Give

          Give Thanks! I am so grateful to know a little bit about this baby who came to a fallen world, condescended to endure the temptations of a fallen mortal body. Because of Him I give thanks. Without Him the plan of happiness could not continue. We, who are his brothers and sisters, would be forever locked into spirits whose bodies have long since decayed, damned forever, unable to move forward towards the return to our Father in Heaven.  

   I give thanks! For the enduring. eternal power He had before he came to earth, for the power He showed on the earth, and for the power he does now exude that keeps the planets in orbit, the earth able to be a home for His children, and my very small heart beating to know that He lives.

              Give thanks! For unto us a child is born, a son is given, and the governments shall be upon his shoulders. And his name shall be called wonderful, counselor, the mighty God, the everlasting power, the prince of peace.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

A Door Opens Upon Which I Did Not Knock

       In life we celebrate the opportunities that come along. Some of these are planned and executed with willpower but others come unexpectedly.

   
   This week a door opened which I didn't knock upon. It came from an invitation my son issued to me. As I heard him mention that one of the island business needed an artist to show in their store at the First Friday Gallery Walk I had two pathways open before my eyes. I could laugh and feel it to be a preposterous idea or I could embrace the blessing and flow where it leads.

     I made the leap of faith. The owner Lorna liked my work and so I whirled into the process that comes with preparing art to be exposed to the world.

                    I am so grateful to know I have friends who would support me and be happy for me.

                        I am grateful for my son thinking my art was good enough to share.

     

     On the day before Thanksgiving, my friend Garna allowed me to put all the panels on her kitchen table and sort them into groups.

    I was taken back by seeing them together, This represents a year of joy. A year of imagining, playing, and letting failure move me forward to trying new things. I feel blessed. Come by and visit me, please.

First Friday Gallery Cruise

Friday December 5, 2014

6:00-9:00pm

Intuitive Arts Center

17331 Vashon Highway

Notice

    I noticed my grandson yesterday self-soothing with two fingers. Not at all surprised by this new behavior, it reminded me how much we notice about what others around us are doing. You see, his older sisters, two and four, suck their fingers, as well. Ben is very attentive to the world around him and certainly notices what his siblings are doing.

I follow behaviors myself. Unconciously I pick up mannerisms and habits I see modeled to me by those I live with and those with whom I spend lots of time. From my daughter I picked up the importance of soft lighting. Twinkle lights are in most rooms of my house because I love how cozy her room is.  

    From my husband I picked up the habit to analyze everything. He is a thinker and has modeled his ability to separate fact from fiction and find the truth.
    From my Savior I have found the importance of listening. I see his superior skills in the stories of those who knew him. I think of him sometimes when I am listening and noticing. Just like yesterday when I really looked at my grandson. I saw how hungry he was and how his fingers were taking the anxious need away. I listened to his murmerings, his whimpering for sustenance. I want to notice like my Savior notices.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Almost Four Years

          On January 1, 2011 I started a blog entitled Back On The Floor Again. Writing and documenting with pictures filled my need to process my life experiences, share with my family important events, and try my hand at reaching out into the world of the internet. I was encouraged by others, mostly younger women, who enriched me with their stories about living.

    Once or twice a year I have my blog posts made into a paperback book. I would like to think my grandchildren might read my stories and find themselves in pictures and descriptions. Perhaps my children will understand my motivations when they browse through the pages. I offer insight into teaching, summaries of books and ideas that motivate me, my art ventures, and most important my testimony of Jesus Christ.
   It doesn't take too much time to write a post. Most of the ideas are formed in my head before I power up the computer. Pictures seem to be waiting in my file because I love taking pictures. My enthusiasm has not waned. It's surprising to me that I look forward to a good spout of information coming from my head and my heart.
   I attract most people to my blog for the posts I wrote about teaching LDS Seminary for eight years. Three thousand visitors have come to read about Freshman Day. The pictures are so adorable of my little teenage class. Two of them are graduating this year. I also get many hits on my post about Eeyores and Tiggers. The premise of that post was that I find myself taking an opposite view when I come across an extreme personality. If I face an Eeyore, I'll want to be a Tigger. Understanding this post does require that you know Winnie The Pooh.
   I don't have a following to speak of. Just some friends who pop in to catch up. But, my desire to blog was not to attract attention, just be more attentive to my own live experiences.

Still

     My writing is always informed by beautiful images, If I have some beautiful pictures i can find words to describe and ground them into my life experience. As I was playing with some artsy postcards with letters on them I found myself drawn to the words that describe the power of Jesus Christ. He has shown me his power and I can testify of his realness in my life.

    I became very still inside as I worked with paint and postcards to bring to life his tremendous influence. Looking through scripture to find words that were my favorites brought such quiet to my mornings.

  I believe and rely on his power to:
         Enable Me To Have His Added Strength
         Forgive Me For Sin and Transgression
         Restore My Lost Innocence and Even My Body Defying Death
       

  I honor his power to:
    Create An Eternal Existence For Me
    Provide Peace To My Hungry Soul

    My pages are not finished. There are more powerful aspects to his eternal life. Art journaling about him invites him into my quiet, reflective space. He and I can be still there. Even when I close the book he is still there.

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

Turn

I read a fair bit of my books on line, but there is nothing like turning the page of a new book. The smell of the binding and ink is reassuring and comforting. I received a new book in the mail from Budapest, Hungary yesterday. A birthday gift from my son-in-law and daughter. It was handmade by an artisan to record my new favorite passion,

 drawing.

   A beautiful sketch book requires some serious compositions. It may be a bit intimidating to put my lines and shapes in such a book. There is however a gracious invitation to record what I love and see with my fledgling artist eyes. Much like playing a Minuet or Boureé on a modern piano.

The artisan's business card takes me back to times when everything was handmade and books were precious. Turning a page was savored and saved until the requirements of daily work were accomplished.

I do so love the binding in red leather. The tactile joy of holding the spine is luxurious. 

So, page one is waiting. I have turned the page. Pencil or brush? Should hands or hearts be the first subject?

I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.

My Drawing Class

   I'm branching out into classical drawing because I do not yet see three-dimensionally. The class I am taking here in my community is challenging. My shame resilient tools have come in so handy. If I wanted validation and coddling I chose the wrong teacher.

 S. is more a performer than teacher. He is an artist and has ability to demonstrate but his style of teaching leaves me clueless on many assignments. He knows we don't always catch on and tries to catch our mistakes. The class mates have allowed him to be the critic and we offer the moral support to each other to soften the confusing truth the once again we have not "pledged allegiance to the vanishing lines."

Meet E., our Aussie mate who brings humor to all the blunders we make trying to shade and cross-hatch our lovely creations. She made me feel like a million bucks when she told me how much progress she sees in my work,

   Here we are standing around each table looking at our drawings. I love the rationalizations we give for why we did what we did. "My room is crooked. That is why my lines are crooked." D. in the back is quiet until we start drawing bones. She is a doctor and knows her anatomy.

    The concentration in class is intense. B. takes her efforts very seriously and we laugh as we drive to class together because we both know our precious drawing will be flawed.

  M., a performer and producer, loves to laugh and can put S. in his place when he gets pompous. She saved my room corner drawing when she bragged about my hats hanging on a hook. "But, look at her hats. They are just wonderful."

   This week we are drawing hands. Did I differentiate the top of the hand from the side of the hand with shading?

 

       Please hands, let me draw what my eyes see and what my heart feels.