BC Bought a New Hat

... and it took me approximately 22 hours to steal it.

(Isn't there something quite fabulous about stealing clothes from your significant other?  Whenever BC is gone I pull out his old sweatshirts and prance around the house in them.  He's always worried that they stink like man, but I think they smell like all the comfort in the world)
At ANY rate, this hat was purchased expressly for an EVENT, said event being my first art show opening in California since moving back last year.  I'm also here to tell you I failed miserably at documenting the affair and instead chatted non-stop while swilling white wine.  However I am quite all right with my prioritization as there is something magical about discussing art, especially in a little spot as charming as Shipwreck (if you are in town, or passing through, the show will be up for the month of June - pop on in!).

(in lieu of loads of fabulous show photos... my barren walls)

So now, this morning, I sit and write to you under Brother Nip who looks like a little lost skull in an expanse of white and scattered nail holes.  What this REALLY says to me is this:

It's time to start packing.
BECAUSE
We're Moving

Yes, BC and I have been fairly nomadic for the duration of our marriage, living in more places than can be counted on one hand.  And it's time to pack up once again, evaluate our belongings, and prepare for a new home.
When we first moved back to California, into this house, we thought we'd log more years here than anywhere else before.  However back in February an opportunity arose with a home less than an hour away that we knew we couldn't pass up.
River-front property.
Double sized studio.
One acre of redwood, cedar, birch, maple, cherry blossom, lilac, wild rose, blackberries, salmonberries and more ferns than one could possibly count.

When we first saw it, the house was a wreck.  To be direct, when we left, BC turned to me and said "Please tell me you saw something good because that place looks like a hell-hole."  Luckily I did, and even in it's state of nasty-carpets-that-smelled-like-cat-pee, busted-windows, invasive-weeds-everywhere, and the most hilarious 8-year-old girl graffiti on every wall (the studio to-be had a 7-foot piece in neon pink spray paint that said "smile"), the house felt like it had good bones.  Musty bones that had not seen love in many years, but bones that held a certain sense of peace and inherent happiness, like it had seen joy and heard laughter and was ready for that again.

So now, months later, we're nearing the finish line.  Last week we picked flooring.  We bought a very sexy gas range.  We crossed our fingers tight as the contractor promised (for the umpteenth time) that he would be done and out in under two weeks.  I've measured and laid out the studio on paper to a perfect "T" (or so I think.  Studio tend to be the sort of thing one must work in a while before cozying into every corner).  And now, it's time to pack.

I'm preparing work for one last shop update before the studio is carefully tucked away and I go on work hiatus until we've officially taken new residence.
For now, I'll leave you with the world's smallest sneak peek: our front door in Fireball Orange.

Cheerio Chickadees!
~ Umber ~

Californicus and the results of a 22 hour drive

Californicus: a native species to California

It's funny.

Sometimes you have to leave a place to realize just how much you love that place. Certain landscapes imprint themselves in the lines of your palm, they become tied up in your locks and branded on your skin in a thousand tiny moles. In my very marrow resides the grit of California and in my blood flows the current of the Golden State. Whenever I cross the state line my heart gives a little flutter and jolt and something deep in my gut recognizes that land as home.

I have the heart of a redwood

I sing the song of the raven

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Weeks ago as I slid wet brushes over canvas while nodding my head to the beat, working tirelessly to finish preparations for "Venation," I spent a long day in contemplation. I was terribly distracted from my work, and completely wrapped up in a job offer that had landed on my desk of my BC. I hosted a debate in my studio, conversing with all my painted creatures, asking their opinions and trying my hardest to remain impartial (but that was never possible). As I debated I worked on one particular piece, studying an assortment of images of jackrabbits. And then I saw it. The images I had gathered, for no other reason than technical research, were carefully labeled with the genus rather than the common name.

And they were all "Califonicus." Native Californians. As their ancestors were, as they were born and raised.

****************************************

Fast forward to this last week's trip to California:

We've made a very official decision, BC and I. We've decided to open the next chapter of our lives, to move forward, to move on. To move South, to California. And soon. We have four short weeks to pack and tidy up business and ready ourselves for the move and soak up as much Seattleness (and Morris-ness) as we can.

I intend to eat a lot this month. There are far too many fabulous restaurants still on our list.

We'll be moving to a small town in Northern California (just North of Eureka if you know the area). We've already found a home with a huge backyard (hello my new garden), plenty of studio space (natural light is my best friend), and a less-than-five-minute-drive to the beach (be still my salt water heart). Like you may have guessed, it's been a busy week. I've been living off the adrenaline thrill of moving home.

I think I'll cry when I cross that borderland, just for the sheer knowledge that it feels so right. I've loved Washington deeply, I've adored it's mountain ranges full of thick trees and cities full of cherry blossoms. It will always be dear to my heart, I will always treasure these last years.

But the time is now.

California, here I come.