Sheep on the Water, and the Beach Experiments

Today one of the other residents in the studio said, "Hey, the wind stopped."  We three held our movements to listen, to make sure.  (Exhale.)  Peace.

During the Windy Time (and it deserves to be a title), there were sheep in the water.  Sheep are what the islanders call the whitecaps.  So, here are some sheep, and two sailboats, for you:

Some real animals other than dogs and cats here on the island are rats (that the cats eat); hedgehogs; weasels that suck the blood out of chickens (vampires, ugh); horses; donkeys; and goats.  There's an islander that they refer to as The Donkey Man.  Photographers use him a lot, it seems.  He has more than donkeys.  He and his wife have goats, donkeys, chickens, and some horses, all just over the hill from my apartment. 

And yesterday, I had a photo op with the donkey.  The Foundation lets him eat the shrubs around the building from time to time.  We were in a staredown:

The Donkey Man's wife is business-minded.  Although she's never on the premises, she rents the beach chairs at the beach where I go.  Which is a nice transition into the Beach Experiments part of my blog today.  First, let me show you where I go:

And this is the winding road I descend to get there:

Once I get there, it's deserted except for a few locals I pass on the way and maybe a Norwegian on vacation.  September is off-season here (how I like it).  Here are a few illustrations of the ghost town feel by my beach.

       

This is where I can safely play in the water.  At 5 pm when the sun is still warm and the swimmers have gone to their rooms, I take pieces I've made, float them, experiment with what kind of art I can possibly make in the powerful waves.  That's what I've been thinking about.  So, I go there everyday to listen for an answer.  I get one answer all the time, but it's beyond words. . . Today I made a rubbing of rocks at high tide, right at the edge of the water.  Getting soaked in my street clothes was a lot of fun and made me laugh out loud.  Somehow I feel vulnerable and known there by this thunderous, pounding water.  Not sure how that happens.  I just feel something.  It's very freeing. 

Other quick updates:  dinner and concert plans did not work out as we had hoped.  Instead we went to what I consider one step up from a really good Greek greasy spoon.  Another update:  I ran up a hill today (remember, 45 degrees!).  I had been running at home before I came and never thought I would here, but I couldn't stand not to anymore.  As I was taking a walk, I just started running.  It felt like a million bucks.  A few of us are surprised that we're not huffing and puffing anymore when we walk.

And, the best update:  I had a fantastic studio day.  I made and made and never judged my work as I was making it, not once.  It's the lesson I have to learn over and over, to accept my work and let it go, even as I am making it.  None of us is exempt from having to learn at least one lesson over and over, right?  Well, that lesson is mine.

A book that helped me with that today is The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo.  In it he says, Yours is to live it.  Not to reveal it.  (By the water I am reduced to watching and breathing.  No comprehending, just sensing.)

He also says, I would rather be fooled than not believe.  (My best days are when I'm a fool.  Today was one.)

Monasteries are on the agenda tomorrow.  Take care.

Not untangling

 Don't try this at home.

No more untangling for now.  I can't bear to look at it anymore!  On to another project. 

Still Untangling

After talking to Matt about this project last night, I had thought I'd just bring the line home and continue untangling it there.  However, when I came in to work today, I knew I had to keep going.  This should be untangled here, though I don't know just why yet.

I have to say, it's a bit intruiging to see the translucent green line create small caverns, and to determine just where the line is that I'm trying to work on at the moment so I can pull it through.  (I know, not everyone would be intrigued by that.  But I'm pushing toward a final goal, so that helps.)  I'm working on the micro scale, up close, and then I have to continually balance that out by loosening the overall mess on the macro scale.  It's getting easier to work with.  Slightly.  I take what I can get.

This thing may be as large as a whale when I'm done.  I've never worked on this scale.  I'm dwarfed.  It's humbling and alluring all at once. 

Last night, I ran home in the rain.  Without Amanda.  Oh, well.  It was torrential and didn't let up all night, so there never would have been a good time to brave it.  I was up all night because of wind that even a New Mexican might find disconcerting (that's saying a lot).  I actually slept fully clothed, flashlight on the nightstand, passport and key and cell phone nearby.  That was at 5am.  What's more, today, Day 2 of the storm, is no different from last night except the rain is lighter.  Some parts of this studio building I'm working in have no natural light or are darkened by clouds, so I am thrown, trying to remember if it's night or afternoon, last night or a new day.

The storm outside and the storm of filament are paralleling each other.  I suppose if I hurry up and untangle the rest of it, the sky will clear?  I'll try and see.

Oh, wait.  There is no hurrying. 

Untangling

It's pouring buckets outside right now.  I've been waiting for two hours for it to let up, but maybe I'll resort to putting a bag over my head. . .I'd like to sleep in my bed tonight.

I spent all day untangling fishing line.  That said, I calculated that the line is probably about 1000 feet long.  It's worth it:  I'm going to install this as part of a show I'm having in November at UNM.  Another five hours and I should have it completely untangled.

I am the most patient person I know today.  What I learned while untangling filament: 

1.  Fishing hooks feel like kitten's claws:  slightly sharp, but not enough to break the skin.  (I have an updated tetanus shot all the time anyway.)

2.  It's better to loosen up the tangled mess than to force it to untangle.  Gentle coaxing is pretty much all you can do to straighten things out.  Sounds like a good life lesson.

3.  . . .lyrics to a bunch of Aretha Franklin songs!  Anyone know the Border Song/Holy Moses?  It's my new favorite.

Here's a photo of the storm coming on this afternoon. 

Wonder if Amanda will brave the rain with me.  Last night made three nights in a row now. 

I'm sorry this isn't longer, I'm just really tired!  Have a good evening and stay dry.

Fishing Metaphor #2

The fishing metaphor that's volunteering itself in my work is about looking for something inside yourself.  Fishing for inscrutable things.   

The ocean has been in my dreams since I was a teenager.  And my favorite childhood book was about humpback whales, the imagery all blues and greens and massive, gentle creatures.  There were no borders around the images, so there was no white paper to remind me it was just a book.  I was practically there in the water with these whales.  It was so inviting.  I was so curious and still am, I guess.

Various parts of my physiology (including my brain) feel like the idea of the ocean feels to me.  There are mysterious physiological spaces, small oceans in us that we don't think about on a daily basis.  For example, at the base of your throat, protected by cartilage and bone, there's an enclosed empty space.  It seems strangely still and fragile.  My physical therapist looked surprised when I mentioned that empty space to her.  She told me that I'm among few of her clients who sense their own physiology this way.  Go figure.  Maybe that sensibility is why I'm a sculptor: sensor of textures, spaces, and light.  And small and large oceans.  

So, here are some pictures of one book I finished today.  I made it with tea stain and two inks, Puffs tissues, wax for a binding, and some filament.  I used very old fishing hook and line behind each tissue embossment/rubbing.  It's in three parts and can be folded into a 2" x 3.5" bundle.  It's an ocean to carry in your pocket or the palm of your hand.

  6" x 3.5"   detail       book folded up            

Tomorrow morning I'm heading to the beach at Glisteri (glis -TAYR - ee) with two other residents who arrived this weekend.  I hope we get to swim, but there is a chance that the movie crew will block off the beach.  Either way, should be an adventure.

By the way, Amanda did in fact walk me home for the third night in a row.  Seems I'm the only one she's doing this for.  When I looked out the window a minute ago, I was surprised to see her staring at me from a hill above the computer loft.  What is she thinking? 

I tried to take her photo last night for evidence.  Although I moved very casually to get the camera, she saw what I was up to and took off like a "no, miss, don't thank me" superhero.  So elusive!  Here's a lousy photo.  It's all she would give me:

Have a great day.  More updates tomorrow.

Amanda, books, and a party

I don't know where to begin.  So I'll go somewhat chronologically.

This morning I got up early, went to the studio, and made books with fishhooks.  It was an experience that turned out to be a lot like painting.  I'm sorry I don't have photos for you tonight (it's past midnight, and I'm in my party clothes. . .) but I will finish those two books tomorrow and tell you all about them then. 

I've been at the studio very, very late for the past few days.  Each night when I leave, the director's dog Amanda, a herding dog, herds me home.  I'm a sheep, no kidding.  She weaves left to right in front of me, then left to right in back, then front again.  I feel entirely safe with her there.  Then, when we get to my door, I let her in.  She stands in the middle of my apartment, not accepting salami or water, just some petting from me.  Then, she's off into the night.  Like Superman.  Comforting, but puzzling.

Last night (must have been after she dropped me off), she brought home a two-week-old kitten to the director's house.  Now we have a kitten sleeping in one of the spaces in the studio. 

Amanda is like a saint, but she's a dog.  She travels from town to town, doesn't take our treats, and even herds the director's car.  They think she's crazy; and I think she knows more than I do about certain things.

Back to my party clothes:  one of the artists who has been a resident here, John Palmer, someone who is great at promoting his art, created a trip for twenty of his collectors to travel Greece, visit the studio here for an opening of his new work, and then each receive a free print from him.  It had to be a great time for these folks.  I was at the party and opening tonight:  Greek food, Greek dancing, lots of art, loads of fun.  And, yes, I danced.  It was a LOT of fun.  The moves are a lot like line dancing -- the grapevine, to be exact -- but with a lot more zest.  (Don't tell anyone, but I did my fair share of the grapevine in the 90's!)  We danced in circles, kicking and swaying, and after a while I did this with little Zoey in my arms for probably thirty minutes.  A very memorable time.

Update:  the movie star thing fell through.  There was a momentary hush in the studio when we found out.  But we know where they shop, so I expect I may still run into one of the Big Three.  Either way, it's fine.  If I had to choose, I'd pick dancing with Zoey and having the art flow, over seeing the cast.  Grateful for whatever comes, because it's all pretty magical at this point.

A little champagne, a lot of dancing, and two pieces of baklava go a long way.  I'm cutting this short. . .let's see if Amanda escorts me home tonight.  Have a great day.

Sweet Monday

It's midnight and I'm at the studio. . .I'll make this one short today.

Task list today:  post office, grocery store, pastry shop, veggie stand.  Time spent:  3 hours (mostly travel).  Straight lines walked:  none.  Stone steps ascended and descended:  1,000,000.  Calories expended:  realistically, at least 1200.  Flavor of pastries:  priceless.  (You knew I was going to say that.)  Listening to Paul Simon's Slip Slidin' Away while weaving through winding downhill streets when the morning was still cool:  also priceless.  Length of big headache after that much of a workout:  3 hours.

It's Week 2 and my artwork is flowing.  I can't stay up late enough to get everything done that I want to.  The great part is that while I sleep my brain is working on my art.  Bonus.

At the moment I am working on a couple of books of rubbings of fishhooks. . . I'll send a photo when they're completed so you can get an idea of what I'm doing. 

Today I sensed a coalescence, like something substantial came home to roost that made me take pause (and it wasn't a local chicken - ha).  It was, this is what it feels like to be a professional artist.  I didn't think, why me?  Or, who on God's green earth gets to do this?  I was just really, really glad.  And then I kept on making. . .