Category Archives: Art

Timeout for Art: A New Venue

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It would be impossible for me to deny that I am not good with change. Too many negatives? Let me state clearly: I HATE CHANGE. I want things to remain predictable, comfortable and “as they always were.” It often makes life difficult, as things rarely cooperate.

This year, Livingstone Studio – the little gallery that has carried my art work during the summer season on Beaver Island for the last twenty years – is not opening. The owner, Sue – who I love – will not be there, ready to offer a chair in the shade, a chat, and an occasional glass of wine. The little, crooked-walled log cabin gallery spaces, jam-packed with all kinds of magical wonders…closed. I’ve been mourning for weeks!

This year, I’m showing my work in a new venue. Beaver Island Studio and Gallery has lots of natural light, broad expanses of white walls, and lots of details that help to break up the space and add architectural interest. Lois – who I also love – has gone out of her way to encourage me, listened to all my misgivings, and welcomed my work in her space.

I should be thrilled. It’s the “I hate change” part of me that is holding me back. I feel disloyal, as if I’m denying how important Livingstone Studio was to me. I truly considered just taking a break from showing my work altogether. Time to grieve, I thought. I had to kind of talk myself into moving on.

The new space has also made me somewhat self-conscious about my art. I feel like when I moved out of a cute – older but personality-filled – little lake cottage into a brand new townhouse. All of a sudden, all of my belongings – which I treasured – seemed drab and inadequate. I was afraid that – in the new pristine surroundings – my art would not hold up. I had to work up my courage to go see it.

Yesterday, I finally took a few minutes to walk through. It was a quiet day, so I was able to wander the gallery without interruption, alone with my thoughts. Lois was careful and thoughtful in her presentation, and everything showed well. There is a nice flow from one room to the next. I’m still getting used to the change, but feel like this may work out.

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Morning Calm

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Yesterday, the winds blew a gale here, tossing large branches into the roads and knocking out the electricity. This morning, it is calm. My mind has been roiling for days now, over a couple interactions that I initiated, and that didn’t – through my own clumsy handling – go over as I intended. Today, I feel more serene, and am trying to put it all in perspective.

Most – maybe all – of the good relationships I enjoy with friends and family members involve me keeping my mouth shut. I picture Archie Bunker, giving me the warning: “Stifle…just STIFLE!!!” Of course, it’s good advise that I would be wise to pay attention to.

I have a long life of strong opinions under my belt. Nothing productive can come of rehashing old disagreements in order to present yet another argument in favor of my stance. There is no sense in going over – with my grown children – my reasons for a particularly harsh discipline decision that I made more than twenty years ago. No good will come of suggesting my brother’s memories (going back even farther) – of what a mean sister I was – might be faulty. I have a good memory filled with wonders and joys, but also peppered with slights, disagreements and hurt feelings. They are better just left alone.

In the present, I am surrounded by people I love, respect and admire…but who, of course, I don’t agree with on everything. All relationships are better when the focus is on shared values and opinions. Though I am often secretly aghast at comments regarding political, social and economic viewpoints, coming from people I know to be kind and thoughtful human beings, I have learned to keep quiet. Generally, I save my voice for when it can actually make a difference or – in cases of oppression or discrimination – when it is impossible not to speak up.

There have been a couple exceptions lately. In both cases, I spoke up not to berate another person’s standpoint or to contend my “rightness,” but just to state my opinion. It felt necessary. I was sure, if I didn’t offer my perspective, for whatever it was worth, it would continue to eat away at me.

“Speaking up,” contrary to popular opinion, is not easy for me. It takes a great deal of shoring up of my confidence and my viewpoint. By the time I actually do it, I have covered the position so thoroughly in my mind, that I come across not as someone offering my “two-cents-worth,” but as a patronizing, know-it-all, higher moral ground, preaching from the pulpit, arrogant snob. I hurt feeling. I damage relationships. I leave shadows where there used to be light. Communication goes on, but it is now strained.

I explain. I try to explain, anyway. It all sounds like I’m just re-presenting my opinion. I try to apologize without reversing or rescinding the things that I felt I needed to say. It’s still there. What was a small dark area that was eating away at me has now transformed to something gnawing at someone else…and I am the center of it. For days, it has been wearing on my mind.

Yesterday, the buffeting winds matched my mood. Today, it’s better.

 

Rain Today?

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There was talk of rain moving in yesterday. It came, but not until late afternoon. It didn’t last, but the temperature dropped and the wind came up. That, combined with the few sprinkles, was enough to bring me back inside. Today, it’s still up in the air.

Will it rain? The day dawned bright, but the sun is hidden behind a cloudy sky. The air is moist; mosquitoes are out in force. It feels like it is going to rain. If it rains, I have indoor plans that far exceed the hours in this day. There is banking and bill-paying and bookkeeping to do. I am behind in my writing. House-keeping has been neglected except for the bare necessities on busy days that included garden work. I could take an entire day just to catch up! The studio calls to me, with projects underway and ideas in my head. A whole day in the studio would be heavenly!

If it is not going to rain, the yard and garden will have my attention. Yesterday, I placed my newly constructed raised bed in place, lined it with weed barrier, filled it with soil, and transplanted strawberries. I have – after many evenings spent with diagrams, garden books and graph paper – decided where I can fit asparagus and raspberries in my new -smaller – garden. It’s now just a matter of staking out the perimeter and doing the transplanting.

Then, it is more than time to get working in the actual vegetable garden. Though it’s not too late to plant – bean seeds could wait another two weeks here on Beaver Island – it is definitely time, especially for the cool-weather lettuce, spinach, chard and peas. The frequent rains have taken the “fluff” out of my newly tilled garden spot, and allowed the roots of weeds and grasses to take hold once again. It needs to be attended to with hoe and rake, to get it back in shape. Then, the rows could be staked, and many seeds planted.

The grass, as I look out my back window, is more than knee high in places. There have been good days for mowing, that I have chosen garden work instead. There have been many days that I had the time, but the weather didn’t cooperate. There were many long days when I simply didn’t have the energy. It can’t be put off much longer!

So, the only question today, as I pour my third cup of coffee, is “will it rain…or not?”

Pushing On

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So, what is it now, that has kept me away from writing? I’ve been busy, sure, and tired. There have been a lot of things going on here on Beaver Island, and in my life.

Saturday, for instance. I worked at the hardware store. It was our busiest – by far – day this year. The side of the building has become a nursery, with stacking shelves arranged under a sun shade for perennials and shrubs, annual flowers, vegetables and herbs. Folks were flocking in to our store for necessities for lawn and garden plans as well as all the usual painting, plumbing and home repair projects.

I had started the day loading art work in the car, so that I could drop it off at the Beaver Island Gallery, on its first open day of the season. I did that in the early afternoon, just before running out to attend the memorial gathering to honor my friend, Roy. I then ran to the point, to attend the annual shareholder’s meeting of the Beaver Island Boat Company. Then, back to the hardware to finish my work day.

Home, I changed clothes, doused up with mosquito repellent, and headed for the garden. I’ve been forcing myself to get in at least an hour of work out there every evening, no matter how much I want to collapse. Saturday, I raked, dug stubborn weeds, hauled away another wheelbarrow full of roots, and assembled a raised bed for my strawberry plants, before coming in to shower. I ate dinner in my pajamas, and was in bed not long after.

In addition to long and busy days, I’ve had a few side-line inconveniences that have further complicated my life. I picked up a tick, while working in the garden, and didn’t discover it until it was firmly embedded in the skin of my inner thigh, and fairly well engorged with my blood. That was the most traumatic (and gross!) thing that has happened to me in quite some time! A trip to the medical center, a dose of strong antibiotic, a few instructions about prevention and how to handle it should it ever happen again, and I was on my way…though the nightmares continue.

My car is in the shop for repairs. That has caused me to be using vehicles that I’m not familiar with (Oh! No cup-holder? And where is the knob for windshield wipers?), changing one car for another, begging rides from here to there, and sometimes walking. It’s not a big deal. It will all be over soon, and I’ll have my own dusty, messy car back, with a nice fat repair bill to boot!

Next, my little dog, having worked herself into a frenzy over having her nails clipped, managed to get out of my grasp…and bit me. By the next morning, redness and swelling made another trip to the medical center necessary. “It was an accident,” I explained, “she was trying to bite the vet.” My tetanus vaccine was still good; another dose of antibiotic, and I was finished. All dog bites have to be reported, so next came a visit from the deputy. My dogs are up to date on all of their shots. Still, according to standard protocol, Rosa Parks had to be placed in quarantine (“House arrest,” I told her) for ten days. No rides to visit the inland lakes; no walks down the Fox Lake Road. “That’s what you get,” I tell her, without sympathy.

Yesterday, it rained. That put all yard work on hold. After coming home from work, I took a lovely, long nap. I got up in time to feed the dogs and make my own supper, then went shortly right back to bed. Today, I feel rested, and like I just might make it. The sun is shining. The grass is desperately in need of being cut. The dogs and I could all use some outdoor time. That’s where I’ll be, then, for the rest of this day.

 

Still in the Garden

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It amazes me what two years of neglect has done to my garden. Aunt Katie tells me that – years ago, when she was a student here – her class took a field trip to one of the outer islands. There, still coming up in rows, were remnants of gardens put in by a religious community that had made a home there. The gardens had been abandoned in 1927, at least fifteen years before my aunt’s visit there. At the rate my little plot was deteriorating, I doubt a visitor would find more than a weedy field in a few years!

With help, I have been able to get a good start on the garden this year, and I fully intend to be watching vegetables – rather than weeds – grow this summer! But what a lot of work! I have removed the garden fence, a series of cedar posts that enclosed a space much too large to be reasonable. I saved every one, to surround a smaller garden space.

From the large area that will eventually, now, be mow-able lawn, I have to dig up raspberries, asparagus and strawberries, then level out the raised beds. I am in the process of removing the overgrowth of berry brambles and grasses that took over what used to be my tomato garden. I plan to enclose a bed for strawberries there, and possibly another for asparagus.

The life of the raspberries is still in question. They are a lot of work (maybe too much work for the time I have?) to keep up, what with pruning and keeping up with their wild spread…but, oh, what beautiful large berries they produce, when they are taken care of!

The herb garden is so overgrown, I can hardly get a shovel in. My lovely sage plant has turned into a woody shrub that has crowded out just about everything else. Except for the grasses, which seem to persist, always. Lemon Balm, which I have in a pot because of its invasive nature, is barely hanging on. Even the chives, which have spread out of control in other years, seem to have disappeared.

In all the pathways between garden beds, herb garden and flower beds, two or three inches under the gritty soil – but sometimes even closer to the surface – is a layer of heavy black weed barrier. I had forgotten all about laying it down there, many years ago. The township had bought a chipper, for using materials cleared from road edges and intersections, and was selling wood chips at a tremendously good price. I bought a truckload. I put down the weed barrier and, wheelbarrow load by wheelbarrow load, moved all of those wood chips to the pathways and open spaces. I remember thinking, “The weeds won’t have a chance!”

The joke was on me. Wood chips deteriorated, creating soil that strange new weeds seem to thrive in. Grasses, sending roots across the ground, found any opening in my weed cloth, and came up to see the sun. With their roots protected by the sturdy cloth, any attempt at pulling the whole plant was foiled. Now, with a different plan, I am straining my back removing the weed barrier from areas where it would tangle in the blades of the mower.

To prepare for mowing, I have also had to dig out several boards and flat rocks that had once served decorative or useful purpose that I’ve now long forgotten. I’ve had to find places for totes and buckets that used to reside just inside the garden fence. I’ve raked up brambles and dug up weeds, hauled one load after another to the woods.

I’m still far from finished. It’s an ambitious undertaking. This year, as apposed to the last couple years, I have a direction. That, alone is a big help. No photos yet, but soon I’ll be ready to show off my progress!

Present, This Day

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Here it is, Sunday morning, and here I am, present for it.

So far, it’s not looking like the best of days.

The weather is cold, and damp, and drizzly. Yesterday, it rained. That means the grass is too wet to mow, and the garden is too soft to work in. If I bundle up, I could do some outdoor clean up. There are a dozen dog toys to be gathered up before I can cut the grass, abandoned when some other activity caught the big dog’s attention. There are two sturdy, lidded trash cans and a few other items that sit along what used to be the fence line. Now that the fence is down, they just look out of place. There’s still a mound of the vinyl deer fence in the back yard. It needs to be rolled or folded up for storage. So far, I’m not enthusiastic about any of it.

I have plenty to do in the house. I left dishes to drain-dry in the kitchen; there are clothes folded and stacked on the washing machine that need to be put away. There is a load of towels that need to be transferred to the dryer, since it’s not a good day for hanging them on the clothesline. I should wash the rugs…but I think I’ll wait for a better day.

I have several letters to write. This job has been hanging over my head for weeks, now, and I can’t seem to work up a plan or any determination. The letters are to accompany second – or sometimes third – bills to advertisers in my news magazine. The agreed upon service has been delivered: I have included the ads, paid for the printing and the cost of mailing; the burden should be on them to cancel the ad if they don’t want it. I am justified in asking for the payment, as agreed upon. Yet, I struggle.

I weave whiny, defensive, “why am I being taken advantage of this way” letters in my head. I approach it as “one business person to another.” I try out lengthy diatribes about why my bill-sending is so sporadic, taking the blame for their lack of payment. And then I do nothing. But they have probably just forgotten. And I need to collect. I have to just get it done.

I have on-going projects in the studio…several things I’m quite excited about, even. This could be a good day for making art. I could set that as my final goal, and hammer out a few necessary jobs before rewarding myself with time in the studio. It sounds good, but doesn’t stir me to get moving.

I have not yet been able to work up much excitement about any of it. I am not in a rush to move from this comfortable chair. I’m not driven to get out of pajamas, or to abandon my cozy bathrobe. There is still hot coffee in the pot; I could use another cup of it. So far, this Sunday morning, I am here, and that is all.

 

Timeout for Art: More Collage

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Last night, after a long day at work, after taking the dogs down to Fox Lake for a romp, after putting my dinner in the oven, I managed some time in the studio, continuing work on a series of small collages. Though these photograph as rectangles (allowing me to choose the juiciest surfaces to show), they are actually small squares. With a three inch matt all around, they frame up at 14 x 14 inches.

For many years, I put together the beginnings of one small collage every single day. I’d incorporate bits and scraps of interesting papers – a piece of corrugated cardboard, the corner of an envelope, the frilly edge of paper torn from a spiral notebook – that had found their way into my pockets, along with selections from my large collection of “collage material.” I thought of them like diary pieces: my mood and the weather reflected in the juxtaposition of colors, shapes and textures. It was the way I started each studio session, a way to throw off the rest of the day, and bring my focus to creative projects.

Though each collage has an image and personality of its own, there is language evident in their varied surfaces. I like zig-zags, juxtaposing organic with geometric shapes, and “lines” of cut papers marching side-by-side. I use lots of angles, though rarely precise, and I like shapes to barely meet, at their corners. It is important to have the objects interact with each other, and with the edges of the page. Colors vary slightly from day-to-day, and greatly from one season to the next.

I haven’t taken time for this daily practice in quite some time, but I find the visual imagery is still with me, as is the love of combining disparate shapes and colors to set a mood. That gives me encouragement, for when my time opens up!