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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


~ From my sketchbook writings, December 10th ~
Up on Rattlesnake Ridge
Up on Rattlesnake Ridge (King of the Castle)
The fog makes times stand still.  There is no back, no forward, there is hardly even up or down.  I no longer remember when I woke or when I should bed.  There is only now and the ticking of dew rolling down curls.
Three bald eagles in two days.  This land has swallowed me in exchange for raptors.  I puff along like a bright red steam engine, collecting speed, collecting shapes, lines, curves, textures, like a greedy architect.  I'll use some later, and what ever else is left rattling in my mind and [too shallow] pockets will be tipped out of those checkered panes and given to the ravens.  They'll take it all.  They always do.
Up on the ridge the trees, not expecting company through the long winter, have slipped out of their summer finery and grown shaggy green coats.  We're all a little rough around the edges but this is how I know we're old friends.  There is no need for pretense here, just a swinging gait, green scent of rot, and mud caked on boots.
* * *

I spent yesterday on Rattlesnake Ridge.  Days like that give me few words, halting descriptions, like trying to explain the scent of freshly baked bread to a newborn.  So I use my hands to tell the story.  And as ever, they are far more eloquent than my tongue.
Land Tribute
Land Tribute: A Mountain Narrative Necklace
(sterling silver and a small pebble plucked from the Eel River in Northern California)
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Stay warm friends; I'm off to pick up a hot bowl of soup and run to the post; calendars are fluttering to homes across the globe and I can not thank you enough!