Red Post

Summertime in the PNW. This day at the beach did not require a bathing suit, but rather, a hoodie and a hat - nothing like the summer-beach memories of Santa Barbara or even Santa Cruz. No, my beaches now hold an exquisite melancholy, full of beauty and the perfect setting for long contemplative thoughts. This day was grey and drizzly, low 60s, but I just kept finding warmth. The bright colors seemed to jump up from the sandy shore and I made for myself a nest of red to ward off the chill while I sat and watched the waters.

Inspiration

This beautiful plate (a gift from my Dad) is by ceramic artist Ayumi. I am so in love with her work, and of course this plate in particular. It has not left my desk since its arrival because I love seeing it every time I sit down.

On a (seemingly) unrelated note: I have been working on a whole series of mixed media pieces that are small enough to travel between the studio and my home. They begin with silk screened images, then come home to be sewn and drawn on. As I sit here working on one of them, I realized just how influenced I am by the beautiful objects of inspiration that I keep close, with color in particular. Ayumi's choices have leaped off her plate and onto my paper, in the red pencils and blue thread. And I am thankful for the shared energy in our art.

I Still Have a Long Way to Go

I have been thinking about the labyrinth a lot lately (and not the David Bowie movie, although I confess I have watched it and bring it up in discussion a bit too often). The labryinth is a visual reminder of the spiritual journey that we are taking, it is a tool for meditation and the practice of quieting the outter chaos in order to hear more clearly. In this, I still have a long way to go, but it is good.

Birds who Chill

Just a little good mornin' peek.

Studio Days

I find such pleasure in little details. Brushes well used, with clean bristles but colored handles. Perfect little piles of paint, scraped into tidy lumps, each a distinctively different shade. Marks of paint on an otherwise white wall that speak of the history of my work. These things keep me company, encourage me, and entertain me in my studio. They are not inanimate, rather, they are my working companions.

So I think its possible that heaven is going to smell like freshly baked bread. Because right now, my kitchen smells divine. A little (organic) whole wheat flour, a little yeast, a little milk and salt, a little pino noir (ok, the wine was just for drinking) and I am enjoying my very first official loaf of bread.
Thank you Farmgirl Fare Susan! (And if you have not read her blog, you really must, because she is one amazing bread-baking, sheep-raising woman)

Crescent Roll Genie

Rub the the magic tube three times and a genie will appear to grant the wishes of your taste buds.

As most of you know, I am not a big fan of any food that comes in a tube, be it yogurt, cheese, or anything else - even tubed cookie dough can be a little sketch. However, the crescent roll is a whole different story. It is reserved only for camping trips, never for home, but slow cooked over the fire it is magical. I can scarf down half a tube like nothing, eating them plain, stuffed with gouda, or smeared with pomegranate jelly. Their buttery goodness rivals the s'more as my preferred campfire treat.

However, this tube was problematic. There was no satisfying "pop" of the cardboard tube, in fact, it was a dud (I guess that's what we get for buying generic). B and I had worked our selves up for a little roll-smackeral and in our panic to open the tube, somebody got stabbed. The tube oozed dough at an alarming speed. We pried and pulled, but the tube stayed sealed and the dough just kept coming. With dirty fingernails we clawed at the cardboard, alternating between shrieking and hysterical laughter. In the end, the rolls were excavated, the tube was a shredded mess, and sweet crescent salvation came in the form of three feet of string-like dough wrapped expertly 'round a skewer, toasted golden brown.