Light on the Heart, Easy on the Eyes

And heavy on the inspiration. Hold the mushrooms, add some diced green chilies and a side of fresh fruit if you can. And if I could get another cuppa... Please and thanks and why don'cha pull up a chair and grab a mug?

Hello Monday.

I'm pleased to see you too. The skies have held thick and damp for days, casting unexpected shadows and flipping all the normal colors on their heads. I'm not sure if it's the briskness of the ocean air or the wheatgrass I've been taking every afternoon but something has electrified me down to my toes. I've got 10,000 volts running through my veins and the current just won't let me sit still. Inspiration runs rampant, flashing little sparks at the tip of my hair and zinging forked lightning under my fingertips. I really couldn't tell you what the original catalyst was, but I'd DELIGHT to show some of the fuel that has kept it alive.

1. THISTLES

It's a full-blown obsession. Between those sumptuous curves and deadly spikes they have me mesmerized, crouching down in empty fields to study their dangerous elegance, turning them delicately over and over in my mind, as if by rotating them five times to the left and three to the right I'll be able to unlock their secrets. I can't stop drawing them, in my sketchbook, on old envelopes, on the palm of my hand. And stitching, curving them around in rich black thread (it's a secret but I'll let it slip - I'm sewing again with abandon). Don't even try to stop me. I'm a woman addicted.

2. Twig Hutchinson

It's a strange sort of preoccupation I'm having with this website. I keep slowly pouring over the pages, soaking in those washed colors, delighting in the paint splatters, golden sunlight, and that lone sleeping [Velveteen] rabbit. I'm going to need to buy a pair of creamy cabled socks just so I can plop my bread and jam on the floor and tiptoe around it.

3. Miss 7391

(I KNOW! A jersey maid AND thistles? It's a wonder I didn't spontaneously combust with sheer delight)

I can't help it. I've gotten attached to the cows. One of my favorite evening runs takes me between sprawling pastures with crumbling barns, up and over the Mad River and to my favorite herd of moozers. I always stop to chat with them, and in return they crowd around to nuzzle my hand and bat those huge brown eyes at me. I feel as if I could pour out my heart to those ladies and they would treat it kindly, patiently, knowing that the perfect thing to say was nothing at all.

sigggggggggggggggh.

It's true love I tell you.

4. Interview with Malin Elmlid

This may appear perfectly random (which is how I stumbled across this site) but I can't stop myself from falling in love with the Scandinavian simplicity of these photos. I think it's my Finnish blood crying out for white walls and rustic breads. I crave hundred year old buildings with lumpy wooden floors and I must confess to pouring one full pitcher of raspberry mint water JUST because hers looked so delightful (Do you ever fall victim like that? Watching a movie, reading a book, flipping through a magazine and see something edible and before you know it, you just HAVE TO HAVE IT?).

5. My Happy Anniversary / I am Healed Necklace

Oh BC. Really there hardly need be words describing how I feel about this piece, nor the way it rests upon my chest. Oh Jillian. It's beyond perfect. It needed to live with me as much as I needed to wear it. You BOTH bring me to joy. And love. Thank you.

:::::

Well!

I hope inspiration alights on your shoulders today and lifts you right up out of that chair. Stretch up, open your eyes wide, breathe deep, and shake those tail feathers!

With a zing and a zip,

over and out.

- Umber

July 28th 2010, Nine Years and Counting

Have you been properly introduced to my man?

He's on the taller side of life, which is exactly right because my head fits perfectly into the nook of his neck. He's quick to laugh, and even quicker to extend a hand. He's loyal to the ends of the world.

He thinks his face is crooked, but I disagree. I think it's full of mischief. But he does have a terrible poker face - the twinkle in his eyes gives him away every time. His fingers are a bit knobby - back from the days of basketball and busted knuckles - but they are all man. His neck is always tan. He has a scar on his stomach from a barbed wire incident as a child. He's always had sexy calves, you know, those good looking soccer-esc man-calves.

The man loves mustard and salami, classic mustangs, t-shirts and jeans, West Side Story, camping in the deep woods, fishing with a flask in hand, dinning out (multiple restaurants in one day are no foreign concept), Irish whiskey, practical jokes and baseball. And games, GOOD LORD does he like games. Of all kinds, of any kind. I think his love language might be the playing king of hearts. Plus he's terribly indulgent when it comes to photoshoots.

When we met, all I knew was I wanted to ride in that red Jeep with that cute boy through the hot valley summer, wherever we might end up. Little did sixteen year-old me know then that place would be here and now. Little did I know that he would be my rock of strength and my featherbed of safety, that we would change and shift and grow like two trees planted close whose branches intertwine and whose roots share the same wellspring. Little did I know then that I had already met my soul mate.

And now, Nine years after we said "I do" I still wouldn't change a thing about him.

BC,

I love you forever and always and to the end.

love,

me

- From my sketchbook writings, July 25th 2010 -

I fear I'm becoming a recluse.

Driving through masses of humanity and concrete I could feel the undercurrent of the city; pulsing like a body on the verge of a heart attack. Pumping ever harder, faster, expanding while the confines of cement and mortar fill in the crumbling chinks. It took me less than 48 hours to remember how to drive that speed, dancing through the gauntlet, slipping by countless street signs and steady ambitions. I could feel the beat ringing in my ears and the need to move faster creeping up knees.

But then I hit the open hills.

The Golden Rolling Hills of California. The live oaks whose roots sink deeper than the mountains and reach their gnarled limbs in every direction like Shiva. I needed that space. I needed to dilate my ribcage and feel nothing pressing back. I needed to throw my arms wide and feel only the sunshine on my fingertips. I began breathing slower, deeper. I turned the radio up; I sang from my diaphragm. I let the wind blow hot over my skin, rumple my hair into an unruly tumble, and eased up on the gas pedal.

And then, like water in the desert to a parched woman, I hit the Redwood Curtain.

The temperature dropped and the scent of the forest filled the car. The road was bare before me and the rivers crashed far below my tires. The trees closed in behind me and I could have cried for the sanctuary. In this time of discovering the depths of my own strength and the fragility of my own body I'm desperate for it.

For Safety

For Shelter

For Refuge

This is where I am supposed to be.

There are hundreds of miles between the voracious hustle and my heart. And my heart is home.

Leaving on a Road Trip

Good Morning Tuesday!

Good Morning YOU!

I've two things to say before I slip into my flippity flops and don my biggest pair of shades and they are thus:

1. YOU have made me feel so great this last week, what with all your short-hair-love and downright flattery. You KNOW how to make a gal feel amazing and I think you might be responsible for the extra strutting I did all weekend and the sly brush-your-hair-out-of-your-eyes "oh this ol' hair do?" I may have pulled more than twice. I really adore you. That's what this comes down to.

2. I'm heading out of town for the week (Monday you ask? Yeah, never happened) and into the greater San Francisco area of California, driving out in my faithful little Civic with a huge box of chopped veggies and plans for a chai latté before I even hit the freeway. I've got a few appointments with various doctors but I'll be staying with one of my bestie gals which means hysterical laughter, very little sleep, and the eye rolls of her man (whom I love like crazy too) at our no-doubt-crazed antics. I can't help it. We get together and it's like a whole room of children cracked out on sugar. All big eyes and no control over the volume of our voices. Except it's just the two of us. And we're both no longer even in our twenties.

BRING ON THE GOOD TIMES!

That said, I don't know if I'll have time or breath to update this bloggy-o later in the week BUT no matter what I'll be back next Monday with photos galore and plans to [finally] show you a few pieces from that new painting series I've been hinting at!

Lovey Dove,

- Umber

Dog days

Somedays

All you need is a ancient blanket strewn beneath the cherry tree

and a few cartons of Thai takeout.

And maybe a popsicle too.

***

HOW HAVE YOU BEEN CELEBRATING SUMMER, MON CHICKADEES?

p.s. Did you know that the collective noun for chickadees is a banditry? IT'S MY VERY FAVORITE ONE... a banditry of chickadees... always up to no good!