Tracking changes, finding heart homes...

Many years ago...close to thirty, now...one of my lifelong dreams came true--with lots of blood, sweat and tears (not to mention exhaustion and expense) to be sure, but the dream came true all the same.

Down a dusty gravel road I found a bit of land with a pond, a creek, and acres of oak, hickory, walnut and cedar forest.  There were, in some places, a concentration of redbud trees, so that in the spring the forest was painted with splashes of pink.  Wildlife, plants and flowers were abundant...I was in love.

I found it in the midst of a hard drought, not unlike the current conditions, when small creeks and farm ponds were drying all around and wildlife searched for any source of life-giving water.

That small pond glittering in the sun made a backdrop for a dusty "for sale" sign that I almost missed under its coating of dust, and I had to stop to explore.  I jotted down the phone number on the sign, thinking perhaps the land would be in 5 acre plots or smaller, like the homes on the cul de sac on the hill...and perhaps I could think about buying this tiny bit of paradise.

I was working hard, in those days...as a freelancer, I wrote a regular column in Country Living Magazine as well as The Artist's Magazine and then Watercolor Magic (now Watercolor Artist).  I was doing a bit of screenwriting, as well as commercial illustrating for Early American Life, Country Life, and Sports Afield, among others.  Added to the books I was writing--two at a time that year--I often put in 14 hour days.  And was paid for it!  (And paid for it as well but that's another story...)

Turned out that it was NOT a 5 acre plot for sale but almost 20 acres!  I was sure that I couldn't afford it...but given all of the work I was doing, everything fell into place, and lo, I could...and did.

I hadn't intended to build...only to explore, and learn, and have a safe place to wander with few people.  But my childhood spent in tiny cabins all over the Ozarks and Colorado kept haunting my dreams...I knew a place in the woods would give me a place to work undisturbed.  And so the dream took hold.

"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them." --Henry David Thoreau

So, I took the old man's advice, and did.  With the help and guidance and mentorship of young friend and builder Greg Young, that's exactly what I did.

And of course, wrote a book about it...

Published in 1991, the book was the culmination of a dream. And what a joy, first to build the place and then get to share that process...

And to my great delight, nearly 30 years later the book has been republished, by Echo Point Books and Media!  You can find  The Naturalist's Cabin; Constructing a Dream on Amazon and elsewhere!

I've drawn and painted the place many times and written several books there.  I've shared it with friends, celebrated milestones, and gone to ground there when my heart was broken by grief.  And then, took myself there to heal...and start the cycle of life all over again.  It's one of my heart homes...

We've been through a lot, that little 14' x 16' cabin of mine...floods, droughts, losses, triumphs, celebrations...we're aging, hopefully gracefully, together.

And so, still, I find things to chronicle.  Closer to the cabin, these days, since arthritis curtails much of my wandering down the rocky creek or up and over the steep bluffs.  but even when I was younger, I was fascinated by details...like my covered bird feeder.  It once had plastic sides to hold more seed, but the resident raccoons soon made short work of that!

Triplets were a bit hard on the thing, and once I found the whole superstructure on the ground...

This is all that remains, today...it's aged, as have I!  What's left of the roof is under the deck, and the remainder is now a platform feeder--and moss garden!

But as always, I wanted to chronicle the changes...

Pen and ink and watercolor were my mediums of choice...first washes, here...

I was using my customized small Schmincke travel set--I'd removed the inner metal tray for half pans and replaced it will full pans with my own pigment choices.  A pen and a travel brush kept my gear simple!

I played around a bit with my kids' set as well--I ordered it online from Wet Paint in Minneapolis, where my friend Roz Stendahl finds such fun things.  I pulled the guard off the Niji flat waterbrush to make a longer, juicier brush...it's still small enough to fit in those little round pans, though!  (Check out Roz's linked blog and classes, she is a GOLDMINE of information!)

This is one of those progressive pages...testing inks, pens, brushes...

Again, if you'd like to read about finding the land, exploring its natural wonders, and building a cabin in the woods, here is the link!  Just click on the title: The Naturalist's Path

Dry Spell...

Flute making--transitioning to sketching more again.  I hope.

I've been exploring the meaning or origins of my dry spell--we all have them, and they can be simply cyclical, or indicative of time for a change.  Growth, perhaps. Sometimes other things capture our interests...and this past year, it was flutemaking, for me.  This is a vessel flute, sometimes called an ocarina.  It was made from a cedar tree from my land that bark beetles had excavated their beautiful designs on, and I love it.

My first flute, of deer bone I found in the woods...

I became fascinated by the earliest bone flutes, some 40,000 + years old, and imagined it would be simple to make one.  It's not...but the challenge captured my imagination, off and on, for 2 years.  I was playing it yesterday, out at the lake...

But honestly, in thinking about it--and coming across old journal entries--I see it's an ongoing challenge to keep sketching, keep making art, keep simply being who I always thought I was, despite the changes life throws at all of us.  I've sketched when traveling, at family gatherings, in meetings, in big cities, deserts, and deep forest.  I've sketched broad vistas and tiny microcosms at my feet.  I've sketched to celebrate and to calm myself in a hospital setting, to cope and to delight.

Waiting through Joseph's long surgery a few years ago...

 So what does contribute to our dry spells?

Probably many factors, and perhaps as individual as we are.

I just came across a note in an old journal--years old, actually: "feeling frustrated with my sketching time, lately--always hurried and shallow and meaningless."  Uh oh.  That wasn't good.  I need meaning...and I suspect most of us do.

Part of the problem, at that time, was adjusting to my recent remarriage...supportive though Joseph is, and he is, I realized I didn't want to bore him, keep him waiting, inconvenience him.  We often feel that way when traveling with non-sketchers, I've heard it over and over from fellow artists, and I was no exception.  (And yes, J. used to sketch some with me, and that was lovely!  But his interests have taken him in a different direction...) 

One day, I simply told him what I needed--what a concept, right??  Time to finish, not to feel rushed...and he of course understood completely!  If I said I needed to finish a sketch, we sat there till I finished.  Sometimes he read, sometimes he napped.  He even initiated sketching opportunities, asking if I wanted to stop by a gorgeous lake in New York state, or if I wanted to go to Cooley Lake.  When my sis died, he knew I need to process loss by sketching in nature, and bundled me into the car to get OUT there.  That's one problem solved...

I did a LOT of sketching in parking lots...J. shops and I don't like to.  And in fact that became the inspiration for my quick sketching mini-classes on my website!  Lemons to lemonade...

Sometimes, it's outside pressure.  It begins to feel like a job, and obligation.  Meeting the expectations of others, especially if you're an inveterate teacher, as I am.  A sketch a day.  People telling me to sketch this or that, whether or not I felt moved to do so.  "Aren't you going to sketch that?  Where's your sketchbook?" As I said above, meaningless begins to wear on our pleasure in doing it.

I have several friends who have quit or madly scaled back sharing online...again, it began to feel like an obligation.  It's not.

That's one reason I don't do challenges.  I want meaning, not an assignment, and I don't enjoy the pressure.  No "30 sketches in 30 days" or "100 People" (or noses, or eyes, or whatever) for me, thank you.  I know many people who thrive on it, and produce wonderful, imaginative work...but I feel trapped.  It's a personal quirk.  (I discussed that in some length in this post.)

Part of the problem sometimes, is frustration with materials.  I know--"it's a poor workman who blames his tools," blah blah quack quack.  But dammit, it IS frustrating!  I moved from technical pens to fountain pens, and years later I am STILL searching for the line variation I like, with a smooth nib, in a super dependable pen--the right size for my small hands.  Oh yes, and ideally that will work with water-resistant ink so I can watercolor over it.  Like my technical pens used to do.

And yet, I keep experimenting, so there you are.  I must like frustration!

I have page after page of pen tests...

...and brush tests, and color tests...

Drives me nuts when I don't like my drawing instrument, brush, or paper surface.  And so a LOT of my journal pages are just testing, like the two above.  Looking for what works best for the effect I want or the way it feels in my hand.

Now our lives have changed again, with the elderly dog we've rescued.  I have indeed sketched her some, but I also find she's not exactly conducive to sketching on the spot...Joseph's fishing has changed more into walking the pooch, as well.  She's a love, but she's made a big change...

Lady

And sadly, here is the most recent journal entry on the subject of the latest of my intermittent dry spells, just about a week ago:

"I think I have lost confidence in my sketching--as if it matters if it's not a perfect likeness.  Guess what?  It never was.  Perfect is not possible.  I don't want to lose my plesure in the moment, in the act of sketching itself, in capturing the moment, however fleeting, not worrying about making a false step.


Well.  not worrying, exactly.  I know I will, and do, and always have. 

So what is going on with this?  Yes, criticism bugs me, I'll admit it.  It sucks the fun out of it for me--the life out of it, really.  But that's after the fact, after the actual act of sketching.  What, I'm pre-emptively defensive now?"  It was good to get it down on paper.

(That issue is addressed beautifully in the brilliant Terri Windling's blog post, here, by the way.)


And then there's the issue of just not feeling like taking on some complex subject.  It's too much. I adore Stephanie Law's work, and my botanical artist friends, and so many others who incororate texture and color and pattern and detail.  But...it just feels overwhelming to begin.

And yet...what I find truly fulfilling is to sit and draw contemplatively...a tree, an interesting stone, a tangle of brush...


I suppose the upshot of all of this musing is that we all have been there, and will be there again.  I am beginning to enjoy sketching again.  I'm not doing all that much with flute making.  I'm exploring materials, yes, but actually feeling the glimmers of "yes, I'd like to sketch that!"



And so, last night, I did.

Frustrations and all--whiney pooch, too-smooth paper, ink I'd forgotten was water soluble, I enjoyed this!

Sketching on the Spot, again...

It's been a long dry spell for sketch journaling, for a lot of reasons.  Of course, as some of you know, I've been learning to make Indigenous-style flutes, and learning anything well is a challenge.  (Okay, not sure I'd say "well," yet, but well enough to bring pleasure...)  It IS time consuming as well as fascinating.  But more on that another time...

I've been re-refining my tools, and trying to lighten my load while still having what I need with me.  Sometimes, I slip up, like this day at Lawson Lake!

I didn't want to work with waterbrushes, exclusively, I wanted "real brushes"...and a water container.

OOoops.  No water container!  Not much water, either. 

Happily, there had obviously been a BIG whoop-te-do at the park and the trash bins were stuffed full...I found a lot of bottled water containers, and whipped out my little Swiss Army Knife to make a waterbowl.  Voila', another bottle was almost full! 

Obviously I wouldn't DRINK it since it's been opened, but it was fine to paint with....

It was a hot say and I couldn't settle on what I wanted to sketch...till I noticed the beautiful blue shadows on the curving road into the park.

This was what I had with me for supplies...my little customized Altoids tin, my TINY kids' set I put my own artist-grade paints in (don't laugh, I filled an entire sketchbook in Charleston 3 years ago with that wee tiny kit!), my new water cup, a couple of brushes, and my new pen carrier from JetPens, which holds just a wee bit TOO much stuff!  (The tiny set fits in the pen carrier, the Altoids tin doesn't.)

The summer colors were lovely...and yes, I edited out the signposts!  Love that artistic license...

I was fairly happen with the resulting sketch...and a lovely record of the day.  The little black cat at the curve drove me nuts, every time a car would come down the road into the park, but he never moved a whisker!

Last I saw of him, he got bored and wandered off into the woods!

It was a satisfying evening, challenging but a learning experience.  (Nope, my big watercolor brush ALSo drove me nuts, need to change it out...)  And happy to say I've been edging my way back into more frequent sketching...more on that anon...