Saturday, February 25, 2017

What Single Step. . . .

As the saying goes,
the journey begins with a single step.

Your mind may be a playground, 
but unless you unloose your creativity,
and make your mark,
your creativity might as well be imprisoned.

What single step can you take
to do something creative?

It doesn't have to be painting or collage or sculpture.
It might not be a symphony.
It might be creating a new dish from scratch
or making an artful arrangement of flowers
from the corner grocery.

It might be pulling together a vignette of pretty items
to display on a shelf.

Let your mind run riot with possibility.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Digital Collage

Created this on Polyvore a couple of days ago.
Woke up the next morning to find it had been included
in the Top Art Sets for the day.

Always a nice surprise.

The surprise last night was a 4.1 earthquake.
Not enough to do any damage,
but unexpected nevertheless.

Turns out we've been having swarms of small earthquakes 
in our general vicinity.
Wonder if that's a sign of something bigger in store.

I'd better get the breakables off shelves and counter tops.

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Ode to Klimt

One of the cable channels featured
Woman in Gold
yesterday and I was reminded
that one of the groups I belong to
is having a contest where members
are encouraged to do Klimt-like collages,
using elements from his paintings.

So here are some of my efforts.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

Saturday Morning Has Slipped By

As the saying goes,
nothing lasts forever.
Not even Saturday morning
when I'm up at 5:30.

Good thing there's another one
in seven days.

Friday, February 17, 2017

The Women in My Maternal Lineage

The women in my maternal lineage,
at least the ones I know about,
seem to have a strong dose of psychic ability
in their makeup.

One of my aunts was living in Connecticut
during the Second World War
with her military husband
and got on a train across country 
to her hometown in eastern Oregon
because she had a feeling
that something was wrong at home.
She was right -- her older sister 
had gone missing.
Everything turned out fine,
but Mona's intuition was spot on.

Her daughter, my cousin, experiences
a disturbance in the force when a loved one dies.
Sometimes they appear before her at what she later learns
was the moment of their death,
often to deliver a message.

When I was in high school,
one day when my mother was 10 minutes late
getting home from work,
I waited (in a state of agitation)
for the State Patrol to call to tell me
that she had been in an accident
and what hospital she'd gone to.
They called about 5 minutes after my nervous system
went to high alert.

Come to think of it,
it's not just limited to the females of the line.
Both my sons have strong intuitions,
though one of them seems more uncomfortable 
with the gift than the other.
The dreams he had, about things
that later happened,
were profoundly disturbing to him.
"Mom," he said. "Don't you think that's weird?"

"No," I answered. "When I was your age,
I was so used to that happening
that I just assumed everyone did it."

I haven't ruled out the possibility
that I'm living in more than one universe.
I know for sure that I walk between worlds.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Left Brain, Right Brain

Hmmm. . . . 
are you more like the umbrella woman
or the sunglass woman?

Left brain
Right brain
or a good balance?

Oh and by the way 
HAPPY BIRTHDAY in absentia

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Happy Valentine's Day

I very much want to believe in the magic of love --
the romantic kind, 
the "I've got you under my skin" feeling,
and that it's possible for me.

It took me so long to recover from loving someone
who had a tendency to love the one he was with
that I don't know whether it's possible
to love someone that much again.

For those of you who've found it,
cherish and celebrate what you've got.

Love is a many splendored thing.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Well-Behaved Women

I'm not in any way equating
a letter by Coretta Scott King
with Janis Joplin's sometimes colorful vocabulary.

There's no equivalence
between Janis and the words read by
She Who Was Warned, But Persisted.

But one of the ways that men
choose to exert their privilege
and power over women,
is to subtly or not-so-subtly
squelch our speech.
Make us feel wrong or stupid
for what we say.

They don't want us to speak out.
We might expose some ugly truths
they are trying to conceal.
They want to control the narrative.
Run the agenda. Be the bosses (of us).

They want us to know our place
and not make trouble.

You know the old saying. . .
well behaved women rarely make history.

Friday, February 10, 2017

Haiku My Heart

a head of foam froth
starting my morning with chai
listen to your heart

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Post No Handbills

I called this piece
Post No Handbills.

I've seen signs that say something similar
posted on subway walls, on sides of buildings,
on upright surfaces like telephone poles or fences.

Those signs are most often accompanied
by posters and handbills galore.

One memorable place
that images on top of images had collected,
some ripped back in places
until there was a glorious collage
saluting commercial and protest art,
was on the wall of London's Tube.

I stopped to take a photo
of one enticing spontaneous collage. . . 
much to the embarrassment of my son,
who thought I was crazy for taking a pic
of a dirty wall in the Underground.

Some Moms are like that.

Underground art.

Monday, February 6, 2017

Art Journaling # 13

Did I ever mention that I'm a bookworm?

When I was a wee one,
my mother worked in the library
when my father was in graduate school.

On rare occasions, I got to go to the library
with her and hunker down in the small section
of children's books.

The smell of books and their heft in my hand
never fails to enchant me.

I love the semi-mystical feeling
of losing myself in a great story.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Friday, February 3, 2017

Haiku My Heart: Cosmos

NASA photo

pinpoints of star light
millions of light years away
galactic magic

Thursday, February 2, 2017

Art Journaling . . . Again

Back away from the screen, Meri.
You've got a meeting in less than two hours
and it's gonna take an hour to get there.

(But it's cold outside.)

(I like my nice, warm jammies.)

(Can't I just stay home?)

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Time for Something Different

January's over and with it,
the Notes to Myself.

Time for something new.

February has always seemed like a doldrums month
to me, at least.
It's still chilly outside.
Though there are some signs 
that spring intends to return before long,
it hasn't happened yet.

Usage is dropping off at the Y,
as New Years Resolutions
lose their steam as motivation
when you're tired or cranky or sore
and you just plain don't want to sit
on the exercise bike another minute.

And then there's the U.S. political scene.
I can't even bear to go there right now.
My Facebook feed is a choice between
political diatribes and puppies
talking back to their humans.

The future looks bleak right now,
with climate change deniers in charge
of protecting the environment.
With "alternative facts"
and the ascendancy of the alt-right.

It's time to look inside for magic,
because it seems in short supply everywhere else.