A Work in Progress (Aug. 5, 2010)

Here are two photos of a mosaic piece I'm working on. I designed it myself, and it features my favorite animal: the flamingo. I love this creature for several reasons. They are pink (a happy, beautiful color). They are so different from many other birds with their curvy, long necks. I love their one-legged stance. If you hadn't seen them with your own eyes, you'd think they were the creation of a cartoonist because their anatomy is so exaggerated--almost comical!

Usually I don't show a piece of my art until it's finished. I'm sure it has a lot to do with wanting to show something at its best. But I'm challenging myself to be less concerned with peoples' reactions/approval. Showing something in progress is a baby step.

I also wanted to see if I could post 2 photos in the same posting. I'm in the Fred Flintstone-era when it comes to technology. In case you haven't watched an episode of the Flintstones lately, at Fred's work there is a brachiosaurus who lifts things up on his head. Isn't that how you "upload?" Yeah, my reference point is not exactly cutting-edge. But ALL BY MYSELF I figured out how to upload more than one photo per post. Yippee! Progress, baby!

Soul Spa Day (July 23, 2010)

Color and more color!

If you’ve spent at least one minute around me (and seen my clothes, my house, my walls and my art) you know I love color. Sometimes color is a reflection of my cheerful personality. Other times it’s medicinal: a way to get back to a happier mood.

A few days ago I painted ceramics at a place in OB, a funky neighborhood in San Diego. I’m an artist, so painting and creating is part of who I am. But it had been nearly a decade since I’d painted ceramics. Recently I started work on a mosaic piece of art and it rekindled my appreciation for tile, which is partly why I found myself at the ceramics studio. The owner and her young son welcomed me. I told her how much l liked the floor, which was splotchy with the remnants of turquoise tiles that had been sanded away. The irregularity of it was just right for a place where imagination can’t be confined by pattern. Brazilian instrumental music played and there were potted and fresh flowers on the tables. Everything about the place was cool: it’s in an older building with high ceilings and lots of light coming in through the clerestory windows. The owner’s desk was a huge antique piece with a creative jumble on top resembling my art studio at home. The piles made the place seem more authentic to me, less corporate, a place motivated by creativity rather than by profits alone. I used to feel frustrated that my studio seemed so impossible to organize. But now I embrace it. Creativity needs freedom, not hospital corners. I’ll take a happy mess over a miserable tidiness, as the quote goes.

I chose a chair—all are mismatched, which I love—and about eight glaze colors and began. No plan. No design. Just experimentation, freedom, playfulness. I layered colors, making lines, swirls, blobs and dots. Needed more color, being me. Had so much fun I helped myself to another tile. My body relaxed and I was in the moment. It was an hour devoted to the senses: I was vaguely aware of background noise from the foot traffic outside and smells from the taqueria nearby, but mostly I was caught up in the movement of the brush and peace inside me.

One thing I like about ceramic glazes is that I don’t know exactly how the piece will look after being fired in the kiln. I like that there is an element of unpredictability and uncontrollability. The layers may be translucent or more opaque and may be darker or lighter than I thought. The surprise effect adds to the serendipity of it and it’s a great antidote to the rest of my life, where I have expectations about the results.

These tiles may meet my hammer and become part of my mosaic work. Or I may keep them intact, as a reminder of my hour in the ceramics studio, my mini-vacation for the soul.

Blogger Math (June 21, 2010)

I’m laughing about my blogging pattern. In the last few days I’ve become a blogging fool: this is my 4th blog in 4 days. As of four days ago, I’d blogged exactly 5 times in the last 6 months: once a month, except for February, when there were zero blogs. I’m guessing that my infrequency in blogging has a lot to do with the fact that 6 months ago I had my third child. Something about the numbers does support my theory: 3 kids, 1 million diapers changed, 782 messes cleaned, 418 crises managed, 53 trips to the supermarket, 1100 miles carpooled, 6 months, 5 blogs. I call it Blogging Math. This combination of factors will produce a number of blogs per month equal to or smaller than the number of full moons per month. (Still following me? I may be mixing metaphors but I think it works…) I just love my wacky pattern of few blogs, then tons. Must ask mathematician Dad for his thoughts on these clusters…

Farm Sweet Home (June 21, 2010)

We love our farm. Our farm is in the suburbs, beside the driveway, between our house and the neighbor’s fence, and next to the garage. So maybe it’s not how most farms are laid-out. And maybe it’s not really a farm! But I’m feeling all gung-ho because today the first two peaches of the season fell off one of our trees. They’re both ripe and so our peach season officially has begun.

In 21st-centry America, most people get their produce from a grocery store. We’re no exception. When you choose fruit at the store, you know it was grown somewhere, but you don’t see it happen. So it’s exciting to bear witness to the process. Each spring we see our trees put forth their first tiny green leaves and in the summer we watch as doll-sized fruit becomes bigger, more colorful and eventually, ready for picking. It’s easy to get fruit from the store, but it’s gratifying to pick it yourself, at home. The first two peaches to jump off the tree are yellowish-orange-colored, between a golf ball and tennis ball in size, and they smell sweet. Is it a coincidence that they ripened and left the tree on the first official day of summer? Who knows? But it sure feels like summer is here….

Isn't That Where Everyone Keeps it? (June 18, 2010)

It seems I was a little distracted recently (for about the last six years, if you want to be technical). In cleaning up one morning, I may have put things into cabinets (okay, ROOMS) where they don't usually reside...

Hey, life is going to be full of wacky moments. I might as well laugh about it!

Ahh, the Simple Pleasures (June 18, 2010)

Today I cut into a perfectly ripe, gorgeous pineapple. It was just the right combination of sweet and tart, and I was inspired to blog about it. Not all blog pieces need to be about the milestones in life. It's about whatever inspires you at the time....

When I picked out the pineapple at Costco I thought it had potential because I sniffed it and didn't smell much. In the past I've picked ones that smelled great. But I've learned the hard way that if your pineapple smells really ripe in the store, it's already starting to rot.

Eating a piece of beautifully ripe pineapple is one of life's simple joys. A blog piece in its honor seemed appropriate. After all, life is about the small moments that make you happy....

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning (May 31, 2010)

Two days ago the hubby and I hiked to the top of Cowles Mountain. It’s not very far from where we live, but far enough away that you only find yourself there with some planning. We hadn’t been up there together in at least five years. Something to do with the three-kid juggle. But our babysitter was available, and we realized it we didn’t do it then, it might be another year before it occurred to us!

There were plenty of other people who had the same idea. Hikers and trail runners scurried up and down the mountain as we arrived and I took the opportunity to people-watch. There were hikers of all ages and nationalities: preschool-aged kids on up to a grandma or two motoring down the trail. We passed college students, families, and solo hikers. Some had tattoos, some Ipods, and one man even wore flip-flops. Sometimes we exchanged hellos. A place like Cowles gives you the opportunity to share the land with others but also a chance to experience it at your own pace and through your own eyes. Everyone takes something different away from the experience.

We reached the top and took a few minutes to absorb the 360-degree view. The mountain’s peak is 1,592 feet above sea level, making it the city’s highest point. To the west I saw Point Loma, downtown and Mt. Soledad. To the south was bright blue Lake Murray and out east Mt. Helix stood tall. Filling in the gaps were what make up a city: roads, cars, trees, parks, schools and residential neighborhoods, all the pieces fitting together like a mosaic. The tidy rows of homes below in Del Cerro looked like Monopoly houses with their identical pitched roofs. Somehow it always gives me a sense of peace, looking down on the city. I notice how small the houses are in the grand scheme of things, and I’m reminded that my life (worries, frustrations and all) is just a teeny piece of something much larger than I am. The view from up high literally gives me a different perspective, and that’s a good thing.

When we weren’t gazing into the distance, we studied the wild flowers blooming just off the trail. We smelled wild sage, and touched flowers with petals the size of a pin head. There were car-sized boulders dotting the reddish-brown dirt and not one piece of litter. It seems Cowles’ hikers respect her.

We hiked on the Saturday before Memorial Day. Although our decision to hike at Cowles had nothing to do with the holiday weekend itself, it seems fitting for this reason: Memorial Day is a day that unites all Americans. We collectively appreciate those who have fought for our country’s safety and freedoms. Like the hikers atop Cowles Mountain, Americans are a diverse group. Each of us approaches life differently: some race up and down the trail, pushing themselves to the limit. Others go slowly, stopping to smell flowers and watch lizards. Some listen to music on their journey, some talk and others go to hear the wind in the scrub brush. Same trail, different motivations. But those who seek out Cowles share an appreciation for the mountain, just as all Americans—diverse as we are—can unite in our love of America. I gazed out over my county, and felt grateful for the strength and spirit of America. A beautiful morning indeed…