Receiving Messages

One evening, as dusk melted into the tree-line and the dim sparkle of distant flames began to glow overhead, the gal of ferns and moss strolled out into the fields. Her feet felt full of pins, her knees ached to run, and deep inside her abdomen danced a hard ball of adrenaline.

She was wrapped up so deep inside her self, she almost tripped right over the quivering cottontail bunched up in the fescue. "Excuse me," he said as he sat his ground. The gal quickly stepped back and mumbled an apology, something about Distracted and Flight and Need to Run. The cottontail looked kindly at the gal and said "No, I don't think that's it at all. I think you need to stop. To listen. To be patient." The gal sighed shakily and raised one eyebrow. "But I don't have time to stop, I have these deadlines, these dates, these hundred hands pulling, these few stomaches grumbling, these thousand shining bullet points on the shackles of To Do. I have to figure it out Now. I have to. I have to."

They stood an eternity, eyeing the six feet of atmosphere between them. Two hot saltine tears hit the grass. In a voice so quiet the gal wasn't sure if it came from the ground or the sky, the cottontail said "Wait. You can not run and fight at the same time. Those wispy trails of inspiration are not impressed with your hurry, you can not chase them down, you can not grab them with a clenched fist. Wait. They will come to you, they always have, they always will. But you must wait."

He combed one ear as he watched the gal. He nodded at her silence. And then with a flash of white tail and a dull grassy thud he was gone. But the gal stood still. She would wait. She would wait with all her heart and all the faith she could muster. And it would come.

Receiving Messages: Wait

6" x 6"

Sliced Bread doesn't stand a chance!

Are you sitting securely, both feet firmly on the floor, back straight, elbows resting at your side?

Are you holding a steaming beverage, perhaps a perfectly frothed cappuccino or a maté latté?

I suggest you set it down.

Because I have one of the biggest announcements in the history of UmberDove and I'm ready to crack that egg of knowledge all over this blog (confession: I watch more "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" than is good for anyone).

But first, in the name of delayed gratification (which I am most certainly not a fan of, but occasionally enjoy teasing others with it), I want to introduce to you a newcomer to the flock:

"Unexpected Enlightenment" 4"x 4"

I really can't help it. The avian population here plays a very different game that those of the city. Here, good looks don't go as far. To survive these woods one must be terrible clever, surprising innovative, endlessly resourceful, genuinely gracious, and most of all, unshakably faithful. And these birds do it all with song on their black-tipped beaks. Every time I walk these fields I feel I take a chapter in their story, tuck it inside my 27 layers (good Lord it's cold here!), and read it over and over until I begin to understand.

SIGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

How I love my birds.

Oh!

That's right!

Now

where

was

I

?

With great flourish and enthusiasm (drumrolls, snowball-rolls, popcorn ball-rolls), I'd like to introduce to you my brand new Etsy shop:

UMBER DOVE STUDIOS

After much thought, debate, research and preparations, I've decided to open shop WHOOT! offering select prints of my work, original paintings and (as soon as they arrive via stork) collections of postcards. ZING! I couldn't be more excited YIPPADOO! about it (and just in time for the holidays I might add...) as you may be picking up. I'll be spending much of the day today listing up a storm BUT if there is a particular print you'd like to see, just let me know!

*****

To celebrate the grand opening, to thank all of you who have commented in the past, who have emailed words of encouragement and advice, who have supported me in all my ventures, I'd like to offer a contest. All you need to to is leave a comment on this post between now and Sunday December 13th, letting me know that you were here, and I'll drop your name into my fuzzy felted bowl for a random drawing. The lucky little bird whose name is drawn...

will receive

one print

of their choice

from my el shoppo!

I'll be drawing a name on Monday December 14th, so be sure to check back then!

Additionally, for all orders placed this week (Monday December 7th through Friday December 11th), I'd like to offer free shipping! Just leave me a note in the "messages to seller" box that you are a bloggy friend and I'll cheerfully refund you the shipping costs!

Whew.

What a morning!

The Dove has come back to play

What's that you say? It's Tuesday, today? I think it was about this time last week I donned my hermit hat (it happens to be rather fuzzy and orange) painting apron covered with delicious smears of oil, tights layered with knee socks layered with leg-warmers (I like a toasty sort of day) and closed the door on the rest of the world to live in the ebb and flow of my brushes. I also ate too many Club crackers with avocado, but that's a whole different story.

When I finally emerged, sometime around 3pm yesterday, I brought with me a whole family of new paintings.

I'd like you to meet them.

I think you'll get along quite well.

They sing the river song, the tale of dew in the morning and rain come down. They know the quiet secrets of the field after dark, when the city lights fade and the grass blades morn the sun. They remember the fallen, not in sadness but in respect and appreciation, for in nature none go to waste. They know the rhythm of the season, the bounty of the earth, the resilience of the wild. They mark the days with an eye to the barren aspens and the creeping fingers of snow on the mountain. They are Deliberate. They are Purposeful.

Click here to trot on over to my Flickr site and see the individual paintings in all their glory!

Individually they stand alone, each a solitary chapter in the greater narrative of this last month I've spent living in North Bend. Together they tell the tale of my observations, the epiphanies I've had while walking though these forests, the sights that have caught my breath and caused my heart to skip a beat.

They feel Important.

They feel like me.

They are exactly what I want to say right now, right here.

Oh friends, I can not tell you enough how necessary paint is for my soul, how I would simply implode if I could not put these thoughts down on canvas, thus honoring the messages I receive.

It's so good.

And that's the understatement of the year.

- Umber

* If you live in the greater Seattle area I'd LOVE for you to come and see my work in person! This collection of paintings will be shown at La Familia Gallery in December, with the official art opening on December 3rd from 4:30-9:00 (oooh an extended opening! come for art, me, and snacktivities!) *

** To answer the question (as it's been posed) yes, these guys are available for purchase! If you'd like more information on any of these pieces, please feel very free to contact me at umberdove[at]gmail.com **

A Finch Named Frank

I'd like to tell you a story.

Once, in a magical mountain town, there lived a dovely little gal who resided in the rainfall and ferns. Every sunrise she would throw open the curtains, pull the shades, bid the trees Good Morning and check on the growing pile of pine cones left on her stoop. She brewed her coffee dark but poured in cream, she bundled up her toes but left her fingers exposed. She would sit for hours in front of the windows, watching crystalline droplets catch the light as they slid down lanky branches and understood each one was a profound message. She noted tuffs of moss poking cheekily though the leaves and stubby fir needles glowing blue at the tip, understanding that they were fulfilling their life's purpose by simply being. But most importantly she watched Frank.

Frank was a bit of a rascal (but that only make her love him more), always being scolded by the jays, peeping in on the gal from his side of the window ledge, and playing eagle games with the chickadees. The rain fell thick, the fescue frosted over, and snow capped the peak of the mountain. The gal worried for Frank: would he be warm, would he eat well, would he be safe through the winter (for these were her own fears, manifested and transfered)?

But Frank showed no fear.

For Frank knew something the gal sometimes forgot. Frank's place in life was here and now, Frank's purpose was to be Frank, and because of that, he would make it. Destiny had no time for fear, and certainly no patience for worry because the path was much too long for that. So on the good days, Frank would shake his umber tail feathers just so the gal would see Joy. He would sing with all the bravado he could muster just so the gal could hear Trust. He would preen and leave one snowy plume just so the gal could feel Hope. For Frank's purpose was to be Frank, but it was also to remind the gal. Day in, day out, Frank fulfilled his destiny. And for the gift of Frank, the gal gave thanks.

"A Finch Named Frank" 5"x5"

Hope and Hopelessness Part Two

And that was what we in the business refer to as an freaking fabulous day in the studio.

"On the Duality of Hope and Hopelessness"

While not yet finished, this piece came a long way today, and is probably now 70% done. It feels good, really really good.

I know I'll sleep well tonight.

Thank you so much sweet birds, I felt so buoyed up by Hope today that my feet hardly touched the floor and I had to crank my easel up taller than ever. I'm taking a deep drink from this chalice, but I'll pass it on, so be ready to receive.