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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.


Sketchbook Writings


Somedays I just chat in my sketchbook, keeping a record of sorts.  Today was one of those kind of days.

- From my sketchbook writings, December 16th, 2010 -
Today the sea offered up a veritable smorgasbord of color and texture, along with a fine grit of salt to line my lips.  I felt like the month of April was vacationing on the coastline, taking a break from anywhere that utters the words "deep freeze," so I gladly traded out my jacket for a pashmina, stripped off my gloves, rolled up my sleeves and bade it please, please warm my skinny forearms.  The sea stone cache was so grand that two exceptional things happened: 1) A trip to the car was required, as I was dragging a fully laden bag, only to empty it to the floorboards and walk directly back to the shoreline for more. 2) The second bag, filled to bursting, gave up on this life and loosed itself from the shoulder strap in a huge tumble of noise and chaos.  How great is a haul that breaks the back (or strap) of the bag that carried it?  I take this as a sign of overwhelming bounty, absolutely topped off with fresh material.  I want to lodge my soul firmly in this place, to line my thoughts with a tapestry woven from seaweed and sword ferns.

I adore this tiny cafe, in this tiny town, nearly airplane sized but with a heart of pure gold.  As I sit scratching away in this book of mine, the bubbly barista in the enviable stockings pronounces to a [traveling] patron that they have no paper togo cups, reason being that he has now stepped into the land of tree-huggers and would he like to purchase a mason jar for his coffee.  I'm quite content in this land, drinking my tea from a well-used hunk of ceramic, nibbling on a homemade lemon bar, my mood matching the sunshine splashed up the walls.  I sip more maté and contemplate taking home a raw, vegan cinnamon roll made by someone up the lane named Joe.  I just feel good.  Which is the most simplistic set of words to describe the state of my heart, the color of the light pouring from my sternum, the downy wings I'm pretty sure are sprouting from my spine.  


I'm thinking about Dwelling.  
I have new work to show you.
I have a new piece almost ready to reveal.
Did I mention I'm painting it for you?
In celebration, in a giveaway
because there is SO much in my life worth celebrating.
(yep. More on that tomorrow after my final post-chemo appointments)

Oh yeah, this funky beat is what I'm sliding my brushes to today. 
"Wont wont wont ba da ta da"
(this is exactly the sound coming out of my mouth)
(also I shake my shoulders with some SOUL when I chair dance)

- Umber