Smoke. Mirrors.

The cloudy dawn stopped to gaze at itself in the mirror-smooth surface of the creek this morning. I snapped it to see if I could capture those reflections.

Moments of grace can be so fleeting …I checked the photo quickly, but by the time I looked to the East again, the vision was gone. A dirty pewter creek and the sky bleaching into day.

One more day at work tomorrow, and then the short Sunday will bear the burden of all my creative frustration before I head back to work on Monday. I don’t know how some people work like this, six days a week, for years!

day at the cloud factory…

cloud factory

I sustained a delightful couple of hours of mindlessness, yesterday, and had a bit of a play with paints and brushes.

The end result isn’t very profound or meaningful, but the process was pretty special.

It was one of those rare moments when I managed to turn off the endless chatter of thoughts in my head—the critic, the sycophant, the worrier, the unhappy rationalist, the self-conscious amateur, the eager-to-please child, the pretentious dilettante—and slip through the little magical door of Now, into simply Being…simply Doing, firmly occupying the present moment and having the present moment occupy me: focused on nothing but the dabbing of paint on canvas, the playful building-up of lines and shapes, the aroma of the coffee, the sounds of the wind and water around the boat.

I felt a deep peace and calm as I worked, not caring what the outcome would be, not caring if turned out well or not, or whether anybody liked it (myself, included), not letting myself grow attached to any part of it. Just accepting the moment for what it was.

“More moments like this, please,” I urge my soul…when there isn’t a single additional thing that’s missing, that I want or need, to feel my life and existence to be absolute joy, perfect in every way…perfect just as it is.

Untitled

bookbinding : : conjuring the sun with color

Twenty-two consecutive days of rain! Was starting to feel a bit soggy around the edges. Thankfully, yesterday brought us some real sun, and that has cheered me up no end.

I brought some colour and light into my studio yesterday by making these two journals:

Another embroidered allium, my first time to use a color other than green for the stencilled background. Went with shades of lavender and purple for this one. With the orange/red shades from the flowers, and the spring green of the stems, the colours seem to work. It’s cheerful, anyway. This one’s in my shops.

Note: I have had to re-open my account with Paypal, as furious as that makes me. I have tried using the alternatives suggested by http://www.screw-paypal.com, but an order last week had me tearing my hair in frustration. Good thing the customer is an old friend, used to my bumbling ways, and so very patient with me! But to have to go through all that with some stranger who is used to snapping things up easily? I realised that it would be too much to ask of the average fairweather shopper—who has never heard of Wikileaks, or doesn’t grasp its relevance, at any rate. So I’ve resolved to donate a small bit of my Paypal sales to Wikileaks, instead, to somehow grapple with the conflicted way I feel about using them to sell my handmade journals. Frustrated. 😦

And another owl journal…this one’s for Danielle (aka Miss Hurro Kitty), who just asked me for “an owl” and got this little Tasmanian Masked Owl, riding his own cloud of shampoo bubbles up a staircase to the sky. With bunting, and Words of Wisdom (I have since completed the broken-off sentence, using Danielle’s chosen word).

And danged if it isn’t the weirdest thing, but I really loved painting these little owls…their white, heart-shaped faces, their mottled feather patterns…why is it so much fun?

It baffles me a bit, because everyone is doing owls…EVERYONE…and I worry that I am merely caught up and being swept away by the current of faddish subjects that seem to be the same on every craft blog, in every ETSY shop. It does no harm, but at some point I can’t tell where the influences end and my own vision begins. I hate to think I am nothing but a mirror, repeating what I see. Scary. I don’t seem to have the guts to draw something that comes solely from my own head…