and move forward. It's got me thinking about how I create my collage art, the shapes I cut, how I paint the paper. How much detail I add ... or omit. This is a new collage, with snippets of painted, cut, and torn papers coming together, in unexpected ways, for a new project. Nothing is permanent, yet. And there's a long way to go. But new ideas, thoughts, and techniques are pushing through the underbrush, revealing themselves bit by bit. Just as the portrait sitters do as they come to life on the blank canvas of each and every portrait artist.
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 It was a good week for cats ... one got a snake, the other a mouse. It was by chance i saw them whisking away their prey. Two cats, two different days in broad daylight ... the pride of the neighborhood. ------------------------ The cat with the snake was the first one I saw. The one with the mouse was second, and for some reason more difficult to watch. Was it because I imagined the mouse as cute and fuzzy? And snakes are not? Domesticated cats don't need to hunt, but the instinct remains strong. These two carried off their prey with heads held high, eyes darting left and right, wary for whatever and whoever might be watching them. When I told my neighbor I saw her cat carrying a snake, she said, "Really, he's never been hunter." Well, he is now.  This one's different.
It's a journal, but this one's only for the good stuff.  We gathered in the green alongside the path to the arboretum where the grass was damp, fog pressed against the tree line, and the cool air had collars raised and jackets zipped up to the chin. It wasn't the first time over the last few days that I wondered if this was a good idea. Outdoor yoga. The first class of the season, in Maine, late spring, where despite the occasional warmer days, I've yet to let go of my wool hat ... or gloves. But it was so enticing ... outdoor yoga. It conjured images of a soft breeze and relaxation ... for me certainly, and likely, too, for the two who sat on their mats to my left and the six to my right. We clasped our hands, downward dogged, stretched our child poses, and planked our bodies into heat generating engines. When we finally lay back with a deep inhale and eyes to the sky, we were relaxed, warmed, and grounded. And a soft breeze swept over us.  Stories, a weekly calendar with writing prompts, and more, every Sunday. Sign up today, it's free and we'd love to have you join us.
 There are so many songbirds, he stops to listen, and look for the warblers, the goldfinch, and the bobolinks. So I look, too, not for the birds, but the flowers, whose  names I cannot list, but for the dandelion, wild strawberry, and apple blossoms.  We pass one another in silence, one overtaking the other as our focus shifts. In hushed tones, we question one another and point ... Did you hear that? Look at this.  And when it's done, we chirp like song sparrows, amazed at all there is to see and hear.   The story starters calendar holds great writing prompts. Get yours today, it's free!
  A few good things make all the difference Have you ever started a journal or diary, but dropped it a few days, weeks, or months later? Are there days so good you'd like to remember them forever? Days so hard you'd like to forget them? Try this ... Take a few minutes to focus on a few good things about your day (no matter how good or challenging it was). But just the good stuff ... the small wins and wonder of the day. And write it down. Most days, it's easy On good days it's easy to find a few good things, maybe even more. On difficult days, you may find it challenging to imagine there was anything good. Let alone a few things. But that may be when it's most important. So what can you do?  Review the day Was that cup of coffee or tea this morning especially soothing? Put it on your list. Did you make even slight progress on that project you're working on? Add that. Have you found a good book to tuck into at the end of the day? That's worth listing.  I started my journal on a difficult day. A day when I needed to find some light. To focus on something good, find what brought some joy ... however brief. It was a simple listing of a few good things on blank pages. Things like: - holding my mother's hand - hearing a woodpecker across the way - watching the Great British Bake Off Small wins and wonder As I continued journaling, I was surprised by how much goodness and beauty filled my days. And how easy it was to overlook. Things like: - that person who held the door - finding a fiver in the parking lot (yes, I did) - the pet-me nudge from the neighbor's dog  A journal for all the good stuff ... My blank journal is no longer blank. When I flip back through my lists, I see that there's so much I might have forgotten. So much good, despite the inevitable frustrations and challenges. Because my journal is nearly full and I wanted to share the idea with you, I designed a new journal to keep it going. A Few Good Things About Today is a floral-themed blank journal with lots of space to write. Each page has an original collage or line art illustration. As you fill your journal, new floral designs are revealed, accompanied by the simple prompt to write a few good things about your day. It feels good Even if you've started but never kept up a diary or journal (I haven't), this may be the one that sticks. For over three years, I've listed good things about my day. Yes, there are days I forget or miss, but it's easy to pick up and continue. And that feels good. I hope you'll try it, because chances are, once you start looking you'll find more than a few good things. And it will change the story of your day. Order your journal today.  p.s. If you know someone who would enjoy recording a few good things about their day, grab a copy of A Few Good Things About Today for them, too.
 There were one, two, three,
four, five ... no, six, seven, eight ... wait, nine, ten, eleven ducklings swimming in the small pond alongside the path in the woods. And the mother and male duck, too, with his irridescent head and white collared neck. Mallards. They swam to the left, as a group. Then to the right, scattered and apart. Over, under, and around fallen tree trunks, branches, and the ragged shoreline. Together and apart, left to right. Right to left. Together and apart. We whispered and wondered at the beauty of it all. At the blue sky reflected in the still, dark water. At how fuzzy and small the ducklings were. At their doting mother, clucking and guiding them. Here, then there. At the close proximity of the vernal pond to the path and the people and dogs that so often pass by. It wasn't until later, early evening that we dared even speak of it. Attrition. Not all, or even most, of the ducklings will survive. Odds are, no more than two or three will shed the fuzz, grow feathers, and learn to fly. Not with all the snakes, raccoons, and foxy predators lurking about. Eager, yet reluctant, we returned to the pond the next day, knowing we'd once again do the count, hoping for high numbers. But there were none. Not just ducklings, but the male and female, too. Gone. Were they resting, we wondered? Hoped. Camouflaged in plain sight among the mottled leaves and fallen branches? We looked for ripples in the water and movement in the leaves, but found none. So we imagined the brood huddled close to one another in the nest, resting, as they will for hours each day, under a protective wing. And we thought of the fledglings. The one, two, or three who will beat the odds. The ones who one day will take flight.  The low, long rumble tells us
it's a freight train lumbering down the tracks through the woods at the end of the road. The short, light whizzing informs us it's the passenger rail. But it's the stand-still box cars with their graffiti-littered panels painted in neon colors; flashy art; and stylized, hard-to-read words, that scream for attention. Parked for hours, and sometimes days, on the side-by-side rails, passing trains wail at their stationary presence. With two short blasts and a long urgent bawl they give warning to people and animals alike ... Wa. Wa. Waaaa!!! Coming through.  With
little wind to sway it, the rain falls in near perfect vertical formation into rippling puddles and gushing gutters. It's a good day for an umbrella. And for the daffodils and forsythia, too, that shout ... Yellow! Yellow! As we pass by on this otherwise gray day.  Another setback ...
My pop-up book for a story about maple syrup is at the point where I just want it to be done. The first idea didn't work, nor the second, or third. But after more digging, research on pop-up structure, and countless experiments, things were coming together with my book: The pop-up, cut-out maple tree structure: Success (finally). The text: Edited and ready to go ... but should it be handwritten? Set on the computer? It was back and forth until it was clear: set the type on the computer. The maple leaves: Painted in multiple colors with a hint of decay from overwintering on the damp wooded landscape, and crumpled for effect. Hold on ... As I was working on the final steps to construct the modified pop-up structure, I heard a voice coming from the television. I wasn't watching, but could hear what was being said. Because we're in maple season, local programing is sweet on sugar shacks. Apparently, not all maples produce sap, and of the ones that do, the sugar maple is the best. The voice from the television set interrupted my concentration. "You can identify a sugar maple" the man on the screen said, "by the shape of its leaves." "It's got five distinct points" he said, holding up a sample. When I looked at the television screen to see the leaf he was holding, then down at my work station, I knew my leaves were missing a few points. Ughhh, what now? Does is it really matter? That's what I asked myself. Who's going to know? This is all a bit abstract anyway, just let it go, I told myself. This project is taking longer than I thought it would, I'm weary of all the stops and starts ... and it's so close to being done. But I couldn't leave it, because now I know ... and I know they're not right. Granted, this is not a scientific study on maple trees, it's art, and there's room for artistic license. But still. Anyone who opens the pop-up and knows anything about sugar maples will say to themselves, "Eh, it's nice, but those leaves. They're not right." And they'd be right. So, those three pointed leaves above? Gone. I'm cutting and painting new ones. But that white paper cutout for the pop-up? It's finally come together. This project is testing me. I'm learning by doing, by osmosis, and ultimately, with persistence. If you've been working on a project that throws you a curve ball at every turn, keep going. I was disappointed to have another setback, but the closer I get the sweeter it is.  It's a good way to start a letter ... with a story. I'd also write about the crocus. They're blooming(!) in small spaces, with just two or three flowers, and in mass plantings that blanket the ground. What a welcome sight. But the owl. That's the story of the day. It's wingspan, nearly 4 feet wide (I checked), was what caught my eye. It flew though the trees, with not a sound to give it away, circled back and landed on a branch, close to the trunk of the tree, and faced us. Bird watching us watch it. What a sight. So I'll use the story in a letter. April is just two days away, and with it comes Nat'l Card and Letter Writing Month. Give it a try, because as much as the people I write to might enjoy getting mail, writing and sending mail can be equally gratifying. It's another way to say hello. What if you don't have an owl story? Imagine you're sitting across the table from the person you're writing to. What would you say? Write about that new recipe you tried, a program you're enjoying, or that project you're working on. That's what I do. And send it. Because people love getting mail, they really do. People also love stories, and you've got some good ones.  Want more help? Grab a copy today!  With their
belted parkas, buffalo plaids, fleece collars, and quilted hoodies fashion-forward pound puppies, pugs, terriers, hounds, and retrievers prance and strut the sidewalk like it's Fashion Week. As they brace against winter's cold in their canine couture, they set tongues, and tails, to wagging. ----------------- While winter is suppose to be cold, this winter has been unusually cold. Below average temperatures, with windchill temperatures dipping into the single digits. It's no wonder we're seeing more dogs wearing jackets. No doubt the jackets helps keep the dogs warm , but something tells me the fashion is more for the person at the other end of the lease. Canned foods are made to last, and because February is Canned Food Month, I’ve pulled a few cans from the shelf of an old project. These canned goods, like Popeye’s spinach are designed to give you a boost ...  Some gumption. This can is loaded with courage and spunk. And it’s fortified. Because sometimes we have to convince ourselves to jump.  A little adventure. Like the can says, adventure adds excitement and interest to all that you do. Take a break, do something different, and see if it doesn’t change or your shift your thinking around something you're trying to figure out.  And finally, love and kindness. This can is supersized and packed with generosity. Give yourself a healthy serving ... and share it with others. Popeye may or may not have gotten the added strength and power he needed from that can of spinach, but he thought he did. And sometimes that's all that matters.
No promise these cans will do the trick, but, like most things, if we think we can, well, maybe we will. Get your canned goods here. Print a copy and share some gumption, adventure, and love with someone who needs a boost.  the overnight storm fills the sky with snow and and blankets the ground in white, lighting the night like a full moon lantern When I woke during the night, the room was filled with soft light and the windows had a glow about them. I knew it wasn't the moon, it was obscured by cloud cover. It was snow in the air, on the trees, and the ground illuminating the landscape.
When something catches your attention, use it as a prompt, a way to capture the moment ... with a photograph, a drawing, or in this case, collage+poetry. It's a short poem and a simple collage. Simplicity can sometimes break the barrier to creativity and give you a place to begin. Start small, and see what happens.  What are you working on?
The thing about telling people what you're doing is ... they ask about it. And that's good. It can motivate you to keep going, offer a push when you're in a lull, or even bolster your confidence knowing someone is interested. But it also means you'll probably want to finish whatever that thing is. To keep the promise you made ... mostly to yourself. A few good things Over the last few years I have maintained a journal to list of a few good things about the day. It's a simple, but interesting exercise. Some days it's easy: Wordle in two (rare and very exciting), pepper jelly with cheddar cheese on a cracker, or Ollie the orange cat rolling on the sun-warmed winter driveway. But other days, it takes a bit. The journal sits on a side table along with a pen to remind me to make my entries. The so-so, or not-so good days, are when it's most rewarding. When it's most helpful. Because it forces me to think beyond the worry, the mistakes, and the mishaps. To re-examine my day and find a few good things, despite it all. And they're always there. The pattern the blinds make on the wall when the afternoon sun comes around; the surprising, fresh scent of a cucumber when it's sliced; or the person who paused and waited to hold the door for me as we entered the store. Thinking about a few good things is helpful, but writing them down helps to solidify the goodness. Page after page after page. I've mentioned the botanical journal in earlier emails because I want to share the idea with you, so you can list a few good things about your day, too. After mulling over how to illustrate it, a botanical theme seemed most fitting. Can't see the forest for the trees This week I struggled to measure where I am with the project. Too many pieces, nothing holding them all together. So I taped some of the illustrations to wall and began to think ... about the page order, and whether or not the pages should be lined, blank, or a combination; whether or not it should be strictly collage, or mixed with line drawings. More collage pages with the black background? Lots of questions. I'll get to all of them eventually, and keep going. When will it be ready? Not as soon as I'd hoped. I thought it would be done by now, so I'm shooting for the end of the month. I'll keep you posted. Tell me about a project you're working on ... and what do you think, more pages with the black background?  He gathers his boots, buckets,
and creepers. Grabs his pack basket, traps, hand auger, and sled, and stops on the way for bait. He warms himself drilling through the ice, inches thick, until he breaks through to the water below. He baits the hook, drops the line through the hole, sets the flag, and depending on the lake or pond he's on, begins to imagine. The bass, trout, salmon, pickerel, or perch swimming under the surface. But it's a waiting game, where patience braces against anticipation, and the cold. When a flag is tripped, he wonders, is it a wind flag, stolen bait, or is there a fish on the line? Hand over hand he hauls the line feeling for the resistance that will tell him, fish on. And so begins a real fish tale.  That's what I told myself
last week: use your imagination. My floral collage work was stalled. I'd finished themost recent and wasn't sure what to do next. Until I saw a story on wallpaper. The designs were fanciful and the colors were, let's say, creative. While the floral shapes were representative of flowers and greenery one might recognize, they were rendered in colors that were bold and daring. Different from what's expected. And it opened my mind to new ideas and color combinations. I pawed through my stash of painted papers, pulled a deep blue and beige (which frankly I thought I'd never use so a prominently), and decided that would be it. Just two colors for this collage. The collage is nearly done, and when I look at it, I'm reminded that sometimes being stalled can be helpful. With an idea in mind, even one that is stalled, your brain will keep working on it. New information will register and steer you toward new solutions. If you've got a project where progress is slower than you'd like, take a break and look around. Something might catch your eye, change your perspective, and set you on a new path.  Got a hobby?
More than one? Sometimes I think my hobby is finding new hobbies. Curiosity gets the best of me and I find myself trying this, then that, and then something else. Occasionally something sticks—like baking. I’ve gone from skiing, not so successful, to snowshoes; from seed packs to starter plants. Tried tap dancing ... it made me dizzy (but I loved the shoes), and paper mache (too messy). But I always return to collage. Easy to set-up and breakdown, it’s a perfectly imperfect art that allows me to make mistakes and keep going. Writing challenges me, and my hobbies (successful or not), give me lots of writing material. I hope you have a hobby (or like me, a few), or you’ll try something new this month. Because no matter what you try, hobbies can banish boredom, lift your spirits, and bolster your self confidence. Give it a go.  IS IT WORTHY?
Does the dandelion know it's the dandy of the dinner plate, revered for its nutritional and medicinal properties? Or that it's a weed? A flower reviled by landscapers and gardeners alike? Hardly. The dandelion grows ... thrives even, in the crack of a sidewalk, the vacant lot, and the lush green grass. Persistent, resilient, and radiant until it becomes a puffball of seeds carrying wishes and dreams with the wind. ------ When I considered a collage of the dandelion for inclusion in the upcoming floral journal, I wondered if readers might wonder if it was worthy. If you'd think it was worthy. It is after all, a simple, common flower. It's not a showy flower like the cosmos, the dahlia, or the sunflower. But true to its nature, it took root and lingered in my thoughts until it became clear ... it is worthy. A symbol of persistence and grit and beauty. Still a work in progress, my collage is inspired by collage artist Mary Delaney; set against a black background, its simplicity shines.  With all the flowers gone dormant, bare trees, and muted colors, you might think there's not much to see. In this winter landscape.  But look! There's color and texture ... and love etched in unexpected places.  The secret of course is to watch for it. To train your eyes to see the color and shapes and signs of the beauty that surrounds us ... no matter the season.   The plow RUMBLES down the road, and like the returning tiDE on a flat sand beach, pushes wAVes of snow to the side of the road, sPiLLiNg and rolling it into driveways and waLKways, SiGnaLLinG the tiMe is riGht for BuiLDing cAstles and maKing new fRienDs It's not always easy to find the motivation to bundle up and go outside on cold, snowy days, but when the storm passes and the sun comes out, a snow-covered landscape is a wonderland. There's a hush and fresh feeling in the air. And if the snow is good for snowballs, it's good for making snow people. Oceana above was one in a series of snofolk I made for winter greetings. She, like all the others, lasted a few good days before her seashell nose and muscle-shell necklace started to drop. She was quickly and gracefully dismantled. Whether it's snowing or the sun is shining where you live, I hope you'll find your way outdoors today. Despite the snowfall, winter has yet to arrive, but with visions of spring atop my desk, here's a close-up peek at another floral collage in the works the upcoming journal, A Garden of Good Things.  |
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