A Booty Gal and Lots of Small Talk

Well, I am feeling much better, thank you!  I have officially started off my new year by sleeping more than I did the entire month of December, but I think that's a good move.  

So, since I know you're just terribly curious (or just glad for a new blog to read while you sit under the florescents - you know who you are!), here are some shorts on what my life has looked like the past two weeks.

I've been stomping all over town in new boots these days, cruising the sidewalks in my flirty Fryes and galoshing through puddles in my big, black Wellingtons.  But my favorite has been trekking up to Vivacé through the weather to sip ginger-infused-spiced-cider-with-black-tea-oh-sweet-jesus-it's-good while absolutely DEVOURING...

... Annie Dillard's "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek."  I'm trying to take it slow, I promise, but it's just so amazing that I end up nodding my head and making little noises and reading so fast that my fingers start twitching just to flip the page.  I know there is a lot of talk out there about this book, and a lot of fans, and let me tell you, it's for good reason.  If you believe in the validity, the beauty, the grit and the power of the natural world outside your home, then you seriously need to pick this up!

In other domestic news, I managed to not do a stitch of laundry for roughly three weeks and still survived.  I think this means I have too many undies.  No one should be able to go that long and still put on a clean pair every day.  I think somewhere in there is a New Year's Resolution, but in typical procrastinator fashion, I'm planning on ignoring it.  Kind of like how Thai ignored BC and I, and instead burrowed deep into 5 loads of fresh 'n hot laundry for a quick kitty snooze.

I've really been working up a storm in the studio, with new pillows fluttering into ye 'ol shop and new tiny paintings (only. 8. inches. square. Eek!) that I just adore.  BUT, more on that laters as there are some little details involved that are too top secret to show just yet.  OH I love secrets and I'm sooooooo bad about not telling...

Ok my friendlies, more substance will be coming soon but for right now I feel as flippy and light as the little chunk of my hair that always plays Farrah Fawcett.  Sit up tall, deep breaths, a smile on your lips and embrace the day!

- Umber

The reason why I know...

It's gonna be an amazing year.  And let me tell you why.  It's not because I rang in 2009 surrounded by my beautiful friends, drinking amber bubbly and eating way too much fondue (or really, fon-don't in this case, the taste was great but the cheese was questionable!  You should never need a knife to cut your fondue, that's for sure).  It's not because we sang karaoke, BC and I belting out Billie Jean while dancing like fools and sharing a mike (and nope, neither of us sounds the least bit like Michael Jackson but we do know every word to that song).  It's not because I felt fabulous in my new purple dress with my big bright yellow heels and matching plum colored tights.  No, all those things helped, but the reason I know 2009 will be amazing is this:

At 1:30 am, January 1st 2009, my BC walked the 1/2 mile and back under the dripping Seattle fog to the corner market that never closes (it's the dirtiest little city market around but with the best advertising scheme ever) to buy me a bottle of Nyquil.  My bones ached, my whole face hurt and my voice (without the ability to breathe through my nose) sounded like a chubby bunny contest winner.  And my man showed me selfless love first thing in 2009.  THAT is why I know.

He is a good man.

So Happy New Years my friends, I hope you rang in 2009 well.  I've much to say about this upcoming year but right now, there are fluffy white tissues and a nubby blue blanket calling my name.

When One is Officially Snowed In

Seattle has been transformed.  And the city has no idea what to do with itself (we're talking major shutdowns, the entire school system, seventy percent of the public transportation, several bridges) so it has released its residents out to play.

We trekked up to our favorite breakfast haunt along with approximately half the population of Seattle, jostling padded elbows and winking festively under beanies.  I had the Rainbow Rumble (an appropriate name for the hippy veggie dish) and he had the Daily Special.  We laughed with total strangers over snowball fights, chatted with a 3 year old on telemark skies, and cheered on the brave (and by brave I mean foolish) souls who sledded down the steepest street on nothing more than a cardboard box.  

Jovial doesn't even quite cover it.

I've decided that I love the snow.

Like, "if you love it so much, you should marry it."

I think I might take it on as a mister.

Midnight Romps

Hooray!

Christmafication Part One

Hi.  I've been a bit delinquent, but honestly, I think some caped crusader came in and stole the entire last week from me.  I remember being busy, and eating some really great cheese, and watching one spectacular sunset while I jogged the ridge of Capitol Hill (my neighborhood here in Seattle), but other than that, I really don't know what happened.

Except that my home has suddenly been Christmafied and every morning I wake to the glorious scent of a fresh fir tree wafting its spicy goodness throughout the house.

An ever wise friend joined in on the decorating fun and pointed out that I should have an entire tree in my home at all times, year-round.  I tend to agree.  It fits my redwood soul and makes these plaster walls feel so much more alive.

I love these mountains.  

The far-reaching marine layer from the Puget Sound wraps its tendrils over the hilltops even in the hight of summer and there is a stillness in the trees that always quiets my heart.

We gratefully accepted our complimentary hot cocoa, and then went back for sneaky seconds, and then took a hot cider for the road.  Scandalous!

And then, I went out for a spot of urban foraging, harvesting two full bags of cedar and fir boughs 

from the surrounding blocks.

Ahhhh, Christmas!  How I love you and all of your scenty, delectable ways!

I tell myself that I am a morning person.  And I DO love waking before the rest of the world, when the sunlight is watery and the birds are just beginning to shuffle about.  I love the ridiculous productivity that can happen before 10:00 am, the feeling of actually wanting lunch at noon (rather than around 4:00, which is when I usually tear myself away to eat) and feeling that the day has been full by the time the sun sets.

But the truth is, I can not keep myself from working late into the night, sipping on a tiny glass of Amaretto, pencils flying, fingers (and wrists and forearms) covered in sticky, glue-like matte medium, Jack Johnson strumming in the background and my terrariums keeping watch like portly soldiers.

These are both in progress (I know, I know, how many "in progress" items can one gal have?) but I've been enjoying working on these the last few nights.  Part collage, part watercolor, soon to be mounted on panel and covered in a thick, protective layer of resin, they are loose stories of small discoveries made while walking through my neighborhood.

So the question is, are you a morning bird or a night owl?

And so The Rainfall begins

So I know I've been on a bit of a kick with the videos so please forgive me (I plan on blaming it on my mother - she likes them because she gets to see me in action precious little - I love you Mum!).  BUT I was just starting a new painting in the studio yesterday and thought it might be interesting to record just how I attack (in the outpouring of creative energy) the canvas on day one.

As a total side note, do you know where the Umber of UmberDove comes from?  Now that I've officially published my website, I suppose the cat is out of the bag and I can let you in on the secret of half of my pseudonym.  I do not think a painting has ever, in the history of my oils and myself, gone without this particular luscious shade of deep, cool earthy brown.  And as a side note to the side note, I DO squeeze my toothpaste from the middle and it DOES look just like those tubes of paint in the background.  BC and I have come to a truce on it.  Which basically means once a week I painstakingly squeeze it all up to the top, rolling the flattened base like someone who is far more left-brained than myself.  But back to the real story.

The working (a.k.a. unofficial) title of this painting is "The Rainfall."  The last, larger painting, "The Inheritance" is still coming along but I had an experience this past weekend that had stuck in my head on repeat and I knew I need to get it down on canvas.  I feel pretty clear about the direction of the painting, but as they all go, there are many more layers to be put down, many more hours to spend with it, and many long meditative looks to give it.  The process in this video will be repeated (entirely) in about 48 hours, scraping and blending to create a ground of pure mottled color seamlessly flowing upon which to begin the "real" painting.

So, The Rainfall.  Day one.

And when it rained

The insects sang.

A primal chant of

Wing beats and

Thorax stomps

Antenna beseeching the heavens.

A melancholy pulse

Detritus laid out upon the altar 

Fog rising as burnt offering

Manna falling from the sky.