My friend pointed out the chrysalis on the concrete below my potted milkweed plants. I am not sure why it had fallen from where it was attached, and I thought that my watering habits may have been too much for it. It also seemed too small, but its size did not diminish its jewel-like presence, that sweet line of gold dots around the top, looking as if the purist, gold leaf was placed there so perfectly by a master artisan. Nature's jewelry.

I taped it to a branch on my hibiscus plant. A couple days later, it began to change color, getting darker. I could see through the once green, now glassy layer, showing the recognizable patterns of the monarch's wings. The following day, I walked out to discover the chrysalis was gone, only a fragment of the top was still attached, and below on the pavement was a deformed butterfly, its wings unable to open.

I picked it up and carefully put it on a branch. I hoped that the wings would adjust, but hours later, they still remained wrinkled, stunted. I cannot say why, but this moved me deeply. I felt emotional, sad. Why did this happen? I walked into the house, tears welling up, and began to laugh at myself.
It's a bug that gets you this way?

Before the sun went down, I saw her out my kitchen window, holding dearly to a leaf, wings moving slightly, but still unable to open. It crossed my mind that she may never fly, and that she will probably be on the ground the next morning. Part of me hoped that by some amazing act of science or the butterfly gods, moisture in the night air would allow her wings to finally unfold. But there she was, crippled on the ground. I once again placed her on a branch, but moments later, it was clear she could not hold on.

The metamorphosis of a caterpillar to a butterfly always seems a miracle to me. To most of us, I think. It symbolizes the beautiful outcome from that mysterious part of change. The revealing of something completely made anew. Often, we don't understand how that works, or why, and the more we try to control it, the more it becomes clear that it is out of our control. Perhaps this is where the real beauty lies, as we are reminded to become more flexible and to “allow” the energy to flow. To let go; to surrender.

Somehow, things will work out the way they are supposed to. We can plan our lives, make goals and take steps toward them, but keep close to our hearts that our metamorphosis may take a very different path. I believe this is what it means to have faith. To see beyond the struggles, the past and the future, and to fully understand that the only precious moment we really ever have is now.

Nature is the perfect teacher.

This one is tar, I believe.  I don't think it was put there to fill anything.  It appears to be just a spill.  I guess the worker was tired and thought that is was just fine to leave it there.  I am glad he/she did.  I first quickly walked by it, and then realized what I was seeing. Love the abstract spots of reddish paint dropped over and around it, bringing to mind what a mosquito eats.

Some things are obviously placed where they are, as this pile of branches.  I am always scanning branches left on the curb as I use them for a new project I am working on.  This pile had a nice, visual feel, so had to shoot it.

This was a tiny, green bouquet growing from a little hole on the curb.  I thought it resembled a tree, so perfectly round and sweet, the crack below it like a thin trunk.  It always amazes me where and how plants find a way to grow.  I am forever happy to find them.

Someone had poured ice on the grass.  The sun turned it into diamonds, but the camera couldn't really capture its beauty.  Still, had to take a photo.

A small piece of yarn fell into an interesting shape.  Its variation of thickness and the way it caught light compelled me.  It's just a small thing.

Someone's pants ended up in the road.  They were all wet, and oddly placed... thrown, more like it.  Maybe they flew from someone's laundry basket in the back of a truck?  Why were they wet?  These pants could inspire a good short story, or at the very least, a blog post.  Go ahead and take it wherever you want to, or not at all.  After all, they are just pants :)

Once again this time of year begins to take hold. I slip in and out between a shopping/traffic nightmare and my hot-chocolate, Christmas fantasy. A dream of a new fallen snow with deer and bunny tracks, pine forests full of snow-laced trees and their unmistakable aromas, glittering ice cycles and a cozy cottage with roasted chestnuts on the warm fireplace hearth. Oh, and Johnny Mathis somewhere in the background singing all of those favorite holiday tunes. Too much? Coming back to present times and the balmy, Gulf coast weather, I do love Christmas lights, which can be accomplished just about anywhere. Their sweet, sparkly cascades draped over homes, trees and bushes, always fills me with joy. Some figurines are lit, but many are those recent, blow-up kind, which honestly do little for my heart, especially as they are found like melted, cartoon puddles on the lawn each morning.

I wanted to write about something else. Some simple things I have seen or felt lately, that left a brief yet lasting impression. Someone shared a video clip from the animation “The Snowman” a couple of days ago. The visuals are magical and the music takes one there completely. I felt like a child again, watching it over and over. I did not need my Christmas fantasy, as I came away in awe of the world I live in, that we all live in. It is always what we make of it. We can choose to see the magic, or not. We can even choose to be the magic! Perhaps that is why I love being an artist. It is essential to keep my inner child alive and happy. It feeds my creativity… my soul. I do believe this is true for all of us, especially in these difficult times.

This brings me to a brief written message, We Were Made For These Times, from one of my favorite authors, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, who is best known for the book, “Women Who Run With The Wolves”. It happens to be the very book I am halfway through at this moment, and I am totally immersed. Her recent message brings hope, but more than that, it brings truth. How appropriate that it should cross my path now, and if you are reading this, it is also true for you. Savor what she says. You will notice the angst you had about our present world falling through the cracks, allowing the light to come in.

Hope you find your magic and it keeps a warm place in your heart.

I have been playing with a couple of different projects since my recent show at Lawndale Art Center. One of my favorites is the retablo show, also at Lawndale – Dia de los Muertos, which coincides with the Mexican tradition of honoring and visiting the dead. The exhibit, which runs from October 19th – November 7th, is a yearly fund-raiser for the non-profit art space, and it always proves to be well worth viewing the nearly 300 artists' donated creations.

An 8”x 10” piece of tin is issued to each artist, as they must use it in some way to create their final piece. I have cut them up, painted them, hammered, sanded, shined and adorned them with various materials, including wire and wood, all for the satisfying pursuit to come up with something unique each year. This kind of project often inspires other ideas that could flourish into a new series, if I am lucky. That would be a happy accident, because after producing a series like Studio Junkies, I am not really certain what direction I will take next.

The other piece I have worked on is for a Danish/American collaboration titled RØRPOST, which has been mostly put together by a couple of  members in my art critique group – Art Chatter. They would be Donna E. Perkins and Renata Lucia, thank you both very much! This has been an interesting challenge for me, to say the least. I have collaborated with other artists in the past, but we have always done our own separate piece, either in response to each others work, or we each created around a chosen theme.

 Working on the same piece with another artist poses a few new challenges. One is knowing how much to do if you are the artist starting the piece. There really are no rules here, and that happily coincides with the nature of an artist, so it follows that this has been more than interesting to see what others have created to send to their collaborative partner.

Some pieces looked rather finished to me, and others, like the one I did (right), may have been too sparse or simple? I guess this is all part of what makes this a good exercise in learning to stretch ourselves as artists. It has not been without a few bumps in the road, and a tiny moment or two out of my comfort zone, but thus far, I am actually pleased with the idea that we chose to take on this project. I really look forward to seeing the finished works!

Studio Junkies

I began by sketching my friends and soon realized that I wanted to take this idea further by painting them. Using myself as the first subject, it did not take long before I knew where this idea was going, especially as I realized that all my friends are artists. I was compelled to capture them in their creative space, the place where their visual concepts come to life, the place where the magic happens. I was encouraged by their tenacity, their distinctive skills, their willingness to step into the uncomfortable, often facing rejection, and their readiness to follow through with the necessary steps to achieve their goals.

I saw myself in their creative pursuit, as they mirrored back to me my own journey as a visual artist. In the heart of the artist there may be an innate desire, while in the process of their own self-discovery, to fulfill what people seem to need most; truth, clarity, new awareness, a way to transcend our limitations, a sense of well-being and hope, and perhaps most of all, something beautiful.


This series of paintings will open on Friday, August 21st at Lawndale Art Center in the Cecily E. Horton Gallery from 6:30 - 8:30.  There will be a brief artist talk at 6 pm.