Happy Christmas!

Solstice

Covey

All week, I've been trying to respond to Sandy Hook. I was still reeling over the shootings in Clackamas, Oregon, so close to where my family lives. And then last Friday's news. This one, I can't absorb. My drawing board has been as blank as I feel inside. I've avoided media, even my beloved npr, and tip-toed in and out of Facebook. Turning to nature comforts me, as it usually does. A good walk in Hickory Hill Park with a friend, cutting white pine for Christmas decoration, and staring into warming fires have all helped.  I hope you are finding your way, too.

Today, I did sit down and do a few sketches. I've been working on a theme of how other animals prepare for dangers and work together in times of crisis. All sorts of instinctual behaviors exist, some humans can relate to and should perhaps even mimic.

Take many types of game birds, like bobwhite or quail. When sleeping at night, a group will form circles, tails in, heads facing out. They can be alert all at once if something threatens. They can sleep assured, warm and connected. Nature gave me solace in this image. We are not alone in tragedy. We are all part of a covey. Let's come together as a community and work to prevent these terrible events.

Lines Written in the Days of Growing Darkness

by Mary Oliver

Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
world descends

into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume...

I love the beginning lines of this poem. It sums up how I feel about the end-of-year preparations. 

I hope you are enjoying your rich mash right now.

To read the whole poem, please go to:

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2012/12/13

Eastside Artist Show Next Weekend

Number nine for me. Stop by if you're local. A gift of a greeting card or a bird "orniment" if you mention you read this on my blog!

Preparation

Getting ready for the annual art show next week. I'm working on some pieces inspired by our neighborhood wild places. The black and white work above is one I am currently finishing up; I'll color it today. It's of a wild place that used to be, but is no more.

This summer, a new subdivision was built down the road a couple miles from our house. The property had been mostly arable land, a former farm. A small woodland, or copse, bordered the side closest to the road.

I often used to cut through the property to fetch Lucy from school, using a well-used pathway that ran between the field and the wedge of woods. On many occasions, I saw wild turkey strolling the fields. Other times, deer would be grazing on the outer edge of the trees. Once, I found a substantial (three pronges!) deer shed. I have this antler in my studio. On frosty winter days, the view down the old path looked like a Currier and Ives greeting card. It was Long Ago Iowa, here in the Now.

A grand old white farm house was there and still inhabited. When I saw the house's front porch being retro-fitted with a wheel chair ramp though, I wondered if the farm's days were numbered. The acreage was sold a few short months later. A sign appeared announcing a public meeting to discuss the new owner's intent to build multiple dwellings. A group of us from a local park organization, Friends of Hickory Hill, rescued some wild ginger from the wooded bit of the property. The farm house was burned as part of a Fire Department exercise. The building commenced. And now, some very fine houses sit in the once fields. But I hold reverance for the place that I used to walk. I took a few photos before the developing began. Along with my imagination and memory, the new piece recreates a typical morning, looking toward the farm from Rochester road. It could have looked this way last year. It could have looked this way 80 years ago. Now, it's a different scene altogether.

But the turkeys and the deer and I will remember.

Thankful

We drove to Chicago the day before Thanskgiving, with plenty of late fall Illinois field and woodland to contemplate. I had my tin of colored pencils and sketch book and again I just doodled. Lucy came up with my title (she's taking Spanish in middle school!).

I am thankful for my family, warm cars and clear roads, nature, a big city preparing for Holiday, twinkling rivers, chutney on crusty bread, red wine, Michigan avenue store windows, and this place called the End of the Year.