sperlygirl

on my easel...

swirling...that's about the word for my world at the moment. there's a lot of uncertainty swirling about us and where it will take us is just about anyone's guess. it reminds me a lot of watching seeds being blown from a dandelion and trying to pinpoint where one will land.

amid the swirl, i am focusing on simply, the present. i close my eyes while out to memorize the sounds, gaze longer at the sea to take in her hues, walk slowly down our streets to absorb all the beautiful detail, and make plans to spend more time with those we have grown to cherish here. and all the while, hold it so carefully in my heart. 

it's funny, as this painting began before we were even swept up into this swirl, but perhaps it has been there all along, moving like an undercurrent. she appeared on the surface, a surface that is built upon layer and layer of poem. whether she realizes it or not, she is grounded by grace, which sits silently upon her shoulder. so light in fact, she sometimes forgets it is there. much like the moon hung in the evening sky when life presents so vividly below that you forget to glance up, yet it is there - a constant presence above you. around her cascade the stars, each one holding a precious wish - perhaps one she has made for herself or for another. beyond this, spirals the film reel of her memories. it is the story that surrounds and at times suspends her thoughts. 

december reflections...

today's prompt from susannah's december reflections had me wander back a bit in memory. today is day 15: your favorite camera. my favorite camera will always be my dad's beat up old Minolta because that's what he used and what he showed me how to shoot with. i don't remember him ever explaining a thing about aperture or exposure, instead it was walking around and him asking me about what i saw that interested me - what about this, how could i capture it? it's exactly how i approach photography today all these years later - shooting from my heart. 

i had a beloved video professor in college who taught in a similar fashion. his approach was from a zen perspective and he made us hold the camera at waist level, moving slowly to capture video. i thought this was fantastic, it striped away the assumptions and rules and forced you to 'see' from an emotional level. to me, it felt like moving poetry. it felt like art. 

and while the technology evolves in such a manner that ability to see with your heart can become lost in an invisible desire to snap a moment - to capture the essence of what moved you - will always remain. and i so love that. 

on my easel...

she has been beckoning me for weeks, reminding me that she is not quite finished. so finally, i flipped her over and read the words that i had written before i began. the words that are buried into the first layers of gesso and layered on top of. and with that, and a couple final touches, i call her finished. 

"sunlight carried her wishes, while the stars held her dreams. only the moon knew her whispers and kept them safe." ssperl 2014

in my studio...

ok, so calling it a "studio" is a bit of a stretch since it's really only the hall space between most of our rooms. (i.e. lots of foot traffic always passing through) but it's what i got! and seems most of my glimpses of my artwork lately has been happening on instagram. so i thought i'd share a few pieces here. lots and lots of practicing whenever i can find spare moments. i dream of the time, but for now, this will do. 

thanks...

wow, here it is 1 october and i feel like i am still lamenting the end of summer! i have felt the seasonal shift in other ways. a creature of routine, getting back into work allows me to structure my time more; so with that, i have been drawing/painting daily. some days it's just a quick sketch before dinner. other times, i am able to sit and push myself to work in a different way. making the time has provided more focus, lit a spark, and has reminded me of what is most important.

creativity is an expression...a means to document one's experiences and feelings. the process is as precious, valuable and unique as the hands that make the mark. i believe our experiences need to be documented and shared - they are our way to connect, they are our stories. it is no easy task to create creative work (regardless of the medium). to those who bring art into the world, in all her glorious and various forms, thank you for sharing - for finding a way to express your idea, from envisioning it to constructing it and then sharing it with others. i know i am a far richer person from experiencing all those whose creative works that have touched my life. 

with paint...

always it seems as my brush moves, words gather. they were swirling there to begin with but it's not until my painting takes shape that they decide how they will line up in stanza.

they are needed, they find home amid the canvas. perhaps they are not what i was intending from the beginning (or maybe that was just their intention and i was unable to hear them) but by the finish, it is clear to me that my heart was speaking her true intention. 

a little rework...

it kept nagging me every time i passed by...

'something is missing', 'something is off', 'something more is needed', she would whisper, like a little one persistently pulling at your sleeve to garner your attention.

i ignored her for as long as i could. and then this weekend, while in the middle of several other things, i found my hands in paint - soothing us both. 

i am reminded again - always listen to the whispers. 

 

a new work...

i have been staring at this painting for months, knowing it is not finished but lacking any sort of inspiration as to where i wanted to go with it. then this weekend, as i was finishing up another project, these words drifted into my thoughts and i knew i needed to add them to the canvas.

poetry has always been a part of me, snippets of words or phrases that emerge from some where deep inside, looking for a home. years ago, it was how i processed my world. but now they truly seem to emerge from a work itself. they are always connected to my creative work - no matter the medium.

if they are not physically written on somehow, there are in a journal that references it. it is as if they find life, find voice, from that most precious place of creation that we all hold inside. my words are my lineage to my bloodline. my great-grandmother was a poet. her words are captured not in a book, but instead on old receipts and grocery lists from many years ago - time capsules of her heart. i always loved when my grandmother told me this story. a thread of words seeming to connect us. my words are not shakespearean, nor have they ever been, they are simply how my heart captures a wisp of memory or how she navigates life's many rich layers, or how she strives to gain wisdom. and they are penned, like a fingerprint left on a frosted window, to record my passing though this journey.  

voice (listening to uncover your own)...

it's only really in the moments of stillness when i hear her. i know she is always there, but the bustle of the day easily diminishes her volume and she's far too polite to call out. but lately, she's grown a bit impatient, that inner-voice of mine. she is interrupting, aheming, and doing all that she can to garner my attention. i figured it was about time to listen. 

lifted...

some days it's so easy to find ourselves wrapped up with the notion that we must take it all on. all that life is flinging at us and we must do so with ease, with grace, and with a place setting to rival those you just found on Pinterest. and where do we wind up? feeling low-down, stressed out, not enough, and second guessing all that we do bring with us each and every breath. it's a nasty place to find yourself. and i have been there (more times than i care to admit). am inserting apologies right here as i don't have a 'fix', solution, or super simple table dressing that would totally rock your Pinterst world, to offer you. 

but what i can tell you is...you are not alone, friend. sometimes parenting...or work...or life... is messy, sticky, complicated, loud, exhausting and little about it feels pretty. but somehow you just show up, with each breath. you do your best and remind yourself that's all that you can do. you take a breath and another and you call on love to find your hand and gently guide you onward. and sometimes along the way you are able to recognize the smallest of helpers that quietly flutter nearby.

this is the place she came from - "sometimes her own wings grew heavy but help always seemed to find her and carry her heart" (ssperl, 2013)