Umber Dove

P.S.

2012-01-28T18:55:00.000-08:00

"Is that what you think? Haha! I'm a lover not a fighter!"
- Michael Jackson

(thank you MJ!)

A Few Points for Your Saturday Night

2012-01-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

(one)
Did you know I'm crazy for color?
We're talking knock down, mad hatter, singing in the rain crazy for it. I think that's why I've needed a crisp white home and studio - someplace to de-stimulate while I splash chroma about.
One might call me a chromaphilliac conquistador - an explorer sent into global territories to conquer and collect color. Ah HA!

(two)
I had a dream last night wherein I wore some sort of french maid outfit and poured champagne for an extraordinarily wealthy couple who had several of my paintings on their walls.
No idea.
But I'm pretty sure I looked good, so at least there was that.

(three)
I snapped this photo of my little girl last week - my little girl who is getting her big girl face on so fast. Right now she's passed out on her bed making dreaming barking noises that sound like a manatee burping. All underwater, bubbly and warbling.
But what I'm really thinking about is how proud of her I am. I blame it on our horrid neighbor dogs, but she's had some fear issues to overcome with new dogs. We've been working so hard, training so intensely, and today, for the first time at the dog park, Freyja had FUN. Like playing, rolling, chasing other dogs, open mouth grin, sparkles in her eyes, fun. I can't tell you how huge my heart felt watching her romp.

(four)
It is with hesitating key-smacks that I tell you I've discovered dairy is one of my food sensitivity culprits. I'm not terribly sensitive, but I would give up a pinky toe for the ability to eat as much cheese as I desire.
This is probably not true, but I feel a bit melodramatic about the whole thing. The good news is that wheat is A-OK so I'll be back to my loaf baking in no time at all. Kick out the jams!

(five)
Last year was a terribly slow year as far as books consumed; I read more shorts and essays and how-to's than anything else. This year my goals include more fiction and thusly, I may start a new book tonight. "Lacuna" by Barbara Kingsolver. Have you read it? What did you think?

(six)
I'm off to pull together dinner, put some Michael Jackson on the speakers and shake it all over this kitchen.
Shamone Baby!

~ Umber ~

Daydreaming of Future Mountains

2012-01-25T15:49:00.000-08:00

Daydreaming of Future Mountains
Watercolor on Arches Cotton Cold Press
10" x 12"
(reserved)

When I began,
a quick sketch, a puddle of color, a loose fingered wash,
I had already seen the image, lightly inscribed behind my eyelids. By the time the doe opened her eyes, every mark had become so specific, so directly referencing the daydreams of my heart, that I put her aside and didn't touch her for a full week.
Process.
Sometimes you have it all figured out, and then your heart goes and says "wait! let me reveal an exact desire through your fingertips and so what if everyone can see it and you feel a little bit naked? it's true! it's honest!" And so you pick back up that paintbrush and chew on the wooden end and make another bazillion cups of tea and then you finally show it to a friend who says this within the first few seconds:
"Oh! It's a self portrait!"

And she's right.
* * *

I'm not quite ready to place this original in the shop - I need to just live with her a bit longer - but I truly wanted to share with you. But if you are the one this piece speaks to (and I always believe that painting is a bit like speaking in tongues: the image is given to the painter to create, and when it finds its right viewers, they understand that message like plants understand the sun), please do not hesitate to drop me a convo and I'll gladly share with you the details.
* * *

Oh!
And one more thing! This delights me, makes me love humanity and more than anything, hope and wish that in my next life I've got the gift of music in my lungs. Or, at least, could belt it out with the best of the early 90's female hip hop artists.
Riiiiiiiiiiight!?!
Right!

Working by Rainlight

2012-01-19T14:00:00.000-08:00

The skies have let loose. I'm sitting in the studio without music, just listening to the rain thunder down. The redwood just outside my window is covered in the most beautiful bokeh of droplets. Down by the river a small but brave flock of birds is flying low; I counted seven between the birch trunks which are growing green. This morning I found a gluten-free, vegan chocolate bar which I am devouring with licorice tea in a cup and saucer I had nearly forgotten about.

It's the kind of day where you don't even need a rainbow.

For Your Radiant Sternums

2012-01-18T16:19:00.000-08:00

For the days when golden light is pouring from your chest, when every cell is vibrating with life, when the world sings and the waves part.
But also, and perhaps more importantly:
For the days when the light is a bit dusty, when nothing sounds so fine as life under the covers, when the storms frizzle hair and your sighs are long and deep.
I offer a little help:
A little reminder that your light will shine and until it's turned back up to 1.21 gigawatts, a little color goes a long way.

For Your Radiant Sternum Necklaces
~ in prehnite, chrysoprase and larimar ~
I've set these stones simply, swinging from a bar of sterling, that they never detract from your own bright and lambent light. Small waves radiate outward and upward, full of movement, full of shine.

A brilliant Wednesday I wish you!
~ Umber ~

A Few Thoughts on Process

2012-01-17T10:34:00.000-08:00

Good Morning!

Have you had your coffee yet? Is the world white around you? I've been watching with terrible envy as the pacific northwest receives a dusting and friends report they've been sent home from work for a snow day. Here, a mere twelve miles as the crow flies from the ocean (and they do), the dawn breaks through a world of frost and freeze. Everything glitters as the sun rises, turning hard crystals into dew. I'm holding my breath for the snow flurries the weatherman promised, wool cowls and down vests at the ready.

Last night I finished up this ring; an ongoing learning project I've had tinkering about on the studio bench for the last two weeks. It's about creative DNA and cellular ownership and our very marrow and I truly look forward to telling you all about it soon. This particular ring fits my finger like it arrived with me from the womb: a sure sign that I must keep it close (to borrow a friend's words: an artist always knows when a piece belongs to her).
But what I'm really thinking about is process.
I'm not the speediest artist on the earth. Those shows, the "America's Next Artist" type, are the things my creative nightmares are made of. Now today we're going to tell you what to be inspired by and give you 48 hours to create a masterpiece and make it your own, but really make it exactly what we want to see. No thank you (although don't get me wrong - I'll chain-watch Project Runway any day of the week and twice on Sunday - mmnn... fashion gluttony)! I hem and haw. I look hard, trying to commit shapes, lines, tonal values to memory. I read. I talk out things of wonder. And when I finally sit down to work, I find my fingers make repetitive moves, mundane tasks, patient, patient work. In that there is always a sort of meditation, a freedom to either daydream or carry on huge existential debates about the subject weaving itself from fingertips. I sing just a hair off-key. I talk aloud - crazy woman style. Sometimes I get lost, lose my path entirely, set aside a piece for weeks, even months hoping that same muse will waltz back in. Sometimes I catch myself thinking about painting while I saw silver, other times I'm mentally bending wire while spreading sweeping watercolor washes. And if I'm very lucky, when the final polish is applied, the signature signed, the sealant sprayed, I've learned a fraction more about myself than I knew before.

Today I'll be working on a trio of necklaces in clear, dashing colors and spending time thinking deeply about what my deer painting needs. The studio is cold these days; I nearly sit on top of my little heater while working and there is always a hot cup of something at hand.
Speaking of that, I think I might pour a second cuppa.

Cheers!
~ Umber ~

A Weekend's Account

2012-01-15T21:26:00.000-08:00

Mornings:

glorious sun with a bitter chill on the air; a golden dawn, bronze light falling through sheer curtains
*
persimmons and the "best damn grapefruit you've ever tasted" (as the market vendor told me)
*
breakfast out, oatmeal with the works, stroll around the plaza
*
pine siskins. clearing seed fast, sometimes ten to a feeder sock, a whirling, whistling, chattery group of yellow streaked wings and grippy little toes.
*
letter writing on graph paper, black ink smeared on a left hand
*

Afternoons:

reading her book of poetry (it's so good I could burst with pride)
*
plantish retail therapy. the woman who runs the nursery again commenting on my "massive growing collection" of house plants - "why here you are again! a new plant every time!" i refuse to be shamed
*
too much tea
*
painting, painting, and painting even more. pushing water, finding deer, daydreaming, mountain hunting, budding twigs, swirling rainbows
*
blue apatite genuine paint on a "good" shirt. blerg
*

Evenings:

"back-rub in a cup" - scratch brewed vegan chai
*
rasping sound of files on metal and the hot whirl of a polishing wheel. prehnite, chrysoprase, larimar, color splashed along the bench
*
a kitchen well scrubbed down
*
scent of roasting squash
*
buckwheat heating pillows in bed, new fiction, mint tea, slumbering cats
*

my friends,
i hope the weekend was all that you needed with snow flurries on top!

On Pigtails and Histories

2012-01-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

Ten Thousand Small Histories No. 4
(because I can't stop)
The other day I was rooting around in one of my studio drawers, looking for something that still remains forgotten when I came upon these two coloricious bits of beach pottery. When I took my first smithing class last winter I took along these two. And I mean really. Truly. How could you go wrong with teal the color of Florida's gulf and chartreuse as bright as any budding fern? They are a dynamic duo I tell you. I dropped everything and went to work. A songbird feather pressed into sterling, rusticated bits and rings reminiscent of pocket treasures... le sigh. It feels lighthearted and ancient all wrapped up in one.

And while we're on the subject of lightheartedness, can I tell you about a physiological marker I reached this weekend?
Pig tails.
Really they're more like two tiny puff balls of curls and a mass of bobby pins BUT for the first time since the hair was lost, I've been able to put it up. And somehow, with hair piled back on top of my head, I feel more like me.
Grow, grow you silly little proteins!

Sketchbook Writings

2012-01-10T18:54:00.000-08:00

~ From My Sketchbook Writings, Tuesday January 10th ~

It begins like this:
An uneventful sunset eases into busy hands and a quiet mind. It progresses like any dream of flying; walking turns to running turns to leaping turns to earth rotating slowly below one's soles. And somewhere in there, the mind gives way to wild thoughts. The dangerous thoughts that in one's waking moments are too big, too grandiose, too ludicrous to allow among the elderly at heart. The children, well, they've always been unafraid. So we tie wings to their shoes and tell them to fly and sure enough,
they step onto thin air.
All the while our hands keep moving while the mind leans back and sighs and says yes. That will do.

* * *

The Natives

2012-01-05T12:10:00.000-08:00

The Natives: the California Quail and the Dark-Eyed Junco
6" x 6"
Watercolor on Arches Cotton Rag

It's the wildest thing:
We meet eyes. They give me a wink. And I know we are made of the same stuff: stardust, fern spores, redwood decay, salt air, limestone, blue sunrises and golden sunsets with a tiny pinch of silt from the crush of tectonic plates.
Natives.
* * *

(A new mini series of watercolors)
(in the shop now...)

Personal Day

2012-01-04T10:19:00.000-08:00

Good Morning!
Happy New Year!
How is your heart today?

(Get a load of that fruit bowl, right? Pears, pomegranates, pinenuts, hemp seeds and raw cacoa nibs! Delish! I've just embarked on a strict elimination diet to identify a food sensitivity that has gone on for WAY too long, but LOOK at what I get to eat!)
I love everything that a new year symbolizes: the passage of time, a fresh opportunity to claim your destiny, a time to reevaluate goals and set them anew. The last few days BC and I have walked miles with the pups, mulling over exactly what we want and exactly how we want to get there. We've drafted lists and plans and I had the perfect excuse to order a gorgeous daily agenda from a lovely bookmaker. It feels so hopeful!
The last few days we've been so hard at work that I've decided to take a "personal morning." Way back in another life, when BC and I both were sprinting the fast track, working double jobs, I discovered that personal days were the key to my sanity. They often fell under the ruse of food poisoning, but really you would find me strolling the streets of Santa Cruz eating a carmel apple with a sack of new-used books slung over shoulder. I would buy two, count 'em, TWO lattés and read fiction in a tiny rustic cafe. They are some of my very favorite memories of that period of life and while the 70 hour workweek has passed, the personal day lives on.

So.
That's how I'm being kind to myself today. And I'm bringing a sturdy cotton bag for my [hopeful] book cache.
What are you doing for you this week? This year? I'd love to know!
~ Umber ~

And Here's What Came From My Hands

2011-12-31T09:53:00.000-08:00

After the nest, the silver flowed and this is what came forth.

Inaudible Dialogue Necklace
Sterling Silver and Turquoise
One hollow-formed pendant plays host to a nest of sticks, leaves, stones and a single turquoise cabochon (one the the very last from the buried treasure stash), swinging freely like a prayer censer on a bar of sterling.
Back. Forth. Breathe in. Breath out. Release. Take in.
* * *

Happy last day of 2011!
~ Umber ~

A True Story

2011-12-29T12:29:00.000-08:00

Once there was a gal.

Most days she was light of heart, quick to grin, optimistic to a fault even. But every now and then, a gray cloud would cling to her shoulders the little things would add up. One particular day she felt the grittiness of the cloud hanging close by and a hard little rock of frustration crowding its way into her ribcage. It was sticky and constricting and she couldn't expand her lungs with it lodged right there along her sternum, so she decided the best thing to do would be to take a hike with her pack in the cold December air.

They trekked along the river bed, sludging their way through muddy ruts and clambering up slopes of stone. Bare scrub brush caught at their legs and high over head the geese honked. Every now and again the sun would sneak a golden stream of light through the fog and the world would become dazzling in its damp glory.
As she walked, the gal thought to the wholeness of certain practices in her life. She began to breathe mindfully; on every exhale she took a tiny piece of that gray matter and sent it into the light. On every inhale, she pulled in the pureness, the goodness, the holiness of the creation around her. It became a dialogue between breath and earth, between heart and sky. And somewhere between the rapids and the grassy knolls, that little ball of frustration disappeared entirely. The dialogue shifted; rather than exhaling bits of darkness she exhaled thanks. Expansive, deep exhalations of gratitude. And the sunlight rained down like gold.

And then, almost as if an unseen hand directed her gaze, she craned her neck and gazed upward into a tree she had passed more than a dozen times before. There, about eight feet up, cozied into the crook of a dry branch was the most perfect nest she had ever seen. The inside was lined with crushed down and the occasional white horse hair. The exterior was built of grasses and mud. The whole thing was smaller than the palm of her hand. The inhabitants were long gone, fully feathered and grown. She knew it was for her, gently snapped the branch and smiled, because this was no ordinary finding. This was a gift.

* * *

A Day in the Life of the Dove: Christmas Day Edition

2011-12-26T20:36:00.000-08:00

[A photographic account of a single day in my life, Christmas day to be exact, spent in California's chilly central valley with the jubilance of family]

- Sunday December 25th 2011 -

7:08 am

7:56 am

8:39 am

9:15 am

10:09 am

10:47 am

1:09 pm

1:39 pm

2:29 pm

3:05 pm

3:56 pm

5:34 pm

7:24 pm

8:47 pm

9:32 pm

10:12 pm

11:48 pm
* * *
I hope your day was just as merry and bright!

Hello My Wintery Birds

2011-12-23T19:09:00.000-08:00

It's the 23rd of December!

Can you believe it?

The presents are wrapped, carmel corn is baking in the oven (the scent, OH the scent is to DIE for), and my merry-christmas-to-me present showed up just in the nick of time (I think everyone should indulge and buy themselves at least one gift for the holidays).

But really this evening, this is what I'd like to say:
I wish YOU all the happiness and gentleness and joy that you deserve.
Because you do. This tribe, these women (and men too) are some of the deepest of heart, strongest of soul and most true I've ever met.
Truly, TRULY I am blessed to know you.

So however you spend your holiday, I wish you the biggest and brightest.
Thank you for being in my life - you truly make everything just a little sparklier.
Cheers my birds!
~ Umber ~

In the Evenings

2011-12-18T17:21:00.000-08:00

This is where you'll find me.

About a week ago, I carried the watercolor essentials down from the studio and took over the dining room table:
torn cotton paper
water-filled jelly jars
river rocks
enameled trays
a smattering of paint tubes
and of course the usual suspects as well: pencils, brushes, sketchbooks and at least two sets of arm wear.

It's felt cozy, familial, to perch up on this stool with a little black puppy curled around my feet. To see the tree twinkling out of the corner of my eye. To have the tea kettle at the ready, or a handful of dried cherries should the mood strike. To trade carbon-dioxide for oxygen with twenty-one growing, reaching, breathing plants in this tiniest of rooms. To feel my whole little family close.

And of course, to watch the paint flow.
* * *

Tell me, what have your December evenings held?

Super Friends

2011-12-16T21:43:00.000-08:00

Faster than speeding bullets,

Twice the mud,

Thrice the slobber.

Saving the world one woof at a time.

* * *

OH!

And I almost forgot! Outtakes from tonight's romp...

They are loving life.

A Fondness

2011-12-14T12:35:00.000-08:00

In the name of seeking joy, I painted a small tribute piece to the feathered finch of my daily delight.

A Fondness
5"x7" Watercolor on 100% cotton Arches watercolor paper

It is no secret that I harbor a great fondness for the feathered creatures that inhabit my property. They are the original survivors, the songmakers, the joy bringers, the gifters of grins and scatterers of seeds.

Sometimes it just feels good to paint with nothing but joy and thanks in your heart.

2011-12-13T12:19:00.000-08:00

Good Tuesday to you!

It's been chilly here.
I finally got my wish: the thermometer has dropped steadily into the 20's, my fingers have ached while running the pups, and a hard crystalline layer greets the dawn. It's one of those things I need to feel, in order to know that time is moving along at it's ever steady clip, the click of seasons and the shifting of wardrobe.
I can't believe it's been a whole week.
I'd love to launch into some sort of fabulous tale of where I've been and the adventures I've had, but truly, TRULY the most action I've seen has been the raising of one tea cup after the other. That bug laid me out something fierce, I recovered, pushed too hard (hello type A), and found myself quite immediately back on the couch.
Le sigh.
I'm not a good patient.
Never have been.

BUT,
with that done and past, I'd really love to show you some of the metal work dancing about in my studio! Care to take a peek?

Tidal Earrings
in two sizes: A Petite Swell and A Rolling Surf
I've thought a lot about the push of pull of the tides of my heart. Somedays I can walk for miles with a gentle swish of surf cooling my toes, on others the sneaker waves break in a sharp, dark froth. On those days my skin feels raw in the wind, the waves crest so high and the sand beneath my feet shifts. But this I know, just as surely as the sun will rise and the moon will shine: The tide will always shift. The moon will pull back and the shoreline will reveal its treasures. You will walk steady in the sand, the sea will send its lightest foam dancing in the breeze. This is life. This is the good that is so good, and the dark that makes the light ever brighter.
You can count on it.

Flirting With Yourself Earrings
A delightful return!

And just because I love them so,
Ten Thousand Small Histories No. 3
Sterling Silver and two utterly fabulous bits of beach pottery, plucked right here on the high beaches of Northern California. This particular necklace features a FIND and a HALF of a bit: scrolling blue arcs on weathered porcelain - be still my heart!

(consider the shop updated...)
* * *

So tell me what have you been up too!
I've missed you so!
~ Umber ~

A Short Announcement

2011-12-05T12:37:00.000-08:00

Hello All!

Well I know I tossed out the teaser with a shop update scheduled for today, but here is the truth: I am sick as a dog! I woke up this weekend having lost my voice entirely and have done very little outside of napping, tea drinking and making fresh juices in very questionable shades of dirt and spinach.

So.

I'm rescheduling for later this week and letting my body take the time it needs.

Thanks so much for understanding!

~ Umber ~

Friday

2011-12-02T15:43:00.000-08:00

We woke early.
I dressed in wool and double mittens, filled a thermos with coffee; he wolfed down breakfast and waited for his collar. The sky was that sort of surreal thing, full specific shapes I could not name that filled the air just above the earth. I felt damp on my cheeks, numb on my fingers, the anticipation of sun. I found too many stones; my pockets nearly ripped at the seams. He ran like a beast, snorting two trails of steam in broad circles around me. I asked him to look for antlers in the tall grass lining the river banks. He slobbered my jeans. The sun broke free of the forested hills and suddenly the world was crystalline.
We breathed hard together, running down muddy banks and over the remains of redwood giants. The light nearly blinded me, but I felt no fear.
My feet were steady.
* * *
Here's to our Friday,
I hope yours has been filled with light!
~ Umber ~

The Joy Project

2011-11-30T17:04:00.000-08:00

Here is the truth:

The waters of my soul have been anything but smooth lately. Swift currents have kicked up and left me speechless, gritty waves have threatened the light of hope I hold tight against my sternum. There is no one tidy answer, no magic pill, just a determined plunking of one muddied boot after the other. There have been days filled with so much light and goodness that I've had to shade my eyes, but also days where the fog has rolled in and I've wandered in silence through the river beds.

But if I can tell you one thing about me it is this:

I am a fighter.

My name, my birth name, is Kelly Nichole which very directly translates to Victorious Warrior.

And there is something deep within my heart that is shifting, some hidden mortar crumbling, some tectonic plate of soul that is stretching and ripping as it moves in exactly the way it was meant to move.

It's uncomfortable to say the least. But I know that somewhere, some hold on my life is being wrenched free and that when I emerge on the other side a brightness will spill from my chest the likes of which I've never seen.

So until then, I'm finding all the small joys I can gather. Purposefully acknowledging the slightest things that move the corners of my mouth, marking them as GOOD, as a GIFT and holding on to them for dear hope.

And here is where I'd love for you to join me.

I've just begun a new Flickr group.

It's called The Joy Project.

The idea is simple: take a photo, it can be a self-portrait (in the broadest sense), a snippet of your home, a snap of your daily view, WHATEVER you feel a sense of joy in for that day, for that moment. Upload it to the group with a short caption of one thing that you have taken joy in that day. And that's it! Safe, easy, no huge commitments to months or years, just a gentle sharing and fostering of like-minded community.
Would you like to join me?
Pop on over to the group, The Joy Project, right HERE.

And while we're on the subject of joy, I need to express just how much the rhythmic thrumping of hammers and soft glow of metal has bouyed my heart lately. I can't stay out of the studio!

My sketchbook is stuffed with ideas and my bench is covered with works in progress. So much so that I think there may be a very official shop update in the works shortly...
But for now a little sneak peek:

Ten Thousand Small Histories No 2
Sterling Silver and Northern California Beach Pottery
To learn about the inspiration behind this piece, click here
(Can I tell you one thing about these bits of perfectly sea-weathered pottery? I've carried these two slices with me for years now, in a tiny mason jar, pulling them out every once in a while to admire and roll about in the palm of my hand. The off-white piece features a beautiful bit of illustration - I believe it was a branch at one time, but now is a lesson in the perfection of abstraction. Sigh. I even remember the squeal I let out when I found it.)
(Lastly, I'm planning a shop update for next Monday, December 5th - whoot! - ~~however if this necklace speaks to you before then, it is absolutely RESERVABLE! Just drop me an Etsy convo HERE.~~ Reserved!)

A Short List

2011-11-27T09:02:00.000-08:00

I spent a great deal of time driving this last week; well, to be honest, BC spent a great deal of time driving while I sat in the front seat and did the "mom smacking hand thing" behind me whenever the pups got too rowdy in the back. We trekked down the coast and into the central valley to spend our time with BC's family, playing Apples to Apples, talking about Chinese skin analysis, and running the dogs in the back forty. The weather was temperamental but the wood stove cranked and we fell into home.

All that to say, Thanksgiving may have passed in a gentle flurry of homemade cranberry sauce and bread pudding, but I still have gratitude to give.

So today, as I watch the clouds roll in and the furnace grunts and lurches, I am thankful:

for two fully functioning hands

for espresso

for living with the redwoods

for the love of the best man I know

for whiskers that tickle my face in the morning

for copious houseplants

for a clear mammagram (just got the most recent results last week!!!)
for beasts who make me laugh day in and out
for T, C, J, K, A, M, you know who you are
for a studio
for families who honestly love each other
for letters in the mail
for sheepskin boots
for communities across the globe who inspire and encourage me
for pomegranates
and for you.
SO much for you my friends.
I am grateful.

On Wings

2011-11-16T12:59:00.000-08:00

I don't think I will ever tire of metaphors of flight.
Of spreading wings a little wider ever day.
Of finding space in our hearts for the love of others, to open up and realize our hearts are huge.
Of finding courage to soar into territories new to us, regardless of how far they seem or intimidating they may be.
Of feeling currents brush past our skin as the freshness of each day greets our lungs.

Last week I sat in my studio with a delicately pressed feather and one of the last turquoise cabochons from the buried treasure stash. I thought about flight, just how far I've come, just how far I have yet to go. How rich the story of my life could be. And as I thought, I wrote it out in silver. And found this ring on the other side.

She feels so good on.
{and she's in the shop now}

Morning Breaks

2011-11-14T08:26:00.000-08:00

In the pale gray light of a brisk Autumn morning, all before the tea kettle whistled.

Guilty Parties

2011-11-12T16:54:00.000-08:00

This used to be more than just a rabbit head.

In fact, for 11 months, this was a full and floppy thing, gummed up for certain, but loved well. Now, like one of Henry's wives, this head has been neatly separated from it's body and I could place money on which set of puppy teeth is at fault.

I'll give you a hint:
"Milk teeth"

Signing off from the land of more-toys-needed.

Two Short Stories that May or May Not have Anything to do with Each Other

2011-11-10T18:36:00.000-08:00

(also, I sometimes sporadically and spontaneously capitalize words)

Today I suckered BC into grocery shopping. After a decade of marriage, we have fallen into certain household roles and the general category of "food" has my name written all over it. I do not mind this a bit, but about once a quarter, I coax him into the car, carrying my canvas bags and back up water bottle with a promise of a meal out.
Today it was sushi, and plenty of it. I must have spicy tuna with too much ginger and he must have hamachi nigiri with lots of wasabi and if a tempura yam roll shows, well so be it!
I think the bargain is a good one.
One of the great loves BC and I share is dinning out. Some might even call us "whores for eating out" and I would not be able to correct them. When we first moved out of Seattle and back down to California, to this sparsly populated county on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, with the "biggest city" weighing in at under 30,000 people, we thought our days of eating out would be numbered.
I can now tell you this is not the case.
The last time we went out to breakfast our server, Lilly, finished my order for me (fruit instead of hashbrowns, right?). Last month, at Pak India, the adorable man who does everything asked if we were models because we were so tall. He told us he had been wanting to ask for months. At Big Blue, they ask after Sancho and show us new tattoos.
And I must confess: we love it.
* * *
These tights? Or, as you may have been thinking, these "incredible, awesome tights?" They finally showed up and I'm pretty certain I'll be wearing them non-stop this winter. I ordered them months ago, way back, I do believe, before we moved and before I had adjusted the shipping address on my paypal. At the time I was not worried, as we had our paperwork in for the postal forward but then some strange glitch in the system took over, and we've been trying to track our mail down for no less than three month. We heard stories of our mail being held in a mysterious box that made its way through the various post offices in the county, somehow always eluding us. I could have cared less about our water bill, but these tights! My hope was starting to wane. But then, like a blessing when you need it most, a flurry of mail and one rumpled package finally arrived and now my legs are complete.
Thank God.

Life is good, no?

After the Quiet

2011-11-07T18:46:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I took myself, Sancho, Pierré the Canon and a two percent Latté into the forest. Winter made a great show of arriving and we sloshed through deep mud and wadded in ferns rib-high. I've had a quiet week, the kind where so much time was spent digesting the beautiful aftermath of the yoga weekend, that I had little to say externally.
*
I found something so glorious within that I could not be bothered with banal duties. I sang aloud and let the laundry sit.
*
I fell down the well. Sancho, beautiful beautiful soul came and laid his jowlies on my knees and gave me everything in his soulful eyes. Thai velcroed himself to my lap and purred with all his might. These canine hearts, these feline souls are some of my dearest confidants and best friends.
*
I gained courage in a painting I'd set off in a corner of the studio, one that I've not been ready to face until now. I started it several months back with a ghost of imagery playing in my head; when I began to paint in earnest, I found the meaning, what I would need to confront within in order to paint in utter honesty. And I was not ready. Not until this week.
*
I found a window flung wide open, after months and months of feeling my way in the dark, looking for any small fissue to gain a way forward but finding only solid rock.
*
I started three new paintings (PINK! Oh my god, it's so pink, an internal cavern of anatomy, deep and pulsing. But somehow, so exactly right).
*
I've listened to so much wordless music.
*
I feel like last week was one of those existential birthings, one that I've been carrying for a long long time. It was perfect, it was rocky. Thank god I have a good man and some sturdy running shoes. And that I know the secret to a great 6-layer bean dip (it's Fayeh yogurt in place of sour cream. Come on. So delish) and this salad, because it was all I could carve time to eat.

But tonight, before I take on my womanly duties (there are approximately one hundred and twenty pounds of beast waiting to be fed - daylight savings is throwing them off and the bitch session is incredible), I want to share this with you.

"Everything is gestation and then birthing. To let each impression and each embryo of feeling come to completion entirely in itself, in the dark, in the unsayable, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own understanding, and with deep humility and patience to wait for the hour when a new clarity is born; this alone is what it means to live as an artist.
In this, there is no measuring with time, a year doesn't matter, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means not numbering and counting but ripening like a tree which doesn't force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward, summer may not come.
It does come."
- Rainer Maria Rilke

Peace be with you tonight.
~ Umber ~

2011-10-31T23:00:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I took myself down to the golden foothills of California's North Bay for a silent yoga retreat with a dear kindred spirit. I've been unpacking the events of the weekend, slowly, carefully, trying to allow them space to breath and become. Trying to let them be just a sacred experience that I may never fully explain away. I'm not ready to bare my heart on this one yet, but the events of the day seared themselves so deeply upon my heart that I can think of nothing else to speak of. I filled pages and pages with writings and sketches. I acquired verbiage for images I've only known as guttural response. I know the depth is still descending, like a pebble in a bottomless well, but I desire to share this with you.

* * *

We drove in the dark under shooting stars, headlights cutting a trail through coyote brush and chaparral scrub, winding upward, onward, deeper, older, wiser. The hills are soft with age and when you step lightly upon them, you feel a sense of stillness, of smallness as though the grandeur of what they once were held only a fraction of the power they now possess. The fauna was a live walk through the animals I chose for next year's calendar: deer in droves, jack rabbits, quail, owls, sparrows, goldfinch, moths, and one lone fox. I felt arrived, I felt communal, I felt the holy nature of that place, baptized by the scent of eucalyptus, the trinity of hooves, feathers and fur. I was alone with my thoughts, my hurts, my small victories. We marched over hill and knoll, cold sunlight on the small of my back, dropping down into ancient creek beds that whispered. I laid down, stretched out, on sturdy boughs that cradled my heart and soul.

I said "I'm hurt." I heard "I know."

I said "I'm afraid." I heard "I know that too."
No false promises, no rush for salvation, just a deep sorrow, a deeper understanding, smoothing of hair and an encompassing love.

And I wept because those tears were the only true offering I had to give. There was no pride, there was no agenda. They were pure. Holy. My heart unfurled a little more; great beating petals unfolding their true center. Love became a brilliant beam pouring forth, pouring in, and I learned something, was reminded something about the power of self-love.

I tell you this: a stitch was put in an age old wound. A balm was held to my forehead. I felt safer with myself, safer with my heart, safer with my fears, my hopes, my wild imagination in that place than I have in a long, long time. Perhaps since I was child who did not know better. And that was so, so long ago.

* * *

Sometime Thursday Morning Post Coffee

2011-10-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

Or mid-coffee as the case may be.

[side note: I firmly believe that if the Last Supper had instead been the Last Brunch, Jesus would have turned that water into the most delicious coffee man had ever tasted, and cream and honey would have poured forth.]

But I digress... and I know you are all chomping at the bit to see what magic numbers were pulled out of the hat!

So with the help of Mr. Random Generator Dot Org. we have names and three calendars ready to be shipped out to their prospective homes!

Our winners:

Cinder Says (you foxy lady...)

Emmy D (miss optimist herself)

Emily (who has a thing for quails and chickadees - girl, I am right there with you on this one!!)

Ladies-fine, please send your addresses to me at kclarkstudios@gmail.com and I'll ship shape them out!

And to ALL of you commenters-fine, thank you so much for taking a moment to enter this little give-a-way of mine. Thank you as EVER for making my day, for making me smile, for making this life I believe so whole-heartedly real.

You are the bee's knees times ten thousand.

Tres Cosas

2011-10-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

~ uno ~
Creatures I Have Know: THE Calendar is here.
WHOOT!
It's so very satisfying what with its substantial cardstock, glossy inks and cheery, cheery colors. I'm in perma grin over here!

~ dos ~
If you've not entered the 2012 Calendar give-a-way, you have just a few more hours to do so! Chop chop! I can't wait to pull those three winning names tomorrow!

~ tres ~
I have so many thoughts tied up in my head, compacted through my spine, plus the residual aches from 23 hours of driving that I am heading in for a massage shortly. I left a sliver of my heart in Seattle this last weekend, and the empty space in my chest aches. But it was good. So good. I'll tell you about it soon, ok?

Happy Hump Day!
I hope these last golden days of October are treating you well!
~ Umber ~

The First Giveaway of 2012

2011-10-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

That's right.
I said it.
And yes, it's only October.

I'd like to introduce you to the
UmberDove 2012 Calendar: Creatures I Have Known

Inspired by the feathered, the hooved, the furred and the winged who catch my eye and steal my heart on any given day. By the restless ones, the cheerful ones, the small busy bodies who comfort me and entertain my laugh. By the dawn song and the rustle in the ferns. By the tiny gifts, the slightest clues left behind for my seemingly bottomless pockets. By those who bring me joy. Painted in hopes to bring a sliver of their jubilance to you.

A few highlights from the cast of characters...

This calendar represents hours upon hours spent sketching, drafting, drinking tea, laying watercolor grounds, layering paint colors, drinking more tea, adding highlights, painting details, eating milk chocolate sea salt toffee bars (thank you Whole Foods), scanning, editing, proofing, photographing and finally, sending my little flock off to the printers.
WHEW.
Needless to say, pulling off a calendar is a LOT of good hard time put in the studio.

Now that it's officially done, I'm ready to celebrate.
Care to join? Here's how:
1. Pour a gin and tonic (Sapphire with a whole lime squeezed - do not skimp here!)
2. Pack a suitcase for a weekend jaunt up North
3. Take 30 to 40 more photos of your puppies doing really cute things like spooning-sleeping
4. Take the rest of the evening off an paint your toes a ravishing shade of teal

OR

You could just leave a comment below and be entered to win one of these markers of months, the 2012 Calendar!

I'm giving away THREE because three is such a lucky number.
All you need to do is leave one (and only one please) comment - say whatever you like - and you'll be in the running! The contest starts now (bang!) and will end Wednesday, October 26th in the Evening Sometime with the three winners announced the following day after I've had coffee (these are scientifically precise times, no need to worry yourself with the details).

GOOD LUCK!!

It is my additional delight to offer up these brand spanky new paintings in the Shop! I'll be listing all twelve this evening, each one an UmberDove original, watercolored and gouached (maybe a word? maybe not?) on archival paper and AS EVER so much more nuanced in person.
Utterly.
My.
Delight.

Comment away!
~ Umber ~

2011-10-17T12:10:00.000-07:00

Some days, I just need a holy fire and a cold baptism.

Ten Thousand Small Histories

2011-10-14T11:41:00.000-07:00

This is my favorite tea cup.

She's a no name number in periwinkle with a badly glued chip in the lip.

She was fifty cents at my favorite vintage treasures shop, but I have a feeling they would have just given her to me if I'd ask.

I can't quite explain why but sometimes, somethings just fit so perfectly in your hands that you can't help but feel the blessing of their past owners. Like the long-gone from this world are resting just a little easier knowing that you are there, carrying on in their stead. That they are not forgotten, that the remains of their days still hold a twinkle of beauty.

This little sliver of perfectly turquoise beach pottery hails from a rocky shore here in Northern California. This beach, years ago, was the official town dump, a place to discard the old on the cliff bluffs, set blaze to the pile, then push it into the sea. As you walk the ocean's edge, you step not on sand, not on rock, but on millions upon millions of bits of glass and pottery.

I'd like to imagine this little piece was once from a tea cup as beloved as mine, holding black coffee on fog laden mornings.

History.

Just because it is unknown, does not mean it is forgotten.

Ten Thousand Small Histories Necklace
Sterling Silver, Mendocino Beach Pottery and One Pressed Feather

In other news, THIS is still taking up most of my days.

When she's lovey, all she wants in the world is a warm body to snuggle with.
When she's feisty, you can hear her jaws snapping like a crocodile two rooms away.
Beware your toes!

Happy Friday All!

The GIRLIE has Arrived!

2011-10-10T09:34:00.000-07:00

Friends,

I'd like you to meet our newest pack member:

Freyja

(it's pronounced fray-YA)
The name comes from an old Norse goddess of life and war, love and beauty - and here's the best part - WHO DRIVES A CHARIOT ACROSS THE LAND PULLED BY TWO CATS!

I think Thai and Sing are unamused by this little fact. They have both made great show of smacking her on the behind and bopping her on the head.

So,
about Miss Freyja.
When we arrived to pick her out, she surprised us by making it no contest at all. From the photos, she is girlie number one; BC and I, based on photos alone, were leaning heavily towards either number 2 or 4 (their markings and bright eyes swooned us). But from the moment we stepped into the puppy-fray, Freyja won our hearts and minds with personality, interaction, and not least of all, GUMPTION. She is smart as a whip and curious as a cat. Even in the few mini puppy training sessions we've already begun, she has wowed us in no small way.
All that to say, we have a lot of puppy on our hands!

Sancho thinks he has died and gone to heaven; his very own puppy to nom. But truly I've fallen even more in love with him these last 48 hours, watching him play so gently with her, luring her to play tug, cleaning her face, checking in on her in her crate, and generally obsessing over his new bestie.
He will always be my Pup.

They will be thick as shoe-thieves, no doubt.

Here's to the thunderdome that now exists in our kitchen!
And here's to getting nothing done other than puppy play!

Good Morning!

2011-10-07T09:01:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's Friday already. Moreover, I can't believe it's this Friday, the Friday we're driving south to pick out and pick up our new BEAST. Our little girl. THESE are the four not-so-tiny ladies we'll be picking from! Who do you think?

That said, BC is loading the car, Sancho is whining at the door (this is only because he does not realize he will spend the next six hours in the back seat of our little civic), the kitty boys are trying to convince us we've not left them with enough food, and no one knows I'm secretly on the computer.

OH!

busted...

Time to hit the road, so merry Friday to you all and I promise to take GOBS of photos of the new little girl for you!!!!!

p.s.

One more sneak peek?

The Peek to End all Sneaks

2011-10-04T15:34:00.000-07:00

IT
is almost done.
Then
IT
will be off to the printers...
Then,
- WELL -
You'll just have to wait and see!

Sprouting

2011-09-30T15:57:00.000-07:00

Who ever said wings only sprout in the spring? The fullness of summer is stirring growth within me. My hands keep moving, my ears keep hearing, my heart keeps seeing and I'm harvesting something here.
* * *

A beautiful gift of life and death arrived in the mail today, sent by a handsome feline.

* * *

I'm mourning a kindred spirit's loss. Flinging tears like swinging incense, beseeching the heavens to allow me to carry some of the pain for her. It never works that way. So I will soldier up and broaden my shoulders incase she needs to lean this way. And even if she doesn't, I'll be close, waiting. Because sometimes love requires stillness, sometimes it requires patience, and always it requires space to breath.

* * *

I've lost myself in a book this week; chapter two is titled Moth Love. I was exactly halfway through another book, and thought I'd just peek at the first chapter... 120 pages later...

* * *

Work in the studio has felt cumulative: one shape informs the next, one color educates my eyes, one motion becomes fluid and then we see the birthing of image. My studio feels like a university of one: knowledge grows through trial, error and just showing up. Showing up every day.

* * *

My family of five will only be five for one more week, before four more legs descend in a wiggling ball of energy. All books must move up to high ground, all low swinging plants raised. Batten down the hatches! Say a pray for chair legs!

Here's to you, and me, and another week lived!
Salut!
~ Umber ~

Sleeping in Bear Country

2011-09-29T15:13:00.000-07:00

Last night,

as the final hot arcs of sun stretched over the hills, after the tent was up and the sleeping bags unrolled, when the hum of ten million tiny wings grew to a roar,

I walked along the dirt path neatly separating the redwood forest from the open fields. Sancho and I took our time, he busy sniffing out the trails of wild turkeys, me stuffing pockets with blue Jay feathers and plump rose hips. Regularly I squinted into the sun, scanning the meadow; past the blackberries and thistles, around the scattered wild apple trees, keeping the pup close just in case.

And then, against the far tree line, two black ears rose above the fescue. Standing perfectly still, pale brown muzzle, sloped shaggy shoulders.

I would be lying if I did not say my heart was beating a wild waltz.

I walked a few steps, shielded my eyes against the watery glare, and looked again. The shape had changed, moved, but that profile was distinctive. Was it a coy trick my retinas and my subconscious had paired up to play? The sun was boring into my face, fading color to nothing but hot outlined shapes.

We retreated calmly but with quick feet, climbing back up the short path to our site, glancing back at the now obscured meadow, adrenaline rushing in my ears.

When we entered the park, the ranger told us black bears had been sighted recently - and when it comes to caution I'm not a gal who needs to be told twice. Before we tucked in for the night, every last stitch and crumb was locked away tight. With the pup snuggled close at our feet, bellies full of flame-cooked food, and filtered moonlight on my face, we fell asleep to the sound of crickets.

When I awoke the first time the moon had set. The black branches of the redwoods above us were barely perceptible against the midnight sky. The pup was growling low and something large was rustling nearby. SNAP a twig would break. CRACK a branch would give way. I tried to breathe silently in the futile way of humans; slow, open mouthed breaths so as to not compromise my hearing. I poked BC's shoulder until he stirred with grunt. The thwacking and crackling continued on, but no nearer the tent, until eventually we fell back into fitful sleep.

When I awoke the second time, the stars were out, winking merrily through the needles. Something walked across the tarp on the far side of the site.

When I awoke the third time, I needed desperately to pee, but a loud crunching sound was all I needed to convince my bladder back to sleep.

When I awoke the fourth time, the woods were blissfully silent. Clear light was beginning to pool in the eastern sky and for the first time that night, I shivered.

When the first light of dawn brought color back to the forest, we pulled on layers and piled out of the tent. Our little site was untouched, but the wild apple at the base of the hill, the one not more than fifty yards from us, looked worse for wear. The ground below was scattered with broken limbs, healthy green leaves, and the largest pile of bear scat I had ever seen (composed primarily of apples, for interested parties). The trunk held several sets of fresh gashes, deep marks from claws on their way up and one long stripe from what must have been a slip of the foot.

All of this to say,

I love the wild.

But I think I'll sleep sound in my cozy bed tonight.

A Day in the Life of the Dove: Sunday, Sunday, Sunday

2011-09-26T06:04:00.000-07:00

[A photographic account of a single day in my life, a Sunday, a Sabbath, a day of rest, a day of action, and a day of staying up too late]

- Sunday September 25th 2011 -

8:13 am

9:03 am

11:23 am

11:36 am

11:58 am

12:30 pm

1:01 pm

1:07 pm

1:52 pm

2:25 pm

2:58 pm

3:20 pm

4:32 pm

4:59 pm

5:06 pm

5:13 pm

5:18 pm

6:09 pm

6:20 pm

6:47 pm

7:41 pm

8:51 pm

9:41 pm

9:50 pm

10:15 pm

10:51 pm

11:06 pm

11:43 pm
And with that, I bid you good night.
~ Umber ~

What To Do With Fifty Pounds of Tomatos, Should They End Up In Your House

2011-09-22T16:59:00.000-07:00

At the Tuesday afternoon Farmer's Market I may have accidentallyonpurpose bought 50 pounds of tomatos. You see, one of the biggest trade-offs to living this close to the ocean is the fussy nature of growing tomatos. They just don't love my misty, cool summers without a lot of babying. So when the farmers 30 miles inland bring out the real summer produce I am a moth to the flame.
Literally.
Diving into bushels of fruit without a care for my safety or sanity. Open mouthed. Wide eyed. The girl in a mini skirt at the market, lugging around two huge flats of red goodness with canvas bags criss-crossed over her shoulders filled with zucchini and cucumbers.

That said, the last 24 hours have seen a merry bubbling of multiple pots on the stove and a whirlwind of activity as I've tried to preserve every last drop for those dark grey days of winter. All in all, 24 pints of tomato soup, 10 pints of salsa, and 13 half-pints of apple butter (did I mention the apples? A gift from BC's parents from their fuji tree; we stood together in 90 degree temperatures and filled a bucket last weekend, tossing bruised apples for Sancho and crunching through as many as we could). This year, when the hail falls and the birch trees shiver, I'll be sipping on soup and remembering when I wore tank tops and bare feet.

Actually I may start sipping soup now. It's that delish. So much in fact that I decided to share the recipe with you just in case you too are a nutcase for tomatos OR just have a bumper crop to preserve!

Umberdove's
Tomato Soup to Cure the Winter Blues

You will need:
13 lbs Tomatos - scrubbed, peeled and coarsely chopped
1 1/2 Cups Chopped Onions
1/4 Cups Chopped Garlic - about 8 cloves will do
1 Cup Fresh Basil - washed and coarsely chopped
1 Cup Red Wine - something just nice enough that you will enjoy drinking the rest of
1/2 Cup Red Wine Vinegar
1 tsp Sea Salt
1 tsp Sugar
1 6oz Can Tomato Paste

~ One ~
Put on some music. Don't fool around here, this is important. For me, I started a new pandora station based on En Vogue and TLC. That's right folks, old school, belt it out over peeling tomatos. They gotta hear the passion in your voice!
"Whatta man, whatta man, whatta mighty good man"

~ Two ~
Place tomatos in a LARGE stockpot: I begin by washing, blanching (to make the skins just slide off), peeling, and rough chopping 6-8 tomatos, tossing them juice, seeds and all into the pot, and bringing them up to a slow boil. From there repeat with remaining tomatos, keeping a steady low boil / high simmer. Stir regularly and mash (using a potato masher) to break down tomatos.

~ Three ~
Pour 1/4 Cup Red Wine into a sauce pan and saute onions and garlic. Toss 'em in the stockpot. From here add all remaining ingredients: 3/4 Cup Red Wine, Vinegar, Basil, Salt, Sugar, Paste. Bring back up to a full boil.

~ Four ~
Working in batches (or using an immersion blender if you're fancy and have one of those), blend soup until smooth and creamy. Return to pot and bring back to boil. From here, continuing simmering, stirring regularly, until soup reaches a consistency you prefer. I like mine fairly thick and hearty.

~ Five ~
Fill hot, sterile jars, leaving 1/2 inch headspace, and process in a boiling water bath. If using pints, process for 35 minutes, for quarts process 45 minutes.

~ A Few Tricks and Tips ~
** To make your soup as safe as safe can be, do not lower the quantity of acidic ingredients (tomatos, vinegar) or raise the quantity of alkaline ingredients (onions, garlic, basil). Let's stay botchulism free!
** This recipe yields 10-12 pints of soup.
** If you are not comfortable with canning / processing your own soups, I'm pretty certain this recipe would freeze BEAUTIFULLY.
** I plan on eating this with a dollop of cremé fraiche and a sprinkling of fresh herbs as well as with a crusty grilled cheese sandwich and a side of cucumbers. YUMS!

p.s. what the what....?

On the Subject of Unfurling

2011-09-21T12:17:00.000-07:00

When I woke up this morning the air was so thick I could almost drink it. Around here, tucked between the salt of the ocean and the heat of the mountains, the fog rolls in thicker than goose down. When you step outside in the watery first light of day, a delicate tinkling greets your ears as every leaf and needle drips dew.
It's quiet and damp.
There is so much room to breath, to stretch, to sigh.
To be gentle with yourself, no matter what yesterday held.

This morning when I woke I had to remind myself to unfurl once again, to relax the spring-loaded spiral of my heart, to trust that I can be safe and open at the same time.

Unfurl those heart strings, let them curl towards the sky.
With every breath, broaden those fronds.
Take that tight curl, that coiled spring you hold in your chest
Let it open.
Let it open.

(100% Sterling Silver, pressed with the tiniest of ferns, plucked right here on the high Northern California Coast. In US sizes 5.75, 8, and 9.5)

I am a little fern.
And this wet climate suits my soul.

Sketchbook Writings

2011-09-16T10:16:00.000-07:00

~ From my Sketchbook Writings, Thursday September 15th ~

It feels like fall. Like damp soil and goosebumps on forearms and gray cashmere cardigans.
The leaves are falling. Falling fat and flaxen but if I squint I can pretent they are snow.
I can not break this stare; is it possible to be hypnotized by a season? To fall utterly and completely under the control of a force as distance and permeating as the orbital path of the earth?
Perhaps when I wake the shiver of bamboo will leave the taste of late season peaches on my tongue. No. My senses are confused. They've been swirled and whipped up through the vortex of birch leaves and tiny gnats, spinning for one last golden second in the remains of summer.
* * *

2011-09-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

Flirting With Yourself
100% Sterling Silver, 100% made of hands and heart.

When I woke up this morning I decided to make something that made me feel beautiful.

Something that felt like grabbing a fistful of sunflowers while thundering down a mountainside.

Like wearing silver heels in the backyard just to watch the light glitter.

Like winking at a boy in a big truck because yours is bigger.

Like arching your back in the afternoon sun.

Like putting on lipstick even though no one is home.

And so, I did.

By the way,
Have I told you today that you're beautiful?
YOU
ARE
(period)

* * *
In the shopparoo now!

Good Morning!

2011-09-13T09:04:00.000-07:00

I fell in to bed waaaaaaaaay to late last night, long after the moon had set and the clouds had rolled in low and thick. And somehow, this morning, my eyelids snapped open at 7:30 am and I just had to bound out of bed. The air outside smells like camping; green and damp and so thick with moisture you could nearly drink it. There is a chill but I have the windows thrown wide open.

All furred beasts have been fed (truly their feeding routines are a thing of obscene luxury).

One small pot of Irish Breakfast tea with milk and agave has been consumed.

I'm just so excited to get into the studio today. I need to flip the switch on this and refill that and cut more of those and measure twice, always measure twice.

And I can't wait to show you what I've been working on.

Steady in the Dark: A Collection of Mothish Stones

2011-09-09T14:49:00.000-07:00

A message

(for the night of heart, for the dark days, for the scales that cover our eyes)

A reminder
(that light you hold within your chest is a beacon of lunar navigation, those wings you beat are strong enough to rise above)

A prayer
(for steady hands, steady feet, for trust in inner dreams and innate knowledge)

* * *
A humble moth offering for you, this Friday afternoon, listed in the shop momentarily.
~ Umber ~

2011-09-09T12:02:00.000-07:00

I found this nest last week, the day before I ventured cross-country, while hiking in the forest near my home. In this case, I do use the term "hiking" quite loosely as I may have climbed those wooded hills while wearing a mini skirt and holding a freshly steamed latté. But hiking it still was.

I was scuttling down a slope, flip flops covered in dust, and nearly put my eye out on the broken branch.
[sometimes the world needs to grab your attention]
[sometimes those gifts are simply meant to be]

Since then I've been thinking steadily on nesting.
We've now been in our new home almost six weeks; the space is filled with an easy comfort, the house seems to stretch and sigh in the summer light. But I've been running far into our future, leaving my body lost and wandering in the present. I've fallen in love with this small parcel of land, but have also recognized the breadth of what we've moved away from. What pieces we've traded and bartered as we build our life together, as we strive to follow our dreams. BC and I been talking extensively on five year goals, where we want to be, what we want for our days, how we want to live. And between these talks and a slew of small traumas (the dog attack being by far the largest), I've forgot where I was. Lost in the mirage of a future that does not yet exist, where burdens and stresses are a thing of the past, where every disparate place that I love seems to converge seamlessly into my idealized home.

I had to look at my hands to see reality.

Here.
Here where my feet touch the earth and my lungs pull in damp air.

I have a great imagination and a penchant for day dreaming, but I want to reside in the now. That other place, that future dream is too vanilla for me, too perfectly bland, too devoid of raw life. I want to understand my present in all of its muddy, visceral, utterly beautiful ways because let's face it: none of us are guaranteed another day. I want to dig in, breathe in, open my eyes wide, fling my arms open, plant my flag and claim this day for me. For life. For the present. I want to look back at the history of my days and see ten thousand victory flags flying.

A triumph of life.
A life of triumph.

* * *

It's good to be home.
I believe it is an ever evolving art to reside in the present. So tell me birds, how do you claim your space, your time, your life?

2011-09-01T00:15:00.000-07:00

I feel it is highly necessary to keep you well informed on the state of my head. More specifically, my head which is now covered with a plethora of ringlets that, were I six years old and slightly shorter than my nearly six feet, I could pass for Shirley Temple (oh god. How badly did I just date myself? I had the WORST situation of realizing my age a while back now when BC and I asked a couple of teenagers at the frozen yogurt shop which of the two of us did a better Mr. T impression. They didn't even know who he was. A-Team? No idea. We were crushed and, apparently, old. And just so you know, the answer to the question is ME, I make a better Mr. T. because I've got soul in my blood and I sound more like a large black man than BC).

(I don't even know where this post is headed)

(That's dangerous this time of night, when my thoughts are pinging off the walls and my eyelids snapped back from too much excitement)

Oh yes!
I have a mop of curls that should be laying themselves down to bed, to rest before the pre-dawn drive to the airport in four short hours. If you are in the Salt Lake City area Thursday morning around 9:00 am, I'm just going to apologize ahead of time for the sonic boom followed by squeals that will happen when three ladies all converge on the same stretch of land at the same time for the first time and board a car pointed north.
I can't convince my brain to sleep I'm so excited. My basil ganglia is in a state of overdrive with feet tapping, ribcage swaying and some definite head bopping.
* * *

I want to talk to you about moths. Really I want to talk to every last man, woman and child about moths. These particular creatures, flying near as the sun dips behind the redwoods, look more like little lion men than winged insects. They stick their furred legs to the doorframes and shake their tiny manes and I'm fairly certain I've heard them let out microscopic roars.
Moths.
Yes.
Moths, nocturnal beasts, do not fumble in the dark. In the deep of night, their wings still beat steadily, their feet still step solidly. They may be slight, fragile, even seemingly insignificant but there is such a wisdom in that assuredness. I want to move like that even when my soul is covered in night, when the dark days threaten to overtake me.
To beat my wings.
To set my feet down.
To walk with sure steps.

I'm still working on it, still learning, still studying and collecting my thoughts. But I'm listening for moths. Waiting for them.
* * *

I love this beast.

Let the record show!

Sancho wanted me to share this photo with you and let you know how much he appreciates all the love and care we have been sent. That, and he's a slightly narcissistic pup who really likes to have his photo taken (he KNOWS how sexy he is. But he wants to hear it from you too). He is already healing nicely, both inside and out (which was clear after a fantastic session at a doggie play group this morning).

But this to say again;
I'm so consistently in awe of the goodness of the friends I've made here, in the wide world of the internet. There was a time when my faith in humanity was faltering, when I was in danger of mistrust in the basic beauty of humankind.
This space, this blog, serves as an eternal reminder back to me that people, my people, my tribe, are so inherently good.
And that means you.
Thank you for your you-ness. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Good Night!
~ Umber ~

2011-08-30T11:39:00.000-07:00

Well it's 11:30 already, and I've managed to shower for the day.

We're in recovery mode here after a traumatic evening that still has me shaking as I type this in the light of day. The short story is as follows:

Late yesterday afternoon a pack of very nasty neighbor dogs got out of their yard and trespassed into ours. Sancho, big hearted and full of puppy invincibility, told them to leave but the odds were stacked too unfairly.

It was three to five, if you count Brad and I in Sancho's court. I didn't even recognize the screams that were coming out of my mouth until I recalled them later, and Brad didn't even realize he was bleeding until we had Sancho in the house and the other dogs off our property.

The good news is this:

After a very long night at the emergency vet, followed by the human ER, every one is put back together with fairly minor wounds, taking their antibiotics and up after sleeping in late.

Sancho decided he loves the vet, after no less than 10 cookies.

Brad has an oven mit of a bandage on his right hand (all the better to pour the tea kettle he told me earlier).

But we're taking it slow today.

2011-08-24T19:37:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, I like to follow directions.

2011-08-24T09:51:00.000-07:00

I am a self-admitted snob about many things,

coffee

eye shadow

tomatos

martinis

art books

(I should stop here...)

However when it comes to flowers, it shall be known that I throw my arms wide open to each and every one.

(but, and this can be our dirty little secret,
Dalihas might be my favorite)

2011-08-22T11:12:00.000-07:00

... and on the seventh day she painted.

And it was good.

In The Studio

2011-08-18T13:40:00.000-07:00

I'm working again.
Something deep and visceral within me is turning,
something large and choking has shifted,
edges crumbling.
Pools of turquoise feel sacred and the counting of marks the most holy prayers.
I can barely talk about it yet
so
instead I'll feel it out in brushstrokes.

News Flash

2011-08-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

Well the numbers are in and we have two ladies about to get jammy!

Miss Gamebred

and

Miss Artist in the Arctic

I'll be emailing you both for addys here in just a moment...

Now just to be perfectly clear, I am generally not above being bribed, especially when said bribe contains berries, BUT, not here and not now. So for your viewing boredom, here are the screen shots from the most random number generator of all.

JUST to be clear.

NOW,

on to the news flash...

This morning I awoke to this photo in my email inbox. One of these babies will be coming home with us in approximately eight weeks. PUPPIES! I could eat them up with a silver spoon and a dollop of cream!

From the month we first brought Sancho home, BC and I have talked about a second dog. After loads of research reading and in the flesh (i.e. after falling in love with a couple at the dog park) we decided on a doberman as the perfect companion for us and our boxer. Last month when I was down in the San Francisco area, I met with a breeder we had talked extensively with online, met his dogs, and generally fell in love. And then last night, our little girl was born.

I can wait to sniff her toes and nibble on her ears!

EEK!

~ Umber ~

*A side note, because the subject of buying from a breeder vs. adopting is a very sensitive issue. We have debated hugely on this issue before settling on both of our pups and both times have come to this conclusion: There are thousands of animals that desperately need adoption and thousands of irresponsible breeders (too often supported by irresponsible buyers). We have viewed our choice in this similarly to buying organic and local foods. We took our time and found breeders who are beyond responsible in their breeding programs (extensive health testing, training, working, showing, etc.) and even further beyond passionate about their dogs and decided that THAT was how we wanted to vote with our dollars. Supporting people who are doing right by their dogs, those living creatures, who are breeding with love and education, who are care far more about their animals that just making a buck. These are the people and this is the action we want to support. And so we will. Thanks for hearing me out on this one! *

What's Black and Red and Spread All Over?

2011-08-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

THIS JAM, that's what is!

(seriously, LOOK at that color! swoonterific!)

This weekend I truly broke in my new gas range with a batch of the season's first jams: Strawberry-Blackberry to be exact.

The strawberries hail from my favorite vendors at the farmer's market: A young couple, 35 at the most, the very definition of earth sprites. She has long ringlets of strawberry-blond hair and a smile like Mother Nature herself. Last year as spring progressed into autumn, she would weigh out my potatoes and lettuces with a gentle hand on her growing belly. This year she has a beautiful blonde boy permanently strapped to her chest but she mans the scale as deftly as ever. Her partner looks a bit like Moses, long curls and a bushy beard with a constant wide grin. We chat about the brussel sprouts and his uncle's plum orchard (last year I made the most heart-stoppingly delicious jam from those plums, this year the crop was too small to bring to market and I almost cried). They gush over squash blossoms and always throw an extra head of garlic in the bag with a wink. Their berries are the sweetest at the market, and I'm constantly suckered into giving them all my cash for whatever they may have harvested that morning.

The blackberries hail from the southern fence-line of my property, starting approximately 12 feet from the laundry room door. Between the songbirds, the pup, and myself, we're working hard on snapping up every plump black globe but the bushes just keep coming. Prolific! I think I'll need to make up a cobbler this week, "need" being the key term. I've always had a love affair with blackberries, stemming from hot summer nights kayaking down rivers, filling milk jugs with the fruit that overhangs the water's edge. I imagined myself a doe, plucking berries delicately with my teeth while teetering on skinny legs.

All of this to say,
I made TWO jars for you!

Organic Strawberries.
Wildcrafted Blackberries.
Organic Unbleached Sugar.
And a little bit of magic earth fairy dust thrown in for good measure.

All you need do is leave me a comment below and cross your fingers tight! I'll draw two names from the proverbial hat sometimes on Wednesday August 10th and ship-shape the lucky winners their jam! Buy some bread, bake some scones or just get your spoons at the ready.

And Good LUCK to you!

P.S.

2011-08-04T15:11:00.000-07:00

Oops.

I forgot the dish soap. But I DID manage to find this gorgeous lady with buttercup blooms and mahogany tinted leaves.

I have a feeling ol' CC's Market is going to be a weakness of mine.

Vignettes from the New Dovely Estates, Part One

2011-08-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

This is lunch.

(plus a handful of the ugliest but sweetest strawberries that have ever existed - the kind you would describe as having a "great personality")

And this is the view.

(right now, as I type, I can hear the downy woodpecker bapping away just down the hillside. I've been sighting him the last few days, quick flashes of a red crown and a bold white chest).

The house is coming together, the pile of flattened boxes is nearly epic, finally yesterday, I hung the first painting.

I like to feel out a house before slapping up decor. I like to know which windows let in the morning breeze, where the richest puddles of afternoon sunlight fall, and which walls I will touch as I pass, every time. In short I need to live in a place fully, deeply, in order to make it home. I like to know the rhythm of steps it takes to travel from the bedroom to the fridge in the middle of the night. I like to shift the house plants around until they settle in like brooding hens. I like my paintings to tell me where they want to hang.

I'm working on it.

Steady.

* * *

About a quarter mile down the street is a little market, the local corner type. They may be small, but they cater to both the organic milk drinkers (when home, I am a staunch milk-with-my-coffee gal) and the "dinner out of the fry case which happens to be the thing my nightmares are made of" eaters, but best of all, they have a well stocked plant selection out front. Two days ago I bought a new begonia along with my laundry detergent. Today I'm trying to think of something, anything I might need just for the excuse to walk down there and buy another plant. Maybe bananas. Or dish soap, do I have enough dish soap? Probably not.

* * *

This place is alive with humming birds. Yesterday I stared into the blue sky until my eyes watered and cried as a brilliant blue fellow hovered just feet above my head. The entire backyard is a wild playground, thick and tangled as the hill slopes down to the river. One might call it an experiment in invasive plants gone terribly wrong, this quest for the jungle crown between bamboo, stinging nettle, ivy, horse tail and blackberry (my neighbor is a shirtless man who swings a machete while wearing a Coors ball-cap. We've only waved from a distance). Along the fence the blackberries have won, but this serves me well: Every morning thus far I have trotted out my laundry room door, colander in hand, to pluck fat berries, two for me, four for the basket, one for Sancho. We stand outside in the weak sunlight of early morning, mouths watering, a new ritual.

I think it's time to go and buy that dish soap.
~ Umber ~

2011-07-28T14:09:00.000-07:00

It's beginning to feel down right cozy in here.

We're here, still in the throws of unpacking but the good news is this:

I might already love this house. I've been walking around, running fingers along miles of knotty pine, just telling her how much I already appreciate her.

I think she likes it.
* * *
See you in a couple days birdie-o's!

A Brief Hiatus

2011-07-15T16:33:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday to you!

Well it's really, truly happening.

I've turned into a packing machine.
A packing machine who takes her chinese take-out sitting on the floor next to a healthy glass of rosé.

The new house is calling our names and it's time to respond. This weekend is reserved for an extensive cleaning with the official up and out move scheduled for sometime next week. In my ideal-dream-vision, I'll have my new studio set up within a week from that time. fingers crossed people!
But all of that to say,
I'll be taking a short break from the bloggy world (but will still be answering emails and convos...), say for about two weeks while I feather my nest and find my flow in a new home.

(yes. that does say goat jaw. i need the specifics when i pack)
See you all in just a few short ones!
~ Umber ~

* * *
HOLY MOLY! I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART!
Because you bring SO much joy into my life, I am offering a little secret sale for you, my bloggy friends, valid until I have my new studio set up! Just enter the coupon code MovingAndGrooving on any item in the shop and received %20 off! Whootin'McWhooterkins!

I'd Like To Introduce You To...

2011-07-13T06:56:00.000-07:00

The Hoff.

As in the Hasselhoff.
Because we have reached that all-important stage in the hair growing out process wherein I can fluff that baby out enough to compete with any 80's beach body coif.

Be afraid.
Don't make me bring the Hoff to your house.
(and seriously. do yourself a favor and click on that link above. you're so welcome)

Sketchbook Writings

2011-07-12T15:41:00.000-07:00

First and very foremost, let me tell you this:

As of July 9th, I am an Aunt, for the very first time.

Gemma Grace Gibson is now part of my life and flesh and blood.

I already love her.

And I have never wanted to buy baby clothes so badly in my whole life.

* * * * *

~ From my Sketchbook Writings, Tuesday July 12th -

The world seems bursting with life, fresh eyed and tender footed, and in far greater profusion than last year. Last summer all my preparations, my energy, my preoccupations were focused on the swift approaching winter of my heart. The winter of my body, the time when death in small doses would claim bits of my flesh. I could not see the glory of the sun for my fear of the snow. And while I harvested summer's bounty, put up stores and made note of blooms, my thoughts were filled with winter and I shivered in the light.

But this season, this time around, the stakes have changed. New life surrounds me.

Just yesterday I sat in focused stillness watching a starling teach her young to forage. In the suburban expanse of the front lawn, she was iridescently black, sleek, and hopped on two stiff legs through the unmown dandelions. Her single remaining offspring, a fluffy mushroom colored thing, squawked incessantly. His gapping pink tongue would be a dead giveaway in dry grasses or squatting with the awkwardness of youth in the cedars, but here in the bounty of green fescue he was ready for every morsel she dropped into his waiting mouth. She would pop, pop, he was squeak, she would produce a small mystery the color of cherries, he would flap messily to her side and she would neatly place the treasure right down his gullet. This carried on as long as I could stay still. I lost count of the minutes in my adoration and childlike amusement. As an outsider, it seemed a silly teenage ploy for freebies, but deeper down I knew he was learning to survive. But aren't we all? Silly things, learning to survive?

Then last week, standing in the lingering heat of the valley as crickets sang, I watched the deer. A leggy doe, large-eared as any I've seen ambled just on the far side of fence. Her fawn, spotted brightly, spooked at leaves drifting down from the oaks, at fat and lazy bumblebees, at the sound of tires on asphalt from the road down the hill. I watched them with purposeful intent, trying to etch their forms in my mind, the tilt of an ear, the light in an eye in order to later record them. They picked along through the field, the doe leading the fawn towards the greenest shoots hidden alongside embankments and circling the trunks of trees. I tried to follow silently, but placed a heel right into a crackling mound of dry leaves. The fawn startled and tucked but the doe snapped her gaze right into mine. She raised her neck to full height without breaking her focus and pulled in long, slow breaths, testing the wind and my very human scent. Halting, the fawn followed suit, before they both turned tail and disappeared into the brush.
* * * * *

2011-07-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

A slight confession:

I've been home since Monday night.

I've spent a total of 23 minutes on the computer since then.

It's so funny; a week away from the 'webs and I feel so lost on your lives! What have you done? What have you seen? What did you eat to celebrate your independence?

(I ate approximately one pound of road-side-purchased cherries completely by myself and, in case you were wondering, felt fantastic)

This week we drove inland to a tiny mountain town with rivers rushing and temperatures nearing triple digits.

I remembered how much I love the scent of heat. How it varies as the thermometer climbs and a bouquet of clay dust, oak leaves, snow melt, blooming blackberries and pastured horses swirls through one's hair. How the scent lands on one's skin like wild perfume and how driving around in a bikini top makes all the sense in the world.

In other news, as many have asked, the official answer is no, no I have STILL not packed a single box. And no, the contractor is STILL not finished in our new home. Blerg. I'm impatient. I've measured and remeasured every room, every stick of furniture, I've mentally arranged paintings and house plants and books and wine glasses. I've sketched out the plans for the yard and it's future raised beds at least four times now. But more than anything else I'm DESPERATELY ITCHING to set up my new studio. Did I mention the light pours in the windows like a whole heavenly host belting out Bohemian Rhapsody? Or that the view East looks out over the river and the low lying mountains beyond?
It's magical.
I'm desperate to be there.

I could use every pair of fingers out there crossed in the hopes that the house really and truly will be ready for us to move in next weekend and that Mr. Contrator will continue to show up every day until then (ehem. We have learned some valuable life lessons on this one). It's going to happen but like Veruca Salt, "I want it NOOOOOOW!"

Whew.
Patience.
I'm trying.

In the meantime:

Here's to a weekend full of wind in the jowlies!
~ Umber ~

A Day in the Life of the Dove: My Extrovert Cup is Filling Up

2011-07-01T08:47:00.000-07:00

[A photographic account of a single day in my life - albeit a very, very long day - of reconnecting with old friends, staying with great friends and preparing for the wedding of an dear friend]

- June 30th 2011 -

5:33 am

7:23 am

8:51 am

10:36 am
(yes friends, that IS the golden gate bridge. my heart swells every time I drive it)

11:09 am

11:40ish am
(photo credit to the bride-to-be, Miss AvenueFog)

12:23 pm

1:14 pm

3:17 pm

4:01 pm

5:02 pm

6:45 pm

9:11 pm

10:23 pm
(photo credit to Mr. Sunny Rising)

10:38 pm

And that, my friends, was a Day and a half. I am BLESSED with brilliant women in my life. I'll be staying down in the general San Francisco area until next week, submersed in friends, a wedding, puppies and lots of travel. See You Laters!

Buried Treasure

2011-06-24T14:43:00.000-07:00

~ A [mostly] true tale of turquoise and intrigue ~

The year was 1903 and she was on the run. She had wrapped a black scarf over her long braids, the edges pulled close around the contours of her face. In the deep pockets of her stolen sailor pants were crammed every possession she could call her own; both honestly earned and pick-pocketed with nimble fingers. Her feet were bare, calloused, browned, and she swung her legs with a man’s stride. She skirted the edge of the river, avoiding the thorny berry brushes trailing water, listening for dogs and the sounds of pursuit.

But the night was silent aside from the occasional slap of the current on deadwood snags. As the moon rose higher, she began to breath a little freer, her heart beating a little slower.

She needed a place to rest but more importantly, a place to hide. A place to bury the treasures wrapped tightly in her pockets, a place she could find again once the coast was clear, after her face was forgotten by the local vigilantes. A place she could leave the Box.

The Box held both the reason for her run and the hopes for her future. The label was already peeling away from the sliding lid, but the wood was still deeply scented with cigars. Inside, bundled in a length of buckskin, was the turquoise. Big, beautiful hunks colored like the waters she sailed in the South Pacific, tiny, delicate slivers whose intensity was rivaled only by the most exotic of butterflies, some clear and flat like a morning sky, others speckled with ebony veins. But every single one a beauty. She hadn’t meant to steal them, but when the color caught her eye, she couldn’t look away. That rare and luscious color was worth a small fortune, enough to buy a horse, food to fill a knapsack, and enough silver to hide in brand new boot heels when she rode North.

She was hungry, two days on the run hungry. As the moon began to dip behind the treeline she found the spot. Two young cottonwoods, slanting away from each other like shy lovers, formed a perfect V, framing the pre-dawn moon. She worked quickly, hands digging in the soft soil at their base, until the hole was twice the depth of her precious cargo. Hesitating momentarily, she buried the box and said a quick prayer into the night, more concerned with the safety of her glowing turquoise than with her person. And with that, she slipped away on muffled toes under the cover of an inky sky.

It was 2009 and my parents were welcoming the dawn song from the hulls of two forest green kayaks. They had paddled upstream, as was their routine, while the air still held the chill of night, before the beavers could be heard slapping tails and splashing at the river’s edge. The sunrise was thick with golden light and the flashing of the sky on silky currents. As they turned their kayaks midstream, to float easily with the river, an angular shape caught their eyes. A worn wood box, water stained and sun faded, was lodged at the base of one, or was it two, mighty cottonwoods. With a bit of work they managed to paddle close, fighting off brambles and snags, leaning perilously far out, working the edges of the box with fingertips until they could pry it loose.

And inside, well, that part of the story you’ve already heard.

And that's the honest truth. A glorious host of turquoise cabochons truly were wrapped tight in leather and a cigar box and plucked from the muddy banks of the Mokelumne River by my parents.
They contain more magic, more history, more story than can be quantified by my simple prose.

I've set them simply, oxidized them lightly. Four pairs, one traveling to my mother (as she was the one to find the stones and deserves to wear this magic on her lobes), the other three I offer to you. You'll find them in the shop momentarily...
* * * * *
And on that note:
Happy Friday to you ALL! May your weekends be filled with swashbuckling tales!
~ Umber ~

A Very Quick This and That

2011-06-22T09:54:00.000-07:00

I know I may have said it before, but I mean it more every time I utter the words:

Thank You.

The women [and men too] who make up this bloggy-world simply never cease to amaze me with their kindness, encouragement, belief and support.

I am in awe.

Like, full rainbow ring around the sun awe.

In other news, today promises to be another day full of hustle (wait. is it Wednesday? holy... ) so I'm popping in here and bouncing right back out, scruffy jeans, beat-up tennies, and another cup of joe all on the agenda.

Oh! And in our talks about dog numero dos (ah yes, we're already chatting rather obsessively about growing the pack) we came across this yesterday. It was the best thing I saw all day. Thank god for the internet.

See you tomorrow!

~ Umber ~

They've Arrived!!!

2011-06-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

I invited them in for Sencha and cookies.
They stayed through the gin and tonic hour.

And now I'm VERY pleased to say, they're trotting their papery little behinds on over to the Shop! It's high time we had another round of postcards, don't you think? After all, mail is one of my favorite things on this green earth, so why don't we all send a little more of it!

Collections: A Plethora of Post

I'm a fiend for collecting. I stuff feathers in mason jars. I pile stones on window ledges. I love looking at bones, smoothing fingertips along antlers, finding sea glass in jacket pockets, driftwood in zippered bags, pressed ferns in books and eucalyptus pods in the consol of the car. I adore bringing the outdoors in, steeping myself in nature while I cook, clean, work, relax, connecting... connecting... to that dust which I am made of and the world which inspires my breath and hands.
In my own home I compulsively arrange these particles of beauty for no other reason that it fills my soul and brings joy to my heart to surround myself with that which I love. In that spirit, these cards came along and nearly arranged themselves; I just acted as the conductor in their little polka party.

And so with that said, I offer you my newest series of post: a limited edition set of four cards (plus a little bonus love), thick stock and glossy faces, images of small vignettes, little collections. All items in these photos have either been created by me, collected by my hands, or gifted by those who know me well. They hold stories, they tell tales. They've traveled the world and seen more history than I can even imagine. And now, in postcard form, they're ready to travel the globe.

Pens and Pencils UP!
Letter Writers Unite!
Let's send some cheer through this ol' postal service and light up mailboxes everywhere!

* * * * *
in
the
shop
now
!

The Friday Confessional: June 17th 2011

2011-06-17T15:26:00.000-07:00

(It's been... well, a while since my last confession)

Confession Number 842: I like to eat in the shower. It's one of those things best said quick and snappy, like pulling off a bandaid. There is no food shame here, I'm not sneaking it. I just like to take a bite with me. Now I know there are LOADS of people out there who can get behind a shower beer (myself included), and can absolutely get behind a glass of Pino Grigio in the bath, but this goes a bit further.

Just yesterday I caught myself popping into a pipping hot shower with a carrot in one hand and a stick of mozzarella in the other. It's like my own little version of a swim-up bar and snack shack.

whew.
I feel absolved of my snackage sins and scrubbed clean.

Alright chickadees and chickadudes, don't leave me high and dry here. Give me your Friday confessions!!

Offerings: The New-New

2011-06-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

Stone Feathers: Collections
Colored like the ocean at dusk when pelicans hover and sunlight lingers only in tidepools.

Stone Feather No 26: The Days I Find The Blues
There is something about those days, the days I find blue feathers, the days I know luck smiles down upon me.

Winged: A Sea Stone
A full wing, because sometimes one needs to feel the full span and scope those feathered phalanges can stretch.
* * * * *

Every time I finish a new batch of work, I gather them close, lay them out, and declare them all my new favorites.

*In the shop momentarily...*

Art Is Not A Choice

2011-06-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

Of COURSE

a choice is made every time you step foot into a studio, every time you pick up pen and ink, pencil and brush, hammer and torch, a hide of leather, a bolt of fabric, a sack of clay, whatever the chosen art form happens to be.

It take a choice to produce that which you feel in your heart-soul and mind's-eye; it takes choosing to sit at your craft for longer hours than may be comfortable, to keep pressing onward when your medium falters and technical problems threaten your sanity; it takes choosing to believe in the work of your hands enough to dedicate your time, your sweat, your tears, your hopes and your dreams.

But when I say

"Art Is Not A Choice"

I am talking not about production but about ART. That thing which is so much bigger than rendering an accurate drawing or crafting the perfect word for a poem. That thing that defies easy definition, because it spans a spectrum between simply recognizing the humble beauty in dandelions all the way to painting the Sistine Chapel. Art is a part of our human DNA, it is a lens upon our vision, it is a surge in our hearts, and whether or not we act upon it, it most certainly exists within each and every one of us.

I believe that we are created beings, and therefore creation and creativity run rich in our marrow.

I believe that we are all blessed with imagination, with vision.

I believe that no matter what we label (or do not label) ourselves as, art pumps in and through our systems just as reliably as our more visceral physiology.

I believe that while Art and "making" are intrinsically connected, they are not one and the same.

Now naturally we can not all be painters or writers or sculptors or smiths (and thank god! We NEED the people gifted with powerful left brains!) but I've always been rather offended by the idea that Art only exists in "artists." I believe with every fiber of my being that All people hold a spark, wound into the path of their fingerprint or delicately stretched across their tongue. I believe that even if one is not a "maker," one still has Art singing in every mitochondria.

Therefore,

Art Is Not A Choice

because Art lives within us. When the flame of life first rushed our splitting cells, Art was right there. It may become a little dusty around the edges, we may forget we hold it, even deny it, but it is still there, permanently attached to our eternal souls.

Some time back, when I first took this mantra on for myself, it was at a time when I was struggling with putting hours in the studio. When it had been a stretch of time since my last finished painting, when a seed of doubt whispered "you've forgotten how to make pictures." I had two shows fast approaching, a work schedule that dipped into any and every hour of the week, and a choking sense of anxiety that I would flop. I spent one long afternoon alone in the studio, ranting at powers unseen until I finally collapsed in a weepy pile and slept on the dirty floor. When I awoke, bits of sawdust and dried paint stuck to my cheek, I felt a clarity, a calmness I had not felt in a long time. And I painted. And I remembered. And magic happened. But most importantly, I understood this: I would need to work at my craft, I would need to dedicate my time, but Art, ART would never leave me because ART was inside of me.

So I tell you this with perfect assurance today:

Wherever you are, whatever your level of creating or making or collecting or seeing,

YOU HAVE ART.

IT IS WITHIN YOU.

And that is why I say Art Is Not A Choice.

Wake-up Call, er, Scurry.

2011-06-09T09:43:00.000-07:00

The great white hunter has struck again.

The mirror in the bath still thick with fog and damp towels hung to dry. Bare feet on carpet with nothing else but a birthday suit. And company, oh the company, trotting in proud as punch, followed by the second and third manner of beasts (eager to participate in the excitement), with a squealing, wriggling, slightly damaged gopher.

And I'm here to say:

Stark Naked + Gopher Running through the Bedroom - One Husband = A stream of language that would make your grandma blush.

I'm a proud kitty mamma, but next time, Sing-sing, make sure he's dead, ok?

BC Bought a New Hat

2011-06-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

... and it took me approximately 22 hours to steal it.

(Isn't there something quite fabulous about stealing clothes from your significant other? Whenever BC is gone I pull out his old sweatshirts and prance around the house in them. He's always worried that they stink like man, but I think they smell like all the comfort in the world)
At ANY rate, this hat was purchased expressly for an EVENT, said event being my first art show opening in California since moving back last year. I'm also here to tell you I failed miserably at documenting the affair and instead chatted non-stop while swilling white wine. However I am quite all right with my prioritization as there is something magical about discussing art, especially in a little spot as charming as Shipwreck (if you are in town, or passing through, the show will be up for the month of June - pop on in!).

(in lieu of loads of fabulous show photos... my barren walls)

So now, this morning, I sit and write to you under Brother Nip who looks like a little lost skull in an expanse of white and scattered nail holes. What this REALLY says to me is this:

It's time to start packing.
BECAUSE
We're Moving

Yes, BC and I have been fairly nomadic for the duration of our marriage, living in more places than can be counted on one hand. And it's time to pack up once again, evaluate our belongings, and prepare for a new home.
When we first moved back to California, into this house, we thought we'd log more years here than anywhere else before. However back in February an opportunity arose with a home less than an hour away that we knew we couldn't pass up.
River-front property.
Double sized studio.
One acre of redwood, cedar, birch, maple, cherry blossom, lilac, wild rose, blackberries, salmonberries and more ferns than one could possibly count.

When we first saw it, the house was a wreck. To be direct, when we left, BC turned to me and said "Please tell me you saw something good because that place looks like a hell-hole." Luckily I did, and even in it's state of nasty-carpets-that-smelled-like-cat-pee, busted-windows, invasive-weeds-everywhere, and the most hilarious 8-year-old girl graffiti on every wall (the studio to-be had a 7-foot piece in neon pink spray paint that said "smile"), the house felt like it had good bones. Musty bones that had not seen love in many years, but bones that held a certain sense of peace and inherent happiness, like it had seen joy and heard laughter and was ready for that again.

So now, months later, we're nearing the finish line. Last week we picked flooring. We bought a very sexy gas range. We crossed our fingers tight as the contractor promised (for the umpteenth time) that he would be done and out in under two weeks. I've measured and laid out the studio on paper to a perfect "T" (or so I think. Studio tend to be the sort of thing one must work in a while before cozying into every corner). And now, it's time to pack.

I'm preparing work for one last shop update before the studio is carefully tucked away and I go on work hiatus until we've officially taken new residence.
For now, I'll leave you with the world's smallest sneak peek: our front door in Fireball Orange.

Cheerio Chickadees!
~ Umber ~

2011-05-31T08:37:00.000-07:00

Apparently someone is knitting a little blanket for himself.
Or
Is still a puppy with a heart of mischief.

Either way, at least he looks good in green.

Child-like Matters

2011-05-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

Firstly

(and very foremost)

Thank you SO much for your cheers, your toasts, your prayers, and your air-punches. I tell you true, YOU are a force of nature in my life, the encouragement that speeds me onto recovery and the delight that has me chomping at the bit to get back to this place.

Secondly

(and very secondmost)

Let's have a chat.

I've been collecting the first figments of ideas, scuffing about in the primordial soup of the ocean's edge, looking long and hard bits of flotsam, forgetting their species and genus but committing their wild curves to memory. I've run my fingers over the ridges of barnacles, wondering what feeling would look like if the memory of touch was a physical object. I've listened to the suck of tides on waterlogged sand, rocking slowly on my heels, seeing without asking too many questions.
I've walked slow in the woods, examining the perfect trilogy of fiddleheads unfurling, counting one, two, three. I've eaten the first salmon berries like a guilty child, looking both ways up the trail before plucking their apricot-scented goodness and popping them in my mouth.
I've been thinking hard.
And I've been thinking not at all.

And this is the root of the matter.
Growing is uncomfortable.
(Oh friends. True confession. Somedays I sit and sulk like a obdurate child UNDER my studio desk, with legs splayed out, convinced that this is the end, I may as well sell off every tool and brush I own as I've hit the end of my artistic career. Thank GOD these fits are generally cut short by a fast run or a strong latté)
I've been working through ideas slowly, even for me. I've taken myself out to all the right places, seen all the right sights and have tried my best to give myself permission to NOT think. To not strain my eyes, to not stretch my heart, to not step into the woods with that ball of determination ripe in my stomach that says "Ok. Look close. We're here, and clearly there is something we're supposed to see so be careful, don't miss it. It's here, I just know, if we can just task ourselves to finding it then divine inspiration will be ours!"
Instead I'm trying to gift myself with the attention of a child.
This means sometimes I walk the forested trail too fast, forgetting entirely to notice the wild grapes and the mating calls of swallows before contentedly squatting on a busy street curb collecting purple eucalyptus pods to fill my pockets. It means sometimes I go to the beach for an extraordinarily low tide and spend the whole time at the dune line playing with driftwood with my back to the waves.
It often means my outings do not go as planned, but in my heart of hearts I feel...

lighter.
softer.
quieter.

I might not have found the idea to trump all past ideas, but I am finding a certain contentment that seeps through my bones.
Filling the well if you will.
Turning down the volume on that inner driving force, the one who is so necessary but too often bullies with harsh demands and snide comments. In turn trying to give the quiet if self-absorbed inner child space to just play.

It's all progress.
It feels so important that our lives be not only documented by what we produced but by who we became. I desire a wholistic life with every fiber of my being.

If you feel so inclined, please share:
How do you gift freedom to your inner child?

With open arms
~ Umber

2011-05-24T10:39:00.000-07:00

I've been in a quiet place.

Honestly I think it's been a perfect foil for my body, which has been full of quick feet, busy hands, packed days and seven hour drives.

That said, I'm taking a few more days off.

(primarily due to, cross your fingers, the last surgery I'll have for a loooong time which is scheduled for pre-dawn-crack tomorrow morning. The doctors will be removing my chemotherapy port because, DRUM ROLL PLEASE, all the tests and images I've had taken look clear and without concern. CAN I GET A HOORAY!?!?!)

See you this weekend!

Offerings of the Winged Persuasion, Part Deux

2011-05-19T11:19:00.000-07:00

Winged
(I love these)

* * *

Stone Feather No 25

OHHHHH! The shade of this stone is unlike any I've yet to find, mottled with lavender streaks and purple pockets, OY!

* * *

Weathered: A Feathered Sea Stone
(Officially the largest feathered stone to date, heavy, slick, and measuring in at a full seven inches)

To be listed momentarily!

Offerings of the Winged Persuasion

2011-05-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

I think it's high time for a very official shop update.

Winged

A Sea Stone of the smoothest type, heavy, solid, fairly singing with the serenade of the Pacific Ocean.

* * *

Messanger of Truth Cuff
(A natural evolution of my Totem Cameo Cuffs, featuring a Black Capped Chickadee)
To hear the truth in our voices and trust that small, still place inside.
To be reminded of the power in small things, small creatures, small gestures.
To find beauty in the mystery our own minds, our own brilliant thoughts and the tiding our lips bear.

Sized to wear most happily on a 6.25" to 6.5" wrist.
* * *

Messanger of Truth Cuff
Sized to wear most happily on a 7" to 7.25" wrist

* * *

(both pairs are now reserved - thanks ladies!)

Odonata Earrings

For growing new wings.
For hovering delicately.
For allowing the wind to lift you up.
For flying swift, for flying sure.
* * *

I've penciled in a date with Etsy tomorrow morning at loosely 11:00 PST for the shop update. Until then, know that ALL of the pieces in today's preview are available as reserves; just pop me a convo right here and we'll chat!

For now:
I'm not caring at all that carbs go to thighs and will be finishing off the most AMAZING lavender-blueberry-banana muffin from one of my favorite tiny cafes (I was in early early this morning, just moments after the owner pulled the muffins out of the oven, still warm, intoxicating, and I gave her all the money I had).
Seven AM marked the lowest tide we've had in a while, and I loaded my poor frayed messenger bag with a slew of new sea stones and desperately need to begin painting. They are SINGING my name!
CHEERS!
~ Umber ~

A Day in the Life of the Dove: Mme. Bookling Comes to Town

2011-05-15T15:06:00.000-07:00

[A photographic account of a single day in my life, wherein old friends made merry in new towns and three, count them, THREE restaurants heard the peals of our laughter.]

- Saturday May14th 2011 -

8:53 am

9:45 am

10:32 am

11:31 am

11:32 am

12:07 pm

12:47 pm

12:52 pm

1:17 pm

3:08 pm

3:20 pm

3:22 pm

3:35 pm

3:37 pm

3:42 pm

4:59 pm

5:08 pm

6:08 pm

8:31 pm

9:43 pm

9:51 pm

11:13 pm

Dear Bloggity-Blogger

2011-05-14T09:09:00.000-07:00

My dearest of the dear came to play. I took a hiatus. I wanted to tell you about it, but between our internet flying the coop and you hiccuping along last week, I think we missed each other. Anyways, I'll be back.

Cheers,

~ Umber

I've Grown New Wings

2011-05-10T12:34:00.000-07:00

And let me tell you:
They feel good.
Real good.

Odonata Earrings
Built from these ten fingers of sterling silver and copper, asymmetrical, light as damselflies, bright as dragonflies. The sterling lightly oxidized and brushed to a mellow glow while the copper, OH THE COPPER!, heavily patinated in a process that takes a full forty-eight hours to develop but results in the most gorgeous aged turquoise you've ever set sights on.

Forget the cup, I'M bubbling over!

I feel like I've just awoken from a hibernation, stretched my fingers wide and rolled my shoulders back to find a new set of wings, still wet, sprouting from my scapula. I'm hovering, testing out the air. And this grin, well it's wider than the seven seas combined.
~ Umber ~

2011-05-10T08:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes
When I've been in a very quiet place
I like to rise before the sun
And walk the beach
Hearing only dawn song
Tasting only salt air
But seeing all that I can

Sketchbook Writings

2011-05-04T13:10:00.000-07:00

~ From my Sketchbook Writings, Sunday May 1st through Tuesday May 3rd 2011 ~

(Along the Northern California Coast, in God's own best Spring weather, with naught more than a sketchbook, a pair of cowboy boots and kindred soul to share it with)

* * *
Coffee suits me well this morning. Thanksgiving blend indeed! The sky is an expanse of brilliance, causing my eyes to squint and water as I outline bits of tile and glass in my sketchbook. The people in this town feel easy, and I wonder how far reaching the cadence of their footsteps carries. When I leave, how long with I carry their slow swagger?
* * *

* * *

For now I sit with bare feet, cold on the railing, watching waterfowl of every size floating and soaking toes in the estuary. In the dunes below a cat hides in marsh grass, all controlled breath and snakelike tail. He triggers a zephyr than sends my thoughts clutching at a dream; he must have been there last night, whispering feline fantasies about goslings and ancient wooden stairwells. A single osprey hushes the noisy chatter below. We nod, exchanging respects. The sun of the afternoon, evidenced by my scorched neck, has been masked by a marine layer. My toes are cast cold and blue in this light. I should stop eating pretzels. I should pop in the shower. I'm giving up should from my vocabulary.

* * *

* * *
I'm drunk on the luxury of the sky. This little trip, passing so quickly, is best described by light: the flickering hot glow under the canopy of redwoods, the quiet cashmere cape while consuming eggs and toast, the bright afternoon which reduces everything to raw shape and form, the ethereal gleam of bluffs at sunset while the quail cooed and the rabbits scattered. These are colors for which there are no names, only fleeting memory and stuttering tongues.
* * *

Dressing the Part: Flashing the Elderly

2011-04-30T16:40:00.000-07:00

Quite by accident I should add!
But the wind is fierce and unpredictable and just when you think you are safely tucked into your little blue civic, a gust could come and blow right up your skirt!

On the topic of clothes, I'm just about to fill up a smallish travel case with some of mine: a chunky wool cowl, a beat up pair of jeans, too many sweaters, some thick ribbed leggings and these boots.
I'll be driving out in the morning, headlights pointed South, to a coastal town with a glass beach and the finest chowder I've ever supped. A ray of sunshine will be joining me, as we've proven to be quite the travel companions (it is a rare gift when you find another human with whom conversation flows like the proverbial milk and honey BUT with whom you can also share long stretches of silence. If you find someone like this, HOLD TIGHT!).

That said, I'll be away from all things interwebular for the first half of next week, and hope to return with my cup overflowing.

OH!
And a small point of business:
In one week, most likely the evening of May 8th, I'll be pulling all the original paintings out of my Etsy shop in order to finalize preparations and send them out for my upcoming shows. SO, if there is a piece you've had your eye on, let me know otherwise it will be soon off to show some sass on a gallery wall!

See you next week!
~ Umber ~

Checking In

2011-04-29T11:33:00.000-07:00

Hello Lovlies and Lovers and Lovettes!

This is me.

I am a woman obsessed right now.

I'm in love with my studio. I'm in love with art. I'm in love with my work. I keep telling myself I need to get out and stretch my legs in the glory of Spring's sun but I honestly can not tear myself away from this room. The funny thing is, I've absolutely nothing to show you; this last week has been all about experimentation, trial and error, learning by the seat of my pants and listening to the same five albums on repeat turned all the way up. I've got wet paint on three canvases, an unholy mess of leather dyes (I've discovered a technique that yields the most incredible dusky turquoise and I want to make approximately ten thousand pieces ALL colored the same), the pickle pot turned on and a new lens for Pierre. I'm rather horrifically behind on emails and I've promised BC that I would eat lunch before 4:00 pm today.

So I'm checking in to say Happy Friday and ask if this week has been full of cabana boys and mimosas or nubby toques and afternoon whiskey. Well?

CHEERIO!
~ Umber ~

OH MY GOSH! P.S. Are these not the most fantabulous earrings ever? The amount of talent and inspiration this lady glows with does me in every time.

2011-04-26T15:49:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have one of those weeks? The weeks wherein the earth feels a bit off, wherein there is a slight hitch in your step, wherein the minor tragedies of the day conspire to bring down your soul. The weeks your beloved camera Pierré suddenly decides to stop autofocusing and no local camera shop can fix him, the weeks you spill coffee and track paint and open your mail to see your most recent etsy purchase arriving broken and find your brand new cucumber starts massacred by slugs.

(Coincidentally, these may also be the weeks you find yourself checking out at the CoOp buying a bottle of red wine, two cartons of organic strawberries and four, count them, FOUR bars of dark chocolate. And then you suddenly remember that you are a woman and oooooh... right. Thank you moon).

But here is the thing:
In the face of so many disasters, I've still found beauty. I've fought hard for myself, and treated myself very well in this last week. I've been blissfully aware of how good this life is to me; that despite my own hardships, I'd not change my station with anyone else. Something within me is staunchly demanding self-kindness, self-love, and from that well-spring I know love for all else pours forth.
There has been sushi, forest hikes, beach dates with the Pup, hours of writing, a massage, a trip to the chiropractor, miles logged in running shoes and a batch of the best damn chocolate cookies I've ever made. And somewhere along the way, it's turned into the best week I've had in a while.

All this to say, quite simply,
Life is Beautiful.

Now go do something glorious for yourself.
Because you, my dear friends, are absolutely worth it.

Loving your souls today,
~ Umber ~

Hip Hop

2011-04-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

Hope your day was ten different kinds of delicious!
~ Umber ~

All The Faux-Hawk Action I Can Muster

2011-04-20T15:56:00.000-07:00

Today is no ordinary Wednesday.

No, ladies and gentlemen,
today marked the very first day of using
PRODUCT
on this fuzzy head of mine. I have a feeling this is just the beginning of a long and lasting love (with plenty of cussing no doubt) relationship with Mr. Extra-Strength-Waxy-Pomade.
Hello my new lover! Muah! Let's make magic up there!

(And for you ladies out in the blogosphere who have been rocking the shortie short hair for a while, give me your product recommendations! I'm climbing the everest of beauty products, literally starting from ground zero and planning on having some fun with the shortness)

In other news, I purchased a chaise lounge yesterday. I've been struggling with finding the perfect reading and writing nook in my house; the lighting is either too dim or seating not loungy enough or it's right in the middle of the chaos that ensues with four men running rampant through the house (three of those men wear furry coats. Just to be clear). She's lovely and squishy and ALL girl and ALL mine. I plan on fighting the good fight against muddy paws and anything that resembles tortilla chips because SHE is a lady. And all I want to do is park my cords right there below the windows, reading and sipping tea (this tea, pictured below, a triple sensory delight) by the drizzly afternoon light.

OH!

and p.s.
I made these for you:
The newest of the new in my Soulful Armor series.

cheers!
~ Umber

On the Subject of the Cherry Blossom Tree

2011-04-18T09:19:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned the cherry blossoms are blooming?

That first year we lived in Seattle, that first Spring, was the first time I think I truly looked at the cherry blossoms. Outside the windows of our petit apartment arched the wizened trunk of an aged tree. She bloomed cotton candy in May, raining down petals like a localized snow storm. In July her leaves turned glossy and hid fat chickadees who sang to me while I brewed coffee in the morning. In September she turned every shade of Autumn and I collected her fallen treasures, pressing them in back pages of my sketchbook. In the thick of December she stood stately and silent as two inches of fresh powder balanced on every limb and twig and I wrapped myself in wool sweaters.

She was my very own giving tree.

When we moved South, back to California last year on the fourth of April, with hearts torn apart by a fresh diagnosis, the cherry blossom tree in our new back yard bloomed early and thick, my own promise from heaven. And just this last weekend, as BC and I visited the slice of land bound for our future, I saw her. Nearly covered with dense bamboo, shaded by the ancient redwood, and just West of the birch thicket stands the cherry blossom tree I will watch in the years to come.

I think they call that destiny.

A Day in the Life of the Dove: Birthday Edition

2011-04-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

[A photographic account of a single day, an exceptional day which just so happened to be my birthday.]

~ Monday April 11th 2011 ~

6:01 am

6:43 am

7:57 am

9:25 am

9:50 am

10:01 am

11:35 am

12:31 pm

1:06 pm **

2:17 pm

3:06 pm

5:48 pm

6:53 pm

7:45 pm

9:00 pm

9:24 pm

10:01 pm

11:39 pm

** For this post I'm renaming Sancho "Big Pimpin' "- because HONESTLY have you ever see a pup ROLLIN' like this one?

Thirty-One

2011-04-11T09:12:00.000-07:00

Is my age today.

I woke well before light began creeping into the Western sky, made a pipping mug of tea, and took myself to the ocean to watch the sun rise, walk the beach and listen to the dawn song.

Now I'm sitting at the kitchen counter eating strawberries with sour cream and brown sugar while BC makes me challah french toast.

I'd say the day is off to a WHOOMPING good start!

Offerings In Stone

2011-04-08T11:10:00.000-07:00

Good Morning this Fine Friday!
I'm high on caffeine this morning (Two cups! With cream! Ya! Ya!) and I've some new work to share with you:

All the green in the woods (and subsequently ending up in my mouth) has been finding it's way into my work, along with a few finch who have been catching my eye with their flashy feathering (hey baby, check out how red my head is, wanna get a drink? I know the best spot in the woods for fir tip tea...).

All of that to say,
I'M QUITE AWAKE.
And will be setting these babies into le shoppero about 1:00 pm PST today!

Ciao Bellas e Bellos!
~ Umber

On This Very Wednesday

2011-04-06T14:23:00.000-07:00

1. Somedays I take lunch into the studio. Not to eat while working, but just to be in that space. It's no bigger than a standard bedroom, but somehow the room seems to expand with breath around me, currently smelling with a curious mix of oil paint, leather, and damp soil. Scent. It's such a potent sense for me; in all honestly I sometimes wonder if it it my strongest sense. It's one that has become ever more curious since the rounds of chemotherapy of last year. Something in chemo affects the nose, making some scents unbearably strong, others more picante than ever. I've always had a bit of a nose on me, but I think my sense of smell has remained in a slightly confused state. I smell phantom scents. I can smell the potting soil from my seedlings all the way down the hall. Rubber still makes me a bit nauseous. The mangos on the kitchen counter overpower every other scent in the kitchen, including the wet puppy in from the rain. It's curious and can't be trusted. Like smelling in the 6th dimension.

2. Is this not the sweetest little succulent in the sweetest vintage pot on the face of the earth? To combat all that sappiness, I've decided to name her Succubus the Succulent. She'll grow big and strong and slurp up the hearts of men.

3. This afternoon the sky looks a bit like non-fat milk; translucent and slightly blue around the edges, watery and pale. BC and I took ourselves out to breakfast. It's an absolute luxury to breakfast out on a weekday, an informal date, a time for us to check in with each other over house-made biscuits and black coffee. I love it. Eating out is a legitimate love language, I'd stake my money on it. And I would have to say, after a year living here, we're working ourselves in the niche of "regulars," chatting first name basis with our favorite servers and hardly needing to even glance at the menu before rattling off our orders.

When we go to Big Blue I have the Tofu Scramble.

At Luke's the Pesto Goat-Cheese Tart.

And at Golden Harvest, well, all bets are off.

4. Baby's got a brand new bench. She's perfect and unmarred, all smooth wooden surfaces and neatly arranged drawers. I'm in a state of utter delight and itchy fingers to dirty her up. She faces North and I have a feeling she and I will make some serious magic. Also new to the studio and facing South are approximately two hundred seedlings popping up from their little peat moss pots just under the windows. The nasturtium and California poppies are almost ready to be transplanted into the front beds, the snapdragons and lupines need a bit longer before they land in the big turquoise containers. I'm already tempted to snack on the arugula, which makes me wonder if I really am part rabbit. I am a child with Spring: every thing green goes right in my mouth.

Speaking of that, it's time for the last of the girl scout cookies. The carmel drizzle ones, the ones that used to be called Samoas before it was decided that was terribly improper and now they're called something that I can never remember. But you know, the ones in the purple box.
CHEERS!
~ Umber

Forested Foraging For Fir Florets

2011-04-01T11:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday when the weather broke free of the fog belt,
and the robins tweedled proudly in the front yard,
and the sunshine demanded shorts,
I took my pup and left for the forest, laden with a small bag of tricks and a heart full of Spring.

I collected the first tips from the fir trees, crunching on them as we walked. They taste like a sort of citrus that remains undefined, crossed with the scent of Christmas morning in the snow, with a resinous bite that sparks the palate. This morning a mound of tips is drying neatly in a high kitchen cupboard, destine for tea,* even though the thought of their brightness keeps bringing my fingers back to snagging needles and popping them in my mouth.

Several years back, when I began hiking in earnest, I fell in love with the realization that the forests are made of FOOD. I decided I needed to know what was edible just in the incase a Lost situation happened in the backwoods of Washington state, wherein fresh mangos were not available, but instead, we needed to survive on salmon berries and wild carrots. [I want to be the one who knows. This is also why I carry a rather large pocket knife while hiking. Should Lost happen, and suddenly polar bears and smoke monsters come streaming out of the forest, I want to feel good about my survival rate.] I'm thinking about taking a foraging class here in the wilds of Northern California, learning how to take the native growth of this lush coast and turn them into something truly gourmet. In the meantime, I'm lusting over this book in a big way.

I have a feeling these fir tips will end up in more than just tea, in more than just me. That brilliant chartreuse teases the artist with a come-hither wink.

Answering the call,
~ Umber

*I will tell you true:

The amount of eye rolling and loud snorts happening in this house, by my BC, in regards to this subject, has reached epic proportions. He's such a good sport, putting up with rock piles on windowsills, new houseplants mysteriously showing up almost weekly, Mumford and Sons on repeat blaring from the studio for hours on end, kale showing up at nearly every meal and the general half-cocked spastic spontaneity that happens regularly around these parts. But this morning when he opened the kitchen cupboards and found my display of bright green tips, well, let's just call it epic. I think I amuse the man. I just like to call it "keeping things fresh."

A serious case of the warm-fuzzies...

2011-03-31T10:32:00.000-07:00

... is exactly what's happening in my belly right now.

I may have said it before, but I mean it more and more every time I utter it:

Thank You.

You mean the world to me.

I appreciate you from the unruly hairs on your head to the very tips of your toes, and am constantly awed by your support and belief. I just sent off our donation to Doctors Without Borders and my heart is, quite literally, brimming with joy. Thank you. I'm full inside and bubbling over.

In love,

~ Umber

Loving Kindness

2011-03-30T13:20:00.000-07:00

I do not often discuss matters of current news, foreign affairs or domestic politics publicly, here on my blog. This place is my little haven and there are millions of other places to read up on the world's turns.

But something about the recent earthquake and subsequent tsunamis in Japan have stuck to my skin in a way that compels me. Private gestures seemed somehow short, so I spent a deal of time mulling over how to give, and give publicly.

I spent much time thinking, breathing, wishing quiet prayers of loving kindness upon those who need it so desperately right now. And in that spirit I sketched, then cut, then tooled, then painted, then punched, then stitched and finally photographed these pieces.

Loving Kindness
1. Because the world needs more of it.
2. Because acts of kindness, motivated by love, carried out with a pure spirit never go unnoticed.
3. Because I'm enamored with the idea of a key fob acting as a tiny prayer flag; every time it flips through the air sending small blessings across the globe.
4. Because I love a physical reminder to pray, a solid prompt to be carried every where, every day.
5. Because you and I, he and she, and ALL of them deserve it.

There are five key fobs, each sporting a slightly different color-way, each sporting an individual sprinkling of cherry blossoms, headed to the shop momentarily. I will be donating fifty-percent of the price to Doctors Without Borders** so that you and I can BOTH physically and monetarily send our love and our kindness.

Thank you my friends, for hearing me out and your prayers on wings!
~ Umber

** Doctors Without Borders is an amazing program, doing good across this earth. The donation from the sale of these key fobs will be an open donation (not necessarily specific to Japan) so that the money can be used immediately and where the need is greatest.

Irony

2011-03-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

Irony...

Thy name is Sancho.

Soulful Armor and a Cuff of Hareish Proportions

2011-03-25T12:31:00.000-07:00

A broad slice of soulful armor.
A supple weight against the chest.
A reminder of balance between that which we put on and that which we shed.

I've been a bit obsessed lately with this idea. The thought that sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward. That our bodies are so wise, that the release of what is no longer necessary doubles as our best line of defense. And perhaps most importantly, that we may gift the dust of our bodies back to the earth, not in death but in life. That the soil of our hearts will grow richer through the detritus of our experience. That when we open our clenched fingers and let the wind roll over our palms we do not lose anything at all. Suddenly our breath comes freer and our hearts beat stronger.
* * * * *

A Jackrabbit Totem Cameo Cuff.

For one who has looked deep into the eyes of the wild things and found something that resonates right to their core.
A reminder to leap with faith when the time is now, to trust our own hearing, that clear voice of intuition, to understand both stillness and speed as virtue.

Happy Friday all you rockers and rockettes!
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it, but I really love my work. It seems every time I swipe the last stroke of paint, I'm hit with a sudden desire to keep it ALL for myself. I think it is a mark of good work, of steady intent, of honest belief in what one does.

I wrote for an hour this morning over strawberries and granola, filling pages in my sketchbook (side note: I write in pencil in my sketchbook/journals. Almost exclusively. The slight smear of graphite from my left hand and markings on aged pages delight me to no end). But I don't think I'm done, because words keep pouring from my chest today.
So here's the plan:
Bundle up.
Pull on the Wellies.
Run pup in the park while getting soaked because I do not own an umbrella.
Head to Ramone's coffee shop.
Order a café au lait (and just perhaps an almond croissant).
Write, then write some more.

What are you up to?

~ P.S. Both pieces available in the shop momentarily ~

Sketchbook Writings

2011-03-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

~ From my Sketchbook Writings, Sunday March 20th 2011 ~

(At the summit of the Trinidad Head Trail)

(In the lightest rain the heavens could drop)

Up here the air is thick. Rich. Each mouthful a culinary experience. Up here the wind has tidied her kitchen, taming the brush into an orderly existence, perfectly uniform curves and closely shorn foliage.

I check in on my senses one by one, lest I'm overwhelmed with all this peak has to offer. When I open my mouth I can taste the sea. I detect a hint of sweetness from the sugared blooms, each pink saucer smaller than my fingernail, a tang that causes my jaw to clench from the years of detritus below my feet, a chalkiness from limestone grinding away, and finally a bright note that can only be attributed to the ten thousand trilliums raising their holy faces to the wind. My undeniably human odor is mixed in there too; I wonder if the sparrows sense me on the air, breath in all my idiosyncrasies, if my scent compliments the rich soup of this coastal air.

The Third and Final Round

2011-03-20T13:26:00.000-07:00

On The Duality of Hope and Hopelessness

16" x 20"

Receiving Messages: Wait

6" x 6"

Tribute: Facing West

8" x 8"

Listy listed in the shop...

Which brings me to say this:
Thank you.
YES,
YOU.
For looking, for seeing, for considering the work of my hands, for communing with me what you see in it, for supporting this path I tread in SO MANY different ways. Art becomes intrinsically richer when shared.

You are the cherry on top.
A big, homegrown, brandy-soaked, crimson red cherry sitting tip top.

None of that maraschino formaldehyde business.
Here's to the waning hours of our weekend!
~ Umber

Round Two: Smallies Galore

2011-03-19T13:06:00.000-07:00

Hear Your Intuition

8" x 8"

Receiving Messages: Hear

4" x 4"

Tribute No 7

12" x 4"

The Virtue of Instinct: Fight

8" x 8"

The Virtue of Instinct: Flight

8" x 8"

Available in the shop right now...

A Bird in the Hand

2011-03-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

Good Noon to you!
I'm not quite ready to admit that the morning has passed, but clearly the clock is reading afternoon, and therefore almost cheese-and-apples-hour.

I've been working this week on my 2011 art show schedule - very exciting things in the works! - details to come as the times approach! In the meantime, I will be offering a selection of my works in les ol' Etsy shop for a limited engagement. Some of these works you may have seen, some had been offered only as prints in the past, and some are brand spanking new. The paintings below are the first; I'll be slowly adding to the shop over the weekend starting now!

(Full story-titles and descriptions can be found in the Etsy Listings)

The Gloaming
12" x 4"

Santo DeeDee
4" x 4"

Receiving Messages: See
4" x 4"

Searching the Forest for the Trees
5" x 5"

Be Here And Now
8" x 8"

In other news, BC is taking me out tonight for the Official Celebratory Dinner and Drinks and Hot Tubs! I plan on lounging in a steamy cedar tub under the open skies with a full belly and a contented heart, letting the music of rain fall on my shorn head.