The rain drifts softly,
wrens peck at the suet like pencil to paper. It's a quiet day. Last night there was a fog so thick before we went to bed, I wondered if it would last until morning. It moved on with heavier rain. We have a new suet feeder next to the office, and to the cat's delight and ours, we see our house wrens and other wild birds passing through, pecking away diligently to fatten up for a winter stay or a long flight. Sitting here, I peck away at the page, trying to be as thoughtful and diligent, each mark a flight across the paper, if not miles inside.
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A watercolor
is an impression of hands drawing out the rain. This morning is a steady pitter patter of water outside, not unlike my cat's paws across the floor. I have been taking a whitline printing class with @kittythepainter and exploring this traditional technique of making monoprints with watercolor, and carving the image into wood. It's very satisfying pushing the knife along the lines of the drawing, the mixing of the paint just right, brushing paint litle by little, rubbing with a spoon or using your hand to press and lift the image back. My first test image is in honor of my anniversary today. It's two apples on a tree that we planted in the yard, and has borne a lot of fruit this year, the kitty in the background. One day it will just be us two, and maybe a cat, our child off into the world. Here is to the future, which is hard to imagine at the moment. Mending together a fence between good neighbors- cut, pound, cut, pound, cut. Yesterday evening, the sounds happening in my neighbor's yard were beautiful. Mariachi music drifted over the raspberry vines, their children were laughing on a trampoline and I could see them pop up and down, and then there was the sawing and pounding. It was visual and auditory music all at once. I've lived in this house for over 15 years and had three different owners of the house next door. The fence is technically theirs, but a few families previous to mine helped them put it up many years ago. They were good neighbors to each other, and then as years went by and parents died, the fence went into disrepair. I put up a temporary fence and raspberries to keep it from falling into our yard. We tried through the last few owners to repair it and make a new one, but no luck. They were not interested in sharing. But now, the new owner with a young family has a mission to make a lovely fence for us both to talk across, and our children to talk to each other over it, being as the times are. Just like Robert Frost's "Mending Wall," there will be a part where we do not need a wall, as the apple trees and raspberries belong only to the birds when we are not in need of them, and it will not stop the music. Covipoem # 141
To hold a teacup
made by a friend in one’s hand is conversation. At night I have been re-reading “The Unknown Craftsman: A Japanese Insight into Beauty,” by Soetsu Yanagi. Last night's chapter was on Irregularity, and how perfection can “admit no freedom.” I have this teacup I use in fall and winter, and it is a “second” by a friend. When she made it, there was a slight crack in the glaze running down one side, but the feel was right and comfortable for my hand. She gave these away to friends who wanted them, as they could not sell. It has good “lift.” It has history and friendship, which I think any great object has to bring value to oneself.
Rain pouring softly
on the house like fine stitches through a downy quilt. It's 5 a.m. and raining, I have enjoyed listening to it so much I decided to wake up and pull out a project. Little by little, I have been working on a quilt since August. I've never made one, but it's a small flurry of stitches when I can take a moment. That is often early in the morning, now it is still dark. Pelt, pelt, pelt, from above...stitch, stitch, stitch..in my lap; a similar rhythm. I decided to get over my intimidation of making one (my grandmother made very intricate pieced quilts) and just practice. Now that it is turning colder, it's lovely to have a project on the lap to keep me warm in more ways than one. The morning dark lifts eventually, bird by bird- a symphony! Today did not start with the blanket of fog, but there was a cloak of birdsong. We have some lovely hedges around the backside of the property, and a few pine trees. They are filled with the usual household birds, house wrens, cardinals, starlings, blue jays and mourning birds, pigeons. Occasionally we will have a seagull, and more often than not now, various raptors taking a rest or swooping overhead to eat these smaller birds. There is a book I love, called "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott, which focuses on writing practice, one bit at a time. It's great advice for art too, to not be overwhelmed, one thing at a time, no matter how small. This morning every bird seemed to take a turn in the backyard, and I had to sit for a bit. The days are not as light in the morning, so it was like a curtain in theater subtly raising up, the performers each taking their cue. I have also been pulling paper every week, for a larger project, and today's stencils reminded me of the morning-wake up!
Crack! There is the sun-
the fog a protected shell releases the yolk. We woke up to strange fog today, a blanket around the house. Fog amazes me in that when you are within it, you have your own clarity and space, and yet from a distance, you can't see anyone, nor can they see you. There is a metaphor in that. I went outside to feel the cool air, dropping over me gently, and then the sun through the fog and was beautiful. If we were in normal times, I would have been too busy to stop and enjoy, getting ready for work and off to the bus stop. There is joy in these moments. |
Haiku Hand
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