Pickin'

THAT was a good one.  It didn't even make it into the bucket.

Snapped this photo and then proceeded to eat all the berries you can see here.  ALL of them.  Every last one.  Not kidding in the least.  And then struck back out to refill the cache.

I'm a berry-picking whore.  

There.  I said it.  I'll sacrifice my skin and clean clothes for the promise of those sweet sweet nubbly pearls of goodness that melt so merrily on my tongue.  For the promise of berries swirled in yogurt or plopped onto ice cream or baked in a cobbler or tossed by the handfuls down the gullet... I'm a weak woman.  When others (a.k.a. BC) have long since given up and surrendered to the lull of stretching out on the river banks I keep on picking and plucking... one for the bucket, two for me.  I'm sure if you were to view a cross-section of my stomach right now, it would stained the most luscious shade of purple - absolutely worthy of being named the Pantone color of Summer 2010.

What is it about summer that is worth the sacrifice for you?

Is it the threat of sunburn to hike one more hour?  The peril of a pedicure chipped and worn from dipping toes in the ocean?  The danger of never returning to the inside world or the hazard of running willy nilly all the way down to Costa Rica to live in sarongs and straw hats till your dying breath?

What IS your favorite thing about these golden dog days?

Today

The house feels quiet and slow, like stretching toes into warm sand.

I'm eating pita chips and the last cold dregs of breakfast tea, wearing the comfiest pants I own.

The haphazard composition of empty avocado shell, used knife, pointed tomato stems and dirty cutting board still on the counter from breakfast pleases my eye.

The cats had a fight, scaring me and littering the grass outside with tuffs of orange and brown hair.

I've been looking at the photos I took when SHE was here, thinking about that long walk through wide fields, the way the fog rolled in over our heads, the sunlight becoming surreal, the way we spoke of noticing the small things, the minute details, of being so intentional.  And how bad we needed to pee while still three miles out from the house.

*****

I had a vision a couple days ago, a vision of the painting sort.  I had to set my other paintings aside, slice off a huge swatch of fabric and stretch a new canvas that day.  It's coming along, a dangerous sort of beauty, gray and undulating and I can hear it calling my name all the way from the studio.  I think I'll pop the kettle on, mix up a fresh pot of tea and answer.

Post-Bloggy Break (that I forgot to mention...)

Ciao Bellas e Bellos!

Well I'm afraid you'll just have to forgive me for the unannounced week-off of the interwebs but I've had the best excuse:

The Mme. came to play.

As you can well imagine, there has been a flurry of chatter, an innumerable number of lattés, more glasses of wine than I have fingers (or desire) to count, incredible conversations on what it is to be an artist, on the condition of human existence (and the beautiful simplicity of capturing moments in photography), the hardship of not owning certain Channel tights or certain Anthropologie arm chairs, the funny squeak that my laugh has developed and scandalous giggles at our shared irreverence.

 Above all, there has been a swelling of my heart to be in the company of one of my favorite women in all the earth.

Plus, we bought matching construction-worker-orange cardigans and teal striped knee-socks.  Because now that we are no longer neighbors separated by a measly 112 feet, we can justify buying the exact same clothes.

It's been a break for my head and for my heart, 'cause there is nothing, NOTHING in this world like the balm of a good friend.

And now, off to dine and dip in the Finnish hot tubs (for the second time this week).  Cheerio!

Seven Degrees of Discerning: Be Here and Now

From my newest series, Seven Degrees of Discerning. These pieces are part personal messages that I need to be reminded of daily, part love of totem animals (and recognizing them as stand-ins for self-portraiture) and partly birthed from studying ancient belief systems of connecting our physical bodies with our emotional being.

And so I'm delighted to show you the first in the series, the root, the reminder of Earth, of survival, of stillness, of being present, "Be Here and Now."

:: Be Here and Now ::

I press my feet against the earth, plant my heels down in that rich soil.

The future is coming, after all, isn't it always? But as I pull this atmosphere into my lungs and sense the touch of sky upon my skin, what happens tomorrow seems a long way off.

Right this second, ten thousand microscopic creatures are carrying about their lives unseen below my toes. Right now ten tons of water is being released into the air with little more than a whisper by the foliage standing upright. Right now the moon is pulling the tides and the earth is obliging it's heavenly path.

Right now there is no other place I can be, no other place I want to be, no other place I'm supposed to be. So I am.

Here.

Now.

I press my feet against the earth, plant my heels down in that rich soil.

"Be Here and Now"

Oil on Canvas, 8" x 8"

2010

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Prints of "Be Here and Now" will be available in the shop tomorrow morning, Friday the 6th along with a small company of other new-to-etsy prints (WHAHOO!). I'm not planing on placing the original painting in the shop any time too soon HOWEVER if you are interested in owning the Original please feel very free to drop me an email at kclarkstudios[at]gmail.com.

On that note, I'm headed South to the country for a day with my sister, stopping only for lattés, lunch-to-go and anything else two sassy fems may feel like on a Thursday afternoon.

Matchie Matchie

When the boy's away, the toes will play...

Light on the Heart, Easy on the Eyes

And heavy on the inspiration. Hold the mushrooms, add some diced green chilies and a side of fresh fruit if you can. And if I could get another cuppa... Please and thanks and why don'cha pull up a chair and grab a mug?

Hello Monday.

I'm pleased to see you too. The skies have held thick and damp for days, casting unexpected shadows and flipping all the normal colors on their heads. I'm not sure if it's the briskness of the ocean air or the wheatgrass I've been taking every afternoon but something has electrified me down to my toes. I've got 10,000 volts running through my veins and the current just won't let me sit still. Inspiration runs rampant, flashing little sparks at the tip of my hair and zinging forked lightning under my fingertips. I really couldn't tell you what the original catalyst was, but I'd DELIGHT to show some of the fuel that has kept it alive.

1. THISTLES

It's a full-blown obsession. Between those sumptuous curves and deadly spikes they have me mesmerized, crouching down in empty fields to study their dangerous elegance, turning them delicately over and over in my mind, as if by rotating them five times to the left and three to the right I'll be able to unlock their secrets. I can't stop drawing them, in my sketchbook, on old envelopes, on the palm of my hand. And stitching, curving them around in rich black thread (it's a secret but I'll let it slip - I'm sewing again with abandon). Don't even try to stop me. I'm a woman addicted.

2. Twig Hutchinson

It's a strange sort of preoccupation I'm having with this website. I keep slowly pouring over the pages, soaking in those washed colors, delighting in the paint splatters, golden sunlight, and that lone sleeping [Velveteen] rabbit. I'm going to need to buy a pair of creamy cabled socks just so I can plop my bread and jam on the floor and tiptoe around it.

3. Miss 7391

(I KNOW! A jersey maid AND thistles? It's a wonder I didn't spontaneously combust with sheer delight)

I can't help it. I've gotten attached to the cows. One of my favorite evening runs takes me between sprawling pastures with crumbling barns, up and over the Mad River and to my favorite herd of moozers. I always stop to chat with them, and in return they crowd around to nuzzle my hand and bat those huge brown eyes at me. I feel as if I could pour out my heart to those ladies and they would treat it kindly, patiently, knowing that the perfect thing to say was nothing at all.

sigggggggggggggggh.

It's true love I tell you.

4. Interview with Malin Elmlid

This may appear perfectly random (which is how I stumbled across this site) but I can't stop myself from falling in love with the Scandinavian simplicity of these photos. I think it's my Finnish blood crying out for white walls and rustic breads. I crave hundred year old buildings with lumpy wooden floors and I must confess to pouring one full pitcher of raspberry mint water JUST because hers looked so delightful (Do you ever fall victim like that? Watching a movie, reading a book, flipping through a magazine and see something edible and before you know it, you just HAVE TO HAVE IT?).

5. My Happy Anniversary / I am Healed Necklace

Oh BC. Really there hardly need be words describing how I feel about this piece, nor the way it rests upon my chest. Oh Jillian. It's beyond perfect. It needed to live with me as much as I needed to wear it. You BOTH bring me to joy. And love. Thank you.

:::::

Well!

I hope inspiration alights on your shoulders today and lifts you right up out of that chair. Stretch up, open your eyes wide, breathe deep, and shake those tail feathers!

With a zing and a zip,

over and out.

- Umber

July 28th 2010, Nine Years and Counting

Have you been properly introduced to my man?

He's on the taller side of life, which is exactly right because my head fits perfectly into the nook of his neck. He's quick to laugh, and even quicker to extend a hand. He's loyal to the ends of the world.

He thinks his face is crooked, but I disagree. I think it's full of mischief. But he does have a terrible poker face - the twinkle in his eyes gives him away every time. His fingers are a bit knobby - back from the days of basketball and busted knuckles - but they are all man. His neck is always tan. He has a scar on his stomach from a barbed wire incident as a child. He's always had sexy calves, you know, those good looking soccer-esc man-calves.

The man loves mustard and salami, classic mustangs, t-shirts and jeans, West Side Story, camping in the deep woods, fishing with a flask in hand, dinning out (multiple restaurants in one day are no foreign concept), Irish whiskey, practical jokes and baseball. And games, GOOD LORD does he like games. Of all kinds, of any kind. I think his love language might be the playing king of hearts. Plus he's terribly indulgent when it comes to photoshoots.

When we met, all I knew was I wanted to ride in that red Jeep with that cute boy through the hot valley summer, wherever we might end up. Little did sixteen year-old me know then that place would be here and now. Little did I know that he would be my rock of strength and my featherbed of safety, that we would change and shift and grow like two trees planted close whose branches intertwine and whose roots share the same wellspring. Little did I know then that I had already met my soul mate.

And now, Nine years after we said "I do" I still wouldn't change a thing about him.

BC,

I love you forever and always and to the end.

love,

me