tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68079324109124915292024-03-06T00:50:47.130-08:00Alaska's DirtAlaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.comBlogger209125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-55261354020220797782013-11-14T10:05:00.002-08:002013-11-14T19:29:52.779-08:00where my gypsy blood leads me<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I.M Pei's Glass Pyramid at the Louvre, Paris, France</td></tr>
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A month ago, I applied for an artist residency located in Noyers, France, and coupled with a career grant from Alaska Council of the Arts, this will help me fund this adventure. I will be going in May, 2014, and while the Alaskan dark can be invigorating for others, I need a focus on a future project and something to look forward to. <br />
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For three weeks, I will working on a body of drawings and watercolors gleaned from the French countryside and upon completing this expression, I will have an exhibition at the facilities' space. I am also thinking of renting a car and perhaps with other resident artists, we can view the landscape together and aspire to new inspirations. <br />
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Before heading south to Noyers, I will peruse Paris for five days. Currently, I am reorienting myself to the city where I lived years ago in the late 70's and frequented back and forth from my college studies. Under Rutgers University, we studied for two months at the Sorbonne and then headed to Tours, France, where we finished the bulk of our schooling. Tours, France is best known for chateau country located on the Loire Valley and where the best French is learned and pronounced. It is said to be linguistically perfect.<br />
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I remember my college times fondly as they were intense. It is where I continued my love affair with French literature ( not to mention other involvements!) The last time I visited Paris was in 1990, and so I thought recently, that I was way overdue a visit. I wanted to reconnect to the language and people. In fact, upon rentering the United States back from school as a young gal, I felt out of place. The states shocked me by it's bigness and it appeared ugly. I had immersed easily into the French culture at that time; attitudes, ways of thinking, and their high sensibilities for taste had grown on me and had become home.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noyers, France </td></tr>
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Noyers is located about one hour and forty minutes southeast of Paris. This is where I will be working and doing some art at the<b> Porte de Peinte pour les Arts.</b> Seen below is the village where I will be living and were the foundation provides me with a studio. You can rent bicycles and tour the area. They have three good restaurants and I can bet the food is incredibly good. When I lived in Tours, it was a small village too. In fact, while looking at the train departures the other day, I found France to be riddled with hundred of quaint small neighborhoods equivalent to our suburbs. I am currently reading some French literature and listening to French movies to get my comprehension and language fluency up to par. It will be challenging but I am hoping I will fall into the mysteries of language and dialog without too much hesitation. Oh la la! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the village of Noyers, Frnace</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manet's Gypsy Woman, oil on canvas, 1862</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-77561192179390684742013-10-23T16:46:00.002-07:002013-10-23T16:49:22.291-07:00the high feather experienceThree of my newest works are listed on this page. My works tells of my painting experiences and while they are figurative in nature, they are expressionistic, abstract and contemporary. They exhibit an academic feel to them because I learned from the experience of painting. I have been painting for a long time and of course, anything you do often and continually, your process and outcomes get better and better and it becomes a familiar place to be.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what I learned from black, 48" x 48", 2013</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">high feather, 60" x 30", 2013</td></tr>
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These three works are older paintings that I reworked and the surfaces have a deep textured appearance. Paintings are also gestural in style, painted quickly, intuitively rendered, in an <i>unconscious</i> manner; almost knowing by heart where each paint stroke belongs. But, when I step back from each work, I realize <i>consciously</i> what I need to do and rework. Painting is a strange form of activity; mysterious, a beautiful journey and an anxious pursuit for me.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new painting, she said, 72" x 52", 2013</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">This December, 2014, I am included in a group exhibition called PAINT! at the </span><b style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">International Gallery of Contemporary Art. </b><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Two of these pieces will be included in this show.</span>Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-83557202153791757592013-10-03T16:52:00.003-07:002013-10-04T13:33:22.863-07:00kotzebue findsKen booked a companion flight for me and wanted to show me a true Alaskan village. He has often flown there with his work and loves the town of Kotzebue. It turned out to be a great idea and I really caught the true essence about living in the Arctic. Although we didn't experience the community first hand and walked around on our own, the sights made up for this difference. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kotzabue, view from our hotel window</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXOQJoKwk2dMwEqGNLw2uj2AilKzZre2FjBnvqUfaixX-yh6c8HTy4iMsGRK-aW5kve85RixIOCy5IyUOV_99AX5Tx2Ck6eDDoYQIgJmU_ZsgrqTTa3vjuVgmZHFT00QT35Xrlc6VWg_o/s1600/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXOQJoKwk2dMwEqGNLw2uj2AilKzZre2FjBnvqUfaixX-yh6c8HTy4iMsGRK-aW5kve85RixIOCy5IyUOV_99AX5Tx2Ck6eDDoYQIgJmU_ZsgrqTTa3vjuVgmZHFT00QT35Xrlc6VWg_o/s400/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">salmon drying by the sea<br />
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<span style="font-size: small; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Along out walks by the Chukchi Sea, we stumbled upon the many drying shacks where the natives hang their fish and complete their harvesting, a wondrous abandoned bullet holed Quonset hut, subtle colors that hemmed the disheveled huts, sunlit grasses along with feeling the immense extreme of the Arctic winds and cold was impressionable.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">love the subtle colors and worn look!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">playing in the fox tail grasses</td></tr>
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We stayed for close to three days; an hour and a half plane ride over much of tundra, the massive Yukon River, winding rivers and lakes, snow capped mountains was mesmerizing. We stayed at this sterile hotel (one of two in Kotzebue) but it did have a great windowed restaurant overlooking the sea, where sea gulls coasted in one place by the winds and where I got to observe hundreds of white caps. The room was brightly lit with the massive sunlight that flooded upon us. The power of the sea struck me as very full and almost menacing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">abandoned Quonset hut</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fall colors by the shoreline</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-31818214760760596442013-08-18T10:06:00.004-07:002013-08-19T07:43:41.694-07:00Pokhara Raptors and Tharu Dancers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Among our favorite places in Nepal: a respite from our travels from Lumbini<b> (</b>the birthplace of Buddha), and the hectic pace of Kathmandu, was the town of<b> Pokhara</b>. We stayed on the third floor of the <i>Tropicana Hotel</i>; observed Pokhara's main street and beautiful lake from the balcony. We also witnessed many para gliders from our spot and loved seeing these floating apparitions. We were tempted to try it out but wanted to save our money for Tibet travel. (You can see my mini video clip I put together above from the captured sights.) Pokhara is known as a agricultural city; is fertile, a kick back place, and the air is better breathing. It is also where many trekkers go to hike the <i>Annapurna Trail. </i> We hiked up to see the <i>Peace Stupa </i>and you can view the city landscape from very high. It was a grueling one our walk up hill making the downhill just as demanding. </div>
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In the above video clip are the<i> Tharu Dancers</i> from our stay at <b>Chitwan National Forest.</b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the main drag in Pokhara, Nepal, seen from our balcony<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">At <b>Chitwan National Forest, </b>we bought a package deal for four nights and five days; visited the towns and villages of the Tharu people was a plus. We witnessed several wild life during our stints in the jungle. I loved seeing the one horned rhinoceros and rushing through the brush, we saw some deer and wild boar. The heat was overwhelming at times but our room had a nice fan (when the electricity was working!) the food not too stellar consisting mainly on variations of potatoes and vegetables dishes. One of our outings included an evening to the </span><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">cultural center that featured several dances of the <i>Tharu</i> people.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the one horned rhino at Chitwan National Forest, Nepal</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-20764986341480412092013-08-09T06:57:00.001-07:002013-08-09T09:13:26.886-07:00Jersey short stops<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqnxKBwci7GPuiU-06mlOsX28CU-0hq-3nVIrspLWPPX52HWE616v6lqWp5F0j6QB8gV3BYYVgBc75EGjOkxkzxtBm2MdYvM7KCiY1IBAIZNMRlmH1sAPT5sbePvzMVCZNjr2fSONYYeO/s1600/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqnxKBwci7GPuiU-06mlOsX28CU-0hq-3nVIrspLWPPX52HWE616v6lqWp5F0j6QB8gV3BYYVgBc75EGjOkxkzxtBm2MdYvM7KCiY1IBAIZNMRlmH1sAPT5sbePvzMVCZNjr2fSONYYeO/s400/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a small view inside Princeton University campus<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">One of my highlights was revisiting <i>Princeton University</i>. While in high school, I would hear singers at the cafe on campus and it is where I first heard Paul Stuky sing solo. (You may know him from the trio <i>Peter, Paul and Mary.</i>) My girlfriend had an ingenious idea to drive over there one Saturday. It took us an hour to get there; beautiful mansions, roadside vegetable and fruit stands and large open green pastures filled our glimpses out the car window. Once on campus, we saw a fantastic collection of art at the museum. They have quite a range of work - Contemporary, Medieval, Renaissance to the Impressionists from masters around the world. </span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princeton University Art Museum</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDFtKBKOUJO642DiizdI59c2D7TB3WAWFyRM0fqfXMuNQl1Xnd4_0mhSW8Ifr2HjwTj65FoM_lQXPPaaM_J2n9VMfoD2hJpQ-7scpDJOlux0xJ6j3HYj7GH61c0a-38LCSSkMSK6FnvXN/s1600/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDFtKBKOUJO642DiizdI59c2D7TB3WAWFyRM0fqfXMuNQl1Xnd4_0mhSW8Ifr2HjwTj65FoM_lQXPPaaM_J2n9VMfoD2hJpQ-7scpDJOlux0xJ6j3HYj7GH61c0a-38LCSSkMSK6FnvXN/s320/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My brother and sister</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hibiscus the size of your hand</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a friend since eight grade<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /> I had worked my visit too with my 40th high school reunion and made it to the opening night barely recognizing a soul! The rest of my sojourn was focused on close friends and family. I posted some of the highlights of this journey. New Jersey is an expansive, rich and busy state - townships connecting one another with dozens upon dozens of side roads, parkways, interstates and freeways. </span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiK9UFHKRQn2suHeibx0Fk6_KkbbqeN8gYmenLwabONU5ZXOAob__y-xyxej7hEnHh3foqnDWDfHRZKt2XA88oYNwX6Zm1DKp-myrjWhN6K1YH3WYVZwMENzUxj5NlkX9wuPOZB933wfwR/s1600/photo%5B4%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwIgRYGRXLI7oWUAA9KEag21c8gqas_hUNyeDi68lfgfBsuoxiRu20sP0nzm6_QAucGXpUf9byyPOOSoEU53NLuLeyywdqNZnNHeVWXoVhkgnhF5prM73AFJiiVlQhlBRtvSAMzJqa1fF/s1600/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jersey Shore, Ocean Grove<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">When visiting the shore points, I would have not known that a devastating hurricane had destroyed much of the beach front under a year ago. I loved the sea while I lived there and during my short stay, I managed to spend time sitting on the beach observing the vastness of the horizon line. It is where I first learned one point perspective and gorgeous space. No art class could ever teach me that.</span></td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-12405024861291509122013-07-12T16:36:00.001-07:002013-07-14T08:10:36.856-07:00This time around, blog entry, Kathmandu 5/21/2013i<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paton Dubar Square idol, near Kathmandu, Nepal</td></tr>
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This time around we have chosen the fifth floor of the Karma Travelers Lodge. </div>
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Our shanty room opens up to a courtyard of urban sprawl and roof top views; twin size beds receive light and air from both sides of the room, screened windows let a cross flow of breezes filter in </div>
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and it has become pre monsoon month.</div>
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It may rain torrents like yesterday as we splashed through puddles viewing the Paton Dubar Square temples. They where magnificent ancient buildings however, even in the downpour, while heavy rains kept coming.......we jumped from one overhang to another missing the rain but got to see its work, its relentlessness.</div>
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Almost as immediately as these rains fell, the sun came out. Steep waters are sucked into the gutters leaving roads with only patches of wet remembrances. Muggy, humid days but extreme dry too comes and goes......weather changes from a quick setting to another.</div>
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This time around, I sleep better. Kathmandu shuts down by 11 pm; noises subdue and the place slumbers. The whole district is blanketed with a stillness of quiet. And, this time around, I rest with everyone else.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paton Dubar Square </td></tr>
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Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-74684012556868854032013-07-04T12:48:00.000-07:002013-07-04T12:59:31.110-07:00Tibetan Pilgrimage - Pekor Chode Monastery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: justify;">The Pekor Chode Monastery was founded in 1418 and is a twenty minute drive located near Lhasha, Tibet. When we visited the monastery, it happened to be one of the holidays marking the draping of the thangka. This only comes about once a year. Hundreds of Tibetans could be seen making their walk clockwise around the stupa (called circumambulation) and some continued on by walking against the large wall (pictured below) where the thangka was displayed. They do this to obtain merit and to put themselves on the right path. You can see the picture of the Buddha icon of the thangka in the photo, whereas in the video, the image of the Buddha was already removed in a matter of a couple of hours while I was there on the grounds. I was taken by the uniqueness of the Tibetan people. You can see many of the pilgrims in the original dress, with their prayer beads, prayer wheels and some prostrating by stretching themselves on the ground and rising up again.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">draping of the Buddha Thangka </td></tr>
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Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-4365488360233776052013-06-29T13:32:00.001-07:002013-07-01T10:45:03.170-07:00Boudhanath<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boudhanath Stupa, Kathmandu, Nepal<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Going clockwise, the large Boudhanath Stupa </span><span style="text-align: justify;">sits while pilgrims make it move. </span><span style="text-align: justify;">Its two eyes forever revealing and watching from up above. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Surrounding this structure is architectural, colonial tiered places/homes/businesses/perhaps vacant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> There is a happy hum while the religious swing and touch the bells turning them as they make the circumambulation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Monks sit here and there asking for offerings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Older peasants are the ones that I love to watch, are they there because their time is close?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I watch their wizened eyes, crevasse faces, lined dark, tan, black Nepalese, Indians, Tibetan, Malays, Chinese and Caucasian too, as the pavement fills with walking faith.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Big Buddhas and small colorful, kitschy buddhas make their appearances like we will forget them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The temple sprawls into smaller domes of white among the huge iconic masterpiece that is littered with several hundred prayer flags giving hope to the day. </span></div>
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lovely old pilgrim with prayer beads</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-85239442781562011012013-06-23T16:40:00.001-07:002013-06-23T17:14:04.845-07:00May 7th, Kathmandu journal entry<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Durbar Square, Kathmandu (durbar means "palace")</td></tr>
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Watching the pigeons getting fed at Durbar Square - the place where kings were legitimized,</div>
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am told by a Nepalese man that these birds bring good luck.</div>
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They are fed generously and coo happily.</div>
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The flapping of their wings are insurmountable.</div>
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They fly in the mist of seated village folk, settle by several dozen maybe hundreds among the tiered </div>
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temples, and sit on the heads of the gods and goddesses of old time Hindu Shivas,</div>
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they infest this place - they rule now.</div>
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They make it remarkable too, this gray bird of commonness.</div>
Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-43004207767785996302013-04-18T10:19:00.000-07:002013-04-22T18:52:10.491-07:00taking off soon, travel notes and the reflective spirit<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Soon Ken and I will be leaving Alaska for a seven week journey to <em>Nepal</em>. We will arrive in <em>Kathmandu</em>, recuperate from the long plane ride and will stay in a comfortable hotel for five days. (I understand that the <strong>Beatles</strong> stayed at this particular place. Maybe it will be our most expensive of places as fifty dollars a night is often a stretch for us.) Afterwards, we are headed to <em>Chitwan National Forest</em> for a safari. We have plans to fly to <em>Bagan, Myanmar, Bhutan</em> or head to <em>Tibet</em>, but we are leaving ourselves open to see, feel, scour maps, talk to the natives and other travelers, and ask around to decide what would best fit our travel and budget sensibilities.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">At this time in my home though, in Anchorage, Alaska, I begin to look around me and view my surroundings. A deeper knowledge of place is emphasized and it's luxuries, like water fountains, the fresh scented snow air as I am skiing in the bright sunlight and an abundance of things at my fingertips. The small things that we often take for granted, like a warm, comfortable bed, a clean couch, adequate lighting and an accessible computer is often much sought after in our travels.</span> </span> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sunshine and its reflection in Anchorage, Alaska</td></tr>
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M<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">ost of all, and what intersects these <em>comfortable times</em> <em>of where I am now in the great <strong>USA</strong>,</em> are the people that I meet on our excursions from all over the world - time spent traveling on planes, buses, hotels, and moments in small cramped coffee shops. A connection on a universal level is met on my travels making it wondrous and magical. Written below are just a few memories that stick out in my mind as being prevalent and worth recalling at this time.</span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">After my mother's funeral coming back from the east coast, I took up a conversation with a woman seated next to me on the plane. We were relating similar trip details, how our friends had changed, how life had become <em>different in scope, </em>experiencing sentiments of growing older and challenges of fighting depression. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">After the massive tsunami hit in 2006, Ken and I sat in a small café in New Delhi. I had grabbed a stray newspaper on a nearby table and read the horrific headlines. I quickly exclaimed how we should fly back to the states. Around us, people were going about their business, ordering drinks and food, the bustle of the afternoon was in full gear and the day seemed in total neglect of this happening. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Blue after a ski in Kincaid, <br />
(<em>the one</em> I miss most while on jaunts)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our eight hour drive to Agra from New Delhi to see the Taj Mahal was a hectic and frantic trip. The driver, who weaved in and out of chaotic traffic, blasted the same local, popular Indian music over and over again for the course of the ride (and I wound up buying the tape soon afterwards in town.) The Muslim tour guide, who led us inside the belly of the temple, couldn't be kinder, told us about his family and was elated to show us the massive marble mausoleum. He was genuine, all welcoming, open and had a great sense of humor. We shared similar insights and perspectives about lives.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">On another bus journey in S</span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">outh Viet Nam, going through several border crossings at seedy stations wore us down. There was an American family traveling with their young daughter and the father worked in the American Embassy in New Delhi. How quickly you converse, share your insights and impressions with others especially if they are American. We struck up an immediate conversation and later saw them on Christmas day. They wished us a <em>Merry Christmas</em>, and it struck a deep chord because it resonated heart felt sentiments. These bits of kindness are perhaps stronger because you are far away from home and I am sure that </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">travel in foreign places puts you in a vulnerable zone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a lot of <em>waiting</em> when you travel but I find myself wrapped up in a sensory store of fascination and it is acute visual eye candy. Observation couldn't get any better. I cannot begin to express the myriad of people you meet - the immediate bonding, the roundtable of discussions, the stray, brave young American traveling alone, a Montreal woman who we toured with us for two weeks, the German couple who we spent time seeing the <em>Plain of Jars</em> in <strong>Phonsavon, Laos</strong>, or the British couple, spending the day in the <strong>Borneo</strong> jungle observing the orangutans. Australians are to be seen everywhere in Asia and I think they have taken the place of the American. They can be brash, competitive, loud and confrontational but there is always the other side. We spent some time with an Australian family in <strong>Bali</strong> and they were delightful in their scope and curiosity. They wanted to know who we were as Americans and our politics. Ken and I sometimes remark about the families touring too - small babies slung on backs and children excitedly running close by their parents. Everyone is happy to be out, you bond in this universal way and you become grateful for this advantage of experiencing the world. It is a magnificent journey and worth fighting through the barriers of fear that have penetrated our world today. Travel gives you hope and it adds another dimension to the soul and to the great spirit of awareness.</span>Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-28716956857443634222013-03-26T09:52:00.001-07:002013-03-26T13:37:46.083-07:00second half of painted ladies<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuxewfGWPlwFJOc-H70RHTMwyQEYJaa9-nILx7xeKAYjs1LuD9_i3Qe5uG7Xl_TTVgybVwEnAKbPJnAuBTVtutS2NyOysmPgv-0Z2sjlJu6wIGjZSOqlGDpW08_viyeXKYoQ-l8QZOaml/s1600/photo%5B6%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuxewfGWPlwFJOc-H70RHTMwyQEYJaa9-nILx7xeKAYjs1LuD9_i3Qe5uG7Xl_TTVgybVwEnAKbPJnAuBTVtutS2NyOysmPgv-0Z2sjlJu6wIGjZSOqlGDpW08_viyeXKYoQ-l8QZOaml/s400/photo%5B6%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angry Lady, paint and oil stick on canvas, 35" x 30", 2013</td></tr>
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The second half of this blog features more paintings on the figure. Below, <i>Matisse's half </i>is my favorite. I love Matisse, his colors and his stories or interiors of inside the frame of the picture. Matisse was a great colorist and rival of Picasso. While Picasso had a strong edge, Matisse felt that you should look at his work easily, like sitting in an armchair while enjoying the painting. Going forward, I will be studying interiors to put my new figures into a story or narrative.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMKSd_iYYaabHRfja3ZVVxe3rdDvvOpPT276lYgHYesK_Kv20klgP3mX7cJ5aHU7oJu7td4ClXxGWgXsrxlac4kd8c7mpMdygqGqdyo80S1FkossbMCn9KtRFABxGgxZduZ0_JXfjQRRn/s1600/photo%5B7%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSMKSd_iYYaabHRfja3ZVVxe3rdDvvOpPT276lYgHYesK_Kv20klgP3mX7cJ5aHU7oJu7td4ClXxGWgXsrxlac4kd8c7mpMdygqGqdyo80S1FkossbMCn9KtRFABxGgxZduZ0_JXfjQRRn/s400/photo%5B7%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matisse's half, paint and oil stick on canvas, 35" x 30", 2013</td></tr>
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<i>Clown Dancer </i>is another work done rigorously. I am greatly inspired and very energetic while making these works as this is a new body of artwork and the newness invigorates me. At other times, I have difficulty of what to paint, what to say or if I have anything important to express at all! This is usually an artist's dilemma and I often struggle with this happening.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUBuYID8CJZLJHnQMzTvjFQaibEvIYYGip_lWZLaghS83PvhGg09mVLZ-HEKIl-4bXBKeE-l8G0HLrzIPKicjEAcKljeZLlvSD2i2gDStMo5WVWGc_-Xfm5tkLLrVcNy4bbL8QgWpMR02/s1600/photo%5B8%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUBuYID8CJZLJHnQMzTvjFQaibEvIYYGip_lWZLaghS83PvhGg09mVLZ-HEKIl-4bXBKeE-l8G0HLrzIPKicjEAcKljeZLlvSD2i2gDStMo5WVWGc_-Xfm5tkLLrVcNy4bbL8QgWpMR02/s400/photo%5B8%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clown Dancer, paint and oil stick on canvas, 30" x 30", 2013</td></tr>
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The bottom work titled <i>A study of two</i> is a continuation of more of these works. Am looking forward to making more messages and putting these figures in a landscape. At this moment, they are solitary and effective, hoping these paintings can stand on their own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22YCRedtx-398b7FhU-kZ7j3RBpoWjbp-S6x5OoWPxq_-O7L6t6XPuwsnLwXdYhiJVP8La75oKEq3yjZe7ui0bPMf8OTJzcu0JUaPImSerM1tY2_IokBKbN8ehn4lDoCT3KuBIC6Sv2Ji/s1600/photo%5B9%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22YCRedtx-398b7FhU-kZ7j3RBpoWjbp-S6x5OoWPxq_-O7L6t6XPuwsnLwXdYhiJVP8La75oKEq3yjZe7ui0bPMf8OTJzcu0JUaPImSerM1tY2_IokBKbN8ehn4lDoCT3KuBIC6Sv2Ji/s400/photo%5B9%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A study of two, paint and oil stick on canvas, 35" x 30", 2013</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-53255348950423216522013-03-17T19:22:00.004-07:002013-03-23T16:05:42.584-07:00on spring paintings - the feminine and color, 2013<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHM-XigMkq-U8ySKlJIuv1NDQfG97QHPweCMX0CIzSbmC_1DuAtAA1-C4vq95ga9SE_bGrWqqbC8EHIi1zMVfMsqe1Eo5ROI93sTTxdZmcaJLc5FH8RlApt3_6jZZgqYOVwHGqEYdfFMhW/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHM-XigMkq-U8ySKlJIuv1NDQfG97QHPweCMX0CIzSbmC_1DuAtAA1-C4vq95ga9SE_bGrWqqbC8EHIi1zMVfMsqe1Eo5ROI93sTTxdZmcaJLc5FH8RlApt3_6jZZgqYOVwHGqEYdfFMhW/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self portrait in the studio, 48" x 48", oil paint and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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Listed on this post are all new paintings. I have been building on the concept of telling stories and at this moment, most of this work is figurative studies of more works to come. Above, is a portrait of myself and it is housed in our dining room. I usually put new pieces in my home to live with them and peruse them while I go about my business. It helps me reflect and access the artwork. At this point, I am happy with this canvas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlFf-aP3bsaH5i03ilFVSBFw21gc47KSRHWXtsRuBEfuFp3chJWXWu4UkD_u6uXd8cQul-rSxcX04YBMYea96-zzPdGyZG1dj4fKx45PSCnBYuWge9Bl_v0xWMu5VL8n5T0Y6Gg4P4ffB/s1600/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlFf-aP3bsaH5i03ilFVSBFw21gc47KSRHWXtsRuBEfuFp3chJWXWu4UkD_u6uXd8cQul-rSxcX04YBMYea96-zzPdGyZG1dj4fKx45PSCnBYuWge9Bl_v0xWMu5VL8n5T0Y6Gg4P4ffB/s400/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yesterday and Today's Study I, 35" x 30", oil paint and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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The next four studies are smaller. Each work is 35" x 24" and can be termed as figurative paintings on canvas. I enjoy working with the various colors and do a lot of mark making with oil stick and gesso. My process is very immediate, as I paint, rub out, paint and erase creating the image I want to make, until the final picture finally shows itself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWJfjPrbYKIGhRb108_BG6b0Q1Kf-C_BzqenKSoiyDiANDdt4kC39CgrCZPbEM730qNN53_EWd2jNLxL_vCUOIC46lDWy-Ezg9cZRlMdunafuYLmvV2Rkyc2v7DTBbAjTXa8rTk2uoNa1/s1600/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWJfjPrbYKIGhRb108_BG6b0Q1Kf-C_BzqenKSoiyDiANDdt4kC39CgrCZPbEM730qNN53_EWd2jNLxL_vCUOIC46lDWy-Ezg9cZRlMdunafuYLmvV2Rkyc2v7DTBbAjTXa8rTk2uoNa1/s400/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yesterday and Today's Study II, 35" x 30", oil paint and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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These paintings are worked in the same fashion - painting or making scrawls while each image is done as mentioned above - erasing and painting while the picture evolves. This process also builds texture and movement to each piece. These works are also experimentations and designs with color. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMBR0kVQauPyDk-wIGAb3xccnUe9jBKpHfSo3KfGLfXqYm8I-sI5zZZmAeyrcLo6up2ftyIAUWVy-h5vY7PnB3Yr5exNUQn-jUv2XwxO06eyMV3Cqnp8yeJmoB2nVRrSILYFC3VfVOXLI/s1600/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMBR0kVQauPyDk-wIGAb3xccnUe9jBKpHfSo3KfGLfXqYm8I-sI5zZZmAeyrcLo6up2ftyIAUWVy-h5vY7PnB3Yr5exNUQn-jUv2XwxO06eyMV3Cqnp8yeJmoB2nVRrSILYFC3VfVOXLI/s400/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yesterday and Today's Study III, 35" x 30", oil paint and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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Building ground is one of the more natural things that I do as a painter. You can see various blocks of color in the background and at the same time this also creates edges to the paintings. I try to fill the canvas and this to me is the most difficult task. Balance and composition must all be working together to create a strong work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3YOqL2LV6nXbhTZvl9YsRUKytjmy0EevhZ-Akpf23Gny52IwDeD2q3fA_YZIJ5ZcdYSnyFQ07q7iwX1MBrzCaZMXZSzPBTc3aMh79TSNv3VVHnbbjfgvSMxhpeYyddy0pGoNU3R6Mi8i/s1600/photo%5B4%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3YOqL2LV6nXbhTZvl9YsRUKytjmy0EevhZ-Akpf23Gny52IwDeD2q3fA_YZIJ5ZcdYSnyFQ07q7iwX1MBrzCaZMXZSzPBTc3aMh79TSNv3VVHnbbjfgvSMxhpeYyddy0pGoNU3R6Mi8i/s400/photo%5B4%5D.JPG" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on second thought, 35" x 30", oil and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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The painting below - <i>Gestural Studies - Not a walk in the Park</i> carries a story. Last week, I photographed myself and my dog walking around the neighborhood block. The picture was a black and white shadow of our reflections on the snow. It was my first piece completed in this series and I used this photograph to begin my painting process. Photographs often give me ideas about what to do or how to proceed in the studio. Never completely realistic, I enjoy making contemporary expressions that make us look at the world in a different ways. These works force us to use our imagination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhnluvD14p-oBWIYy9D9TZxsu3_2ajJYBhPkHGcticnRNB7GaM3Tbga24spknrEtsocq3aGPiPsGNnMuBAFjtX9vC5PP6Sk_H25ljb7GY_Gcf3Uruju6eL_Xcr-zVT9lwh6ALqigkpNQ5/s1600/walk+I.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhnluvD14p-oBWIYy9D9TZxsu3_2ajJYBhPkHGcticnRNB7GaM3Tbga24spknrEtsocq3aGPiPsGNnMuBAFjtX9vC5PP6Sk_H25ljb7GY_Gcf3Uruju6eL_Xcr-zVT9lwh6ALqigkpNQ5/s400/walk+I.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gestural studies - Not a Walk in the Park, 48" x 48", oil paint and oil stick on canvas</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-6151945686526055152013-03-01T16:04:00.002-08:002013-03-01T16:07:16.311-08:00about place - black and white in another hueLeaving my blog unattended felt like it was the right thing to do; several classes this past fall semester put me into a whirl of non stop activity. I successfully taught four classes, all of them being different, creating a full pendulum of strengths and weaknesses from each one made me enjoy the trip of teaching immersion. Every semester, I learn from my classes and add these times to my repertoire as a communicator of insights and information.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVLT3fZ6e2uWw7cj1eaRlNZsfZudMLZf5IBpdAlkG8nTkfZAFo53m9LgPUXFk_ELIogzNxWHYsNKIfWy9i13AzuDN42WvJ2LOfjjqYgbo8CaOrdgbEPCzWvoUlFDLvBTavPpKTV8T0Ffd/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVLT3fZ6e2uWw7cj1eaRlNZsfZudMLZf5IBpdAlkG8nTkfZAFo53m9LgPUXFk_ELIogzNxWHYsNKIfWy9i13AzuDN42WvJ2LOfjjqYgbo8CaOrdgbEPCzWvoUlFDLvBTavPpKTV8T0Ffd/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totem Sculpture, Tujunga Canyon, 1995<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I took a short visit to Los Angeles early January where I visited the art scene, friends and experienced strikingly brilliant weather. Coming back to Alaska's grim gray, I realized how spoiled I had become on my visit. The colors in Southern California were hyper real to me; examining the lush plant life and being struck by the massive Pacific stirred a profound sense of nostalgia. I had greatly missed the sea. The weather in Los Angeles wasn't past 55 degrees, rising to 65 degrees in the full afternoon sun but Californians were taking advantage of their winter garb by wearing coats and boots. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAdq-ziyi03oQ8i6HF_0keoBADLFBUM75ua5yae-sFz2brKXvCHXSTTV8iZx1A0vr3RQyxSEsb8CuCW0Fu6A2Y2f0dPJKiF0fobNAbw5VMpS-IYVJDH9FVbWfQMzaCynah-wbmCgOwF0h/s1600/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHAdq-ziyi03oQ8i6HF_0keoBADLFBUM75ua5yae-sFz2brKXvCHXSTTV8iZx1A0vr3RQyxSEsb8CuCW0Fu6A2Y2f0dPJKiF0fobNAbw5VMpS-IYVJDH9FVbWfQMzaCynah-wbmCgOwF0h/s640/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blum and Poe Gallery, Culver City, CA, January 2013</td></tr>
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My trip to Los Angeles had become more of an adventure in seeing color as was my driving experience with my nifty rental car through the grand boulevards of the inner city with the spectacular southwestern views and waving palm trees. It was easy driving to me, it was fast going with a constant stimulant to my senses, ongoing ruckus of movement and noise. I realized why people lived here. The weather is all welcoming and people seem less uptight, more casual, freer and open. I left Los Angeles for a reason and I wanted to leave, find another adventure, see another landscape and take a risk. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0FHAmLzS97wAEkLBLgQinSFo7ihiL2e1znOA-_bZ0FMkQCues7hC5kO4ZnsnrcgdKzMSoagGxVBy4pqoqBJ0lkVDaCZ0hEh1djjpiHdmWzuQdY9qFMwrYwjmo1D19z7DLjnaw_qHy03/s1600/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaE0FHAmLzS97wAEkLBLgQinSFo7ihiL2e1znOA-_bZ0FMkQCues7hC5kO4ZnsnrcgdKzMSoagGxVBy4pqoqBJ0lkVDaCZ0hEh1djjpiHdmWzuQdY9qFMwrYwjmo1D19z7DLjnaw_qHy03/s320/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue and I out walking</td></tr>
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Yesterday in Anchorage, as I was walking the dog I peered by the inlet and looked at the arrangement of the landscape. Subtle colors of golden grasses became distinct as dark brown stick trees casted another shade adding to the white and grays. The looming mountains peaked through some the cloud layers with snippets of a possible and hopeful blue sky. Colors in Alaska are muted but it has become my responsibility to find the soft colors beautiful in their own way. Each time I look at the horizon, outside my window, down a ski trail or outside my car window while driving there are various and constant changes. This is space in another grand way. I sometimes question why I don't embrace this landscape so easily and find myself pushing it away. Other times, I think it is like contemporary art, while I appreciate the grandiose of Alaska perhaps it is too new for me to love it. Perhaps it is too overwhelming. I also recognized that by seeing the Pacific, I had taken it for granted, and maybe that is how I react to Alaska's wilderness, it is at a distance but too close to me right now. It seems like I need to leave a place to fully want it back and maybe that is okay too. It is okay, and I repeat this mantra quietly quietly for today.Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-65798762929212709062012-12-22T08:46:00.002-08:002012-12-22T08:46:56.814-08:00a morning visitation of bohemian waxwings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The other morning I was at my front table looking at the light. Days are clear and cold here but the sun is blazingly beautiful. Our loss of daylight goes quickly and I enjoy studying the sudden and swift shifts of projected sunlight - the darks and lights reflected on the snow which creates a pink glow to the grounds.<br />
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I noticed flocks of birds circling across the street and had seen these birds often around town but in smaller numbers. Later that evening, my husband told me that they were Bohemian Waxwings. I quickly grabbed my video camera and raced out the door. Walking across the street, I watched the several flocks come and go, rest on several neighboring trees, and often, in one sudden swoop, they would take off and do this incredible dance throughout the sky. I stood and observed for over fifteen minutes with my bare hands exposed to the frigid temperatures and I hardly noticed the uncomfortableness.<br />
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These moments are precious and magical to me. It was a morning visitation from the Bohemian Waxwings and I had managed to be at the right moment, the right time when they arrived. The next day, I saw a considerably smaller flock across the tree but they didn't stay long. Happy Solstice!Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-15167200134551692202012-10-26T17:50:00.001-07:002012-10-26T22:10:42.196-07:00altar art<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Buc8dKdP2VqoSNb8t4MZuJ8aEHNikQmsu5OaXh8u3zq6z8HTQwaHfmYeb6XlOTx0Cni0WbyjUH34FRfafs1lLoegTmKQ9_YTVl0HfwOA9QfWBnikTxoctIboarozyZrqNVGvacqa6lvc/s1600/photo%5B4%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Buc8dKdP2VqoSNb8t4MZuJ8aEHNikQmsu5OaXh8u3zq6z8HTQwaHfmYeb6XlOTx0Cni0WbyjUH34FRfafs1lLoegTmKQ9_YTVl0HfwOA9QfWBnikTxoctIboarozyZrqNVGvacqa6lvc/s640/photo%5B4%5D.JPG" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a tribute to my mother and father</td></tr>
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Pictured above is the altar that I am displaying at <b>Out North Contemporary Playhouse </b>in<b> </b>Anchorage for the celebration <i>Dia de Meurtos</i> that is currently open to the public. The altar is a tribute to my parents. You can see the many pipes that my father smoked and collected. (Ken, my husband, made the beautiful wooden showcase to highlight the pipes and it is the first time shown in public.) My mother, Jacqueline, was an avid knitter and a master seamstress. One of her sweaters is featured in the photograph as well. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoO4DLczhyAIDNVnSqG1DBaoI_Qkejmb5q2Czk-3Rfz4m0Chn8Kkb7b7FdFyE7B8eX7bJqTdqbAwIi7DWIIpX3kHONPyjFb7iwbe0KCdYFpmsOw0avO5Va_4PALlqqGoDP1pf9PfC2XrX/s1600/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghoO4DLczhyAIDNVnSqG1DBaoI_Qkejmb5q2Czk-3Rfz4m0Chn8Kkb7b7FdFyE7B8eX7bJqTdqbAwIi7DWIIpX3kHONPyjFb7iwbe0KCdYFpmsOw0avO5Va_4PALlqqGoDP1pf9PfC2XrX/s400/photo%5B3%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">detail of the altar</td></tr>
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My parents met in Switzerland during WWII. My mother was born in the French part of Switzerland, Lausanne, and as a war bride, my father wound up taking her back to the states to his home town in Albany, New York. I was born there too and several years later we moved to the Jersey Shore. My father was an historian, a linguist and free thinker. He studied theology where he obtained his PhD at <b>New York University. </b> The bottom photograph shows them lounging in the countryside of Switzerland. They were both superlative mentors/parents in my life and I love having the opportunity to dedicate a tribute to their couple.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my parents in Switzerland</td></tr>
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Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-4985194278740474602012-10-15T07:03:00.000-07:002012-10-15T07:03:05.452-07:00Sunday's Pink<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-76981606944966198002012-10-05T10:24:00.001-07:002012-10-05T12:03:02.174-07:00a manifest gift<br />
Never in a million years would I think to be butchering and quartering a moose; removing fat from the meat, grinding it and packaging it into sausages and other cuts made into potential romp roasts, crock pot flanks, fajita strips, and steaks. Some of the meat has been store processed into specialty jerky and moose bacon. At the end of the harvest, we yielded four hundred and seventy eight pounds of moose flesh! This took us a week to complete in between our other work.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdHTWX96RWJZJlOEj4BJqYV4YAetZ-N0iFLvxdgS4MbDVsAcsUMxOLzupgRe60RuMs7XWOHJykjt23eszHHZvXbYIMB7K0HL1DWn3o7CU5Zea9BVeOQ6v1er5U_UH-uwzdIcuKVOqpWLe/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQdHTWX96RWJZJlOEj4BJqYV4YAetZ-N0iFLvxdgS4MbDVsAcsUMxOLzupgRe60RuMs7XWOHJykjt23eszHHZvXbYIMB7K0HL1DWn3o7CU5Zea9BVeOQ6v1er5U_UH-uwzdIcuKVOqpWLe/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">preparing and prepping the meat</td></tr>
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<tr><td><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">As an artist, I cannot say I enjoyed the entire process but remained neutral most of the time, almost in awe by this activity; seeing the immense heart of the animal, the fantastic ligaments that hold the flesh intact on it's legs, the tongue and the deep, rich burgundy color of the moose revealed it's dense and powerful aura of life. It is very easy to be hypocritical in this matter especially if you are a meat eater but it was the awful blood shot caused by the bullet which was unsettling to me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnR4k-KjLuTlC_TICgzPvkqyPd_kv24Vzf_l1Nm30cCyc0Kt6riF-CJjIO51W6ulywZ29Dhc59hFSzhCqW0EfpKecv-gwCGTJ7MGRJh0uG6Vtn46ELTQIews1brmb4ZZZ_-tg1nj7MYL5/s1600/P1040566.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirnR4k-KjLuTlC_TICgzPvkqyPd_kv24Vzf_l1Nm30cCyc0Kt6riF-CJjIO51W6ulywZ29Dhc59hFSzhCqW0EfpKecv-gwCGTJ7MGRJh0uG6Vtn46ELTQIews1brmb4ZZZ_-tg1nj7MYL5/s400/P1040566.JPG" width="400" /></a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">flying into the hunting area, 20 miles northeast of Farewell Lakes, the party stayed at an unnamed lake off the South Fork of the Kuskokwim River</td></tr>
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There are restrictions to what you can hunt; the age of the animal, the antler size for example can sometimes make this activity slim picking and am told that these animals often starve to death after many years in the wilderness. Licenses and permits are expensive for hunters. If you get a bear for example, once you skin it, the hide and skull must be turned into the Fish and Game Department. I often hear that it is the idea or concept of going out and experiencing the pursuit that makes it interesting while many times people come up empty handed. Salmon fishing is accessible to all Alaskans making it an easy bounty and hunting game is the trickier circuit.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noah carrying the antlers back to camp</td></tr>
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When I moved up here from Los Angeles, I never had a clue about subsistence living. The Native Alaskan has been fishing and hunting for centuries. I am not a hunter and don't promote this activity, however there are reasons for hunting that exonerates this action. At the time of the killing, Natives give thanks for their reward from the land and feel that this capture was intended for them. There is great reverence and respect to the fall of an animal. I feel this way too and give great thanks to the creator for providing us with a life while deepening my spirit.</div>
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Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-63890443437809204912012-09-10T16:25:00.001-07:002012-09-10T16:41:22.477-07:00Alaskan portages<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyr7yCZ7M_qP8o0-UXHRgj4Xjqfmmvfo-P8meT8Yfy_q2EDEquiHOT8g1K6B8IZ4AcUzVS486Bg2-Ku-2VVYVE9pzvz7Dvp4oHuDemteP6Q0DdUD-VMkUH-_tJr_DsVrS4d3_ncrdeCGD/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyr7yCZ7M_qP8o0-UXHRgj4Xjqfmmvfo-P8meT8Yfy_q2EDEquiHOT8g1K6B8IZ4AcUzVS486Bg2-Ku-2VVYVE9pzvz7Dvp4oHuDemteP6Q0DdUD-VMkUH-_tJr_DsVrS4d3_ncrdeCGD/s640/photo.JPG" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pre fall floor mosaic</td></tr>
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After five portages; two very long land portages and three lake channels, we arrived at Lonely Lake on the Kenai Pennisula. It took us close to three and a half hours to arrive to our final campground. It rained all day and evening on Friday and continued to be overcast most of the time, but we enjoyed our company and had great fun chatting and touring the other lake islands during our four day venture.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our campground at Lonely Lakes</td></tr>
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Below is a glance of the exquisite grasses that grow in Alaska. I love these types of Alaskan wild reeds. The water channels were incredibly winding, muddy and narrow. On the way back home, the creator turned the fall colors up a notch. It was wonderful magic; golden brown lily pads and other scattered leaves arranged in the perfect aesthetic greeted us at each lake site.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lake grass </td></tr>
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Below, you can see who is doing much of the hard work rowing while I am quietly looking around for tidbits of inspiration. I find that being outside is physically challenging. It takes me a long day to immerse into the wilderness, finding the terrain entirely different from what we experience in our daily domestic existences. It is a natural treasure to be in nature, to be absorbed and foremost it is a great cleansing for the mind. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ken rowing in the background while I am observing</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-50428664714720065892012-08-16T22:22:00.001-07:002012-08-16T22:50:00.734-07:00August Ennui<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At the sports park, I often take my dog Blue for frequent walks. She doesn't go too far or demand much from me as far as throwing sticks or balls. Blue likes to sniff, eat the grass and while we walk around the perimeter of the field, I get to peruse and observe slowly what is around me. I forget that it is okay to linger, to watch, sit in the grass and play. </div>
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This time of year, I love observing the Alaskan grasses. I often take this environment for granted. This short film piece was taken the other day while I set up a tripod and filmed myself in certain locations around the area. There were the tall grasses that I played with by rolling over the ground or jumping from behind the tall reeds. For several years, I have been looking at this one particular grove of trees. They are formidable in appearance and mystical to me; standing together so elegantly and aligned perfectly to each other spoke of the aesthetic that I look for in my art. When I pieced and edited the project, I was taken aback at how small I was in comparison to the largeness of this forest. They remain dear to me and I promise I will never look at them the same way. These trees are remarkable, strong, enduring and fantastic.</div>
Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-9368946547633525022012-08-12T09:20:00.001-07:002012-08-12T09:20:30.637-07:00minute clip feeder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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During the past year I have been taking some video clips of our two bird feeders. The Chickadees come and go, never stay long enough for me to entirely observe them, but I pieced together a short collection of their activities. I love watching them flit in and out, making their short journeys to the feeders to grab some seeds while launching back to the branches, some resting while others disappear from sight. Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-69575453909498616742012-07-21T21:23:00.000-07:002012-07-22T09:07:30.137-07:00small treasures<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">small native American baskets made from the original rye grass material</td></tr>
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Last Wednesday, I attended a <b>Native American Basket Weaving Workshop</b>. It was sponsored by the municipality of Anchorage and I chose this as part of a community assignment to complete for a course I am taking that will secure my K-12 teaching credential. It was held at <b>Russian Jack Springs</b> at the<b> Lidia Selkregg Chalet. </b>I found that (formally) Lidia Lippi was born in Florence, Italy and then married Fred Selkregg during WWII. She became a activist and environmentalist, a doctor in the field of land management where she fought for watershed properties in Anchorage. Recently inducted into <b>Alaska's</b> <b>Hall of Fame</b>, she passed away in 1999. <b>Russian Jack Springs</b> was discovered from Jacob or "Jack" Marunenko, a Russian emigrant, around 1930 and while he homesteaded the property, it was bought out during the war and actually used as a prison and rehabilitation center for alcoholics. It was soon turned into a recreational park. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one of the books available to peruse during our workshop</td></tr>
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Often surprised with the hidden gems in Anchorage that I stumble upon, taking for granted the history of place, the roots of where I live and the people around me restores my sense of station. The two unfinished baskets pictured above are made from the natural rye grass material that the native people used to weave their baskets. The rye grass was harvested in bundles when soft and when dried, the strands were split into threads to complete the weaving. Some baskets are extravagant and beautiful, embossed with silk and wool embroidery. The native people would use these baskets for functional purposes to gather berries, dried fish and nuts. Shown below is my own creation made from rattan strands. I chose rattan that had been soaking in onion skins and complimented it with a natural berry color threads. The instruction was invaluable and I learned a great lesson that day. At times we had to soak our beginning creations in a vat of cold water to keep the strands supple and workable. Eventually, you discovered the process of weaving by absorbing part of the heritage too! My basket will be used for study and take me to another arena in my own personal art making. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my humble Native American Twined Basket </td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-86801732849622658102012-07-02T18:25:00.003-07:002012-07-02T22:11:08.311-07:00summertime stretch<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Intermezzo</i></b>, mixed media on board, 12" x 12", 2012<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Summer is usually a high energy time for me; sunshine, long hours and uninterrupted periods in the studio gives me an abundance of new works. Shown above in this art piece, <i><b> Intermezzo</b></i>, I am playing with mixed media, which is usually an interim work used for study, play and a rest from painting. Below, <i><b>It is just the way it is,</b></i> is my first experimentation with cement and wood, one of my more sculptural pieces and is my favorite test to date.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>It's just the way it is,</b></i> cement and wood, 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Hand Study</b></i>, oil on canvas, 10" x 12", 2012<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Next month, August 3rd on the 1st Friday event, I will be showing new paintings called<i><b> Painting Hands</b></i> at the <i><b>Alaska</b></i> <i><b>Humanities Forum. </b></i> It won't be a huge exhibit, but it entertains the notion of working directly on the canvas surface and letting the paint speak for itself.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Seemingly Unfinished, Painting Hands,</b></i> oil on canvas, 38" x 26", 2012<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Below is the painting called <i><b>Summertime Stretch</b></i>, my newest work, with cement hands and painterly gestures of outstretched hands this art work entails a stencil of my own arms. I continue to make other works and look forward to more three dimensional creations.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMRwCTAlGiOiFZRtJufgnVIKx4ju8mhS_qCg4EQ_M6TkSm94kb0g1bym3P5VCnIv61XdZMUXwiq74-Mh6TR7M1XPvvgFhT-60rJJowCaWwg3cdmBXtrAKGX2EhpC-tF4GncvvnBRz_jv6/s1600/summertime+stretch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMRwCTAlGiOiFZRtJufgnVIKx4ju8mhS_qCg4EQ_M6TkSm94kb0g1bym3P5VCnIv61XdZMUXwiq74-Mh6TR7M1XPvvgFhT-60rJJowCaWwg3cdmBXtrAKGX2EhpC-tF4GncvvnBRz_jv6/s400/summertime+stretch.JPG" width="355" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Summertime Stretch,</b></i> cement and oil on canvas, 38" x 26", 2012</td></tr>
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<br />Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-29406132957985922182012-06-18T22:03:00.000-07:002012-06-19T07:25:59.231-07:00a ten year's best<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0wUVvDHvPi_ZVNX7CflVbkXoNrzhzar00xLAfc_ieUgX4MzDTL4_IPmBPfTGEeotI6itHqyjM3P2B8BrVNlCSBMq36_noU85iGg5Lv-oe1S-9k5mvzcFu_Alxs0xNF5BlcJwR9HhQ2N3/s1600/DSC01075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0wUVvDHvPi_ZVNX7CflVbkXoNrzhzar00xLAfc_ieUgX4MzDTL4_IPmBPfTGEeotI6itHqyjM3P2B8BrVNlCSBMq36_noU85iGg5Lv-oe1S-9k5mvzcFu_Alxs0xNF5BlcJwR9HhQ2N3/s400/DSC01075.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the valley while entering the Knik Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoBIRTQhgQM4clG_hjKsM0zOW6pN6MN-dfpTu7pHiTV8t9VrUzMcbnHl9HAdkBsLK86TRSAQ8HGow2EdXqY92WiRtwonVF-Y16nYATfgUb4uF3oX-xiCdAt0s9cgkn3FIWZYuEZE1Il_M/s1600/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpoBIRTQhgQM4clG_hjKsM0zOW6pN6MN-dfpTu7pHiTV8t9VrUzMcbnHl9HAdkBsLK86TRSAQ8HGow2EdXqY92WiRtwonVF-Y16nYATfgUb4uF3oX-xiCdAt0s9cgkn3FIWZYuEZE1Il_M/s400/photo%5B2%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dehaviland Beaver, Canadian made circa 55<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For our tenth year wedding anniversary gift, Ken decided to put me on a float plane. Taking off from Lake Hood, (one of the largest float plane centers in the country), this Dehaviland Beaver was made in Canada and is one of a kind.<br /><br /> Ken completes four surveys a year in this plane, spending close to seven days cramped up, wearing uncomfortable head phones with sometimes warm and stuffy air (although I was told you can open a window at one point while flying.) This is the highlight of his work as he camps out in remote areas in Alaska and knows the state intimately through these journeys.<br /><br />It was an hour and a half tourist ride for me and two Australians couples who accompanied me. I grabbed for the co pilot's seat and they didn't seem to mind, since they wanted to sit together. Without the head phones on, the sound is deafening; you could ask questions to the pilot while he also gave out some information on the settings. We flew four thousand feet up; amazed at the valley and the Knik Glacier presented a tremendous view.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouM-IXMCScLlHxf_EHLdRMNMoRoHxq9xQdhajMUpkU_jxr6hO3MmxU9fq8weXKrptvkHrRh8OmYvlZiaz6xjrwNCgEC3BD6oF_Jn2RehUjIhO0If97u4RuMZdjIhQpIe9EksLGh1ZqFY3/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouM-IXMCScLlHxf_EHLdRMNMoRoHxq9xQdhajMUpkU_jxr6hO3MmxU9fq8weXKrptvkHrRh8OmYvlZiaz6xjrwNCgEC3BD6oF_Jn2RehUjIhO0If97u4RuMZdjIhQpIe9EksLGh1ZqFY3/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in the co pilot seat<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /> While flying, I snapped several pictures. One person commented on the photography and I remarked that you cannot take a bad picture. Pictured below are two of my favorite shots of the Knik Glacier. They are like abstract paintings but somewhat better I have to admit!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-svcvMNnNIwhs5x3QpJR3AzEt-tDoWVCNMbKz9Cl1_WebmZlu5DAN4EQGbcbZ2EO3FTXDz_tlm2gvj0JHBC0exNSv2DcPujy4s4FdIVQ5ekirQirb9MNXsKwb29892DVZf3ksZC8Z-D4/s1600/DSC01092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx-svcvMNnNIwhs5x3QpJR3AzEt-tDoWVCNMbKz9Cl1_WebmZlu5DAN4EQGbcbZ2EO3FTXDz_tlm2gvj0JHBC0exNSv2DcPujy4s4FdIVQ5ekirQirb9MNXsKwb29892DVZf3ksZC8Z-D4/s640/DSC01092.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">like a painting - glacier view from above<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlZbv699xzSkP35ocXSOdIkqnRvO0Wt2NDBmgeIk8ShvIBJMxNVAEVoHQpOM6KTF0_oWZot4tzS_Iopyg9trYgQv_I299hWL5EJRo6e1SZrDOzmMdsTPQLRcofJ7DjAghwZ15JjgsoctQ/s1600/DSC01098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlZbv699xzSkP35ocXSOdIkqnRvO0Wt2NDBmgeIk8ShvIBJMxNVAEVoHQpOM6KTF0_oWZot4tzS_Iopyg9trYgQv_I299hWL5EJRo6e1SZrDOzmMdsTPQLRcofJ7DjAghwZ15JjgsoctQ/s640/DSC01098.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">another glacier study from above</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-63220510032563981232012-06-01T09:56:00.003-07:002012-06-01T10:14:01.154-07:00wrapping around NYC<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9Tl-FZXzKT9mvJEfFDpVmOfh9pGxcv3Lg55wunybLjfRP7MyEfDEkMh13pdyrjOC8Z9eDUOllXpknS_b3hnBT6kT4hg9FbshH5HGJWRS4cKoVCAUkyCvK8jTpmL1_gfMRvOVOhaZ7whe/s1600/at+the+Met.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9Tl-FZXzKT9mvJEfFDpVmOfh9pGxcv3Lg55wunybLjfRP7MyEfDEkMh13pdyrjOC8Z9eDUOllXpknS_b3hnBT6kT4hg9FbshH5HGJWRS4cKoVCAUkyCvK8jTpmL1_gfMRvOVOhaZ7whe/s400/at+the+Met.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">at the Metropolitan, New York City<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This past week, I visited New York with a friend from my graduate school days from Long Beach, California. We decided to stay in the city and focus the week on viewing art. We did just that! Our experiences ranged from exhaustion, delight and to extreme surprise; staying at the <b>Jane Hotel</b> reminded us that visiting New York was a feat if you wanted to do it on reasonable costs. Our hotel room was barely a large closet with bunk beds and a bathroom to share (with how many others, we didn't want to know! You would tepidly visit the bathroom hoping you wouldn't see the other users.) However, the shower was amazingly wonderful; the establishment gave you sweet robes, fresh water and the downstairs cafe hosted a substantial breakfast for a good cost. We decided that we would do this experience all over again. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZwxwyU4Aa6JLDCEAKDk831duuxMVSgBeb9NznMDBD-e7KjgJ9sAEDxSrkcN-yriME4gyoF7vc2xsM_KTAZXvaLjEYbB_7a1YY9Dt6hRW7nnId8xlb-Q4vo_oTuIiNCrJ9IwZQzREMcF7/s1600/DSC00934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNZwxwyU4Aa6JLDCEAKDk831duuxMVSgBeb9NznMDBD-e7KjgJ9sAEDxSrkcN-yriME4gyoF7vc2xsM_KTAZXvaLjEYbB_7a1YY9Dt6hRW7nnId8xlb-Q4vo_oTuIiNCrJ9IwZQzREMcF7/s400/DSC00934.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roman sarcophagus, Metropolitan Museum, New York City<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Above, was one of my favorite Roman sculptures. This work of art is amazingly full, rich in detail and is exquisite to behold. The city is crammed of wondrous adventures and eye candy of bustling life. I find that when I experience the presence of antiquities, it is easier to examine these works than the raucous behavior of contemporary art. These masterpieces are old and established. I found myself dreading and at the same time loving visiting the modern art facilities. Once at the contemporary art spaces though, I found myself diving into the void and by turning my psyche around, I would just let it wander. It is a hard thing to do but I would compare it to a little bit like falling in love. Try it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLhpB7oX5z_fB0OlqCzFoMYoT_U8vFgTq_UiwUopv4vg7McD4SG6GRTCWcox5lJw-eeShDwoKhspK3nSAmsbzgYA1bFj_QhK7wOHe9dRpU3iCTKoUu-8gshAyfNWn9Ci7IrZXAUBEmvpe/s1600/DSC01019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLhpB7oX5z_fB0OlqCzFoMYoT_U8vFgTq_UiwUopv4vg7McD4SG6GRTCWcox5lJw-eeShDwoKhspK3nSAmsbzgYA1bFj_QhK7wOHe9dRpU3iCTKoUu-8gshAyfNWn9Ci7IrZXAUBEmvpe/s640/DSC01019.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chakaia Booker's tire sculptures, Chelsea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6807932410912491529.post-41306325913679823732012-05-09T21:13:00.000-07:002012-05-11T10:47:55.374-07:00the things we think about <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgprbYVKuZ3cWWN_N8a3upKpJQXFvSMB-WdHrovjzX7Ho6suMvSGirosFj3X6EmXP0PWHEU6DGeyCp7JckXK2eQSHn4gO_SaduaqqoQqvwDJJGAQJ_wBke-eYGIM4k4iCi1Umg3kJ841q/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXgprbYVKuZ3cWWN_N8a3upKpJQXFvSMB-WdHrovjzX7Ho6suMvSGirosFj3X6EmXP0PWHEU6DGeyCp7JckXK2eQSHn4gO_SaduaqqoQqvwDJJGAQJ_wBke-eYGIM4k4iCi1Umg3kJ841q/s400/images.jpeg" width="342" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matisse's The Piano Lesson<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">As an artist, we do lots of different things to get by to do our craft, to have the freedom to think and respond openly. Aside from teaching college classes I substitute teach to make extra money to travel. Today, I was at Service High School filling in for the choir teacher. Her classroom was this theatre arena laced with chairs in a semi circle that grew in tiers and in the center was the <i>Grand Piano</i>. This setting took me back to my piano teacher named Mrs. Corio who lived in Neptune City on Slyvania Avenue in New Jersey. As a fifteen year old, my mother would faithfully drop me off at her home every week while I had my hour long lesson. I taught myself how to read music early on in my childhood. We had a modest standard <b>Baldwin</b> piano growing up. When I lived in Los Angeles, I bought a <b>Haddorf</b> with ivory keys. My former husband owns it now in lieu of my absence.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> Art is puzzle solving, an engagement of the mind focusing on the unconscious level; more or less it can be termed as the abstract piecing together ideas into forming concrete tangible statements. Piano lessons taught me about discipline and applying the mind while reading a barrage of flats, sharps, tempos and at the same time learning how to touch the keys and translate the feelings that were present in the piece. Playing music put me in touch with a variety of waltzes, Russian and Hungarian folk polkas and fantasy melancholic landscapes. The piano taught me great drama, expression and it was when I had my first recital on stage. My mother was always present at these affairs. When I played my recital piece it was a fast and furious display of memorization and it was also to be my last formal music performance</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;">. I loved looking through the foreign language of classical music books that our piano bench contained holding the mystery of an obscured beauty in papers.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: small;">How often we take these experiences for granted and I realized today how I had long forgotten Mrs. Corio. She was a good teacher and possibly one of my first unrecognized art mentors. While she was strict, she also had a great sense of humor; am not sure if she liked me (or if I liked her either), but she enjoyed extending her knowledge, was sincere, and passionate while passing on her skills of what she knew about music. Who could have cared? Today, I thought about the piano that I grew up with in our household. It was an instrument of learning. Years ago, I had learned that Mrs. Corio died of cancer. Presently, I don't miss the piano though because I opted to become a painter. This activity is more of a natural expression to me but the notes, signs, and symbols that I learned from reading music often appear in my canvasses today. </span></td></tr>
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Alaska's Dirthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01840352526639642801noreply@blogger.com0