Alaska's Dirt

time out of mind

2012-02-03T08:51:00.000-08:00

The past loomed in front of me as I tried to doze off late last night. Unexpected recollections popped up from old haunts of long ago.

The scent of sea breezes drifted into my psyche when I was carefree and thinking of that period of innocence, I was almost there, feeling that utter freedom of lightness. If there was trouble and worries at that moment, I didn't know it. Where did that sensation go? Jersey coasted past me. Grand vistas of the shoreline; the meeting place of first night dates, parked cars with timid conversations, afternoon dips, sunrise services, warm, humid kisses, the scent of pizza, jammed beer bars and hot boardwalk.

I was in love with the sea. It stretched endlessly for miles with waves of heat rising in rivulets above the wide beach sands; the ocean insurmountable, not comprehending the beauty of it all, I gave up and immersed into it's nothingness.

The sea was my refuge and I would escape to this landscape easily embracing the openness, the horizon always there greeting me with predictability. It was a mystery and fantasy land of tall grasses, rollings surfs, jetties, old fishing piers, white grasshoppers and lazy days. Why did I leave this paradise?

I have missed this space again and again sometimes fretting if these memories ever existed, drifting away out of sight, out of mind. How happy I am to be able to retrieve this place and at the same time how sadly I recognize these years gone by.

manic winter months

2012-01-18T13:38:00.000-08:00

We stayed home for Christmas this year and the weather proved to be the coldest I have ever experienced in Alaska. The endless snow upon snow is beautiful but at times I feel like I am drowning in it. Roads become like tunnels and neighborhood streets narrower; playing chicken is a thought that passes through my mind as a solitary oncoming car competes to get by. Mornings are usually difficult because I am not compelled to go outdoors, so I wind up cooking and doing studio work. Otherwise, I am determined to get out to walk, ski or sometimes ride my studded bike on the streets. My outfits consist of wearing face coverings, heavy duty gloves, large boots or sorrels and layered clothing is essential. The other day I walked with a girlfriend and we hiked to a summit close by on O'Malley Road. The sun was brazenly bright and after trudging in the snow for twenty minutes, I became warm and the below zero temperatures became unnoticeable.

In the five weeks however, during our Christmas break, we did manage to complete our house insulation. Endless, long hours and tedious dirty work amounted to Ken working and finishing this job. Hats off to Ken for his persistence and focused energy.

The library, my favorite place in Anchorage, is a great resource of travel books and free foreign films. The other day, I watched a Finnish film set in Helsinki and the environment was austere, existential and empty. It reminded me a lot about where I live presently.

My first remembrances of Anchorage are empty cafes laced with lingering iced air. Everything becomes a contest in the cold and while you fight the wind, you gingerly place your feet carefully because of the chances of slipping on sometimes slick pavement. There is an abstract sense of wilderness; you identify with the fur hats and empty cold banked curbs as a special place. Yet these things produce a remote sense of obscurity, and still begs for a foreignness of adventure. Years ago, Ken and I would sit by Earthquake Park and look out over the dark wide inlet vista that seemed to stretch for eternity. The tinkering lights on the horizon gave you some landing place of perspective. You forget people you have met at one time in the area because they become different looking throughout the year; either in bike gear, scarves, sunglasses or turbaned with the latest winter hat gives sway to another hidden persona. The Alaskan dark is the heaviest and most poignant element, but the one challenge of Alaska that I have seemed to beat. Alaska becomes an indoor place, of wood stove furnaces, fireplaces and engagements that bring you closer to one another. Upon entering my home, I find myself rushing around the house to beat the chill or to replenish the empty firewood box. I rush outside to warm up the truck, race to the mailbox across the street, rush inside from being outside. It is a fleeting place and it has become a restless place for me. My junctions to the college campus become mini field trips and I hole up before class reading and drinking coffee. After the Christmas holidays, flickering lights remain on the window sill to brighten my early morning days with optimism. I look forward to crashing early evenings spending time reading in bed but rise early to make up for any lost time.

Winter has caused me to reflect and feel Alaska; a bitter sweet sensation of living place. It is still a journey living here and it has taught me more about surviving than any other place. Alaska is an acute physical existence. You see the densely packed mountains tops and feel removed from this landscape but you know it's grandeur exists. It is the sense of nature that brings me to feeling powerless and not in control because this magnificent terrain remains untouchable.

Tree of Life

2011-12-22T10:32:00.001-08:00

I recently viewed the film The Tree of Life directed by Terrence Malick, starring Brad Pitt, Sean Penn and Jessica Chastain. While I was skeptical at first with many of the photography images I thought pretentious kitsch overload in the movie making domain, it won my heart over. It is a must see and a recommended movie for everyone. The film can be slow, beginning with the birth of three boys and their gradual maturity. The death of the oldest son makes the film go back and forth abstractly to their childhood home and family. It takes place in the 50's and Brad Pitt expressed the mood and tension poignantly of his character. It is a reflective piece and a quiet honest psychological observation on the thoughts from the characters. It is a subtle and hopeful film of quality.

closer to hand

2011-11-28T19:13:00.001-08:00

Above is a new work titled Tuxedo Moon. I have chosen a few works that were completed this past month inspired by my visit to the Utah landscape. These works are drawings with oil stick and paint on watercolor paper, all approximately 18" x 20". They were done spontaneously with great ease and clarity. The theme of the work is based on the hourglass formations that I saw from the desert terrain. I noted the rock cathedrals; beautifully orchestrated natural lines of symmetry mixed with the plant life have their own aesthetics and beauty formed over millions of years.
The artwork pictured above is titled Canyon Cup. I like these works because they are simply drawn and implied. Abstract work is the hardest to comprehend and probably the least accepting of all art movements. When I discuss the theory of abstract to my classes I inform students that we usually do most of our thinking abstractly. It is a hard concept to embrace because of it's elusiveness.
Above the piece is called Canyon Torso and the piece below is called Hourglass Landscape. Colors are indicative of the country that I saw; vast expanses of red soil, peppered with green Juniper trees and of course the brilliant blue sky was a constant.
My favorite piece is called Arrowhead Dress pictured below. These are contemporary pieces of art; works done for the now and studies of how my mind works, never taking or copying from photographs but are drawn from my imagination. They are a collective body of impressions that are greatly thought about, studied, and reworked to fit my understanding of the subject at hand.

China and staying inspired

2011-11-21T14:27:00.000-08:00

Currently, I am reading a novel called River Town by Peter Hessler. He writes his accounts and personal experiences while as a Peace Corps college instructor in the town called Fuling located in the Sichuan Valley. (While Fuling isn't located on the above map, you can locate the nearby city called Chengdu.) His depictions of the Chinese people are intriguing; dealing with educating the country people in this area, Hessler teaches English literature. He expresses how the peasants absorb themselves in Shakespeare and Beowulf easily and how they naturally experience the language. They work hard with comprehending the prose and don't complain about the difficulty of nuances. Hessler talks about the Yangtze River, the Wu River which runs south of the Yangtze, and the Three Gorges Dam. This past summer I watched a documentary on the Yangtze River; the relocation of hundreds of villagers that would have to move from the valley because of the construction of the dam but were given better accommodations in exchange. However, I saw the eventual rise of the river tides progressively increase, farmers thrown from their fields while being virtually displaced was criminal. Hessler goes on describing the river and the river industry, his relationship with the Chinese and his experiences learning the Chinese language. He gives great detail on the politics and historical context on this area.

While Ken and I have plans to go to China next year, we usually go away for the winter season but house repairs and an update for a new computer made us decide to spend a Christmas in Anchorage. It will be our first Christmas in the state of Alaska in nine years. I look forward to setting up a tree and making it festive, cooking and spending time in the studio. However, I need to stay inspired and these trips abroad fuel my creative capacities.

But I did get to spend some time this past October; mountain biking in Southern Utah gave me incentive to work on some drawings on this spectacular landscape. In fact, I have become attached to drawing and like how I am closer to the paper - realizations are purer and embody the hand. These are works that color, line and composition do the talking - nothing else, no fragments, or bits of paper, collaging or fabric remnants feeding the expression.

It is hard for me to stay inspired and immersed in the art process. It is a continual challenge and struggle. These trips give me the impetus to remain focused and engaged. Making art connects me to my center and I love the introspection of the studio. There is something about leaving a place of comfort and seeing other cultures, people, and experiencing their ways of doing things. I have always had a restless spirit and need to go and see. Perhaps, staying in Alaska during the core winter months will ignite some ingenious drawings on the other hand.

king of the mountain

2011-10-22T13:39:00.000-07:00

By biking and through a generous group of organizers of feisty Alaskan women, I got to the state of Utah. Immediately upon landing in Green River, I reconnected to the desert and realized how much I missed this landscape. It was an expansion of dry land, warm air and a scent of sage that greeted me. The Moab Airport is a quiet gem and I landed in a Beecraft 1900 after a layover from Denver; it is a small aircraft that sits not more than eighteen people. The airport has one landing strip and you are greeted with your baggage at the foot of the plane. I loved the intimacy of the building and this southwestern unpopulated domain made it an authentic and a novel establishment.

Upon being picked up by Brin, (our fabulous guide that would lead us throughout the biking territory of the Maze in the Moab), we rode for thirty five minutes to the Comfort Inn where I was meeting the rest of the bikers. While driving there and seeing familiar desert scape, I had forgotten the dinginess of place, the forlorn atmosphere, but the wide expanse of the sky extinguished these sights as quickly as the highway surged and sprinkled passing cars and trucks coming and going in it's desolateness. This is the romantic west; the heat pleasurable, where open half domed skies are immense, almost too blue to believe. The color is indescribable; a dense aqua and teal with the intensity of cobalt intermingled might be a fair description. Clouds lingered in the sky, floating Magritte fashion. Underlined the puffs were a purple, dark gray and these shapes dangled like cotton candy balls, hovering far away but still they seemed touchable.

Once at the Comfort Inn, I walked next door to the Museum of Green River and perused the information on the valley. It was a good introduction into the state; often forgetting America's greatness and the founding explorers that discovered this great terrain was a favorable surprise and a good reminder to stay humble.

The next five days would be filled with an assortment of gifts; great cycling among the paths of the Moab, climbing a bit here and there, and reaching to wonderful tops of jaw dropping spread out sights of wide canyons among canyons. Every where I turned I was aghast with the scale and magnitude of beauty; orchestras of Junipers trees and dotted sagebrush pressed against the red land, giant sculptural rock formations made me think of the Egyptian tombs and wall drawings of ancient times, conical pyramidal shapes were reflections of the remoteness of place pressed centuries of time to my face. I might have been on the Moon! Masses of brush would be contrasted to the hard blue sky as the evening would crash with a lit full moon creating assemblages of wonderful color and arrangement. The wake up morning light was clear, casting a yellow glow on the surrounding mountains and desert fields.

The biking wasn't difficult for me, while traveling the long roads could sometimes be monotonous the paths were redeemed by the heat. That glorious constant sun kept me reeling in the miles which seemed effortless as this keen energy source beat on my legs and the side of my face; I felt fantastic and would end fantastic at the end of the day's ride. You could describe some of the trails as jeep trails, dusty and soft red dirt and other times if you weren't careful you could speed down an incline to some deep ruts that could throw you out of control.

Above, is one of my favorite pictures. I took about four hundred pictures of the desert and choose thirty to post on Facebook. We ended our rides sitting and chatting around the fire; good camaraderie and assortment of characters sparked our adventure. The food was wonderful with a healthy balance of fresh fruits, salads and fish or meat. We were given choices and a varied menu each morning, lunch and dinner. Our guides, Brin and Ben, were there to help and suggest alternatives if there were any questions to where to ride. Most of it seemed impromptu but I admired this because the trip was tailored to every one's needs and fitted every one's comfort level. Hats off to the Alaska Dirt Divas!

last night's poem

2011-08-24T08:36:00.000-07:00

just for a moment I thought I smelled the excitement of lingering sea air, ocean big with expectations of tomorrow

now, rain drops hit and miss my ears making sounds of random the night time, bedtime when the dark is back

a small breeze seems to catch me though, filling the room with another type of enchantment

summer strands

2011-08-20T16:10:00.001-07:00

It is Monday morning and a quiet time to reflect, again, and these spells seep into my days as I observe the state of affairs, our country and our direction. While working in the studio, I put on NPR; my favorite news channel keeps me up to date and in tune with the rest of the world but I shut it off too, focusing on my paintings for space to think and to resolve creative questions that need my full attention. However, the news seems overpoweringly gloomy and full of despair and I cannot help but sink into this attitude that our condition is indeed unstable.

Above is a shaped tapestry. During the past few months, I set up three work stations in my studio. One consists of painting larger works with smaller drawing/painting studies. The second and intermittent activity are the tapestry wall hangings and constructed pieces that are physically demanding and throw a wrench into my psyche as a painter. These pieces are sculptural and I find myself wrestling with these works; the canvas and paint, the sewing on top of sewn remnants forces me to struggle and realize how little I am in control of this travail.Shown above and below are sketchbook entries which is my third area of the studio and the most fun to do. My sketchbook is like my time off. These drawings are bits and pieces of history that I have collected over the years but have decided to enter them into one book. On the other hand, I have taken reproductions from discarded art books and transformed them to coordinate with other pages. I like the pairing of each.

August landscapes

2011-08-09T14:55:00.000-07:00

With the beginning of August, summer shifted drastically - light became dark early in the am and then the rains started. For me, this weather was productive and I found myself in the studio groove working on smaller landscapes studies. This ample time of activity will change too since school starts and I will be busy catching up on income. Above, is my favorite study of trees. How many times can you duplicate trees and reinvent landscapes?

Above and below are more studies on nature landscapes. They are mixed media paintings. I take a lot of remnants that collect from around the house; odds and ends of fabric and old photos and other scraps seem to show up in my artwork. These bits of paper or college materials build a nice foundation or I call it a lift to heighten the work. They invigorate me. You can glue and tear off these extra pieces of paper or objects and the result can push you in another direction.

Monday's contemplative

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

While I listen to Berlioz's La Damnation de Faust, I sit and stare out the window at the waving trees against the light gray of the sky realizing how I love the constant changing of weather from day to day. Am not a big opera buff either but decided to explore more of this expression while working in the studio and around the house. (I also picked up Verdi's Otello) but now as I observe the outside, I think about what I have done here since my move to Anchorage ten years ago. Here are just a few things worth mentioning in no specific order:

1 - My dog Blue, who is a 130 pound Newfoundland lies asleep by the door. She has been around our home for close to seven years. During that time, I have learned how to groom her, clip her gigantic nails and pay attention to her delicate health of fragile limbs and allergic ears. We manage to take walks through the grasses and down to the creek where she loves to cool her paws.
2 - I have learned how to handle a mountain bike and roam the hillsides of Anchorage with fellow bikers. This group dynamic has challenged a different entourage in my life and tested my ability to see people from other parts of the town. Learning to bike on a treacherous terrain too goes with part of the cyclist journey; long winding bumpy grounds sometimes laced with roots, rocks and an odd assemblage of growth can spin you into the air over the handlebars if you are not careful.
3 - I have been able to teach art appreciation and drawing classes at the University of Alaska; being immersed in a learning environment has helped me grow to know more about the art that I do, why I do it, what it really is, and expand this knowledge to the community.
4 - My studio is behind my house and every day I take a short walk behind my home and climb the steps to my sacred place. Never have I had this luxury in the past. The time I can spend on my work has been fruitful, long, thoughtfull periods mixed with unproductive spans of creative blocks while some of it has been ground breaking and other times monotonous. Living here in Anchorage has given me a different perspective of place in contrast to a large city. Big city pretentiousness has begun to peel off of my shoulders little by little.
5 - (Need I mention the incredible setting and nature parts that surrounds my periphery while I drive to places around town and can visit on a daily basis?)
6 - Being able to travel and see parts of the world has advanced my artistic persona. My partner of ten years is a great companion; we have reinvented our home, our lives to fit a fulfilling existence while I envision more adventure ahead.

P.S. - Days ago I was battling with the half full/half empty dilemma. Today, I am in the full mode and recognize how quickly the contents can drain from the glass. Saying that, I feel that I lifted the jinx and can exclaim good times!

shifting landscapes of experience

2011-07-18T13:56:00.001-07:00

Shifting landscapes are a series of studies on line, color and space using oil stick and paints. They are casual and abstract renderings of the environment that I see around me while I frequent the outdoors. I reinterpret these surroundings in another way aside from the traditional landscapes that are easily recognizable such as visable mountains, trees, creeks and the lush green that inhabits the Alaskan summers. My works are progressive and ongoing studies and looking at these images can change day to day.

These two works, pictured above and below are studies on clouds. Many times when I am working in the studio, I have no idea where my drawings and paintings will lead me. They are manifestations of the collective unconscious, a Jungian concept that includes a universal library of human knowledge, or sage in the man or the very transcendental wisdom that guides mankind. Jungian theory focuses on dreams and symbols. Certain archetypes are the structure of the collective unconscious such as birth, death, power and failure. I studied Jung in California and as I write this I feel the need to reimmerse myself back into Jung's writings. While at college, I started out as a psychology major and delve into languages, gradually changing to the fine arts after moving to Los Angeles, California. Writing this blog helps me sort out my thoughts and inner/hidden reflections and uncovers the past bringing new discoveries to the present.

summer and time

2011-07-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

Long days with light and uninterrupted periods of space to reflect and to spread out in the sun maybe watering each plant attentively with quiet is a luxury. These gems dominate my summer until I think about the Atlantic Ocean long ago, so vast and sparking with glittering stars atop the surface. I once laid upon my stomach on the sand loving each sensation of time, observing the small tubular water drops that lingered on my tan arms from a recent dip. Feeling my warm breath, I never wanted this moment to vanish. Hot, humid days of people parading the shore with that stunning horizon that I looked at a million times but didn't see and didn't take the time to reflect upon its greatness until now, as I miss this thirty years later.

Summer days can be all absorbing. I make sure I have time to observe the birds, the heat and the blue in between the spaces of the tree leaves as they wave saying how happy they are. Light chime songs are competing with the sounds of the wind that dominates this occasion. I cannot tell the difference between the beauty of past/present. They melt into one. They are inseparable.

sometimes an unusual aesthetic

2011-06-30T12:43:00.001-07:00

What every artist depends upon are materials; a good find usually inspires me to get motivated and pushes me into another direction. In this case, I took some old art books that were being discarded from the schools and reinvented them into mixed media works. Sculptural works can be pleasant and this exercise stems around shaping the piece by gutting the contents of the book, adding paint and collaging techniques. The above work is called Botticelli's Prayer Beads.

For a few years, I had been taking old canvasses and reshaping them by sewing and molding them into objects. Another term for these pieces can be tapestries or scrolls. Fascinated with the aspect of taking painting elements but working without stretcher bars tends to be a tedious production for me. They are works in progress. (The above hasn't a title yet.) Pictured below is a detail of This is where I want to be - tales from a wall flower. The size is 72" x 45" and my more interesting work of unstretched canvas to date, however, time usually tells me if it is indeed anything I want to hold onto.

Pictured below is the entire piece of the sewn canvas. These works present challenges to me, so I continue onward because I like the physicality of each, the questions, the struggle, doubts and insecurities of trying to make something speak to me. Making artwork is also like having an intellectual conversation with myself, like solving a puzzle or mystery. It is elusive, engaging and mysterious.

summer night light reading

2011-06-16T07:09:00.000-07:00

Finally tired of imaginary stories and authors lingering with their indulgent banter, I decided to do a reading switch this summer and examine nonfiction. Loussac Libary is my favorite place to go in Anchorage and it was my first destination when I first arrived to Alaska ten years ago. The library does incredibly well; often needing inner library loans, they provide them quickly and meet your demands.

Last Sunday though, I decided to peruse the travel area of the library and picked up two books; one that I recently finished called Among Flowers, A Walk in the Himalaya by Jamaica Kincaid. I grabbed Kincaid's book excitedly because I had read her years ago in the New Yorker and was touched by her candid and open writing dialogue. (Kincaid is from Antigua and she told of her first experiences arriving to New York and what she had to do to survive in the big city.) Her style is a bit clunky but when you get past it, her honesty becomes bitter sweet and she takes you step by step into her crossings. This story in particular examined a two week journey into the Himalaya with a group of other naturalists while they collected seeds for their gardens back in Wales and Vermont. How novel I thought! Kincaid expresses her fears so openly and brings new insights into her trail wanderings that I felt I made the journey with her. Here is a short passage from her book - As I walked and observed, each plant, be it tree, shrub, or herbaceous perennial, seemed perfect in its setting or in its sighting. I was in fact looking at Nature, or the thing called so, and I was also looking at a garden. The garden is an invention, the garden is an awareness, a self-consciousness, an artifice. Eden is never far from the gardener's mind. It is The Garden to which we all refer, whether we know it or not.

Another book I picked up is called No Mercy, A Journey to the Heart of the Congo by Redmond O'Hanlon. Africa is one of my long times places to travel and had seen parts of Egypt years ago, but am fascinated with the western area of this huge continent not to mention the miles of expanse into other countries that would be equally spellbinding to visit.

(And by the way, last summer, I read a work of fiction called Small Island by Andrea Levy. I would hope all books would carry a brilliant prose such as Levy completed making your reading time a worthy investment. It takes place in London and Jamaica; weaving in and out of these places, carrying colorful and beautiful characters that you will not forget. It makes you believe that good contemporary literature exists and it stands out from many books on the market.)

Other books on my list for this summer are The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir, Nothing Daunted by Wickenton, Desperate Characters by Paula Fox and The Journals of Delacroix to name a few......not to mention my library meanderings that always bring continual surprises to my table.

our house

2011-06-07T07:34:00.000-07:00

Seven years ago, Ken and I bought one of the worse homes on the neighborhood street in an area of town considered as the old part of Anchorage located on the lower south side. We live across the street from the inlet and do not boast of the spectacular views that our neighbors have across the street from us. During spring time, we wake up to the mating calls and cries of many birds; are situated beautifully with a periphery of mountains and open expanse that is so accessible and minutes within walking distance making a short trip to this splendid area often ignored, forgotten and taken for granted.

The house across the street has been vacant for almost two years and is too expensive for anyone to afford it, I am guessing. I treat this situation as a opportunity, as I wander over in the back yard that leads down to the inlet covered with dense growth of trees and a difficult climb down to the marshlands. Oftentimes, I sit and listen to the roaring winds and take in the sounds of the inlet. The birds come and go and you don't have to wait long for something interesting to arrive; sights contrasted against the starkness of the tundra and immense vistas fill your impatience. During winter months, my dog and I walk onto the frozen flats, another view that constantly changes and readjusts itself.

We consider our home a work in progress and an ongoing art project that is a welding of our spirits and temperaments. My garden is my favorite part of the home though because it turns into a meditation channel during my mornings, late afternoons or early evenings. During the years, I have learned to understand what works best in our soil; the wild flowers mixed in with a combination of lupin and poppies or the shooting star that arrives the first of the season as the lone flower, so subtle and easy to miss in it's solitariness. We recently planted three young, two year old weeping birch for our ninth year of marriage. They stand in the center of our yard combing the rest of the field of green grass into one single unit of togetherness.

Seattle's Best

2011-05-24T05:47:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I decided to visit Seattle. Ken and I had been there years ago, but I wanted to see a city, feel movement and encounter a substantial art scene. I had asked a few girlfriends to join me but they were too busy and Ken was off in the field, so I decided to take a five day mini field trip on my own. It turned out to be wonderfully alive and stimulating; my days filled with long meandering walks around the downtown district and having a transit system at my fingertips made going on my own a wise choice. I booked an inexpensive hotel for sixty bucks a night (which is cheap in Seattle) and after I committed, I read reviews where some had rated it poorly. The hotel turned out to be functional with a great bed and hot shower not to mention the light rail across the street, a few coffee joints around the corner made me wonder why people comment what they do. My room could be described as dim though but I was using it to hang my hat. I was set up!

Pictured above is an abstract picture of the light rail tunnel. I took this train to and from the airport costing $2.50 each way taking thirty-five minutes to arrive at my hotel destination. Once out of the underground passageway, my room was literally a hop, skip and a jump from the stop. Their bus system is great too. One day I took the local 72 train which landed me to the University of Washington where I intended to visit the Henry Art Gallery. I happened upon a street fair and loved reacquainting myself to the school and it's settings.

Before heading to Seattle, I bought two maps and oriented myself to where I was going and what I wanted to do. I used tripplanner.com and devised a plan to go to the Bellevue Arts Museum one day that would take a thirty minute ride from downtown. I found the bus stop easily and got to see a successful ceramic show done by the Chinese artist Wanxin Zhang. Pictured above is a detail of one of his life size sculptures - his contemporary interpretation of the Terracotta Warriors. The town of Bellevue is odd and very sterile but everything was so green and bright, the day's weather warm that the outing won my heart over. The bus driver was incredibly nice and let me know when my destination appeared. In fact, the people of Seattle are warm, generous and not at all suspicious of taking on a conversation with a stranger. At the museums and bus stops, people were open and friendly. I held several lengthy substantial discussions with a few people I met throughout my journey. Coffee shops and eateries are everywhere, so you can rest, pull out a novel and pass a few hours before you take on your next adventure on the streets.

Pictured above is the public library located near the Pioneer Square District. Inside the library you are filled with this filtered light and the architecture takes on the outside appearance. It opens up to an immense reading space and you feel like you are sitting in an outdoor cafe book stand. Around the city, I viewed public art by famous artists such as Jacob Lawrence and Dale Chihuly. I visited the Seattle Arts Museum and the Frye Art Museum. Along the way, I would comfortably pick up free reading material where I could map out the galleries and where to go next. Several galleries held massive spaces; some art better than others but it didn't matter because the city was full of alternative art spaces, ample choices and the excellent shows made up for any of the misses. Evenings were a set back though and the city seems to close down early. I was surprised to find Pike's Market taking down its booths as early as five o'clock on a Friday evening.

Seattle is a beautiful city with the openness of Puget Sound contrasted to the massive industrial settings of commerce and cargo transportation, causing a tumble of mixed sensations and conflicting landscapes that keep you on your feet. It is quizzical and at times strange! (One night, I couldn't sleep and switched on the TV where the sci fi movie End of the World was playing. How opportune!) I had splendid weather during my stay reminding me and everyone around that we were indeed lucky to be strolling the waterfront and taking on this excellent sunshine.

It was the perfect city to experience on my own. Yesterday, I put together a slide show for my upcoming summer UAA class; my first class meeting will introduce this trip, reminding students to take a passage on their own. It is good to be uncomfortable, to be reminded that you are a capable individual, and by using your intuitiveness and your skills whatever trip you take works out in the end. I would describe it as Seattle's Best.

near infinity

2011-05-04T08:14:00.000-07:00

cultivating your garden

2011-04-24T19:18:00.001-07:00

Holidays make me think of my family back east and the places I enjoyed on these special days. One of my favorite times was the sunrise service where my father would roust us at 5am to get us to the beach to see the sun peek above the Atlantic's horizon. On this Easter, a day of life and renewal, I thought about my mother who died last January 2010, and I worked in the yard raking to get ready for our planting mania in her honor. My mother loved her garden and took pride showing me the recent growths of vegetables and her nurturing visions of the soil that she had tilled on her own. As she grew older though, the garden was kept smaller and my brother would help out by overturning the hard ground after each winter season.

I was in India late December 2009, in a small village called Benelim just outside of Goa. It was early evening and I was about to prance out onto the dirt roads where Ken and I would find a good place for dinner. My sister, who I had called to see how things were going in the states, had told me about my mother falling and breaking her hip, and how she was in an intensive care unit. My mind couldn't wrap around this bad news and I was on vacation! The village store where I was using the phone was bustling with activity, noise; our conversation seemed surreal and ridiculous. Children were crowded around the store grounds talking and playing with ruckus. Three weeks later, I flew back east to attend my mother's funeral.

During my mother's service, an old boyfriend came by to pay his respects. We dated on and off for a few years; Nathan attended my college graduation, became familiar with my family and we played tennis together. As a young bright attorney, we often scooted around in his convertible MG attending parties and cultural outings. I was completely bored though, his incessant chatter unnerved me, and the relationship ended where I had taken on a new guy and shortly afterwards left for California.

As my old friend and I chatted for a while in front of my mother's open casket, (we hadn't seen each other in close to thirty years), he commented how I was always the restless sort when he knew me and that I had always wanted to leave the east to find new adventure. He wanted to know about my life in Alaska. And then, we connected; there was an understanding, a mutual exchange of recognition on our how lives had become and developed. He questioned and confided in me that he never left our home town. We continued to talk about his sons and we spoke about travels. The years that I knew him in my early twenties I was aloof and fickle but realized a different person in another dimension at that instance. Our lives had been hallowed out with lots of living and experiences. At the moment I write this, I often look back at that point of talking to him as touching and recognizably human. At my mother's death, this was not the occasion for regrets or anger nor dredging up the past. Time had flown by us almost literally as we stood there in a funeral home. I could touch time's wings at that point. Life became transcendent at that meeting with my friend and his gift of openness and genuine sincerity threw me. To me, this was an relevant convergence and oh sure, I have probably had several and meaningful passing occasions (and more to come), but this was an interval that brought me to see how life can be absolutely spellbinding, astonishing, and amazing. You don't have to believe in anything or even holidays as special to acknowledge the symbolic gesture of forgiveness. It is incredibly powerful. I am in another place now, another world and living in Alaska. Who would have thought this? Not me in a million years.

spring back

2011-03-28T11:54:00.001-07:00

Pictured above is the pride of our front yard. We started with these blue Himalayan poppies a few years ago and every year as they blossom they take on a greater spread. Ken and I will be preparing some small seed pots this week-end for the start of our garden. As I write this, it is blustering with noises of the wind outside, swaying trees take on a wonderful gray fused with the sky, (and not to mention the recent snowfall and ongoing chilliness) it is wonderful to see the new light and read by its glow before I go to bed. Happy Spring.

on being comfortable........

2011-03-16T08:02:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to be comfortable - a house, a job, wonderful surroundings and fun activities to go out and see and of course the friendships that we nurtured throughout the years are forces in our lives to stay put forever. Maybe we get use to routines, beautiful environments and we continue on not stretching ourselves to perhaps greater heights of challenges? Maybe we extend ourselves in other ways in a hobby or picking up new reading material that forces as to think harder? Maybe it just doesn't matter and one is happy where they are; is perfect with one's setting, content, and fulfilled? Maybe being comfortable is a good thing? Or is it too easy? Maybe too good of a thing makes us give up other chances to see, learn, experience and fully develop other areas of expertise in our lives. I am grappling with this issue at the moment. My life is pretty good, although I feel that a new opportunity overseas or in another part of the country would lift my esteem out of complacency and to a better learning place about how I feel about myself. Maybe I am looking a gift horse in the mouth? As human beings we need to destroy what we create too.
To skirt the issue, I have decided to include several self portraits.

Below, is the opening painting called Princess Parlee and on the left two smaller drawings. (Above, is my one of my favorite paintings that sold at my recent show!) For a long while I have been avoiding the issue; have thought long and hard about it. The verdict is called change. Not sure where it will take me or where I will go, but along with change comes hard work, endless scrutiny which I have been doing for a long time and pushing ideas against the wall, hounding the hell out of myself. I have been too comfortable for the past few years and now is the time for another lifetime, another move. It won't happen too soon, but I am encouraged to do something about it. It's time to do, but rest assured, I will probably get comfortable all over again.

Ambassador's Pagoda

2011-03-09T07:44:00.000-08:00

Ambassador's Pagoda is considered the main centre of Buddhism in Hanoi. Ken spied this temple out in our Lonely Planet book and we walked over to the temple in the blustery cold. I am always thrilled to happen upon these moments; seeing the women coming together before their prayerful meditation, the interior of the space is fascinating with the massive array of offerings and the photo ancestors homages, allowing me to listen to their chanting of prayerful meditation was the plus. I spent some time observing the ladies, all dressed in their winter coats and hats, a communal setting at best, with their prayer books splayed out before them, it seemed to be the place to be in Hanoi. Outside the temple, Hanoians would come by and listen to the prayers, drop money in the offering box or incense in the huge urns. On the streets, vendors sold gifts and trinkets for the pagoda - papers to be burned for the ancestors, beads, fruit and miscellaneous items that I fail to remember. It is a city pagoda by the ongoing sounds of the traffic that you can hear inside the temple; a blending of the outside sensations into the world of thoughtful ruminations making my morning a sensational impact of imagery and delight.

I vote for more beginnings.........

2011-02-26T10:31:00.000-08:00

If you haven't seen my exhibition - click on the link below and scroll down. The blog features my paintings and videos from the opening.

http://mtsgallery.wordpress.com/

a contemporary Lucy

2011-02-21T08:10:00.000-08:00

This video was realized in 2008; titled Fall to Dark is a quirky rendition of abstract visuals of my feet and the grounds of fallen leaves accompanied to the music of a Los Angeles composer.

Ken and I had walked to the sports park over by our neighborhood one late Sunday summer afternoon and the weather was changing. I was grabbing all the good days I could before the eventual fall to the winter months. This sports park is an immense field of land making it a grand space to walk your dog, see the local soccer and baseball games from the neighborhood schools or to see the changing fields of swinging daisies, grasses and local fireweed. At that time, the park was cordoned off to a group of paint ball battlers. The large bags of pillows (used to shield the aggressors from the rapid fire of paint pellets) are strategically placed on the playing field. The players suit up donning their masks and uniforms shooting their paint ball guns by teams making for short bursts of attacks on each other accompanied with loud cracks from the rifle noise. That day, we happened to collect the residue of the paint balls outside the playing field. Some were bleached from the sun, some half filled with the liquid, others full and unused colorful balls, but nevertheless I happened to find a floating plastic trash bag in the area and started collecting these cool pieces of soft rubber.

Once home, I set up the tripod and filmed my feet dancing on the semi liquid paint balls. I also walked around the yard observing the dying green of summer. It wasn't until later that I edited the film coupling it with the fitting sound to my friend's music.

I was fortunate to be able to show this video at my solo exhibition at the MTS Gallery on February 18, 2011. It was the opportune time to show this short clip, the perfect setting and night. It added color to the snow that had accumulated that morning and ironically ushered in some signs of spring.

just a pretty picture

2011-02-06T07:45:00.000-08:00

Just a Pretty Picture is a diptych, oil on canvas, is 40" x 90" and was completed in 2011. The left side of the canvas was done during the summer and then I added the right panel a few weeks ago. My exhibition titled Ends and Beginnings of Paintings opens at MTS Gallery in Mountain View on February 18, 2011. It will be a show of studies on the figure; fleeting impressions, half organized shapes dotted with some design work, completed forms too and some peppered with graphite scrawls, nature bits, and paint. Painting is what I do best but often I veer off this trail and do other alternative medias such as documenting my travels and mixed media works which are a relief between my painting practice inducing sculptural textures. I will also be showing a video titled Fall to Dark, music composed by my good friend who lives in Los Angeles, Drew Lesso. This is an abstract wandering piece, quirky and charged with absurdity.

America's Catfish and more outside stuff......

2011-01-29T18:24:00.000-08:00

Last night, I rented the film Catfish; an unassuming, independent film that I think all Facebook fans should see. While I found myself annoyed at the precociousness of the actors, I watched it to the end. The film is directed, acted and produced by a team of brothers from New York. One brother starts a online relationship with a women from Michigan. They eventually meet up and the movie turns into a psychological, disappointing, predictable but interesting happening. A very well crafted and intelligent film, the ending is what grabbed me. The star of the film is the almost retarded husband giving the film the powerful message that wrapped up the movie into a fable of sorts. The film turned out to be sad, sweet, corny but redemptive.

Above, is a performance that we saw on our way back from the Bac Ha market; close to the China border, located in the far northwest of Vietnam, we stepped into this temple ceremony. I cannot say what is going on except that it was a delightful entourage of regulars and gawking tourists while this dancer enchanted us. The interior was filled with incense and it made me think of an opium den which was at one time a huge market for the hill tribe peoples until the Communists took over.

Above, are the water puppets, formally called roi nuoc and we saw this performance at the Museum of Ethnology in Hanoi. This is a thousand year ancient art form and it takes the puppeteers three years to train for this craft. You can see the puppeteers standing behind the bamboo fence as he stands in waist level water and operates the puppets from long poles. Many of these skills are kept secret and passed down from family generations. This art form was created by the rice farmers and because of the heavy rains, they started using the water as a dynamic stage. In the video, you can see the band accompanying the performances. Several of the vignettes are about pastoral traditions and legendary folklore.

journal entry - back to Hanoi, 1/5/11

2011-01-22T16:04:00.000-08:00

Ken and I do lots of walking around the city of Hanoi; we have visited several of the museums and much of our time apart from this activity is spent observing the street life. It has been very chilly, cold with damp breezy gusts of wind - I would say in the low 50's and today I understand that they closed the schools because of the weather.

Early mornings, I try to get out and walk around Hoan Kiem Lake with the rest of the residents of Hanoi. This settles me for a decent (partial more like it) night's sleep. Our room becomes a shoe box at a certain point if you spend too much time there but it is efficient. The Vietnamese are very stylish; gorgeous shoes, heels, boots and lovely fashions can be seen in the shop windows and the women are usually decked out in contemporary feminine dress. The area where we are staying is called Old Town; with motoring motorbikes, sometimes a clogged nuisance in the streets and to your psyche. Some of the streets get so jammed with these machines, their incessant noise, and they seem to own the city.

Yesterday, I stumbled onto a cool temple with services going on and I caught a lively assortment of the neighborhood religion. At this temple there were five stations of Buddhas, people bringing alms, food, money, many saying their fervent prayers as heavenly and steady smoke plumes of smoldering incenses were sent off; burnt offerings from the huge urn that is usually in front of the temple yard making for a hazy view became almost toxic. These exchanges bring me to patiently sit and observe. I don't connect to their ancestor worship or their Buddha's but I do know, that upon entering this environment, this quad, I do experience a sense of peace and a time to reflect. I acknowledge this spirit world and I find myself feeling indebted to something greater than the surface and to the worldly.

journal entry - Sapa/Bac Ha Market, Vietnam

2011-01-16T09:41:00.000-08:00

The soft sleeper to Sapa from Hanoi was nice, however if I got any decent sleep it wasn't on this train. The trip lasted eight hours; you received a sweet pillow with an embroidered pillow case and of course the standard blanket. Throughout the night, I seemed to ride along and hear the engines start and stop, pull and grind. It couldn't be considered sleep but more like the thinnest layer of conscious reverie.

Sapa is cold - damp, and a fog engulfs most of the city. Today, it was considerably better with the parting of clouds and I got some rays of fresh sun. The vistas are stunning; mountainous terrains of rice paddies dotted with farming shacks and peaceful to many tourists who make it off this beaten track. Traffic is at a minimum and you can comfortably walk along the large streets.

Sunday, we headed to the Bac Ha Market; it entailed some driving and lots of sitting, but we were amongst other foreigners and I thought that travel is good about that - warm, familiar Western bodies gives you comfort and stamina. A couple of Brits were particularly nice to talk to.

The Bac Ha Market was outrageously beautiful with winding muddy roads and coursing down the streets were the ethnic tribal minorities, all beautifully decked out in their native dress. It was gorgeous to see their embroidered bibs of colors, broad black dark skirts hemmed with multi colored bands. Some wore leggings and on top elasticized with other bands of colors laced with dangling beads. Their head dresses were checked scarves or red kerchiefs. I thought this scene was a brilliant statement and I never came so close to the real thing. Lines of these women were on the streets; some assembled together talking while others were buying from vendors and selling vegetables.

The most compelling sight was above the marketeers on a flat plateau raised above the sprawling village. There were several dozen water buffalo ready to be sold. These docile creatures were indeed sweet, kind and gentle. I found myself weaving in and out of the animals comfortably. There was a small calf nestled to his mother, afraid, shaking at all the commotion. Men and women hung around chatting and it seemed a good mood everywhere. You could make a 360 degree turn and see the magnificent landscape. It was imperial and majestic; the deep dark green from the rains dotted tiny villages inside and outside the mountains, the fog and low hanging clouds added to the charm. The mountains had these jagged formations, curving here and there with sometimes a steep, odd jutting triangular shape that seemed different from other hills that I am use to seeing. This has been my favorite part of the journey so far.

A Monk's Walk, Hoi An, Vietnam

2011-01-13T19:25:00.000-08:00

Our travels led us to the south central area of Vietnam to Hue and Hoi An where we experienced warmer and milder temps. It was a relief to experience some heat away from the blustery cold damp winds of Hanoi. One morning, we rented bikes and decided to ride through the village paths. Often, while biking or walking I would look over top of the town and would spot a pagoda and that is how we stumbled upon this beautiful temple. Some of the temples had adjoining monasteries and the ones that we frequented were often bathed in quiet and held this aura of the contemplative world; exuded a gentleness of spirit apart and separate from the folly of daily life.

Upon entry to a pagoda, Wat or temple, there is usually a courtyard of wonderfully sculptured trees called bonsais and the grounds are flanked with a few stupas, a main temple and sometimes surrounding the courtyard is the monk's quarters, their studies, the kitchen, library and other places of worship; some rooms laced with alters held fascinating tributes to the ancestors and other Buddha icons. I was lucky to see an old monk doing his services and lighting incense walking from one room to another. In the main temple, where I filmed this, the monk chanted and worked on the bells making sonorous vibrations. Enchanted, I stood transfixed and captured this visual and sacred jewel.

comfortably fearful

2010-11-26T09:25:00.000-08:00

(This picture was taken in the Cameron Highlands, Malaysia back in 2008. We had started our journey from Kuala Lumpur; toured the city and I gave a lecture at an arts space on Contemporary Alaskan Artists. It was a good turn out and I met some lovely people and students.)

Some time upon leaving on our treks I seem to absorb fear; I get this nervous anxiety before our departure. In fact, I hear these random horror stories from people here and there and of course my ears are wide open for the media coverage in the part of the world I will be visiting. Accidents can happen anywhere. In fact, coming back from a tedious trip to Bali and Java in 2006, at home in Anchorage, the week later I slipped on ice and broke my wrist. Things happen! Things can happen in your home. You can even trip over your dog and break a leg. What about car accidents? Of course, I don't want to amp up the hysteria, but I do believe that a little fear is good to have. My father told me to always fear the ocean. He taught me how to swim in the Atlantic current and I practiced doing my crawl in the bouncing surf. Fear teaches you to be respectful. It teaches you to do a head's up, to pay attention and listen. However.......

Years ago, before venturing on my first major jaunt to Egypt in 1989, I had a girlfriend tell me how the men over there pull out your hair. My trip was astonishing fabulous; the people kind and welcoming. In fact, whenever we visit places, we are greeted with openness. Of course, there were places that are edgy too, but most of our travels have been successful and timeless. My travel agent, who is Cambodian, told me not to travel to Laos. She exclaimed that they will kill you! Maybe there was a little prejudice happening with this comment, but Ken and I seriously look into the travel warnings, alerts and read up from other people's comments who know of this area and have traveled in those parts. There is also the Thorn Tree Website that lists areas of the world; people can ask questions, leave comments, most everyone gives recommendations and wonderful, helpful advice.

I do think the older you get, you are more hesitant to travel. Why wait until you retire? You need to be in excellent shape to walk, experience challenging places, must transition and adapt easily. I have noticed a grand malaise over the years from the American people about traveling though and maybe this has happened since the 9/11 incident. We have become a nation of fear. In fact, we see more Australians and Brits on our trips, along with Italians, French and many German, not to mention Koreans, Japanese, Israeli and Russian. However, Americans seem to be seen the least on our journeys.

Once over in the country, I seem to forgot all these fears and settle on the adventure. The anticipation before going is always the worse part of the escapade and so this will be my last posting in my blog until I RETURN home! Adieu America!

Sapa, a preview

2010-11-22T19:31:00.000-08:00

We take off the early morning of December 4. Our route starts at Anchorage with China Airlines and we fly directly to Tapei. It is about a ten hour flight (the way coming home is almost three hours shorter.) This flight is usually coming from New York, so we enter a crowded airplane with lots of tired groggy folk ready to get on with the rest of their journey. When in Tapei, we have a short layover and then take a plane to Hanoi, Vietnam, for another three or four hours of additional flying. We will be staying for four days in Hanoi; taking care of our jet lag and perusing the city sights. Hanoi boasts some world class art institutions and there is a combination of old and new colonial architecture. But, the creme de la creme will be the venture to the northwwest to the local villages of Sapa, taking the soft sleeper train; an eight hour journey close to the border of China which boasts of cascading rice terraces with mountains towering above the town on all sides. It will be chilly with some fog and drizzle. The H'mong people, once the poorest of the local tribes will be all over town selling their handicrafts and trinkets. Most have had little formal education and are illiterate. Other minorities like the Red Dzao are visible in town with their billowing red headdresses that send a surreal sight. I understand that there is a crowded market that is held each Saturday and lots of interesting villages are within walking distance of the centre. This is what I love; the color and these authentic lands of people of cultural differences that will immerse me into the grand wonder of this planet, the world and the exultation of experience.

getting ready

2010-11-13T09:57:00.000-08:00

Traveling for distances can take careful planning. Usually before we do our five and a half long week treks, there is much reading to be done. Ken does a great job scrutinizing the places we travel to, while I read contemporary authors that talk about the places we will visit. Once over there we both use our intuitive reasoning to either break the plans we sketchily thought about or devise another route.

We will be going to Vietnam and Laos in three weeks. We applied for our visas which takes some paper work and cost. Sometimes, there are mistakes on the dates of departure and you need to call the embassy to straighten out these mishaps. If you don't pay close attention, these small details can cost your some money you hadn't anticipated. Our visas had expired two days before our departure while exiting Bali a few years ago. It caused quite the stir at the airport, some jangled nerves and a couple of hundred of dollars from our pockets.

There are always travel precautions about certain diseases that the country might carry. Almost always we take malaria medication with us because we visit rural areas. Last year, we were given oral typhoid which is good for five years. A combination of hepatitis A and B usually comes in the form of a booster shot good for ten years and Japanese Encephalitis was a concern in 2004. This time our Lonely Planet Travel Guide strongly recommended to invest in extra travel insurance because both countries do not host the excellent facilities as Thailand and India have for instance.

These are just a few things to gather before taking off, not to mention getting time to do this venture, a house sitter for the dog and to take care of the house in case a pipe breaks. I get anxious too before departing about our safety. Once over there however, you see everyone traveling from the old to the single wanderer to families with small children seeing the outside wonders of the world. There is this general excitement that you glean from fellow travelers; a camaraderie of togetherness of adventure. All in all, the work (and some worries) is worth it; the travel fantastic and edgy and the journey always indescribable.

dia de Meurtos

2010-11-04T10:35:00.000-07:00

The Day of the Dead is a prehispanic tradition linked to the agriculture calendar celebrated at the beginning of harvest. For the prehispanic people "death is not the the end of our existence, it is only the path of transition to something better."

Following the Mexican tradition, November 1st is for the children that passed away and November 2nd for the adults. In that day people who died come back to their former home to enjoy earthly delights if only for a few hours. Their relatives light up a copal or incense to "cleanse their home of bad spirits, so that the soul of their deceased can come in without any difficulty." The offering ritual allows us to be close to the people who have departed and commune with their memory with their life.

I was asked to do an altar at Out North Exhibitions curated by Indra Arriaga. While setting up my design in the exhibition space, I felt the tenderness of the moment and being surrounded by other altars that people devoted to their loved ones, I worked very intuitively. It was a deep meditation; afterwards finding out the meaning of what I showed and the objects that I chose for this piece came out automatically. You can see a glimpse of my altar in this video. Mine has a dark cloth draped on the wall with stars, suns and crescent moons(owned by a young man who died at 21 years old), a chair covered with a goat skin, a moose skull, dried straw flowers, leaves, significant stones and several pictures of friends that I had lost over the years. I was moved setting up the altar and felt a benevolence completing this piece. This was the first altar that I had intentionally completed (although my studio wall hosts numerous recollections from both the living and the dead.) A local Mexican singer can be heard in the background of the tape and I don't understand all of his lyrics but the song bellows a sweet sorrow of tune. During the festivities, Mexican bread and hot chocolate were eaten. It was a nice evening and well attended by the locals; in the future one I would encourage everyone to see and experience. It is open for everyone to participate and do their own homage to their ancestors. You can discover these small gems in Anchorage; this one in particular left me with a profound recognition of my temporariness, my community, the closeness of the living and the now, and most importantly, how to cherish the people around you.

follow the ecstasy

2010-10-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wake up and seem to spin circles around the day rather than be productive using my time to the maximum. It was such a day today (although still not finished) and with bright sunshine, the light is just good enough to watch all day long. I have discovered that acknowledging the beauty of the day can be good enough!

Last week, I went to the library and being interested in the spiritual and contemplative life, I set out to investigate a few teachers or mentors that I had always wanted to read. One book is by the Dalai Lama called An Open Heart, Practicing Compassion in Everyday Life and the other book is called Follow the Ecstasy, The Hermitage Years of Thomas Merton by John Howard Griffin. I started with the Dalai Lama and left it mid way to explore the Merton book. Currently, I am engrossed with Merton; a slow but fascinating read. It is a minute by minute psychological journey of his thoughts, actions and consequences; how he sought out solitude to achieve a purity of spirit and to become closer to God. Merton was a wonderful poet/mystic; deep and clear resonates his words. He was also a painter.

What is clear about both men is that they exemplify humanness and as I delve further and further into the Merton book, I see how it mirrors myself. It is honest, edgy and real. Follow the Ecstasy examines the last three years of the monk's life. (And with a little gossip expressed here - Merton fell in love with a young nurse during convalescing with some back surgeries. It makes me think of the great painter Michelangelo who also struggled with his love for a young boy and was so torn apart by his feelings because his actions did not follow the dictum of the church. Oh, guilt - we can do without you.......)

The book doesn't leave me feeling anymore composed or relaxed about the human condition but it does deepen my thoughts about being okay the way I am. The best part on this journey called life is that we learn to love ourselves in a profound way so we are able to give it back while slinging it and singing it at the same time.

what gets me started

2010-10-18T07:32:00.000-07:00

It's money making time for me; adjunct teaching and doing some freelance jobs affords me exotic travel to invigorate my art making senses. This time, pictured above and below, I included two pages of a sketchbook recently completed for the Brooklyn Library Archive, NYC. Artists submit small 8" x 6" moleskin renditions of whatever they might want to fit or include in the creative book. The exhibit will be traveling throughout the country next year in January 2011. My sketchbook will be included in the library's permanent archive where the public can peruse and leaf through my journal of creative journeys.

Presently, I am working on several sketchbooks at the same time; weaving in and out from one to the other, letting paint dry in one book while setting up another page makes for a constant interaction of doing and trying to make the pages work. Sketchbooks are good in between projects and they instigate other ideas.

I enjoy working on these small canvas like sheets; you can easily rip one out if the expression isn't working your way but otherwise, I paint, glue, cut, shape and collage my way onto these works - in other words these manipulated sketchbooks are perfect examples of readjusting and formatting a design that can evolve into lovely paintings, drawings and sketches. My sketchbooks include some personal travel notes and thoughts. You can go back and forth with your ideas while they evolve into some interesting sculptural identities.

fall dance

2010-10-06T06:56:00.000-07:00

Fall is my favorite season because it is dramatic and in Alaska it is a sudden alarm after the heat, long days and sunshine of the summer. I grew up back east where the weather turned suddenly around late September. Around me, I would stomp through the massive swirling leaf piles and softly observe the turn and smells of nature. It is a subtle expression that fits me more than any other season. Living in Alaska, it brings back memories of my childhood on the Jersey coast and Indian summers were marvelous to observe by looking out on Atlantic's sparkling horizon. Of course things change from season to season but with the golden colors, you have the fresh air and winds, the waving trees and sprinkling of falling leaves like someone emptying out their drawers. Fall is an announcement of change, Alaskan darkness and things around the corner. I guess you could say that with every season, but fall is remarkably distinct, mysterious and beautiful because it seems to linger with newness and anticipation. I embrace it with fondness every time.

just a short note about time, attention and things

2010-09-30T09:54:00.000-07:00

Summer is officially over. Usually, I find myself dragging the last bits of summer sun into my life by ignoring the fall/winter signs. I wind up wearing sandals and shoes without socks or I go out without the extra outer wear that is so prominent in this area. (Outer wear is our Alaskan style or mode of having a coat, jacket or a sweater for all of the occasions. And, still that is not enough and we feel we are still missing something or it is not the appropriate thing to wear.)

With this weather, I am forced to be introspective; am back to gathering funds for outside travel and getting sufficient studio time while quickly scurrying to set up our affairs before leaving leaves me overwhelmed and waking up late at times into the night. Faced with pressed time, I realize that I cannot cut corners with my family, friends and my dog. Everyone deserves to be listened to and given thorough time, attention and focus. Blue, my dog, needs my care and I find her more responsive by brushing her and being with her whenever I can. Before going out in social gatherings, I resign myself to listening to others rather than broadcasting about myself and what is going on with my life unless I am asked. This is a small service that I try to do but I often fail at.

We recently bought a iphone and the action of getting another thing to learn threw me off; it sent me into a tizzy but I soon recognized that I must follow what I preach to my students about being updated with technology and electronics. My husband commented that these changes are good because we are forced to use our minds to apply different, innovative transformations and configurations. Last night in bed, I couldn't sleep and I found myself with this new gadget, playing around and surfing the net. This action seemed more off than perverse, but I readily accepted this diversion and chuckled to myself. At this time, I need to embrace all the subtle contradictions that I inhabit. Paul Campbell, the great philosopher, commented that humans constantly seek the ultimate experience of feeling or what it is to being alive - that is our quest and inquiry. No wonders and great wonders.

like an old lover

2010-09-13T07:59:00.000-07:00

There was ugliness I saw cruising the Los Angeles freeways; a low laying haze fog/smog (what is it really I would continually ask to this day?), concrete block structures line the roads, whizzing cars, far away trees that looked like they needed good watering - this city has a way of wrapping you in it's industrial claws but you wind up loving it nevertheless. Throughout my time spent there, I would term Los Angeles as industrial romantic. I lived in the downtown area and arriving as a visitor last week to see friends and art sparked and renewed memories of when I first moved to the city. I felt the California allure all over again (without having to travel to the Westside) - especially tweaked by seeing Baldessari's Pure Beauty exhibition I fell in love with it's powerful mystic. At night, I would achieve an insomnia persona hearing all the familiar sounds - the hum or the buzz of the freeways, this lingering roar coupled with distant barking dogs, lights would flicker in and of my room by the passing cars on the street. I would remember my loft nights and the trucks barreling down the streets that would thunder through my nerves; it was in Los Angeles that I fell into the artist community and developed additional substance as the creative thinker, (but always with distances to go.....)

I was happy to leave early Sunday morning. When I got back to Anchorage, I looked at the photos of this city and found it looking beautiful and inviting. Los Angeles lives up to it's massive culture laced with eclectic surroundings and people. My girlfriend says that the city has something to offer for everyone. Los Angeles sets up an illusion encased in a Hollywood facade - a fascinating place that holds onto the mystery, the charm and the Peter Pan existence of never having to grow up.

Alleppey travels

2010-08-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

Appelley, India, is located on the southwest coast and is known as the backwaters of this sub continent. We hired a driver from Mysore and along with a French Canadian traveler from Montreal, we all decided to split the costs. It would take twelve hours to travel south costing fifty dollars each to get there. Along the way, two hours from Alleppey, we got into an accident on Christmas day. A woman and a small boy seated between her legs on a scooter drifted onto our path, causing the driver to skid a good hundred feet. Fortunately, the woman was okay with a slight head wound and her boy bounced off the scooter unharmed. Our entire windshield was smashed and I was in the back seat while I quietly examined this terrifying slow motion happening. There was a police station across the street; we were taken there and sat in their offices for almost an hour while the driver was questioned. They didn't speak or ask us anything about the incident and we were told that a new driver was on the way to continue on with our journey. It was a good thing that the young woman was going to be fine and not sure what would have transpired if it had been serious. Travel in India is perilous and you literally take your life in your hands because of the hoards of people in this country and the general congestion on the main freeways and city roads.

We arrived to Alleppey, hot and exhausted, late in the evening. Finding a temporary room, we slept and got up to look for a better lodging along the backwaters. Along the wet lands we found a duplex of cottages privately owned. Deepu, the caretaker (and is our friend today) made our lunches and dinners. It was a centrally located area where we hired a boat to peruse these fertile territories. The Keralans are darker and kinder in spirit; the Alleppey attitude is more laid back and there seems to be a wonderful shared sense of humor among the community. This video clip is taken on site at our lodging. Crows would assemble each morning and dusk to socialize; it is the sounds that I was drawn too and their massive enchanting cries.

Part Two of my Raven Solitude

2010-08-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

Four new house posts were installed at the clan house at the Alaska Native Heritage Center. You can see the interior of the four nations represented - the Haida, Tsimshian, Eyak and Tlingit tribes. In the background, the Eyak complete their song and dance.

My Raven Solitude

2010-08-13T21:56:00.000-07:00

Realizing it was Friday the 13th, I thought it apropos to work on my blog statement. It has been raining for the past week with constant gloomy, gray weather and the summer has been a record of terrible and disappointing weather. I find myself though enjoying the time to focus on reading and catching up on loose ends; my studio work is healthy and complete at the moment. At times, I find myself imploding and needing to get out of the house because the lingering gray seems to sit on my head. Ken is away on a ten day flying survey and I find myself experiencing solitude and quiet. My dog Blue is with me, my shadow and constant companion who is suffering from a poor spine but is amped up on steroids. She keeps me busy tending to her needs; we take simple walks to ease her mind and she remains a good source of distraction from my singleness.

Today was my adventure day! This morning I loaded the dog in the truck and we headed to the Alaska Native Heritage Center. This past week was the inception of four new house posts from the four nations - Tlingit, Eyak, Tsimshian and the Haida tribes. I was thrilled to be able to see the naming of the clanhouse ceremonies, experience the quirky behavior of these colorful people in dress and dance. Moreover, the sense of their self respect was radiant. I love Alaska because of this native core and it has drawn me closer to the land and forced me to embrace another way of seeing and experiencing this hidden culture. When I first arrived to Alaska, it was the Alaska Native people I searched for and found this culture too assimilated and strained under layers of many complexities and subtleties. It is prevalent however in the coming together of festivities that reveals their native pride and I sense their desperate grasp to hold onto their language and native ways. The video posted above is The Tsimshian Incoming Song sung and danced by a sister and brother.

studio work

2010-08-07T08:10:00.001-07:00

A series of new works called Blindfold Series are being completed in my studio. These pieces are done on board with gesso, graphite and oil; are done quickly at times while others are reworked to achieve the resolution that I want. The word blindfold is used to describe these works because I feel around, not seeing, not working with a photograph but drawing and painting intuitively and instinctively. I would assume that these pieces are records of memories lingering in and out of my unconscious.

Each piece is approximately 20" x 18" or smaller and I start with a gessoed surface, make my first marks with graphite and do some random scrawls, some more defined than others. My work has always been about combining the two medias of drawing and painting and my new philosophy is not to struggle with each, but to settle into a peace and let go of the hand or in other words become a channel to be led into this expressive path of consciousness/unconsciousness (I could never figure out which term is more appropriate.) This casual process doesn't always work and because I want to contain the painting, I become anxious and feel the need to cap it and finish it.

The image above is one of my favorites quite possibly because it is lighter and easier to look at; mark making is comfortable and airy, they are free and roam around and lines seem to rest without toil and aggravating the senses. My smaller works are more successful at times because of the size issue. At the moment, I am sitting on half a dozen unfinished large pieces and they appear stagnated and the paint or marks don't move like the smaller pieces. Movement is an important aspect in my work, this constant flux of thoughts and expressions that move in and out of my existences and landscapes of thoughts.

before fall to dark

2010-08-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

I have been observing the dwindling light as we move towards August and I see the changes and feel moods of summer slip away. This is a view outside my front door; it has been rainy and gloomy lately, so the darkness is even more apparent in its coming. However, I love this time the best; the neighborhood is tucked away and a settled peace seems to prevail over the world. It is quite beautiful and I make sure I study it well before I go to bed, hold it close and inhale it before I forget about it upon waking to another day.

two landscapes

2010-07-24T13:42:00.000-07:00

Pictured above are two different scenes that I inhabit during the year. One is in my backyard where nature is full with abundant natural space and clean air. The other video is what I experience another time of the year - city life and it's massive culture. The second video was shot in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia at the Batu Caves. The towering caves are made from limestone and you walk up 227 steps. Along the way, we experienced Hindu blessings and services.

I haven't been inspired to say anything lately, but today is (another) cloudy out and I find myself sitting down at the moment rather than painting and slashing it out in the studio. Also, I find the video making fresh and I love the challenge of pasting the scenes together with my capricious editing program that I use.

At the moment, I am experiencing dullness, very similar to the gray dark clouds that I see outside our computer room along with the metronome of the wind swaying trees. Perhaps I suffer from a cogent direction or a discontentment of what I have been painting. They are newer works of the figure and I seem to latch onto these images because they give me substance and a new ground for making work. Thinking and observing what you paint is as difficult as the physical act of painting. The inner necessity of having to say something and having it be good work is my main focus and general preoccupation. There is that ongoing continuation, that process that we forget much of the time while making the work and I often look towards the finale which is deceptive and absorbs useful energy that could be put back onto the canvas. Moreover, I find that work has to sit, incubate and gather energy throughout time, where it surprises and catches you off guard. It is truly a metaphysical journey. A friend's quote at the bottom of her emails reads, keep loving, keep fighting. It couldn't be better expressed!

bird fluff

2010-07-07T08:08:00.000-07:00

The past few years, I have noticed that robins have been building their nests around our home. I hear that is good luck. Anyway, here is one bird using our birdbath. I caught this clip from inside the kitchen and miss the slight sounds. Last year, the birds nested in the eaves of our carport and this year they are nestled and well hidden in the center of our Mayday tree. I am happy they find peace in our yard and I love having them around, seeing them scurry for their food and flitting here and there.

nature and more nature

2010-07-04T20:04:00.000-07:00

We spent four days at the Upper Tangle lakes with some friends; a four hour road trip from Anchorage became a beautiful and non stop scenic view that seemed to go on interminably becoming breathtakingly unbelievable in scope. This morning, I was reviewing the video tape that I filmed of this region and couldn't believe the immensity of landscape. (The Tangle Lakes extends 160 miles of winding and convoluted lake terrain; is 120 miles south of Denali National Park and can be portaged between locations, the further area called the Lower Tangle Lakes is where it ends called Dickey Lake.) Once we arrived at the drop off, we headed out with our canoes for a two hour row and found a camp site that gave us a view that extended for miles. The next three days, we hiked and relaxed. The bugs could get bad at times so we put on our head nets. Otherwise, the weather cooperated and was cool and not unbearably hot. We didn't see too much wildlife except for some waterfowl and a beaver warning us with the slap of his tail to stay away from his abode. I found a caribou rack on one of our walks with some fresh skull still needing more attention from the maggots. Bleached wood attracted me and I managed to squeeze out a nice bundle for perhaps an anticipated art piece.

Below is our Himalayan Poppies that we harvest each year in our front garden. They have doubled in size and the color is unusually stunning because you are not so lucky to get this type of blue. I am fortunate because I live in nature. I don't live in Los Angeles anymore and miss the avid art scene. It is a trade off I guess where big city dwellers miss the purity of the outdoors and where I miss the ruckus of city life. These days however, I seem to make it a fit and have determined to make this place a home, for now, and will adjust it to my art and style, to my life and call it a grand existence.

Peggy Sue at the pound

2010-06-14T18:08:00.001-07:00

Pictured above is Peggy Sue, a pit bull mix. They get a lot of pit bull mixes at the animal shelter but you find full breed dogs there too and puppies are the first to get adopted. Every Monday, I volunteer two hours of my time walking the dogs (and hopefully I will squeeze another couple hours here and there). I try to walk each animal for thirty minutes which translates to four dogs during my time. Fortunately, they adopt several dogs a month and manage not to hold onto them. (Unfortunately, Peggy Sue has been in the shelter for over a month. You need to be a special person to adopt Peggy Sue.)

As a volunteer, you go through a training for five hours and the staff preps you on the routine and all the rules. You receive a badge, a key to the cages and a leash. You can walk the dogs anywhere around the grounds, but they must be on the leash at all times and cannot come in contact with other dogs. On the papers listed outside their cages, you can see how old they are and how they came to the shelter. Many are termed strays and others are titled owner surrendered. Some notes are mentioned what needs to be done to the animal, if their teeth need to be cleaned or if they have other health issues. Some don't get along with children or other dogs.

This morning, I did my small service and I walked this mixed breed named Case. Case had such strength for a small slender dog and he went wild when I brought him outside as he pulled me all over the place. I walked across the street to an abandoned large ball field and observed that it was completely fenced in. I hesitated and wondered what would happen if I let Case go. I took the risk, and let Case rip into the field. He ran like a race animal and bolted here and there, so happy to be free. Case came back to me and as I bent down to greet him and he put his head on my shoulder. It was a hug.

The dogs are very appreciative of the walks and the affection you give them. Most of them are so nervous and excited to be out that you wouldn't know this, but after they calm down, you see the their sweetness and gratitude. They correspond and let you know this by their pleading eyes.

This is Tabu, a senior citizen of 11 years old. She was a kind dog who didn't pull me and seem so laid back. Usually, the dogs are freaked out and need to run; are afraid and skittish. The seniors know what's going on......Tabu wasn't at the shelter when I returned the following week.

Pictured above is Scout. He was a super kind gent and walked nicely on the leash. There was little pulling. Scout has since found a family.

wind mosaic

2010-06-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

This morning is a breezy and balmy day experiencing changes from massive sun the past few days if you live in Alaska is not the norm and expect the weather to turn from day to day. I have been enjoying the heat however and how it fills and radiates throughout my being making me realize how missed a sensation. When I lived in Los Angeles the weather could be very predictable including hot (sometimes smoggy) and sunny days and at times it became monotonous and dizzying. Living in the upper Pacific Northwest you never know what you will wake to. We live across from the inlet and experience more winds and cooler temps. Here is a short experimentation on the winds of Alaska.

knee deep in Nevsky

2010-05-26T07:18:00.001-07:00

Pictured above is an icon painting of
Alexander Nevsky, a saint and known as the Protector of the Russian army.

Every semester, I take a course at the university because it is free for me since I teach as an adjunct. This summer, I decided to take a five week course called the History of Alaska. It involves a good deal of reading, which I enjoy; missionaries from the Russian Orthodoxy and Presbyterian ministries, anthropological stories on the Native Alaskans and Russian history to list a few topics are some of the issues that we cover. You need to do a power point presentation among other things for the class. I decided to do my talk on Alexander Nevsky, known for the famous Battle on the Ice where he conquered the Germans. I tied my speech in with the films of Sergei Eisenstein, a 20th century film maker known for his brilliant epic stories on the grandiose scale and who created 12th century medieval Russia wonderfully in his films. (You can rent his films at the Loussac Library in town or most certainly at Netflix.) The actor seen above portrayed as Alexander Nevsky, was one of Stalin's favorite artists.

homespun sounds

2010-05-15T03:34:00.000-07:00

The subtlety of sounds and the home of hundreds of many bird species sometimes draws me in. Last Sunday, a beautiful and cool sunny day, Ken and I took a short drive to Potter's Marsh and observed the fresh noises of spring. I caught the Arctic Tern flying and hanging on the waters and read that it is known to complete one of the longest migrations of any known animal. From a distance it looks so small and unassuming, but after looking through the lens of binoculars, it is powerful and strong with a massive wingspread. This bird lives close to thirty years.

Sounds from the roaring Seward Highway can be heard on the video clip and oftentimes when I look down the coast, I get that vacation feeling of immense excitement and freedom. Alaskan summers does that to me; stirs up old times when I was younger and on the road with my parents, going somewhere new. There were family vacations to Gettysburg, Washington DC, New Hampshire and Niagara Falls to name a few. Staying at roadside motels were thrilling because we got to swim in the pools and showed off our diving skills. Early mornings, I couldn't sleep because I would listen to the sensations of a new place; the adventure of traveling and seeing and experiencing a first time destination presenting itself with possibility and it was the most fantastic thing that anyone could do.

between distances

2010-05-05T07:53:00.000-07:00

Ken's new bureau is finally finished. It was specifically designed to fit our computer area in our home but after moving the object in from his shop, we decided that the piece got too cramped and lost. I felt it needed more visibility for this fine art furniture and so we moved it to the front room.

Speaking of place, below is a larva or monsoma pulveratum, the sawfly; new and recent discoveries have been significant on this insect. Ken also writes and publishes scientific information for the Forest Service and his photographs of his field work are often included in pamphlets, booklets and scientific journals.

Last evening, I caught a glimpse of Ken, my husband and partner of close to ten years. As I was standing in our dining room, I saw his head from outside the front window of our door, perfectly framed and peeking out to me. He was fully engaged hanging with our dog Blue not knowing I was looking at him. It was at that point I saw how handsome he was. And within that distance, that moment, I realised that I had forgotten him. At the same time a fresh picture of someone I knew so well became outstanding. Perhaps we lose sight of each other; perhaps we get too close and they become too familiar.

Great impressionist painters painted these glimpses of fleeting images, these instants of lost time. These moments are magical and cogent realizations of what we take for granted.

Antony Gormley

2010-04-26T07:45:00.000-07:00

(Pictured above is Antony Gormley's most famous sculpture that dominates the landscape in the north of England. It is called the Angel of the North and is 65 feet tall.)

Yesterday, I got up early on Sunday morning to film the art installation in downtown Anchorage that will accent the new wing of the museum. Lots of other folks were there too, at 6:30am to witness the cubed geometric figure of Antony Gormley. We all hung around for a good couple of hours, drinking coffee and nabbing quick bites of doughnuts; meeting with the artist and seeing his giant Habitat sculpture being lifted by a massive crane, slowly being toppled to it's upright position and then carried to the designated spot where it will be cemented and forever hold part of the grounds was the anticipated climax. I describe it as many boxes of a small city complex. Also, the gray, somber skies of Anchorage seemed to welcome in Gormley's sculpture and it couldn't have been a better day.

running fences

2010-04-16T10:37:00.000-07:00

Every Monday night I travel to Eagle River to teach a course called Art Appreciation A160. It is a low level required class that students must take to graduate college and often this class is looked upon as an inconvenience to their studies. The question I continually pose to my students is, what is art and is art important in our lives? This course also helps me examine my own persona as an artist and with each semester I begin with a new premise and a new introduction to teaching. This spring, I introduced art as being integral to our society; how it investigates our cultural understandings on what society is composed of - the myriad of peoples, our ethnic backgrounds, and most importantly how art explains our histories and the universe. It is a general exploration of art history and I try to show a variety and a wide array of visual expressions aside from regular Western stigmas and household artist names.

But, the piece de resistance comes from the students themselves. The last five weeks consist of each student presenting a ten minute PowerPoint lecture on an artist of his/her choice. I stress the importance on using successful visuals to explain what each art piece means, what it expresses and it's historical importance. Many students pick difficult concepts to investigate - like installation art of Christo and Jeanne Claude (an example is pictured above called Running Fences completed in CA) or Donald Judd's minimal geometric sculptures or Robert Smithson's earthworks. Others chose more traditional artists like Rembrandt or Delacroix only to find the magnitude and complexity impossible to examine faithfully giving the artist full credit of their mastery.

Often I think we cruise through life in a sleepwalker's mode but this semester students made curious investigations and explored new things outside the box. Bravo!

something about nothing

2010-04-09T07:09:00.000-07:00

The other day a fellow instructor asked me about my plans for the summer. I rattled my list to her in a short minute that included my time up to the month of September and shortly afterwards, she gave me a list of her itinerary. One of my students expressed that she had nothing going on with her summer. I commented that it was healthy and it could inevitably lead to some wonderful surprises. This afternoon, I almost became alarmed because I felt that my summer space was being eaten up with all these things I was planning to do. Are we so afraid to have empty time before us? Are we that insecure that we need to have our months listed with the must dos of projects and places to go to? There is something about nothing. Space does lead to some interesting unplanned, insightful journeys and it has kept me focussed too when I created a short list of intentions. I would like to think that there is a natural progression to the mania of our lives. Perhaps the aspirations are part of the program to an enriched time but I also feel that quiet and contemplative observances are a part of eloquence that can be special and uncanny. They are moments of the breath and the digestion to our spiritual well being.

the mascot and color

2010-03-30T18:09:00.000-07:00

People never tire of elephants; these cumbersome beasts are lovely to observe and seem so foreign and they certainly don't fit in our environment but only in the wild. Here you see the mascot gracefully moving the best he can and in such sad spirits it seems to carry, as he drags every bit of weight with him reluctantly. Afterwards, you can see the riot of color by women adorned in their green saris bearing offerings to the Ministry of Tourism. The festival was fun and loud; often the off beat drumming was too much noise but who cared because we were all so happy to witness an Indian celebration.

the ghats

2010-03-23T07:44:00.000-07:00

After coming from the town of Aurangabad, Hampi was a soft and wondrous place; filled with Westerners like us, experiencing India's landscape of enchantment and awe. Early mornings, we would wander down by the river and observe all the bathers at the ghats doing their ritual cleanse for the day. That day, we got to see their mascot, the elephant being bathed. We were to see that elephant in Hampi's festival later that evening. Also, the elephant would be placed on the corner of the town square; taking your rupees by his trunk and flinging it into a coin basket would only leave you smiling. Hampi is set up for the Westerner, but it didn't take away it's ancient ruins, humble countryside nor it's magic. It is a place to be visited.

intermezzo and gray studies

2010-03-16T07:41:00.001-07:00

Here are some cowboy hats that eight graders painted using tempera paint. Our objective was to study values of gray. I brought in my cowboy hat that I bought in Arizona years ago and I illuminated the object by using a strong bulb overhead. The light cast a good shadow on a sheet of white butcher block paper. Shadows create the shape, form and make the object look like they are sitting on something rather than floating.

This is another example using shades of gray. Done nicely!

(I took a three month assignment at Mears Middle School for the art teacher who is away on maternity leave. The experience has been challenging and I am continually fascinated by the behavior of these young adults.)

Hats off to some good work!

rural India, a Hampi landscape

2010-03-09T20:48:00.000-08:00

(I have been tooling around and experimenting with video for almost three years; working on editing and not to mention meaningful content is a rigorous journey. This is a new art form for me and most of these clips I term as travelogues or vignettes.)

While we were in Hampi, we discovered rural India and everything else under the sun. We loved walking down to the river mornings while most of the community bathed and completed their daily rituals. In the same water, you can see woman doing the laundry. Other parts of Hampi were peppered with ruins and some very significant temples. It was very magical and had a relaxed air of centuries past. One day, we rented bikes for five bucks and rode to the outskirts of the city. The warm breezes and dusty winds were very comforting. Every minute in India is full with never a dull moment; you are either surrounded by the locals walking by or the painted oxen in the fields, not to mention a musical air that accompanies the scenery, that uplifts, takes you in and sweeps you off your feet.

temple dancers

2010-03-04T06:55:00.000-08:00

These drawings are done on masonite with oil stick, paint and gesso. After observing several caves and outside facades on our India travels, I decided to do some figurative gestural studies. I work on a table surrounded with several boards (perhaps fifteen or more) and I rotate very quickly going from one image to another. I look at some imagery of photographs that I took from the sites; but work collectively and intuitively, mainly stemming from gut responses, these drawings were hatched very freely. Personally, I love them, because the figures dance openly and evoke movement from the moment.

Hyderabad street life

2010-02-28T17:30:00.000-08:00

Hyderabad is a bustling old city in the southern interior of India that is predominately Muslim. We decided to stay a few nights at this hotel before heading to Alleppy and I got in some film clips of street life from our second floor room. Not only is this a busy, noisy area, but crossing to the other side was sometimes perilous. Our room was comfortable, clean and quiet however. Ken and I finally found a restaurant to have a beer; located off the major boulevard, we climbed upstairs to a dark and smoky eating establishment. There were no women, but plenty of men drinking, smoking and carrying on. We had a wonderful shrimp dish with our Kingfishers. We found India to be very conservative in the interior and I have to admit, more interesting because we saw a side that the normal tourist wouldn't care to explore. We were virtually the only Westerners on some of our days of travel. People were wonderfully polite to us, and I found the Muslim people very intense with wicked, sharp humor. There were the fantastic tombs of the Qutb Shahi Kings - immense towering sculptures, bell shapes monuments and not only one, but the site was peppered with a least a dozen of these mausoleums. We also visited the Gaolconda Fort that wasn't as superb as Daulatabad fort in Aurangabad. I love the forts in India; works of art that carry this old age empire of the Mughal sensibility.

the groom

2010-02-23T20:33:00.000-08:00

On our way back towards town from the Aurangabad Caves, we fell onto a wedding party. You can visibly see the groom on his horse before he goes inside to the wedding area. I wished I possessed the nerve to follow into the ceremony, but felt this really wasn't any of my business. However, I truly think I would have been welcomed to join in the celebration. You can see the dancing in the streets and everyone is very happy and elated. What I did notice throughout India, were the masses of men walking together; almost like a herd mentality. India is very patriarchal. While seeing men in groups walking around, I often wondered, where are the women and when I did see them, they were usually solitary and fleeting. Othertimes, I noticed that they were usually hidden inside the homes and most likely in the kitchen!

Aurangabad Caves

2010-02-17T21:28:00.000-08:00

This is a video of one of the Aurangabad caves. Aurangabad is located nine hours northeast of Mumbai and we traveled on a second class train - something you should do once while traveling in India and afterwards go A/C first class all the time! The town was a mess and we arrived at one in the morning; nearly fainting when the rickshaw driver dropped us off at the shabby hotel. The room had bars on the windows, a shower that dripped cold water and we were charged over thirty dollars for a run down space while questioning to ourselves why had we ever gone the distance. Even in the daylight, Aurangabad is a terribly dirty, trash strewn town. We hired a driver the next day who took us to the Ellora Caves and then the following day to the Ajanta Caves located two hours through charming rural countryside. Meanwhile, all the caves are immaculate and well maintained. This video shows one interior of the Aurangabad Caves (while these excavations are considered a lesser of the sites but what I love about this clip is the distant sounds of a Hindu wedding, which I also filmed and will post at a later date.) In retrospect, it was a wondrous journey and a trek I would do over and over again. I highly recommend seeing these first class 5th century Buddhist carvings considered as World Heritage Sites. India constantly throws you all over the place but you land standing on two feet in rapturous awe.

Chamundi Hill, Mysore

2010-02-10T22:07:00.000-08:00

Mysore is known as the sandalwood capital. They boast the Majaraja's Palace which is indeed magnificent. However, one day we took a rickshaw up to Chamundi Hill, known to be a special pilgrimage site. It was indeed special; spirits ran very high with hundreds of people perusing the temple lining up to see the special icon. I stood in the fast moving queue and you are pushed or almost carried among several people on all sides; the excitement is quite clear. Once at the idol, you quickly pass by, whisper a prayer or drop flowers at the alter. It was a sunny and breezy day; clean air and the perfect temperature infested everyone it seemed. I made this video and although it is a bit fuzzy, you can catch the environment and good spirits of the people. Mysore is a sprawling city and a good mix of Hindu and Muslim cultures. One of my favorite things was waking up to the call to prayer each morning.

indelible India - journal entry 1

2010-02-06T11:31:00.001-08:00

Our journey was long; distances covered involved a giant loop starting at Mumbai, going east into the interior, and ending up on the southern part of Alleppy, riding up the coast to Goa and back to Mumbai. Our interior search was the most intensive - Aurangabad; visiting the Ajanta and Ellora Caves was the trek of a lifetime, down to Hyperabad, Hampi (a genius temple sight), Mysore and Alleppy. Kochi and Goa were silent retreats, relaxing and finishing our novels, resting up for another transition was often the case.

If you can get past the dirt and pollution, masses of people and poverty - abandon your "western" perceptions and comforts, you will arrive at having a fabulous trip; glorious in color and people immersed in this ancient land, India is an assault to all your senses. The immense smells of latrines, scattered trash almost everywhere you go (except for the tourist parts) and the persistent nag of asking for business or your money can be draining. Returning to your room helps. At the same time, the country is continually fascinating. You cannot help but be thrilled with their crazy ornate festivals, temple grounds, the cheap but good food and the quirkiness of the people takes you in unexpectedly.

My favorite places in India were the countryside. I loved the open and tattered fields, shed like abodes and the subtle parts gold/green places that screamed water. (During the monsoon months though, I hear the landscape takes on another appeal. It becomes rich and powerful with lushness.) Driving to the caves, we experienced the quiet jewel of the farmland; the immensity of the animal life is a constant - herds of goats, cows, large carts with an overload of hay just about to make it and everywhere the beautiful people walking modestly and carefree seem the happiest. Most of the villages were clean and humble; some amazingly beautiful estates with haystacks peppered among giant palm trees and of course the myriad of farm animals bring it altogether.

India is always full, always big of heart and it carries a multitude of complexity. You love it and at times you deplore what you see and experience, tiring of the constant shabbiness of the people and not knowing who is telling you the truth or not. It isn't the easiest place to get around but the trains, buses and drivers all take off on time. Negotiation is a constant, but when done you arrive at the set price and always, always, you get your change back. Indelible India (for starters.)

2010-02-06T11:28:00.000-08:00

A dedication - Jacqueline Coons 1923 - 2010

2010-01-28T23:11:00.000-08:00

To a great friend, mentor and teacher. I will miss you mom.

my persona

2010-01-18T17:20:00.000-08:00

After returning from India last week, I was thrown into the real world of confronting work, new art projects, skiing, a birthday - so much to do. This trip will take time for me to process and digest. When I review the photos from our trip I cannot imagine that I was at this place, this wondrous country, so foreign, bright and bleak at the same time.

With an active week-end in front of me, I fell seriously ill. I was struck down with the flu; a roaring fever, chills, etc, etc. I had never before felt or experienced this type of sickness. Ken panicked for a moment but with his science mind came to the conclusion that I would be okay. I stayed in bed for two days sweating it out. The third day, my strength returned; still with stomach upsets but I could finally read in bed and catch up on my New Yorkers.

Things change is a heartbeat. Being sick makes you realize how fortunate you are that you can get better again and will get back to the routine of things. And that is putting it mildly.

Ajanta and traveler's edge

2009-11-23T08:24:00.000-08:00

When I was in grad school working on my MFA in studio art, I took several Buddhist art history courses. Pictured above is the Ajanta Caves which I studied and have been craving to go to for years. Finally, Ken and I will make this destination. It is about nine hours away from Mumbai by train. The complex is shaped in the form of a giant horseshoe and there are twenty-nine caves to visit. This is a World Heritage Site; a remote destination where monks conducted their practices and it dates back to the second century.

In the Buddhist and Jain temples, you start at one end of the temple and circumambulate to each cell of Buddhist icons or idols. By the time you make the journey around the periphery of the temple to each station, you become immersed with the Buddha mind or in other words you delve into a spirit of meditation and enrapture.

My past travels have afforded me to see great Jain temples most notably up north in the Rajasthan area, in particular the cities of Udaipur and Jaisalmer. The Jains feel that every little particle of life is precious and some wear masks to avoid doing harm to any organisms that they may breathe. Men are known to give up their entire possessions at the end of their life, leave the family (very similar to the life of Buddha) and seek a spiritual life without the worldly pursuits. Their temples are amazing; carved with marble pillars intricately fused with astounding minutiae of Indian daily life.

I remember coming back to Anchorage in 2006 from our first travels to India and it felt so good to sit on a couch! Much of the trip was uncomfortable because of the air and poverty; I hope to shed these preconceptions and immerse into Indian reality. To judge a country on one visit would be unfair; am still drawn to the Hindu mythologies and mystical sages. We depart for Mumabi in less than two weeks and for another time I will be able to experience another part of this subcontinent and drink in the many delights mixed with it's insanities.

divine standards

2009-11-16T13:38:00.000-08:00

Above is pictured The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa by Giovanni Bernini. This image is often featured as an opening introduction to my art course that I teach at UAA. We discuss what we see and we reflect on what is going on. Saint Teresa was a mystic nun who saw visions. An angel is seen plunging her with an arrow, over and over again filling her with the love of God. This sends Saint Teresa in a state of ecstasy; her face almost orgasmic with pleasure and pain. It was completed in 1647-1652 during the start of the Baroque period and it is housed at the Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome. This is what high art should be, a transcendence of spirit; a statement that stands on it's own.

What is today's standards? In the Oxford Dictionary, they describe standards as a required or specified level of excellence. I am not sure if the word standard fits into our 21st century; I often deny it and easily cast it out and it has become a warped, manipulated concept.

When I show art images, I identify certain works of art as obtaining an excellence and integrity in craft, a tediousness of detail and execution into the final outcome of a masterpiece that lives throughout time, a creation from the divine.

Students can visually see this work and identify it as something quite unique and special. I present this art work as a recognition of a time that we have lost in our own century - a standard of excellence. It is this level of exquisite fineness that takes us to another level. There is no need for any definition, no explanation required. It exists with an intense aura of power and it is perfect.

crass America

2009-11-10T11:00:00.000-08:00

This past week-end I was sleeping and woke up to an intermittant dog barking. I laid in bed thinking it would go away; perhaps a moose had sauterned by and the dog was agitated or maybe it was outside a little too long waiting to come into the house? The barking went on and on into the early morning. I let it go and dismissed it thinking it was a one time incident. Sunday night, Ken and I both woke up to the same dog barking, not only at 1 a.m., but it continued on throughout the night. It was still barking in the morning but I had to get to class and so I let it go again. I arrived home and the needy animal was still going on. I went out to investigate finding that it was indeed our neighbor's dog. Peeking through the fence I caught sight of the lanky lab named Beau; noticeably upset that someone had forgotten him. I went home and came back leaving a note on their door.

Later on that day, this guy was walking Beau and I rushed out of my home to ask him what was going on with the commotion; only to be answered in a nasty tone of denial - not even an apology or acknowledgement of the reality of the matter. The owners were out of town and it was their son who was taking care of dog. Well, I replied in a huff, angry and uptight tone and told him to take care of his dog; that he was being neglectful and it was cruel behavior leaving the poor animal out all night in the cold temps.

I thought over my behavior, how I had lost my temper and how upset I became. Now I don't hear a peep from the neighbors yard. Yesterday, I became part of crass America.

on being arbitrary

2009-11-05T10:33:00.000-08:00

There are always pluses and minuses to where you live and then there is the gray area, the arbitrariness of life. Driving yesterday on the Glen Highway I wondered why I was here, what was my focus to living in this state. At that moment, the landscape turned into a surreal out of the body experience and I lightly fretted. As an intuitive thinker though, I go by my gut and it has gotten me into trouble several times in the past; have grown wiser because of some impulsive choices but fortunately I have a knack of reinventing myself. I took Alaska and reshaped it into a workable environment and it succeeds to some degree and on the other hand it doesn't. I make quality artworks but my expressions are often too heady, too contemporary and esoteric. On the other hand I have become more socially conscious in the community as an entrepreneur and educator. I have continued to stay here because of my attachment to nature and to my marriage. In some ways, it has given me great insight and perspective not only about the land, but about the nature of people. I miss intense culture of big cities, the banquet variety of choices, but I don't miss the pretentiousness nor the politics. Anchorage has another set of politics, it is transparent and malleable but deep and disarming too; it surprises me and catches me off guard. It works for now and perhaps that is the present.

kindness

2009-10-31T21:18:00.000-07:00

Since I have been living in Anchorage, Alaska, I often have wondered about the concept of kindness. Is kindness real or do people put on a mask; try to be cheery, try to be optimistic and is it sincerely genuine? To some extent, at times, I think it is true charity that I encounter. Kindness is something that is ultimately magnanimous. Kindness is everywhere in Alaska. I think it is a wonder land where I live and because of the beauty of nature, you are filled with a underlining happiness or disbelief of the fantastic surroundings. Most of the time the beauty is so powerful that you cannot take it all in. This past summer I was so taken back by the green large mountains that loomed so close to my presence. I became instantly scared; it overwhelmed me and felt small and insignificant. It is a very polite environment, even though Alaskans can be tough spirited, there is another side to their persona that involves an all inclusiveness, like someone reaching out their hand to you to tell you that everything is okay and fine.

I need this kindness because it soothes my anxiety at times. In the early pitch black mornings or on the snowy highways and vacant corridors of the city I need this comfort. Just entering a gas station to exchange silly pleasantries surprises me time and time again on the good nature of folks. I use to think it was terribly corny and provincial but now I see it as a mode of survival. It works and even when I don't need it, it is there, this approachable silly stuff, this gooey good that I sometimes scoff at and on the other hand I embrace it, walking away feeling fortunate that it is there as I choke back this sentiment, I reconsider my cynic being.

the native in me

2009-10-27T08:45:00.000-07:00

This past Saturday, I spent the morning at the Alaska Federation of Natives Conference and got to see a group of natives work on resolutions, amendments and adjusting the records. The process was very professional and dignified. Of course, since I have lived here, the native culture has been a part of my residency in Alaska and I have been absorbing it ever since.

Two years ago I observed a totem raising ceremony at the Alaska Heritage Center and spent the day hearing dedications; listened to speeches, prayers, singing and chanting, saw the young and old gather and talk in native tongues. Spending the day was not enough at this gathering to understand and feel the native pride. I wish I was part native, part tribal, an eighth or a fraction of color. When I was in middle school I use to tell my friends that I was part Apache and French. My mother is Swiss born; coming from Huguenots ancestry while my father from second generation German and Dutch roots makes me an official European offspring. The other evening though, I was telling an acquaintance that I am more interested in other cultures than my own.

Presently, I am taking a class at UAA called Alaskan Native Politics. It can be a bit dry some of the time, but integral learning about the foundations of the native people, the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971, the establishment of their corporations, their ongoing fight for their land, recognition and rights as people and their stories of the ongoing hardships and present trials in rural Alaska. It is like listening to another language; enjoying this challenge and new dialog I try to suck it up like a sponge. We live insular and comfy existences in our homes surrounded with all too familiar people. We think we know the lives of others, how they live and their struggles, but we know so little. The Alaskan Native is a rich culture and hopefully one day I can participate to a greater level of understanding.

one part color

2009-10-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

I became an artist because I love color and culture. Lydia Mendoza was my first Mexican girlfriend; we worked together in the garment industry, a job that I despised but was forced to find work and eight years afterwards, I developed a business mind learning great lessons from master marketeers. Downtown Los Angeles was a sprawling large setting; concrete and homeless, vacant store fronts peppered with markets, discount outlets and eateries. Later on, I lived in the loft district, called Little Tokyo, and immersed myself in this community. I loved that part of the city because it exuded a romantic industry; it was there that I grew up, spirtually and mentally as a fine artist surrounding myself with serious thinkers, poets, composers, designers, performance artists and the like.

There was chili, salsa, hot sauce and burritos. I met Lydia's family and I remember her father was warm and sun browned. It was a different neighborhood called East Los Angeles. This was a new place to add to my existence and after twenty years of living there, this Mexicana/Hispanic culture crept into my soul. I felt their taken land, the dry desert, looming catus and vast reservoir of space. Today, I miss it - the heat, their passion and deep humanity coupled with humility.

the witching month

2009-10-16T20:22:00.000-07:00

It is the season of magic, of ancient harvest moons, smoke, bonfires and dancing to the drums. It is a time to celebrate El Dia de los Muertos - a festival of the ancestors. My personal experience with October sends many memories; a dark Los Angeles night and a feeling of my solitariness in a tremendous city, with background noise of traffic, sirens and the scurry of city life.

I was recently divorced and was renting a house in mid Wilshire, Los Angeles. If you went a block east, you were in questionable territory and going two blocks west, you landed in Hancock Park; mansions and wondrous homes that often one asked, who lived there or if anyone lived there at all. My new digs was a creaky, funky, run down space but it had a huge working studio and a courtyard that was filled with warm sunshine during the day. I had taken the bars off the windows because they obstructed the beautiful light that was needed to do my painting. I lived in the center of a Korean neighborhood. Sundays, I could hear a nearby apartment of worshippers singing hymns. Homeless would stroll by with their shopping carts while cars whizzed and helicopters hovering over the cityscape would jangle my nerves late at night. One October, my mother had come to visit me from the east coast. I had had a biopsy on my right beast and was waiting for the results to see if the growth was cancerous. My mother accompanied me to the doctor's; seated in the waiting room, I anticipated the call for the consultation. I remember so vividly how cool and confident my mother was, not doubting for a second that the results were okay and she was right. That evening, we returned to my eccentric pad, but it looked different. I put on my running shoes, skipped through the neighborhood, happily and freely, running with abandon. Every October I think of this incident; the in between darkness and light that I felt; that past, the comfort of others and my fortunate place that I inhabit today.

C'est la vie

2009-10-05T08:29:00.000-07:00

Waking up to the dark and rain was not a good way to start a Monday. The weather visibly turned to pitch black; caused my brain to tumble toward insecurity and anxiousness. However, by the end of the day, it turned out to be quite beautiful; our fall has lasted golden and plush.

Last Friday, I was looking at a map of France. I traced the places I hitchhiked; my starting points were at the Sorbonne in Paris for a few months doing some preparatory work and then I went on to study at the Universite of Tours, France for ten months. It was an art epiphany of Van Gogh in Amsterdam, the Rodin Museum which floored me, The Louvre, The Jeu de Paume in Paris. Paris, Paris, Paris. Most of it was emotionally striking and I remember those times clearly. As students we were housed in these very small rooms; quite stark and placed in a wooded area (aren't most dorm rooms?) Socially, I spoke French very well but my grammar was very spotty. It wasn't until I taught French back in the states that my learning came together and I had arrived at speaking it fluently.

I especially remember my Marxist boyfriend who took me around to all the political rallies; we visited his sister on a farm in Limoges, smoked Gauloises and Gitanes and it was there that I really learned how to taste food. His name was Jean Claude Jandin and he wrote me love letters after I returned to the US, asking me to marry him. Helas, I was too young and fickle and I blew him off; still think fondly of him to this day and often wonder how my life would have evolved. Quite differently I suppose. It was from Jean Claude that I truly learned the psychology of Voltaire - on peut cultive notre jardin de l'amour.

So, as I looked at the map of France, my relationship with my past became surreal; as if I had never been there, never traveled through this wonderful country, never felt a foreign place, learned another language, tripped through the neighboring lands by trains, ferries, hitching by trucks. I became sad because it was if that part of me was gone forever. It is extinct I suppose; you carry it buried in the present, deep and distant but it can be recovered in a heartbeat.

something like happiness

2009-10-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Just finished viewing a wonderful Czech film titled Something like Happiness. I fought a dull headache all day long; not sure how it happened, the air, too much school, fretting over a research paper, etc and after arriving home from a long bike ride through the golden forest paths still did not squelch the light throb that laid above my brow. However, after resting and watching this film, I fell into a state of abandon, letting go and living in this landscape. The characters in this film were just ordinary working folk; I loved each and every one of them, their warmth and appeal won my heart over. It was a down to earth film with a stark industrial background making their lives just bearable while the beauty of the film rested on each other. They treated each other with such humanness, dignity and charity. It is no small wonder how these films without all the bells and whistles appeal to my senses; are close to life and possess a reality far away from Hollywood norm.

a fall bouquet

2009-09-26T19:30:00.001-07:00

Today I gathered long stemmed straw flowers from our cottage garden because the sun was out and they were open. I took this chance of putting together a huge arrangement to bring into the house; will watch the subtle changes that evolve from these hardy plants during the next few months. These flowers become their own personalities while they dry. The last to bloom in the summer, they withstand the first frost, are haughty, sport a defiant nature to each flower head and each one has an amazing individual arrangement of colors, are showy but down to earth at the same time.

Facebook

2009-09-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

As much as Facebook can be pretentious, over the top, time wasting and superficial, I have found great things about it too. It has connected me to friends from my childhood and friends who I have spent time with in other parts of the world or perhaps they are friends of friends. Of course, this obliterates the notion of what real friends are; while some store up to over thousand friends on their list, others do not enlist on Facebook either because they find this act ridiculous in nature or else intimidating because they will not have enough people on their queue? Of course, it can be time consuming, but I find myself checking in here and there, not more then five minutes a clip and sometimes I just let it go for a while hoping new things will reveal themselves next time I open my profile. It has been especially good for me; connecting to the LA and NY art world, hearing the newest fads, seeing other artists artwork, reading the latest Utube sensations or just scanning the quirky "share" quotes. Let's face it; you wouldn't spend this type of time with your closest of buddies but I view this exchange as a game and as a fun outlet. Do I have better things to do? Probably so, but so what.......Facebook has connected me to a cyber and abstract communication channel; some where and no where but an in between space that reveals some of the true personality of the 21st century.

Pete

2009-09-14T20:00:00.000-07:00

Pictured above is Ken's parents, his mom and his dad. Ken called me from the research station in Cooper Landing today and told me his dad had passed away. Pete was nearly 90 years old and had been suffering from Alzheimer's.

I didn't know Pete well; we had visited him in Cable, Wisconsin nearly five years ago. We attended a graduation at Claremont College in California, then flew to Chicago, rented a car and drove nearly eight hours to see his parents. Because we got a late start, we stayed overnight at a quaint roadside motel, ate down the street and had wonderful steak dinner for under twenty-five bucks. It was a short adventure traveling to the Mid West but a signficant passage. I had often spoke to Ken's parents on the phone but this was the first time meeting them face to face. It was a delightful four days of cruising around the area, hanging with the folks, meeting with neighbors and one afternoon we drove to Lake Superior.

It is sad how little we know of each other. I knew Pete via Ken who would tell me stories from his childhood; family dinners and heated discussions, the Lithuanian neighborhood in the south side of Chicago where he grew up. There are many other accounts that I will never know of I suppose, perhaps secrets that shall remain forever hidden.

The past is always around the corner while we take the present many times for granted. Sometimes I cringe in fear about dying. Who wants to die? Not me I shout inside myself and I go on living like I never will. People's deaths remind us of our own. And to every season, change, change, change. And to Pete, my thoughts are with you this evening.

interior notes

2009-09-07T10:31:00.000-07:00

I spent two days in interior Alaska. Flying into Fairbanks, Nancy Burham, curator of the Annex Gallery picked me up at the airport. An exhibition of my tapestry works called Comfortably Red was opening that night. The show space is in Ester located about five miles from Fairbanks. The trees were beginning to turn but the weather was dry and hot, almost 70 degrees. This is hunting season around the Fairbanks area and I got to see a production of four wheelers headed out to the Tangle Lakes region for a twenty day moose hunt. I wanted to go along with the crew and hell with an art show! But, I met with some Ester characters; visited the Golden Eagle Saloon while dogs were coming and going out the front entrance of the pub added to the lively chatter, beer and hand on hamburgers was a treat making me think that you could be in upstate NY or the Berkeley CA area. Something to bring home to Anchorage; an interior difference in every shape and form made it a specialty stay.

edge-wise

2009-09-02T08:31:00.000-07:00

Since I left Los Angeles nearly eight years ago, I have kept in better contact with my friends via Facebook and emails. It sounds pretty sorry doesn't it? I told my husband that I cannot live in Alaska without the internet and cyber services. Sandra, my LA correspondent and great friend, communicates almost everyday via emails. We spoke about travel this morning and how important it is for me to get out and see and experience. Travel gives me my edge, fuels me, gives me insight and inspires my work. For the next few months, Ken and I will be scrambling around pooling our ideas, planning and visualizing our routes, making contacts abroad and rearranging our schedules that will entail almost six weeks of a trek to the southern part of India.

Tomorrow, we send our visas out for our trip that takes us to Mumbai, our starting point early December. This trip especially excites me because it will be a mental and physical challenge. We traveled to New Delhi and across the northern part of Rajasthan in 2006. It was a difficult trip for me; the pollution and poverty especially upset me and I came home not knowing if I truly enjoyed myself. It was an acute pleasure/pain experience. For our future plans, I will prepare myself with armor and learn to readjust my eyes. BUT, you can never be ready for India! I told my girlfriend that you have to travel now! Who wants to wait for retirement when you suddenly lose the nerve to go, to take long journeys across the continent?

enough of me..........

2009-08-24T10:38:00.001-07:00

Above is Ken's work and design. The finished masterpiece; a sideboard made from paduok and canary wood laced with ebony on the cabinet drawers and door handles gives density to the piece.

Above is another view of the sideboard. This is a wedding gift to Noah and Amanda, which will be delivered next week-end to their home. This project took quite a while; tedious detail, attention and the learning mechanics on getting a simple door to function was a feat. I couldn't imagine doing this type of artwork. Ken and I have lengthy discussions on what comprises art. This doesn't need any explanation because it speaks for itself. As artists say good work!

and on the other hand........

2009-08-20T14:57:00.001-07:00

My sister called me from Brooklyn yesterday afternoon to tell me that a childhood neighbor had died. Mrs. Crouse was considerably older than us but was one of the fixed stable of parents on our block. She lived across the street from us, had a great sense of humor and spirit, we knew her daughters and could always see them coming and going from their home. Marie, my sister, was walking from the subway station talking to me on her cell telling me the news. I was at home looking over our large quiet green yard with the sun shining through our front windows and caught her call. On her end, I could hear a fire engine barreling down the street, noise and clatter making our connection fuzzy. Contrasts.

And on the other hand......

Remind me that I am an artist. I constantly think outside the box. I am not associated with any routine of a work place that meets everyday peppered with a community of people. I free lance. My adjunct position at the university is from semester to semester, I do odd jobs, workshops and substitute teach in the local schools to supplement my income. I work in the studio with uninterrupted periods of time and then I don't work at all. I think too much.

I deny the right that what I am is valuable to my community and that being an artist is a career path in it's own right. I make expressionistic paintings that are on the wall of my home and some people look right by them or comment questionably or they don't know what to say at all. And that's okay! Remind me that I am an artist and that what I do is important. I think too much.

I observe my garden in the front of my home; it's beauty, the sacred flowers that hold subtle scents, sublime colors with their divine arrangements, the dampness of the grass where I walk to catch the lingering summer warm, the sun that I often take for granted. Didn't Voltaire say that you must cultivate your garden? Doesn't that mean that you can be anywhere but you need to be happy with yourself? Remind me that I am an artist.

sometimes a great notion

2009-08-13T15:48:00.000-07:00

While the summer affords me more time to read, I found the most difficult lingered with me; wondering if I get sucked into a fast consuming literary market; easy reads that take little to no time getting into the fabric of the book had me rethinking my book taste or my facility of patience. I switch from light to dense finds and if I decide not to finish the book it is because of the lack of prose.

Kesey's Sometimes a Great Notion and Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls were two novels of density, form and content. But during the reading, I found myself wondering if I wanted to continue. Both these books took my total attention and a strong concentration to finishing each labor. Both of these books were completed nearly fifty to sixty years ago. Has the craft of writing changed that much over the years? Have I become lazy?

Kesey's book goes back and forth with hidden psychological identities. His character thoughts are fused with one another so you cannot decide who is who. Kesey is a master poet while Hemingway's feat is a tedious journey, taking the day, a thought or motion stretching into an epic narrative. It was a dry read, but it's simplicity was dense with emotive clarity. I relate to Hemingway's emotions and relationships; a profound sensibility especially when he talks about animals and nature. He is a perfectionist when it comes to sensitivity.

At the moment I am beginning the novel by Zadie Smith On Beauty. I support young authors and like to study their craft and surely if I hadn't been a painter, I would have become a writer. Now I understand the full meaning of the love of labor and what it produces. Hopefully we can still take notice.

I'm assuming

2009-08-09T08:44:00.001-07:00

It is a quiet Sunday morning; a great time to write, reflect along with the ominous clouds that linger forecasting rain. Last night a friend and I were discussing small town living. As much as the quality of life is wonderful in Alaska I still have issues with groups or cliques that seem prevalent on surviving this part of the world. It is important to be part of group activity in one way or another. Myself, I guess I belong to a group of artists (although I don't regularly meet up as groups often do, but we are linked together by the work that we do.) I feel that groups become exclusive; they separate and make people feel left out.

How many times have you gone to a gathering or party while running into people you know; conversation sometimes turns into talking about friends or acquaintances that we may know indirectly or directly. Assuming you know or supposing or guessing, conjecture or theory about this person who lives in the abstract, we try to make a story about what is going on with their lives. Oftentimes, we state, I don't know - (the better supposition,) or I think she is going to stay in state, or perhaps he isn't taking that job position or maybe he/she is still running or maybe he/she has a bad injury. We are assuming we may know when in actuality, we don't know the details but we formalize and judge without really knowing.

While I lived in Los Angeles, your identity about who you were dissolved into the masses and situations often became diffused and forgotten. When you said something, it was often taken with a grain of salt and people really didn't care or hold you to it! You were allowed to change, move and evolve into a free individual. I feel that living in a small town you become this fixed identity by what you say or do without people really knowing or asking or really trying to find out. To me, this is scary and confining. On the other hand, we live in a community; people giving and helping, perhaps in a surface way, but doing the best they know how. I'm assuming.

on being an artist

2009-08-04T17:07:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HNb_IC6X_U

brief head trips

2009-07-31T08:09:00.001-07:00

How do you quiet the mind? How to you stop thoughts that go on incessantly and cease to close? At times, I am confronted by situations, conversations or happenings that seem to linger in my head long after the incidents. Being still, focusing and concentrating on something else, like a book or listening to someone else, helps alleviate the head ramblings. Letting go and just letting it be; allowing the universe to go its course, unwind itself to answers and the whimsy of life allows this freedom from the mind, freedom from obsessing.

The painting above reminds me of my sometimes ongoing chatter of the mind. Medusa was completed by Caravaggio, one of my favorite Renaissance painters. What I love about Caravaggio is his realistic and intensity of spirit which forces you to meditate on the action of the painting. Medusa is one of the Greek heroes; a woman with hideous and snaky-haired head. Myth says that by looking at her she could turn you to stone.

decisive moment and some shadows

2009-07-28T13:57:00.001-07:00

It crossed my mind the other day how involved I have become with photography. To me, it is immediate gratification, it tones the eye and it is used for my painting studies. The other evening, my class and I were looking at a range of Cartier Bresson's work. Bresson took photographs by a process called the decisive moment; simultaneous recognition in a fraction of a second, precise organization of forms which gives the event it's proper expression. His black and white photography emphasized the smallest thing - a kiss, an embrace, children running; human details that are universal.

not for sissies

2009-07-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEbIIO4KK54

I practiced yoga for years in Los Angeles but until recently, I restarted with a new form called Bikram Yoga and Hot Yoga. It is an intense cardio exercise and it takes shape in a variety of 26 poses held in a heated room. By the end of the session, I am usually drenched. Above, I posted a utube clip on Bikram. I would recommend this practice for everyone; a mental and physical challenge ranging from acute complexity to simple design. Personally, it keeps me calm and centered often rejuvenating me with additional energy throughout the day.

good-bye solo and being magnanimous

2009-07-16T08:31:00.000-07:00

The other night I took my class to see the independent film at the Bear's Tooth Theatre. The film called Good-bye Solo takes place in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, directed by Ramin Bahrami, and involves a Senegalese cabdriver named Solo who befriends William, an old Southerner. William wants to be taken to a mountaintop in the wilderness where he will end his life. It is a story about friendship, and it is filmed in an existential manner; dark, brooding but photographed beautifully. I wasn't impressed with the film though; it being very bleak, quirky and off beat, tired me at times (making me think maybe I had seen too many films?) Currently though, I have begun to think about relationships and how we treat each other. I didn't believe in the character Solo, who went out of his way to attach himself to this man; someone he didn't even know but wanted to save him from giving up on life, his persistence overwhelmingly questionable. I asked my students afterwards if they thought people like that existed, and some responded "yes." I wondered, often surprised by naive responses, if I had become cynical and jaded. On the other hand, I learn from my students; how we are all capable of being magnanimous - a possibility of openness and genuine giving. Let's hope so.

a gift horse.......maybe

2009-07-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

Last night I was on the phone talking with my sister and telling her about my agenda; my long summer days in Anchorage, my sufficient studio time, my nature outings and our fabulously ongoing sunny, warm weather that we have been having to add to everything else. She commented and expressed "sounds like quite a life you have." I am suspicious of too much happiness and I realize how abundant my daily gifts are but little things go unnoticed and I often take things for granted. In French, ennui is the perfect word that I sometimes feel in between my joys - a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction or better known as boredom. Doesn't that sound terrible after all the wonderful things that I have in my life? Dare I even mention this part of speech? Maybe this is an American phenomena. My contentedness has an opposite force; the little upsets that annoy me, that I never fail to whine about such as a teaching position that would possess greater substance in my career, or a fuller banquet of art venues that I miss terribly at times. I strive for these attainments but perhaps I am looking a gift horse in the mouth..........well, maybe.

project piece

2009-07-09T11:46:00.000-07:00

Ken started working on an extensive sideboard project as a wedding gift for his son and his new wife. (We attended the ceremony at at lodge in Stanley, ID; beautiful sage coated hills with grazing cattle in the background made for an excellent venture. We rented a car in Boise and drove up through Ketchum which took us close to four hours.) Anyway, above is the start of this project which has three shelving cabinets.

Above is the back of the sideboard which was recently finished. And below you can take a peek at the elaborate labor involved in constructing this piece of furniture. Each slab was an inch thick, each applied individually, glued and nailed. Ken spent three hours or more sanding the back. There are 74 pieces of these redwood planks. The finished piece will have drawers and a wine rack built above with more shelving. Quite an endeavor! I will post pictures of the finished product in the next months to come.

night light

2009-07-02T10:47:00.000-07:00

Lately I haven't' been sleeping well because of the Alaskan light. I lie in my bed listening to all the sounds of the evening. We live close to the inlet, so the birds are very active, their noises prominent. Also, I think I intentionally stay awake so I can keep these moments, study this time and keep it near to me. This night light of the summer will go away in the upcoming few months ahead of us; the seasons of fall and winter on it's back and the pitch black of the night returns. Above is my painting titled, the night of the summer stars, a poem stanza that I snatched from Carl Sandburg.

yin and yang

2009-06-17T23:01:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows that Yin and Yang are complementary opposites within a greater whole in which these forces constantly interact. Above is my painting she loves him, she loves him not. It is oil on canvas, 60" x 50" and my first art piece completed this summer.

Also pictured above is the painting called Flight Arrows; part of my Yin and Yang series. Spiral headed arrows pointed downward perhaps cast a dark point of view but the piece can also be looked upon as birds in flight; take on a work of calligraphy and mark making, part of my signiture style. It is an oil painting,60" x 32".

For the birds was completed last Sunday. It is a oil painting; the size 60" x 50" on canvas. It is more representative than my other work; the moodiness carries a painterly expression though and I am trying to be more image oriented. It is a stuggle for me to stay fresh in the studio; a tug of war and a constant accessing of aesthetics.

tough love

2009-06-14T11:38:00.000-07:00

Last night I watched the film The Wrestler with Mickey Roarke and Marisa Tomei; filmed in Jersey and perhaps Philly. The movie was photographed and directed subtlety and so wonderfully revealing, that I went from being embarrassed by Roarke's ugliness and sadness of character to loving his candidness, beauty and carriage. It is a very quirky film, raw, crude, seedy, and gritty. The director walks you through the hyper wrestler world; frank honesty makes this film expression almost appear like soft porn while only emphasizing the cheesiness of the true mentality of this life. Not only is this film about tough love but about tough everything. Roarke is great, courageous and wonderful. Kudos to his artistry.

we don't know what we have and things

2009-06-09T09:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but half the time I roam about my beautiful environment of nature and don't realize what I have.....so many things and luxuries, conveniences, ample food, clothing, shelter, comforts of space and transportation, places to go that are free, positive learning tools - books, libraries and institutions and not to mention the services of technologies seconds or minutes away from our fingertips. We are spoiled people whether we know it or not; most of us don't even want to admit to this factor. Just by living in this country we have become privileged beings. I am not sure if this is such a great thing.

I remember traveling to the Philippines and encountering Filipino Americans. They too realized that they could never go back to their native land. We are disabled in another way. We have become isolated with our riches and impervious to the hardships of the outside world even though we read, think we inform ourselves and rear a compassionate heart. In the meanwhile, I was looking into relief services in Burma and sent a note asking what I could do to help out, also stating that my husband and I were interested in doing this type of work in the future. I received a prompt email back. Money. Of course, what did I expect? Honestly though, I do not treat these services as a game but perhaps I do treat the notion of helping in a romantic, ideal way. I am kidding myself and if the opportunity arose, could I really do this type of work? Would or could I go through the rigors? Something to think about.

the flag

2009-06-05T10:03:00.001-07:00

Yesterday while working in the studio I tuned into NPR and caught up on my news fix. Also, I was impressed by Obama's visit to Egypt, his speech and how it touched Muslims around the world. During my visit to NY, there was an extra sense of patriotism and realized when I got back to AK and viewed my photos, how often the American flag appeared. Above is located by the Plaza Hotel near Central Park.

This is the hustle and bustle I experience at Penn Station when I catch the NJ Transit back to the shore points in New Jersey. It takes about an hour and twenty minutes on the train to get back to where I grew up; a modest ranch home located close to three miles from the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes I would ride my English Racer to the coast and hang out on the boardwalk, absorbing all the sights and ocean sounds, smells, and local character. Below is one of the shore points called, Avon by the Sea. From what I understand, many a writer and poet frequented this area. When I visit the east, I take long runs on the boardwalk that stretch for several miles dotted with huge mansions, Victorian homes, along with some small shanties and cottages. This area has an abundance of color.

some bleak concepts

2009-06-01T10:25:00.001-07:00

This is a painting that I quickly snapped while at the Francis Bacon Retrospective at the Met. (I couldn't figure out why I wasn't allowed to take pictures during this exhibit but you can at the permanent collection of paintings - Monet, Gauguin, and Van Gogh to name a few.......?) Bacon paints a pretty grim picture of the human condition; twisted bodies, anguished torsos and screaming faces of high anxiety are just some themes to mention. His work is disturbing and successful. There is also a video that shows him in a noisy bar scene in London, his messy studio arrangement, and it takes you on his painted warped view of life. The film was great and I picked it up at our local Loussac Library for free.

While walking the Chelsea art streets in NY, I came across some interesting signage. I took my time and was able to really look and observe what was around me on the streets of NY which is often exciting and filled with a continual buzz. Sometimes these street expressions are better than the art work that I experience in the traditional gallery settings. This was posted on a wall along the gallery row streets and below you can read the fine print. It paints a pretty bad picture of what an artist does and what an artist is, but I think this is the scenario of what some artists think about themselves and experience as a young working professional. Perhaps this artist came to America to find a name for themselves? And it looks that they became very disappointed and disenchanted with their artistic endeavors? Perhaps this artist is in need of a better perspective?

Also, posted on the streets was this sign shown below that I thought more provocative and interesting. It looks to me that someone is angry and someone is not getting want they want.

incurable rooted uprootedness

2009-05-27T16:06:00.000-07:00

Above is pictured a rooftop sculpture at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. Maelstrom, meaning restless and disordered, is made from welded metal and created to resemble giant roots. It filled the huge courtyard. I thought it very appropriate since I always had a restless spirit growing up along the east coast (and still possessing this energy to this day, I am afraid to admit.) On that particular day, it was a sunny and beautiful Wednesday, with little humidity, only peppered with wonderful breezes. Another scene I caught, shows the energy of the city absorbing the long forgotten sun. The mood was very high; people strolling happily with their coffee drinks, guys with loosened ties, and I got to check out the latest fashionable Grecian sandals too. More to come on the next post! I spent over ten hours on the flight back to Anchorage yesterday, and almost feel it is easier to fly to Asia. There has to be a better way to go back to my roots.........

fresh paint

2009-05-06T07:03:00.000-07:00

It's a new start for me, a summer bringing elated optimism of doing new studio work. Pictured above is a painting completed last year called fresh paint peppered with a minimal ground and fabric ties. It is a contemporary landscape and probably not too understandable but to artists of my kind and network. Today's contemporary artists are the most misunderstood of art makers. Contemporary means the now, the present and the work is too current for acceptance from mainstream audiences. As the summer months approach, I look forward to creating another three art works; stretched canvasses are gathering energy in my studio and ready to be pounced upon, scraped, bullied, painted, destroyed, recreated, loved and despised. I enjoy the challenge; the adventure of doing something better than what I have created in the past (or possibly not.) Painting is a psychological game to me, a cause, a break, a misery, darkness and light. My yoga practice encourages and teaches me to do some of the poses without struggle. I will try to employ this theory to my art making, but I still believe that without some struggle, some pain attached, some sweat, the works don't resonate and speak out. As one student once commented during a lecture I was giving, who cares?