contact Kelly

Thank you for your email. Please understand if it takes a few to get back to you. 



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.



Kelly Clark


He was still warm when Sing brought him to me. These kinds of deaths are such an odd tumble of emotions, but I don't mind sitting with death.  I'm proud of my 12 year old great white hunter of a house cat, for his instinct, agility and pride in bringing his accomplishments to me.  I'm tender and torn at the pointlessness of life lost in such a way.  I'm scientifically interested in examining the ways wings move, studying the shape of tail feathers and small talons.  But most of all, I want to do right by any creature who dies under my watch.  I laid him to rest in a safe nook under a tree, with a small bouquet of white morning glories, facing west to the setting sun.  It reminds me to love this life even harder because we are each so very mortal.

* * * 

I have tickets booked and a destination awaiting me at the end of the month, a cool 2000 miles away.  I've been hungry for new sights, new scents, new land to place my feet upon and "new" lives to witness.  I can't wait to pack that bag, because in the packing, there is always such a fresh thrill of excitement.

* * * 

Today, while BC and I sat outside eating sushi and talking passionately on speaking truth, existential guilt, old false self-beliefs and other heady subjects, a man and his partner walked by. "Well he has no inner peace, that's why" was the only phrase we caught before we both giggled at how ridiculously perfect this sliver of the country is for us.

* * * 

Watermelon, lime juice, fresh basil, a dash of agave if need be.  Blend, pour over ice, sip with tequila.  Whoa baby and you're welcome.  And be careful - those puppies go down smoooooooth.  

* * * 

The Making has been slow of late, nestled in short bursts between ice packs and baths as I nurse a mysterious and rather gnarly back injury.  Slow is a speed I reserve for hiking, looking, and beaching.  In daily truth, I am a flurry of activity, buzzing about and humming along.  I love to do, to create, to engage, to move this body, to swing hammers, to run hillsides, to dance with paintbrushes.  Moving slowly is a form of patience I've never mastered, and a lesson I'm struggling through, again.  If you have a moment to send a thought of healing, I'd deeply appreciate it.  For I could use some cradling myself.

* * * 

Have a glorious weekend you light-filled creatures! 

- U