Full Moon.

It is the night of the Full Moon. Just as the New Moon is a perfect time to bring new intentions, ideas, and projects into our lives, the Full Moon is a good time to let things go that no longer serve us. I like to imagine old and hindering patterns slowly dissolve away with the waning of the moon. This evening, I sat for a bit and thought about what I need to let go of this month.

I always feel especcially connected and energized by the Full Moon. In its honor, I attached some pieces of mine that I created by the light of la Luna in years past.

"Message in the NorthWest Night" - Colored Pencil, acrylic, paper, stitching on Cardboard.

"Moon Tree"- Acrylic, colored pencil, paper, cardboard, stitching, moonlight, on canvas

I really wanted 'Moon Tree' to capture the energy of the moon, so over the many months that I created this piece, I would place the layers of the painting on the roof of my house to sit under the ligt of the full moon. After they spent some good time outside, I would add the layers to the painting.

Almencer. Sunrise 10 and 11

Sunrise in Spanish. My dear friend Kyle who has been frolicking around South America for the past three months taught me that.


"Sunrise 11" - Acrylic and colored pencil on canvas paper

Im not a huge fan of this sunrise painting for some reason. I think it feels a little too dainty. Anyway, the sun started initially as a red fire ball right behind the harbor islands. Then, as it rose, it turned into a glowing yellow, casting a yellow light on the water and the sky.

'Sunrise 10' - Acrylic, colored pencil, paper towel (yes, paper towel) and tisue paper on cavas paper.

A sunrise from another one of our many rainy spring days from last week. I was feeling the need for some texture. I put some paper towel and tissue paper into the painting, and then covered them with layers of paint. Sometimes I do that; I use whatever materials I have disposable and see what happens when I incorporate them into my work.

Sunrise 9

Sunrise 9: another calm and cloudy sunrise from earlier in the week. The ocean reflected a cool shade of green this morning instead of the usual dark/gray/blue/green. I wonder why?

Sunrise 9: acrylic, colored pencil on canvas paper.

I'm running a little behind on posting my sunrises. I will take some time today later today to catch up. I don't have my camera with me, so I will need to get the paintings scanned.

Little by little the sunrise is coming earlier. The days are getting longer. Waking up for the sunrise each morning is balancing my internal clock. Prior to this little experiment, I was awake far too late into the night. Even if my eyes and body were tired, my mind wouldn't turn off. To make up for the late nights, I would sleep later in the morning. And the cycle would just keep going.

Now that I am waking up early to greet the sun, I am finding it much easier fall asleep at night. After a full and long day, my mind is quiet. I feel aligned, once again, with the natural energetic cycle of day and night.

Strawberries.

Making room for my asparagus neccesitated transplanting some new strawberry plants that took it apon themselves to spread over into another bed. I dug out this whole pile of new plants and transplanted them to a better home. Yehaw. This means even more delicous and juicy berries this summer. And of course some delicious strawberry jam.

I started this strawberry bed several years ago. Taking a few stragglers from the Hay House Farm, I basically just threw them in the ground let them do their thang. Year after year, the plants have thrived and multiplied.

Strawberries spread by runners; they have a very horizontal orientation, sending shoots, or runners, out in all directions. The runners then root into the ground and a new little plant pops up. Pretty fantastic. This original strawberry bed of mine is getting pretty crowded, and if I were a better gardener, I would already have a few different beds established, trimming the runner's off the plants each season and spreading them into different beds. But, I'm not a better gardener, and at this point in my life i don't have the acres of land that I am determined to get my mitts on eventually.

Strawberries are easy to transplant. Just cut the runner and move the new plant wherever it needs to go. However (this is important), when planting strawberries, you have to make sure the crown of the plant is above the soil level or the plant will rot. Not good. The crown is just the top of the root system, pretty easy to discern. It's a big bump at the top of the roots and at the bottom of the leaves. Oh, and you'll most likely have to cover your strawberries with some type of netting. Birds and beasts alike will try to beat you to your berries if you give them a chance.

Sunrise 8

A drizzly morning and another wet painting. I appreciated the simplicity of the foggy beachscape this morning; it felt calming and peaceful....quite different from the fire and briliance of last week's sunrises. Trying to capture those extreme scenes left me feeling a little frantic.

I crave these cool, drizzley days in early spring. They remind me of my time living in the Pacific Northwest. On days like this it feels good to allow for a little melancholy, a little indoor quiet time with too many mugs of coffee.... maybe even a nap.

"Sunrise 8" - Acrylic on paper.

Sunrise 7

Another morning at the reservoir, this time facing southeastish. I wanted to get a different perspective. Again, I only painted the backdrop for this painting. I will need another morning to complete it.

I used pinks and reds for the base layer. When I add the next layer of more accurate colors to the sky, trees and lake, the bright pink/red will glow subtley through. This creates a sense of light in the painting.

I won't be returning to the reservoir for another week or so, so I will finish this little painting at that time.

"Sunrise 7 (part 1)" - Acrylic on paper.

Asparagus

Asparagus rocks my world. Shooting straight up from the ground in early spring, it reaches towards the sky and announces the beginning of the food growing season in New England.

Several years ago, when I apprenticed at Hay House Organic Farm in Old Saybrook, CT, my favorite April task was to harvest the asparagus so that we could eat delicious asparagus and cilantro omellettes for lunch. Yummmm. I have been seriously desiring my own asparagus bed ever since.

Asparagus is a tricky perennial veggie to grow, taking 2-3 years of tenderness and lovin' before you can harvest. But, once the bed is established, you will have the delicious green stalks for years to come.



This year, I was determined to start my own (small) asparagus bed, so I ordered crowns which arrived at my doorstep last week. They were just the cutest little buggers; the crowns are simply the root system of a one year old plant. Starting with the crown is easier than starting the plant from seed and allows you to start harvesting the shoots a year earlier.

I was so nervous to put the crowns into the ground this early in the season; they looked so vulnerable and it is still cold. Since they are dormant, they are supposed to be able to handle some spring frost. So, I dug two 15" trenches, 4 feet apart. I put some homemade compost at the bottom, and made little mounds 12 inches apart from eachother. I drapped each root system over a mound. I tucked them in with about 2" inches of soil, and wished them luck. As they grow, I will continue to add soil until the trench is even.



Asparagus roots and my roots.

TU GU NA XIN: Spitting out the old, Taking in the New.

"Sunrise 6 (Sunrise 5, part 2)" - Vernal Equinox. Acrylic and colored pencil on paper.

Today is the first day of spring, the day of the vernal equinox. The sun positions itself directly above the earth's equator and Night and Day are equal in length. From this day forward until September 22, the light will take a larger share of our days than the dark.

This morning I finished the sunrise painting that I began yesterday. The sun rose more colorfully this morning, casting a clear golden light on the surrounding hills. It reflected more brightly in the still water and seemed to dispel some of the lake's mystery.

I am intending to maintain a daily qi gong practice to accompany my 49 days of sunrise paintings. Today, on this first day of spring, I find it particularly appropriate to practice the Tu Gu Na Xin (Spit out the old, take in the New) 4 direction meditation passed on to me by a dear teacher Master Zhongxian Wu. Starting with the East, the direction of spring wood, I breathe in the energy from each of the four directions and also from the earth's center. I breathe out any stagnant, unneeded energy from the various systems of my body. And I am ready for spring.

Sunrise 5 Part 1

This morning, nestled in the hills of the Connecticut River Valley, I sat on a slope beside the Higganum Reservoir and painted the sunrise peeking over the sleepy hills.

It was quite nice to share the early morning hours with the resevoir, an old friend whom I have known since the carefree adolescent days of highschool when my sweetie and i would escape school early to go ropeswinging off its steep edges.

I was only able to capture on canvas paper the first layer of this sunrise. The backdrop needed to dry before I added any more paint, so I put the painting aside and sat with the steaming and mysterious lake in silence and watched the sky lighten. Tomorrow I will return to this same painting and add the next layer of detail.

Sunrise 4

It was a mad dash to the shore this morning. Due to the loud, St. Patrick's day antics of my rowdy roommates, I barely slept and didn't wake to my alarm. Although I didn't get to experience the inital shift from dark to light, I did make it to the beach in time to see the rising sun. And it was amazing.



"Sunrise 4" - Acrylic on canvas

Sunrise 3

The sun rose so brilliantly this morning that I abandoned my brush at several points; I needed to be still to take in it's full, dazzling effect. It was humbling. For about 20 minutes before the sun appeared, the sky was a firey, blazing orange. It's energy was reflected like flames scattered throughout the water. I was somewhat struggling to adequately set the scene, when the sun suddenly appeared between the harbor islands: an intense, glowing, blinding ball of fire. As it rose, the water exploded into a rainbow of colors.

This artistic process is new and difficult for me. My tendency to create laboriously and neurotically must be abandoned. The shifting energy doesn't placate my need for perfection; it doesn't pause so I can obsessively revisit each minute detail of my work. The building momentum and eventual overturn into lightness is quick, and I must surrender if I hope to capture even a fraction of its beauty.

Pretty darn appropriate that such a firey sunrise should announce the arrival of St. Patty's Day.

"Sunrise 3" - Acrylic, colored pencil, paper, Lucky Charms, on canvas.

Sunrise 2

I felt stillness around me this morning; at some point in the night the water and wind finally stopped, creating a quiet spaciousness to welcome the morning. It felt comforting and safe. After pausing for some deep, oceany breaths, I realized I only brought three colors of paint with me: dark blue, yellow and black. Luckily, I had primed the canvas with a glowing shade of light orange, and was therefore able to (almost) capture the beauty of the morning sun using this limited palette...adding plenty of water to de-intensify the hues. The orange/white from the background, still wet, added just enough of a glow...


Sunrise 2- acrylic on canvas

Sunrise 1

I was certainly a sight to behold this morning- crouched and cold in the trunk of my trusty station wagon at 6:30 am, trying to shield myself from the torrential downpour that was relentlessly whipping my face as I somewhat hastily threw paint on canvas. And voila! Sunrise number one: a ghostly, drenched, somewhat unexciting little painting that marks the beginning.

"Sunrise 1" - Acrylic, colored pencil, and March Monsoon on canvas.

Nature Yantras.

In addition to my sunrise paintings, I am working furiously to manifest a new series of work that explores my observations of the natural world and the idea of sacred art. Ancient concepts .....new to me.

"Love makes me follow" - Acrylic, paper, colored pencil, stitching, cardboard, blood, sweat, tears...on canvas.

"Morning Colors" - Acrylic, colored pencil and paper on wood.

"Mandala" - Acrylic, paper, gauche, stitching on canvas. Mandala shown here having a serious conversation with pincone.

Untitiled- acrylic, paper, colored pencil, stitching, gauche, probably other shit too, on canvas

"Allium" - Acrylic and colored pencil on canvas

49 Days of Sunrises.

49 Days of Sunrises: Experiencing the Shift from Dark to Light

I am most interested in the liminal times, the moments when the line between one thing and another is vague, ambiguous and vulnerably open. I am interested in the times of day, of the year, or of life, when things are at the edge of shifting into something else. Sunrises, sunsets, equinoxes: at these times there is certainly a perceivable shift, but the exact moment of the transition can be hard to define.

It is at these times when I am most often and overwhelmingly struck by the presence of spirit. As I pause and viscerally connect to the feeling of the light overcoming the darkness, or the darkness overtaking the light, my senses heighten. I feel a distinct and tingling connectedness to the earth around me. I can remember myself as a small girl, running barefoot and wild through the grass of my rural home at twilight. Suddenly pausing, I breathlessly came to a quick and definite conclusion: There was magic in the air.

In this particular project, 49 days of sunrises, I will be exploring such experiences, specifically the shift of darkness to light. I am eager to be awake, present and connected at this time of day everyday for 49 days. Through the medium of paint, I will collect and express my experiences of this liminal time, of the yang building beneath the darkness and of the light’s momentous overturn of the night.

I started this project today, March 15, the day of the new moon and five days before the first day of spring. It is a time for newness; new ideas, new beginnings, new seasons.