When you think about "Coming Home", what emotions does that conjure? For me, "home" is not a particular place, although where I live is certainly my physical home. But when I go to San Diego to visit my parents, I am also going "home", although they live on the oppostie coast now from the "home" in which I grew up, in Norwalk, Connecticut.  For me, San Diego is home because that's where my parents and siblings live. 

"Coming Home" also means returning to a place in my heart where I feel happy, secure, loved. In this series, Coming Home is returning to a subject that I haven't painted in a few years - barns. Until a few weeks ago, I hadn't been inspired by barns. I was off on a painting journey, a vision quest, searching for my artistic voice.  I am still on that quest; perhaps (and hopefully!) I always will be. It is in my nature to explore, to investigate, to try new things.

One thing I have learned is that each painting builds on the one before it - for me, the process of painting from the heart involves spiritual exploration and immersion. That is why I tend to paint in series. Much of "finding one's voice" consists of acceptance of personal process. Instead of beating myself up for not picking one genre and focusing exclusively on it, I finally understand how I process - kind of like walking a medicine wheel, with different aspects along the way. I revisit them over and over, bringing new knowledge learned from the others each time.

With this latest revisit with barns, I am exploring the meaning of home. At a time when there is so much uncertainty in our lives, finding   the "home" within becomes vital.

Today is the Winter Solstice, the perfect day to present “Waboose: Spirit Keeper of the North.”

According to the Sun Bear Medicine Wheel, “Waboose's time starts with the Winter Solstice, when Father Sun is at the southernmost point of his journey, the shortest day of the year. Her times are midnight to dawn, Winter, the elder time of life and around to birth or rebirth.

The most honored White Buffalo is the animal manifestation of Waboose.”

You can read more about Waboose here. http://www.wolfcreekarts.com/waboose.htm

This painting has an interesting history, as it started out about three years ago as an Elk painting, which was based upon a dream I had of walking through the woods at night and feeling a presence to my right. I came over a hill and saw a circle of tipis, all glowing from fires within. As I stopped to look at the tipis, a huge Bull Elk stepped out of the brush and regarded me, blocking my view of the tipis. Then he turned and vanished into the darkness. The tipis were gone.

The more I tried to paint this vision, the more it slipped away – and so I abandoned the canvas for well over a year.  Then near the time of last year’s Winter Solstice, at a time when I was painting over many of my failed works, I felt compelled to paint over the Elk. At the time, I had no preconceived idea of how I would rework the painting – I just trusted my intuition and let the paint fly. I worked quickly and almost ferverishly, as if there was something that needed to reveal itself before I got too literal. As usual, I was painting at night, and when I finished, I went to bed, exhausted.

In the morning, I peeked into my studio to see what had transpired the night before – I was a bit taken aback. Who was this white buffalo? I set the painting aside in my studio for a year, unwilling or unable to deal with the power of the white buffalo, unable to explain the meaning, unsure of the composition, insecure about the buffalo, with the strange patches of red showing through her white coat.

And then, two weeks ago, I decided to bring the buffalo upstairs to hang in my livingroom. And a funny thing happened – all the indecision I had about the piece vanished, and I began to love the mystery of the white buffalo, the white crow and the shooting star. 

Last week I happened to go into Boutique Bravo, a cool little clothing store in Fort Collins, Colorado that also sells interesting books and found the book “Medicine Wheel.” In reading this book, “Waboose” was mentioned. Not knowing what “Waboose” meant, I googled the term and suddenly I understood what my painting was all about.

As for the original Elk painting, I believe that vision was just a gateway for me to begin my journey to paint “Waboose: Spirit Keeper of the North”.

“In the beginning of all things, wisdom and knowledge were with the animals, for the Great One above, did not speak directly to man. He sent certain animals to tell man that he showed himself through the beasts, and that from them, and from the stars, and the sun, and the moon, should man learn...All things tell of the Great Spirit.”

- Eagle Chief [Letakots-Lesa](late 19th century) Pawnee

Most people know the sign of the Zodiac that they were born under, which is your Sun sign. Do you know the animal totem or birth totem associated with your birth or your Moon Sign? There are native totem animals for each of the 12 moons of a year and we carry them with us throughout our lives.

A couple of years ago I did a series of birth totem animals more geared toward adults. My new birth totem paintings are created with children in mind – more whimsical and magical. You can see the first two here.

The animals in the child’s birth totem series are white, signifying purity and innocence. “In many prophecies, the birth of rare (white) animals represents a rebirth for humanity, the sacred animals being harbingers of peace, as foretold by the ancients.” The backgrounds in these paintings are usually night scenes, signifying the mystery of life and lending a magical feel, with moon and stars, snow or fireflies.

The gift of a birth totem animal painting is one that can stay with your special child their entire life, and may help them on their path of self-discovery.

If you would like to order a birth totem painting for a special child in your life, please email me with the child’s name and date of birth. Each painting (8x8 up to 9x12 – your choice) is $100 unframed; they can be framed for a small additional cost. Allow 4 weeks for completion. 

Birth Totem Animals by birth date:

Falcon/Hawk: 21 March-19 April

Beaver: 20 April-20 May

Deer: 21 May-20 June

Woodpecker/Brown Flicker: 21 June-21 July

Salmon/Sturgeon: 22 July-21 August

Brown Bear: 22 Aug-21 Sept

Crow/Raven: 22 Sept-22 Oct

Snake*: 23 Oct-22 Nov

Owl/Elk: 23 Nov-21 Dec

Goose/Snowgoose: 22 Dec-19 Jan

Otter: 20 Jan-18 Feb

Wolf/Cougar: 19 Feb-20 March

Click here to find out more about the characteristics of each animal.

*Many people, on learning they are a snake, are upset and don't want to be one. However, Snake medicine is very good, and has to do with their ability to shed the old and embrace the new, of re-invention, of being close to Mother Earth, in tune with her rhythms. Yes, Snake can be intense, and can strike if provoked. But normally, they like to go about their own business.  My birth totem painting for Snake children celebrates all the positive qualities of this often mis-understood animal.

This painting is a 24x24 oil that I did several years ago. I thought it was appropriate to this story.

I just returned from a trip to southern California – mostly to visit family, but also to spend a little quality time with my husband. We stayed at a cute little hotel right on the water in Laguna Beach.  We had anticipated cocktails on our deck overlooking the ocean, romantic sunsets, maybe a little dip into the Pacific. What we got was the marine layer. For those of you unfamiliar with this effect, it is a thick blanket of fog that descends on the coast at night, but then burns off by mid-to-late morning. Normally. But the days we stayed in Laguna, the marine layer clung stubbornly, allowing us one 20 minute glimpse of the sun. Tank tops and bathing suits never unpacked… we were glad we had the foresight to bring sweat shirts and long pants!

But the beach did offer a consolation prize; we had the place to ourselves, and I spent time wandering the beach looking for – and finding – sea shells, coral and rocks. All of which I had to leave, because you aren’t allowed to take any of these things from the beach. The water was relatively calm. During one brief lifting of the layer, we could see waves breaking far out on the horizon; a brilliant stripe of white contrasting against the dark gray of the sky and water.

I brought my painting gear with me, hoping to get in some plein air painting on the beach. I did try on Tuesday, painting the view of thick gray from our deck.  I have to admit, I was not inspired to paint what I saw – no color, no contrast, no shapes. The vision of the brief moment when we could see the horizon still dances in my head, and I’m thinking I may try to paint it.

I did spend a lot of time walking through the many wonderful galleries in town (by myself – my hubby gets bored after two galleries – and so he headed up to the music store in town!) – one of my favorites was Studio 7 Gallery  - a co-op gallery of 14 Laguna plein air artists. The work was fresh and well-done. I met Dorothy Cavanagh - and enjoyed talking with her for quite some time. Another favorite was the Sue Greenwood Fine Art Gallery – there were a few artists represented that paint in a very intuitive style.

One thing I noticed – a lot of very sophisticated, somewhat avant garde artwork. Yes, there were galleries with landscapes, and galleries with quasi European art (think Lavender fields and red tile roofs…) but – LOTS of galleries with more abstract, cutting edge art. I didn’t see a lot of wild life art, but did find this: 

Hmmm, the bison reminds me a little of… me!  It is a painting by Brenda K. Bredvik, and I saw it in Pacific Edge Gallery.

So, despite the uninspiring weather, the art in the galleries was very inspiring and I returned home raring to paint! The Owl below was one I started before leaving for California, and I was pleased when I saw it sitting on my easel in my studio. With a few minor additions, it seems finished. I also started a new Bison painting, which has a little ways to go. I’m hoping one or both will be done in time to enter into the Western Spirit Art show. I’ve got one more week before the deadline!

"The Gift", 18x24 Acrylic WIP                       "Untitled" 20x20 Acrylic WIP

I’m busy finishing up a few new paintings for First Friday Gallery Walk (October 7) at Old Town Art and Framery.  For those of you interested in seeing my painting process, I’ll be doing a live demo from 6 – 8 pm during Gallery Walk. Basically “flying by the seat of my pants” I scribble, throw, dribble and flow paint on the surface of the canvas creating a chaos of color and line. Eventually, a subject reveals itself – although the first thing to appear is not always the one with staying power. I’ve been known to paint and repaint a canvas several times before that happens! As you might have guessed, mine is not a manicured path – I prefer to take the road less travelled.

This piece is called "Cowabunga!"  An expression of surprise, joy, or enthusiasm.  The word was first used by Chief Thunderthud on the "Howdy Doody" show (1954, before my tome ;-) and was later adopted by surfers as a greeting (as in "Cowabunga, dude.")  Later on it was popularized in the 1990 cartoon, Teenage Muntant Ninja Turtles. 

I thought I might title it, "Purple Cow"but in the end, Cowabunga seemed more appropriate.

Purple Cow is the name of a well-known poem by Gelett Burgess, written in 1895:

I never saw a purple cow.
I never hope to see one.
But I can tell you anyhow
I'd rather see than be one.  

Much of my work over the summer has been experimental in nature, pushing past what I see into what I believe. My trip to Taos with my friends Carolyn and Susie provided the key to open a door in my mind. Much is written about the magic of Taos – I concur that there is a palpable energy there unlike anything I have felt before. We all felt it the day we found a little-known morada. As we walked into view of the old adobe structure with the calvery cross (the very one Georgia O’Keefe painted!) three turkey vultures circled overhead. All three of us welled up with tears, so moving and beautiful was the experience. We painted for hours, with two stray dogs being the only other visitors that day.

Later that day, we strolled through the galleries on Kit Carson Rd. I was happy to see my friend Marie Massey's colorful paintings at Walden Fine Arts, along with work by one of my favorite artists, Lance Green. And I got to see three magnificient sculptures by my buddy Chester Armstrong  at  Old World Fine Art - the three raven sculpture just blew me away.  I spent quite a bit of time visiting with Joshua Franco, an artist whose surrealist work intrigues me - not only for his compelling compositions, but for the iconoclastic nature of his imagery.  

Since returning, my paintings seem to come from somewhere deep inside; the memories of places where I felt connected to spirit percolating to the surface.

This piece started out as a plein air landscape, but once I got it home into my studio, Fox showed up with a couple of her buddies.

If you've been following my blogs, or get my newsletter, or "like" my page on Facebook, you know that I've been pretty silent - both in my writing and my painting - for the last several months. Okay, since January.  Part of the reason has been "life issues". Some of that has been alleviated, most notably my back problems. 3 days a week at the chiropractor's plus a new home exercise regime has got the ol' back feeling much better.  But one of the main reasons that I haven't been very creative is a lack of inspiration. In my last blog, I wrote about painting for myself. But when I'd find the time to get into my studio and paint, the work seemed uninspired... and it seemed like I'd forgotten how to be loose and spontaneous.

Then yesterday, while looking up an artist for my "day job" at Art for Conservation, I came across the work of another artist, Robert Joyner. Not only was I blown away by his work, but everything about him rang true. Plus, he has an awesome video series on his website - all free - that show him painting. Last night I watched a couple before heading into my studio - just watching him slop the paint onto the paper (like me, he often uses "reject" paintings as the background for new paintings) got me juiced up - I could hardly wait to start painting.

So I found a painting I did a few months ago and then it hit me... what did I want to paint? One of the exercises Robert recommends is getting something out of the refrigerator and painting that. In my studio, I have a small fridge/freezer. Nothing much in the fridge...but the freezer - well, that's where I store my collection of dead birds. Sparrow, robin, starling, meadowlark, hummingbird, flycatcher. I've had them in there a long time, but rarely do I feel confident enough to paint them as a still-life. But last night I figured, what the heck, and pulled out a small bird (not even sure what it is) and started painting.

Here's the thing about using a frozen dead bird as a subject for a painting. You don't have much time before it starts warming up, especially in the heat of the summer. And when it starts warming, well, lets just say its not the scent I want clinging to my nostrils. So I had to sketch in the bird quickly before returning it to its frozen tomb. When Robert Joyner paints, he only uses his photo reference for the very beginning of the painting, to get down basic shapes. Then he puts it away and lets his imagingation go.

Another artist whom I admire, Lance Green, has a similar way of working, tapping into his imagination and letting the painting evolve without a whole lot of analytical thought. I recently read a blog post he wrote where he talked about knowing when a painting is "done."  It's almost like the painting shouts "stop!"  I've experienced that - and ignored it - working on a painting far beyond where I should have stopped, because my left brain starts wanting neater brush strokes, more "perfect" trees, a more literal interpretation. And when I do that, although the painting may turn out ok, it has lost the spark, the energy that it had when it yelled "STOP!"

So with this one, I listened when it whispered "stop."  Are there things I might want to "fix"? Yes. But I am resisting that, because fixing will cause me to tighten up, and in this exercise, I wanted to stay loose and spontaneous through the who process of painting.

An email from one of my newsletter subscribers asking if I was still sending out my newsletters struck a nerve with me. Because while the abstract answer is "yes", in reality, the answer is "no" - since I haven't written a newsletter or a blog entry in many months. One could say that so far, 2011 has been my year of hibernation. Sometimes, despite our best intentions, our plans, our hard work - the goal we work toward -  is picked up by a great gust of wind and carried farther away. It may be no coincidence that the past year has been one of nearly constant winds here on the northern Colorado front range. When a zephyr blows off the mountains and across the high plains, the best you can do is hunker down and wait it out.

And so that is what I must do. So far this year, the birth of a granddaughter (who lives with us), the death of my dear mother-in-law, a new job and a chronic back problem have conspired to force me to make some choices. Although part of what I do for my "day job" involves teaching artists how to market themselves and their work, when push came to shove, the marketing part of my own art career had to be back-burnered. Really, taken completely off the stove for awhile.  That's because the choice I was confronted with was - Paint, or Write About Painting. I chose Paint.

A funny thing happened - something I hadn't really expected. The less I communicated with others, the more personal my work became. Without thinking of things like "will this piece be saleable", I instead just painted what my heart desired. Sometimes happy, sometimes full of grief, sometimes impatient, sometimes frustrated, sometimes confused - but always just about expression. Lots of what I painted is painful to look at - growing pains.

I have long held the belief that our bodies get sick when we don't give ourselves the "down time" we need. And that things in life get hard when we resist the flow. As I look at what the Universe has thrown at me, I have come to realize that all the boulders in my way are there to slow me down, make me live in the present, make me focus on what is Really Important - which, in the case of my art, is my painting.

Painting has become much more than a "product" to sell. Perhaps beginning in 2006 with my equine spirit series, I've been trying to get to a truth in my work. I feel the work I am doing now is headed in the right direction. I still ping-pong between landscape, animals, abstracts. And I've even added figures into some paintings. But the difference right now - and for me it is a big difference - is I am not worrying that every painting that I do doesn't "fit" in with other paintings. From a marketing standpoint, what I am doing is pure suicide. Galleries and collectors like to know what to expect. And I don't blame them.  But right now, my painting is about me. It is my journey, my quest, my vision.  And if, along the way, someone sees something that resonates with them and they want to purchase it, I will be thrilled. But if that doesn't happen, I am fine with that, too.

Earlier this month I closed down my Cafe Press store. Although I will continue to write when the spirit moves me, I will no longer drive myself with the fury of my own self-imposed task-master. I will give myself some slack, and allow myself to create from the source of truth within me.  I have been thinking seriously about cutting two of my galleries - a strange concept for someone who worked so hard to get INTO galleries. But right now, I find them limiting. If paintings don't sell, I worry that I'm not painting the right thing, or that my paintings suck. If a painting does sell, then I think, "I must paint another like that." Which puts stress on me. If I am painting for no one but myself, then all I have to do is please myself.

I can hear the grumbles of other artists, gallery owners - even my past "me", admonishing me that painting for oneself is all very good and well, but unless I want to be a starving artist, I have to paint for my market. But here's the deal - as long as I am painting for someone else, I will always be stuck retelling someone else's story. When I go within and paint my vision, paint from my heart, paint what moves me, then what I paint will be my truth. And maybe that truth will resonate with others. Maybe it won't. That is the risk I must take, and now is the time to take it.

I laid my head down on my arms, closing my eyes for just a minute, listening to the jagged breaths of my mother-in-law in the little room in the hospice wing of McKee Hospital. The last week had been exhausting; a week of intense emotions, phone calls, arrangements, vigils. But now a wave of peace washed over me, and I was aware only of the absolute silence in the room. I imagined I saw a bird flying in a cerulean sky, swirling up into the bright orb of the sun.

I heard the familiar footsteps of my husband and brother-in-law as they entered the room. And then the words, “She’s gone.”

“How did I miss it?” I asked myself, sitting not more than two feet from her bedside. And then I knew. I hadn’t missed it. That bird flying toward the sun, that was her spirit, finally set free from the cage of her body, the tether of her mind.

That night I listened to the Enya CD that Joan loved and painted. I thought of her life; her joys and her sorrows. The painting took many twists and turns, from literal to abstract interpretations.

Listen to "Only Time"

Who can say where the road goes,
Where the day flows, only time?
And who can say if your love grows,
As your hearth chose, only time?

Who can say why your heart sights,
As your live flies, only time?
And who can say why your heart cries
when your love lies, only time?

Who can say when the roads meet,
That love might be, in your heart?
and who can say when the day sleeps,
and the night keeps all your heart?
Night keeps all your heart.....

Who can say if your love grows,
As your heart chose, only time?
And who can say where the road goes
Where the day flows, only time?

Who knows? Only time
Who knows? Only time

© Enya

Somewhere between the known and the unknown, this painting emerged and I knew it expressed my feelings, in the aftermath.

Once again, my muse showed up to be painted. I've done a number of paintings that feature my horse Scotty in various "incarnations." The first time I painted him was a very realistic portrait in pastel. Then came Healing Path, Winter Solstice, Change is Afoot, Return of the Warriors. And now, Til the Morning Comes. This is an experimental piece, done in acrylic on gessoed hardboard. I've used various techniques to create the texture in the painting - rags, palette knife, brushes - even my fingers.

The dictionary defines "muse" as:

1. Greek Mythology. Any of the nine daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus, each of whom presided over a different art or science.
2. muse
   1. A guiding spirit.
   2. A source of inspiration.
3. muse A poet.