Unremembered Wings

Giving it Away

2011-03-03T07:47:00.000-08:00

It's been fun this past month to contribute to my community through my art. In February, I donated one of my tattooed ladies to Mayo Street Arts Center for their annual fundraiser. Last night I drove out to the Falmouth Memorial Library to drop off a yellow green piece featuring a young child and a sailboat (called "A Long Time Ago") for their art auction. As I walked back to my car, I had a moment where I questioned why I was giving away my art to benefit a library I don't even use. But immediately that thought was replaced by another. I gave it away to a library I don't use because I think one of the best things in life is gifts from unexpected sources. The act of giving, as a friend recently reminded me, is foremost about the impulse. When a student of mine emailed me the request for a donation two weeks ago, my gut said "yes" and I simply followed it.

After that thought, I was reminded of an event seventeen years ago when I was working at the Appalachian Mountain Club. That winter at the base of Mount Washington, I used to go out for a run alongside the main road each afternoon. An elderly gentleman passing through the Visitor Center who had seen me running, asked why I didn't take advantage of the great local cross country skiing, rather than run on a high speed and potentially dangerous road. I told him the truth--I didn't have, nor could I afford, a pair of cross country skis. He asked me my shoe size. A month later, an old fashioned pair of wooden skis and a set of boots arrived at the Visitor Center addressed to me (first name only and it was misspelled). That stranger had sent me his son's old skis!

In the spirit of giving, I will be volunteering my services as an artist this weekend when I bring 12 high school students from The Telling Room's Young Leaders group into Maine College of Art for a collage workshop. This group of immigrant and refuge students will be bringing parts of their stories, which they've been working on all year. I'll provide instruction and all the necessary supplies. I'm looking forward to seeing what they create. Their pieces will be on display at The Telling Room's year end event to be held at the Portland Public Library in May. More details will be forthcoming.

I had my first private art student who came to my studio for a four hour lesson on the basics of collage this past Monday. It was so much fun to work one-on-one, that I'm thinking of posting a listing for private collage classes on Craigslist.

I'm continuing to work on my extended poem series for the opening on the First Friday Art Walk at Trinket and Fern in May. I took a much needed break from all the white backgrounds to make some new work inspired by a set of teapot and teacup stamps a friend gave me for my birthday. Look for several of these tea series in my Etsy shop this weekend.

Goodbye

2010-03-25T21:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I've been knee deep in cardboard and goodbyes...and way too many old episodes of Angel. But that's another story. Tomorrow is my last day of work at the law office. There'll be a going away party with good eats and good wine and hopefully lots of good stories, or at least laughs.

After many months of planning and packing, my time in San Francisco is coming to a close. It's an interesting process, packing up one's life and leaving a place you love. Even if that place isn't the one you know in your heart is home. A place you love is just that--a place you had a share of time with. Much like a relationship that has to end, but without which you wouldn't be the person you are.

Tonight I ended up on the N Judah headed home from downtown. I don't usually take the Judah home from work. I prefer to walk if I can't drive or catch a ride, but I had to swing by my bank to close my checking account so there I was. I took the only seat available and when the train pulled out of the station I realized I was facing backward. For the rest of the ride I watched the scenery in reverse, the buildings and people fading from my sight. When we passed through my old neighborhood just two blocks down from where I had my first SF apartment, it hit me that I was leaving San Francisco. All this time I've been thinking about arriving in Maine. But arriving implies by it's very nature a departure.

My heart was already kind of full and bursty. One of the lawyers at the firm where I work surprised me with an early going away present because he was going to miss my party. He had matted and framed one of his ink and watercolor drawings--the one of the New England coastline he had done on a sailing trip last fall that I coveted. I was so touched I could hardly look at him. Of course I got all weepy and that was a tad bit embarrassing, but it also felt good. In a deep down, yeah, this is going to be hard, emotional sort of way. A way that I don't get very often these days--a way that was a much more familiar state of affairs in my teens and early 20s. My heart was open and I liked it.

I was still thinking about this as I rode the Judah underground and out into the sunlight. Tired though I was, I watched the people on the train and passing along the sidewalks. Sometimes this city was cold. And dirty. But more often it was amazing. I wandered alone down its streets for hours and just looked. I felt welcomed and I was. I grew up and became more myself. I feel so grateful for that.

So I cried on the N Judah tonight. Just a little, not so you'd notice. At the stop at the edge of Duboce Park just before the train enters the tunnel a girl waiting on the sidewalk for the outbound train saw, and she smiled at me, kind of a sympathetic--I don't know why you're sad, but I'm sorry--smile. I smiled back. I remembered the first year I was here, alone in my apartment one night, when I heard someone in my building or the building behind crying. Ever so faintly. I listened to her for a while and then I leaned my head out the window and called out "are you okay?" The crying stopped, but I didn't get a response.

Leaving San Francisco is saying goodbye to a time in my life. It's the end of an era of some sort. I always knew I would leave someday, but I didn't know when. So that time is here. We're clearing out our apartment to become someone else's home. Another couple building their first home together. Some of us have to leave so others can move in, have their share of time in San Francisco. It's like that childhood game of musical chairs. It's a reminder of how nothing really belongs to us, everything's borrowed and eventually we have to give it back. Even our bodies.

Guess I'm feeling a bit deep and a little heavy tonight. I'm letting go of something and I don't really know how to do that. How do you let go of something you never really got a firm hold on? Still, there's the next chapter, the next evolution. In honor of that, I've decided to end this blog here and begin my new one. This blog was about the city, about how much I loved it, about what I learned and how it inspired my art. The next one will be about my new old life in Maine, about making art in our little red house and making a garden and canning and spending time with my friends and family and just being with my girl. And maybe a little dog. At least that's the picture in my head these days.

Wish me safe travels and waterproof mascara. I'm going to need it tomorrow.

My new home will be here...www.onemorninginmaine.blogspot.com

Memories

2010-02-09T07:26:00.000-08:00

I was recently inspired by a friend's blog in which she posted about her roadtrip across the country a decade ago. Her stories and photographs made me feel like I was there with her & reminded me of my own month-long roadtrip with my dear friend Kristi back in 2002. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures from that time saved on my computer because I didn't have a digital camera, and all my old print photos are in various boxes many of which have already been shipped to Maine in preparation for our move. So, this morning I pulled up a bunch of random snapshots of my seven and a half years in San Francisco.

The above photo is from my first (and only) art show. This was maybe five years ago when I still did collages from black and white SUN magazine photographs and quotes. The show was at the Writing Salon in Berkeley and I remember selling my first official piece (not to a friend or family member). A husband and wife had seen my show and the wife was particularly moved by a piece with a rowboat in the background and a woman waving in the foreground. The quote was by Voltaire and I've used it several times since: "Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats."

Well, the husband contacted me later and bought it as a surprise for his wife's birthday. The story he shared with me was so moving. Several years before they had been on a cruise for their anniversary. One night there was some sort of failure with the ship's engine and the boat hit a rock, which caused it to take on water. The ship was literally sinking as the frightened passengers scrambled for lifeboats. The husband and wife made it safely off the cruise ship, but the woman still suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. She was touched by the sentiment in the collage because it validated her experience while reminding her to still be here, fully present and engaged with life.

Just yesterday I sold another piece with this same quote on it to an old friend who discovered it in my Etsy shop.

Our old bicycles--Kelly and I used to go biking north of the city most weekends the first couple of years we were together. Back in 2003 & 2004, I wasn't quite so busy. I fondly remember these country rides with our snacks and water bottles strapped to our racks, pausing to take frequent photographs of the hills and meadows, and the two of us biking slowly so we could take in all the sounds and smells. Kelly had had her bike for many years and used it every day for her work as a bike messenger. Mine was bought used off an old boyfriend back in the early 90s and held up through two Boston to New York AIDS Rides. Neither of these faithful old bicycles are with us anymore, as we upgraded to real road bikes a couple years ago.

And here is Kelly making fun of me and my desire to pick up found objects on hikes to take home. My mom and I got busted at the ranger station for trying to take fallen pine boughs home with us from a Thanksgiving walk in Muir Woods in 2003.

A view through the ancient tall trees in Big Sur, where I returned year after year to attend the weekend-long SUN magazine retreats at Esalen. This photo was taken by a woman I met at that first SUN retreat and was kind enough to forward her photos to other attendees. (I still didn't own a digital camera that year.)

My sweet old boy, Marco James Pappichachi. I adopted him the month I moved to San Francisco from the SCPA. I was looking for an older cat at the time. I had a distinct vision of an orange cat that would love to doze on my lap. But the moment I saw little six-week old Marco sprawled out and sleeping on the highest part of the cat tree in his room, I was smitten. I fondly remember him prowling my funky Mission backyard and trying to get on top of me when I practiced yoga. He was obsessed with hanging out with me when I was in the bathtub and would sit on the edge of the tub the whole time. My little guy passed on to the next realm two and half years ago.

Our first and only trip to Yosemite in honor of our one year anniversary. We had a rental car (neither of us had a car back then) and found ourselves clashing over camping protocol, but were united when a large black bear made his way through our campsite, scaring both of us into a standing position on our picnic table.

One of my sister Deirdre's first visits. She had brown hair and bangs. I still wore glasses. Three years ago I had lasiks and no longer wear glasses or use contact lenses. Deirdre now has long blond hair halfway down her back. I don't think anyone enjoyed visiting California quite as much as my sister Deirdre, who made it out at least once and sometimes twice a year.

A gay old time. Kelly and I with my cousin Adam and his boyfriend Rick at the Dyke March in 2005. I was still living in the Mission and Adam had recently moved from Michigan to San Francisco. We twisted bougainvillea flowers around the necks of bottles containing homemade margaritas so we could drink in public. I will never forget one morning while Adam was crashing at my junior one bedroom apartment. He had propped his futon up against the wall heater and it promptly caught on fire.

I turned 30 that year and Adam threw me a surprise birthday party in my apartment. I came home to an apartment full of balloons and streamers and my dearest friends. It was the best and the only surprise party I've ever had.

Coffee at a random cafe in the Castro on a city walk one weekend with Kelly before we moved in together. My hair is short and au natural and I'm wearing a new t-shirt from Ross that I had just scored.

Even shorter hair--on a country bike ride.

In 2005, Kelly and I exchanged rings in a private ceremony at the top of Mount Vision on the ridge between Inverness and Point Reyes Station.

Ah, the memories. They are sweet to revisit. Well, this is a very recent photo. On Sunday we were in Sonoma and Santa Rosa doing some wine tasting and entertaining a friend. We discovered this old bridge we'd never seen before and stopped to take pictures and walk its length.

I'm such a sucker for a rusty, narrow old bridge. Particularly if it's in the country somewhere and doesn't see much traffic. And especially if the views from either side are still and quiet and beautiful because the sun is beginning to sink over the trees and there are just a few birds flickering about.

New Valentine's Day shoes--gifted to me early by my girlfriend, who had them on backorder since last November. Oh, Mr. Fluevog, you are a true genius!

And I'll cap this random little entry off with a brief ode to the wonders of fresh dill, which I just recently discovered. What took me so long? Fresh dill is heads and tails above the dry stuff, folks. It has this smell--lemony, peppery, almost pickley. I practically taped some to my nose to just walk around my apartment. I made this version of beef stroganoff and it was amazing & calls for fresh dill rather than parsley. I'll never go back...

Range of Motion

2010-01-27T18:21:00.000-08:00

I'm about to break one of my own rules about blogging--keeping it light and not-too-personal. Here's why--I found myself the other day realizing how I need a story, and in particular, a positive story about my time in San Francisco. I think focusing on the things that are working, that are going well, is my way of being grateful for all I've been given in this life. And that to complain about the weather or some banal, but irritating problem one is struggling with, is essentially posititioning oneself the flow of life; to be, as it were, ungrateful.

But sometimes--as an old keychain I used to have reminded me--poop happens. For me, most recently, that poop was a diagnosis of basal cell carcinoma, commonly known as skin cancer, on my face of all places. Now, first and foremost, this was, I am told, the best kind of skin cancer to get, if one has to get skin cancer. It's the slow-growing, most common form.

Not that that was particularly reassuring the day I got the phone call from the dermatologist that the mole I had removed was, indeed, skin cancer. And this, despite her telling me that the small, painful spot was nothing to be concerned about, and that if I wanted to have it removed, I would have to fork over 200 bucks.

But, luckily, I have an argumentative, fearless of authority figures, self-protective streak in me, because I convinced her that the fact that it was painful warranted it being removed and fully covered by my insurance, rather than deemed cosmetic. And, as it turned out, I was right to push. Not that I had an inkling, or deep intuitive sense about this particular mole; it just frankly hurt.

That was just before Christmas. Yesterday I visited a plastic surgeon to have what's called a Mohs procedure done. This is where they basically scoop out a chunk of flesh from the spot of the former mole. Because basal cell grows down as well as spreads across the skin's surface, they have to determine how far it's gone.

They got mine out with one round of surgery and a few hours later I was sewn up, bandaged, and ready to go home with, I might add, strict instructions involving no alcohol, no Advil, and no bending forward or exercise of any kind for a week, until the stitches come out.

I'm a swollen up football. I have what will become a puffed up black eye. And it aches. And it's ugly. And I have to change the bandage tonight, which means I have to look at it.

Of course, I can't help but conjure up images of the many others who have it much worse than me right now. Haiti, in particular. Who don't have the benefit of antibiotic ointment, clean bandages, or a roof over their heads as they grieve the loss of family and friends.

So you see, I am lucky, actually.

Plus we caught it early.

So I reread this quote from Fred Buechner on an old story collage and thought it fitting. I was slinking around the house feeling sorry for myself, and I stopped and took a deep breath and reminded myself to let it just be, everything as it is right now.

listen to your life/ see it for the fathomless mystery that it is/ in the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness/ touch taste smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it/ because in the last analysis all moments are key moments/ and life itself is grace.

Everything wasn't always peachy in San Francisco. My time here had it's own particular shape, it's broken places, it's dark clouds, it's scarinesses and sadnesses and new, just plain weird experiences. Like calling the cops when I found a 19 year old boy shooting heroin in the alley beside my old Mission apartment. I'd never seen anyone cutting himself like that before and ran into a mom and pop store to ask them to call 911.

Yes, it had it's downs. But what I got from living here, what opened inside me from these vantage points, from the angles of city buildings and colorful, anonymous faces, was beautiful. And I guess I'm just the kind of girl who focuses her gaze on the beautiful. Even when she's not feeling particularly beautiful at the moment.

Announcement: In an effort to contribute in some small way toward the situation in Haiti, I am going to make a donation to Doctors without Borders for each piece sold in the next two months.

Sunday

2010-01-24T11:23:00.000-08:00

Things are going pretty swimmingly around here, considering we are knee deep in packing materials. K. is doing the packing, thankfully, given the injury I incurred improperly lifting an overpacked box four and a half years ago. My tasks are procuring packing materials, answering the "do we still need this available for the next two months" questions, and keeping us both fed. I did a bang up job of that yesterday--pot roast with potatoes, carrots and celery, chard, frittatas for breakfast, and apple-cranberry crumb pie for tea time. Just about outdid myself. Luckily, I managed to sneak in some art time on the side.

I am in love with this larger piece. Interestingly, I just about chucked this canvas a few weeks back when I became completely frustrated with a collage I was working on that would not come together. At one point I was over the kitchen sink vigorously scrubbing off a layer of paint and gel medium and actually slammed the painting down. K. gently took it from my hands, dried it off, and told me I needed to put it aside for a while. I did as directed and recently took it out, covered it with a layer of gesso and started over. The collage under the gesso lent the new images all kinds of texture. There is even a bird ascending at an angle to the new sparrow. I cut up a section of a poem called "The Hour" from "The Rising of the Sun" by Czeslaw Milosv that I've carried with me for many years and added it falling down the center of the collage.

Close up of a new piece--"Mute Swan"--my last in the Diana Fayt series. Check out my Etsy shop for more pictures of this piece.

What else...I've just finished an absolute binge on Firefly, the TV series Joss Whedon did after Buffy. It only lasted one season sadly, followed by a wrap up movie "Serenity." I could not stop watching it, but then it ended last night and now I feel the same kind of sadness I felt when Buffy ended. Part of Whedon's genius lies in his ability to create a tight-knit world of outsiders bound by friendship and love, fighting against the larger forces of evil. When you sink into his world, you feel like a silent member of that Scooby gang. And then it's over and it's just you again. And you find yourself saying "shiny" and no one knows what you're talking about...

And finally, although it goes against my general rule about posting pictures of my cats here. I just could not resist this cuteness. Our cats Minor and Mathers are not related, but you'd think they were brothers. K. found them snuggling and hugging like this the other day. I mean, really, how sweet can it get...

Things to look forward to...we have a friend from the East coast coming out for business in February, tickets to The Magnetic Fields & Brandi Carlile, last things to do in the city, like walks and places to eat and particular views that I want to take in again before we go.

The Luxury of Days

2009-12-26T09:09:00.000-08:00

aerial view of my desk where I really do work on multiple pieces simultaneously

Ah, the luxury of uninterrupted hours. Well, fairly uninterrupted. I did interrupt myself quite a bit to do laundry, make beef stew, bake a squash pie, and all the other countless, endless things that keeping a home requires. My sister Deirdre joked once about her own home and then four year old son, "I feel like I'm running a small farm."

It certainly can feel that way around here, which is why K. and I are talking about figuring out if we can juggle the cost of a small studio for me (and eventually turning one bedroom into a studio for her) when we move back to Portland. It would be such a treat. Having never had one, I can only day dream about leaving my stuff spread out everywhere and not worrying about things being an eyesore or accidentally knocked over or covered with a thin, but nevertheless annoying, dusting of cat hair.

a not very well-lit shot of a diptych titled Some Stories (available on Etsy soon, probably tomorrow)

So, anyway, it was a wild and zany kind of week around here. I ended up giving verbal notice at work following a budgetary meeting. It was completely unexpected. I had planned to write a letter and present it when I returned from my upcoming trip home to Maine. I had crafted multiple elegant drafts in my head for weeks, anticipating the pleas not to go, etc. But it wasn't quite like that. Certainly no one there is happy to see me depart, but more folks were aware of my desire to return to Maine than I realized. The conversation was brief and rather calm. It was me who was stunned and taken off guard by giving notice.

After a day to recover, I was flooded with relief. Keeping things under wraps has never been my strong suit. Now I am truly free to move forward into the next stage of my life--to bring home empty cardboard boxes and watch K. neatly pack and label them (she already packed 20, believe it or not); to tell people that I am going; to begin truly envisioning that future for myself and all the possibilities it opens up.

Really, until nine months ago, I was torn about leaving California. As most anyone who has lived out here will declare, the Bay Area is an amazing confluence of art and creativity. We have the perfect Mediterranean climate. The houses and the people are beautiful. The food is not to be topped--bakeries and restaurants outdoing themselves left and right. I have felt very free here and watched my life widen with possibility.

The Gleam in Your Heart, available on Etsy if anyone is interested

And now I am ready to return to a small city, a large town, really. Portland is such a great place to live. Even as I was leaving, I was telling everyone how I loved Portland and intended to return.

Two Young Women, available on Etsy for the right price

So, the holidays. Mine were quiet, filled with art, restful, inspiring, mentally challenging...I had a good conversation with K. on Saturday about my frustration making art. How impatient I get with the ideas pinging about and firing off like little guns in my head. My mind can imagine more collages than my hands and back can keep up with. I get ahead of myself and then I get sloppy, move too fast, don't bring my vision to life with as much care and time as it requires. When I move this fast, I don't enjoy the process and my work shows this lack of pleasure and attention.

Two Sparrows, available on Etsy by Monday evening

K. says the best thing we can do is be disciplined about the process, knowing that even when a piece doesn't turn out as good as I'd hoped, when in fact it looks nothing at all like my original intention, it is still good to be working. And the ideas percolating is also a good thing, even when the brilliant idea cannot be translated onto canvas, just because it was there and will inform further ideas and visions. I asked for one good solid action step I could take to slow myself down and enjoy it more, to bring my mind under a little more control. She suggested I force myself to take stretching breaks every half hour or so and I'm going to try that, although it is hard to pull myself away when the fires are going off one after another in my head and I feel lit up from the inside. But that is why so many artists are crazy and antisocial and drink themselves silly.

The Way You Return Again and Again, available on Etsy any day now

Other things that happened this weekend: we both read the short story collection Pilgrims, by Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat, Pray, Love fame and it is wonderful and everything a good story collection should be, including, and most importantly, difficult to put down. Also we saw Sherlock Holmes at a little independent theater a few neighborhoods away. So much fun. And we drank some excellent champagne. And we opened some awesome presents, including an incredible box from our friends Heather & Ben. So much care and thought went into each of those gifts. I could feel it when I opened it up.

All The Stars You Had Forgotten, available on Etsy real soon

Tomorrow I return to work for one last mad dash before I leave for Maine and a bit of a break. I look forward to seeing many familiar faces, eating some great Portland fare & taking long walks in the cold that turn my cheeks pink.

Shadowboxing

2009-12-20T17:50:00.000-08:00

Today started out hopeful enough. Like the early morning sun, it held the promise of many hours of creativity. But, like the weather, things took a different twist: clouds came out of nowhere, rain fell. Windows that had been opened, suddenly needed to be closed. Okay, not that much rain fell. I'm stretching an already overextended metaphor.

It was a challenging day in the art world. A larger piece I've been working on slowly over the last few months continues to elude me. I thought I had it nailed early today and then the gloss varnish smeared and pulled up. I attempted to rinse the excess varnish off, only to lift several layers of paint. In frustration, I thumped the painting in the sink. I wanted to throw it against the wall.

Instead, I dried it (with Kelly firmly talking me down from the throws of agitation) and put it aside to wrestle with another day. I took a deep breath and turned to shadowboxes. The one below is a work in progress titled "In My Mother's Garden." When finished, it will be filled with all the botanical flowers I cut from last year's calendar, as well as some dangling butterflies.

I did do one collage--a section of which can be seen below. This one is on cradled gessobord two inches thick, and is titled "Shall We Dance." It will be available on Etsy early this week.

Here is one of my first shadowboxes. The centerpiece is the stitched handiwork of an amazing British artist named Cathy Cullis. I was looking for a frame for this piece to give to my mother for her upcoming 65th birthday and didn't find anything I liked. Then I remembered a shadowbox my friend Susan made for her old baby items. I took apart a cigar box and began paintings.

I added a nest, a small wooden egg, several dried wildflowers and rocks from hikes I've been on in Point Reyes, and a small felted bird that used to belong to my Great Aunt Eunice. The title of this piece is "Belonging." Sorry if you're reading this Mom, and I've just spoiled your surprise.

This piece is titled "An Unknown Land Where I Belong." The swans are terracotta and hollow. I found them in a junk shop south of Market. Between the two swans is a Saint Christopher medal.

And here is one using a Diana Fayt girl. This piece is titled "Tears I Cried Over You, 1999-2005" and will soon belong to Saundra McPherson in trade.

Below is a close up of a tiny glass bottle filled with black sand.

And the sparrow--blown up from an image in a book, handcolored with chalk, and mounted on cardboard.

"Hope and Fear" is built around an iconic image that came on the top of a gaily wrapped box of chocolates our friends Margarita and Kimball brought us from Santa Fe last year. The tiles are small scraps of art paper. The hand also came from Santa Fe--a gift from Kelly when she traveled there last June. The roses were a last minute inspiration based on a story Marg told us last weekend about a Mexican religious ceremony in which roses were strewn about. The roses being strewn is unfortunately the only detail I can remember about that story (sorry Marg--blame the wine!).

And here are two of my favorite pieces from the emulsion and heat transfer class I took last week. I did a whole series based on a photo I took of my sister Marielle last summer at our favorite restaurant in Portland, Maine. I added a different flower as a head piece or stole and double exposed each image. Then I used vinegar and water to brighten the images and enhanced the flowers with colored chalk pencils.

The series is going to be called "Six Ways of Looking at Marielle."

Today I thought a lot about making mistakes, losing my temper, how far ahead of myself I get sometimes. It's a struggle to be able to see two or three perfect pieces in my head before I've even got down the first layer of paint; to spend hours cutting the tiny perfect shapes for my shadowboxes; to carefully peel the paper from a cigar box; to not toss a painting when it doesn't turn out the way I envisioned after the second or third or even fourth attempt. But that's why I practice art--to slow myself down & to bring more beauty into this world.

Howling Dog Gingerbread & Homemade Soap

2009-12-19T08:07:00.000-08:00

Too much time has lapsed since I last wrote here. I set an intention for myself of posting regularly once a week, but haven't kept it. Time gets away from me. So many projects to do, so much art to make, so many friends to visit, and classes to attend...not that I'm complaining, mind you. But this past two weeks was particularly jam packed.

Last weekend we were surprised by our friend Margarita, who was in town briefly for a job interview. My weekend plans for making art flew out the window, as we don't get to see Marg very often and we love her so much. She was staying up the street at our mutual friend Lisa's house. So, Friday--which was already the day of the office holiday party (hence drinking started at noon)--we trooped up to Lisa's for a Hanukkah party and general socializing. The socializing continued into the next day, when Lisa and I attended the open studio of her friend (and my new friend) Saundra McPherson. You can see two of her oil paintings below, which are my newest acquisitions, done in trade for two commissioned pieces. The open studio was followed by an only-the-girls pizza date at Little Star (my first time and the deep dish cornmeal crust pizza was delicious).

And so, it wasn't until Sunday that I could get started on my baking and soap-making projects. The cookie cutters Kelly gave me for Christmas several years ago were finally put to good use--gingerbread howling dogs, ponies and stars--using the same soft cookie recipe from Tartine, but minus the glaze and with the addition of some finely chopped crystallized ginger.

And then we commenced soap making. This was a brand new, never before attempted project. After one of my co-workers gifted me with two bars of handmade lavender soap last year, declaring that it was "so easy," I decided to add my own concoction to my gift boxes this year. I modeled my soap after a bar I bought at Anthropologie a few months back and kept in my underwear drawer because it smelled too good to use. I bought clary sage and patchouli essential oils and fresh dill. Even so, my soap didn't smell like the bar from Anthropologie. I think the chief difference was that the soap base I used was goat's milk and the purchased bar had an olive oil base.

I forced Kelly to get involved, as the soap was supposed to be a gift from both of us. I think she might have had other plans for her day, but she acquiesced. And then she started coming up with her own ideas for our soap. Luckily, I'd bought 8 lbs of soap base, because Kelly wanted us to add Bay Rum and fresh cedar to some and then she decided we needed to make a vanilla-cinnamon-clove kind...

The soap was fun to make and not very difficult, particularly using the melt and pour bases, but if any of you decide to attempt this project, let me offer you this handy tip: buy more than one soap mold. It took most of the day for us to make our thirty or so bars because we could only do four at a time and they took half an hour to cool.

Also if you make soap, it looks nice when you wrap it in either upcycled wrapping paper, or in our case, we took apart an old map and used that as well as photocopied vintage text. Then we hand stamped the word "soap" on each bar and voila--beautiful handmade presents! I savored my Martha Stewartesque moment.

This past week I took the second half of a two part image transfer and emulsion class at the San Francisco Center for the Book--an amazing resource for this city. If you love letterpress typesetting and images, you'll love taking a class there. I had such a great time meeting some new folks and experimenting with double exposing photos. I did a series of my sister Marielle that I will share tomorrow.

And finally, a peek at my two Saundra McPherson paintings. It is truly hard to justify adding more wall art to the home of two visual artists...we are literally running out of room to hang things. But I loved these two pieces so much and treasure their graceful abstract images, which feel very much related to my own bird-centric art. And I love meeting other local artists and connecting with them and doing trade. It's so much fun to know your work is going to a new home where it will be loved and treasured.

Today is the big Etsy holiday sale down at Fort Mason and I for one am avoiding it like the plague. All that great stuff--it's a recipe for financial disaster for me right now. Particularly since my holiday shopping/ wrapping/ gift giving is all but finished. I love putting together my gift boxes and sending goodies off into the world, but I might have come close to overdoing it this year, perhaps in an attempt to make up for last year.

It is a delicious Saturday here in SF. Quiet; moody, gray skies. Kelly is off to work on a job here in the city. I plan to have one of my favorite days--washing the bedding, mopping the floors so the whole house smells like Murphys Oil Soap, roasting a chicken, working on shadowboxes and collage paintings, updating my Etsy shop with new goodies. I will post again tomorrow with new art. I am eager to put the final touches on my shadowboxes and share them with you all. They have been such fun to make--taking my collage stories and bringing them into three-dimensional life. And Kelly gave me several new cigar boxes to work with as one of my early Christmas presents (I can hear you cackling Heater!), so I have lots to work with.

Happy weekend to you all out there and may it be filled with things you want to do and very few obligations...

Birthdays

2009-12-06T18:09:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again--my birthday & Christmas. December has always been one of my favorite months for those reasons alone. Also I like the darkening skies, the moody weather, the turning inward...and decorations! We got them up early this year to make up for last year when we were too tired to put anything out at all.

So stockings were hung & all that. We have a little fake tree blinking by the front door that I bought with my mom at a craft fair in Baltimore six years ago. It's not that tacky, all things considered. But I was super excited when my friend Heats found the possibilitree online last week and sent me the link. I think I'll order the six foot suspended next year. I want to put up ornaments like everyone else, but with an arborist for a partner, there is no way we'll be cutting anything living down for the holidays...it is kind of an odd ritual if you think about it. But almost all of our holiday rituals are when it comes right down to it.

Well it was super fun. And I made gingerbread from the Tartine cookbook, which rocks. And then something simple and light for supper. This is great whenever you're in a pinch: Tortellini soup. In this case, I subbed butternut squash ravioli and chicken broth. The last time I made it, it was my attempt to cook the soup Kelly described ordering for lunch at work one day. It has a beef stock, cheese tortellini, and a few sauteed onions and chopped dino kale. I put a touch of cayenne pepper in just to add some spice. It was made in no time and tasted like it took a lot more work.

Then I mulled some cider. Okay, this is the winter non-alcoholic drink in my book. I love when its been quietly simmering on the stovetop for hours smelling up the house and getting concentrated.

Last Thursday was my 35th birthday. I was originally inspired to come up with 35 things for which I was grateful in honor of the event. But about ten things into my list, even I was bored and I felt like--who is going to be interested in reading this?

So, instead I offer this: gratitude for fleeting moments, like the way the sun looked falling between two apartment buildings and lighting up the young maple tree in the panhandle as I drove to work last Tuesday morning. It was so beautiful I regretted driving and wished I were on my bicycle. In my daze, I nearly crashed into the car in front of me.

And gratitude for artistic inspiration, which keeps renewing itself in my chest and fills me with joy.

My birthday was amazing. So much love from so many people from different times and places in my life. Being remembered and loved and appreciated to such an extent I actually teared up a couple times. Spoiled with beautiful little things by the people I love.

I spent time with friends, soaked and steamed at Kabuki Hot Springs, got a massage, drank wine, ate Vietnamese food, and saw Cirque du Soleil's newest show "Ovo." My cake was a princess cake specially ordered for the occassion. It was filled with whip cream and quite delicious, although Kelly and I both agreed the white chocolate fondant frosting was a tad sweet.

I had a great date with my girl. Even managed to snap a picture of us on our way to dinner. Kelly says the bubble above this picture should read, "Ummm...maybe we should have taken Clay..."

My girl bought me this great North Face puff jacket for my birthday and then borrowed it to wear out that night...that's what I love about her.

We had tuna tartare, imperial rolls, scallops, wine & champagne, all of which were amazing, and then took a long walk on the Embarcadero to the Cirque du Soleil. All in all, it was a perfectly wonderful 35th birthday.

Bridges

2009-11-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

I love this picture my friend Paul snapped of me two weekends ago--caught mid laugh, my head tossed back. I would like to carry some of this lightness and joy into all aspects of my life, despite whatever headaches, irritations, fatigue, and obstacles each day brings.

I've been noticing beauty everywhere lately, tuning in to the particular vibrancy and weight of the city, the hum and heft of it, knowing how all too soon it will be a memory of a chapter in my life--my days in the big city.

Last weekend I drove to Berkeley in the early morning hours. The roads were wet, the air heavy with moisture. Few cars were on the road. The light at 6:30 am is like no other; coupled with the mist, it made for a moody, thoughtful drive. Typically, I like nothing better than to listen to public radio while I drive. But that morning, I flipped the radio off and tuned into my own thoughts, or rather feelings. I noticed, crossing the bridge, the way my chest lifted and opened.

Bridges are beautiful, of course. Growing up in a small town, the only bridge I was exposed to was a tiny walking bridge and parallel one-lane bridge that crossed the Androscoggin River from Brunswick to Topsham.

The bridges I've become intimate with here--the Golden Gate and the Bay Bridge--are such mammoth structures. Only weeks before the Bay Bridge made the news because a section of it that had recently been repaired came loose and crashed onto the freeway below. Amazingly, given the hour and the heaviness of commute traffic, no one was injured.

This accident didn't cause me to fear crossing the bridge last weekend, and as I reflected on that, I thought about how scared I was of these big bridges when I first moved to San Francisco seven years ago. The only context I had for the Bay Bridge was a staticky image in my head of its collapse during the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989.

I began to reflect on all the ways the city scared me when I first arrived, how big and daunting and dirty and crowded it felt. How small and vulnerable and fearful I was. I was too intimidated to ride my bike anywhere and for the life of me couldn't remember the difference between inbound and outbound MUNI trains. This meant a lot of just getting on a train and praying, then getting off at the next stop and reversing direction. I was so in awe of all the people with their edgy hair and clothes and attitudes, and I was broke, or as close to broke as I've ever been, so I spent a lot of my free time just walking around looking, because looking is free.

All these years later, I marvel at how calmly I navigate this city, by bus, car, or bike. How much I feel a part of it, like I belong. And as I prepare mentally to leave it in the near future, how sweet and privately mine each moment, each view becomes. I breathe it all the way in, deep breaths, down to my toes, and hold it, and then exhale. I let each bite rest a bit longer on my tongue, allowing the flavors to sink in.

Crossing the bridge in the early morning and then returning mid-afternoon, I couldn't help but consider the bridge in its most metaphorical sense--apart from the way this particular bridge makes me feel and the breathtaking view it affords, the heavy steel beams and supports, the rolling pale blue hills on one side and boxy, shiny office buildings crowding the other.

Bridges are spaces between destinations, stretches of road hovering impossibly high above the ocean. They run in two directions and from a certain standpoint there is no before and after, because while some of us are traveling home, others are just setting out.

I landed here and found a temporary refuge from pain and sorrow, as if the city were some enormous bird that wrapped me in its wings and sheltered me. Every journey has a beginning, a middle and an end, and so it is with my own here in the city. As my wise friend Paul said years ago in describing a relationship of mine that had ended, "you had a share of time together." I think of that phrase often and the posture of gratitude it embodies.

I had a share of time in San Francisco, and I will miss it when I'm gone.

In the Kitchen

2009-11-13T08:12:00.000-08:00

Last night I dragged my tired little self into the kitchen and spent a few hours cooking and listening to This American Life. This is one of my favorite rituals and usually very rejuvenating, but I just plain didn't feel like it when I started out. The past few weeks I've woken up with a dry sore throat and felt tired all day. Each time I catch a sideways glimpse of myself I am startled to note the fatigue under my eyes. The change of seasons--as minimal as it is here in San Francisco--with its colder night air and lack of sunlight are really affecting my energy level this year.

And I've been getting up at 5:30 am to study for my last PRAXIS exam scheduled to be administered this Saturday in Berkeley at the ungodly hour of 7:30 am. It is very hard to focus oneself to study case histories and theories of education and child growth and development when there is a brand new season of Mad Men queued up in my Netflix account and one disk watching patiently beside my bed.

But I'm glad I pushed through my fatigue and general irritability last night because the ritual itself was stress-relieving. I made white bean and vegetable soup and a big casserole of mac and cheese--from the scratch the way my mom always made it with the roux and panko breadcrumbs. (She didn't use panko--that's my special gourmet touch.) I couldn't find the grater, not that I looked that hard, so I decided to cut all the cheese up by hand. I used a variety of different kinds of cheese--sliced munester, sliced cheddar, goat milk with truffles, and stilton with chives. I prepped it and put it in a bowl while the roux was thickening and then found myself having to pull apart a thousand miniscule pieces of cheese--a maddenly task indeed--but I slowed myself down and thought of it as a Zen task. Here I am pulling apart the tiny pieces of cheese. That is all I am doing, just separating cheese and adding it to my roux. I imagined myself sweeping the floor of the zendo, a holy task. No rushing. Nowhere to go.

This attitude toward mundane tasks, such as unknotting the strings of the curtains in our bedroom which are always a mess, helps to shift my mental state. My breath slows and my mind quiets. Soon I am noticing the beauty of a stalk of chard, observing its colors, noting the healthy green glow of its leaves.

So much has happened since my last entry. I kept meaning to sit down and capture some of it while it was still fresh in my head. An overview will have to suffice.

seeing my good friend Angela again at Esalen

and a week later in San Francisco

Esalen was everything I hoped for--a long, winding drive along Route One to Big Sur with my friend Paul. Lunch at Big Sur Bakery outside on a gravel patio. Wandering through the Esalen gardens. Hot tubbing under the stars. Drinking and eating and laughing with friends I've gotten to know by returning to the same retreat year after year. Sunlight warming my skin. And an excellent workshop on Saturday morning with author and wise woman Theresa Williams, who told us in no uncertain terms, "run towards shame." This in relation to writing about adolescence.

I had some breakthroughs in that workshop and uncovered some great moments to develop into stories. Theresa's workshop that morning was part writing practice and exercises and part sitting at the feet of a woman who has been there, walked through those burning fires and harvested the soil afterward. I am thinking of those types of seeds that lie underground dormant until the heat of a wildfire awakens their potential.

Returning from Esalen, I was called up for jury duty. That Wednesday I trooped down to the criminal courthouse south of Market and waited in line with an astonishing cross section of San Franciscans. As we proceeded slowly forward to be screened at security and assigned our courtrooms, I found myself behind a young woman in full black burka. Only her eyes showed through a narrow slit. A short distance away a young Black man cut in front of an older Black man to join his friends and was immediately lectured for his lack of courtesy to his fellow breatheren. A petite Hispanic woman held out her letter for my inspection and asked me in faltering English if she was in the right place. "I had to take the day off from work," she explained, "I run my own day care."

The case I was assigned to was a four day trial for possession and attempt to sell marijuana, and man did our judge have a difficult time assembling a jury of San Franciscans who didn't have their own personal beliefs which prevented them from being inpartial. It was a fascinating day for me, quite a surprise from what I had anticipated. I learned the differences between criminal and civil proceedings, observed the process by which a jury is picked, and was forced to consider my own beliefs in light of the possibility I might be picked. (I wasn't.)

The funniest moment occurred when an elderly Spanish-speaking woman announced to the judge during a question and answer period that, "all drugs are legal where I live...marijuana, heroin, cocaine..." "Where do you live?" asked the judge, lowering her glasses and peering across the rows of chairs. "At the corner of 16th and Mission."

At that, the courtroom exploded in laughter.

White bean & vegetable soup. No recipe here really. I just used up everything I could find in our refrigerator. Kelly and I have had some rather serious discussions about finances lately and I am inspired to try and save money around food. This is easier for me, in theory, than trying to refrain from clicking on Etsy twice a day and scrolling about adding things to my favorites list.

For this soup:

Soak a cup or two of white beans overnight. Rinse beans and add four cups of chicken stock or water with a pinch of salt and bring to a boil. Simmer until tender, approximately an hour and a half. Finely chop a medium sized onion and saute until translucent in olive oil. Add several chopped cloves of garlic--I like at least five. Add two minced carrots to the beans while they are cooking so the carrots dissolve. Add a cup of tomato sauce or a can of paste and a cup of water to the beans. After all of this has simmered for an hour, add two diced and peeled potatoes. Then add a head of dino kale, rinsed, and chopped.

Really, you can add any vegetables you want to the soup--celery, chard, peppers...

I like to top this soup, which tastes like minestrone, with some grated parmesan.

Homemade mac and cheese. The secret is the roux, which I make by melting two tablespoons of butter and adding two tablespoons of flour. Once this is dissolved, add a cup of milk and simmer until thickened. Add two cups grated cheese of any kind to the roux. I think its fun to mix it up by using something traditional, such as cheddar, with a surprise, like goat milk cheese or swiss. I don't put in nutmeg, although the Joy of Cooking calls for that ingredient, because I just don't care for the flavor.

Instead I dust my finished product with cayenne pepper and a pinch of parsley or other dried herbs. You can find panko breadcrumbs, which are a Japanese type of breadcrumb, in the speciality aisle at Wholefoods. I find them vastly superior to any other type.

I am eager to return to my art and looking forward to some time for that this weekend. With Thanksgiving around the corner, I am inspired to try making my own pie crust and baking my first ever lemon meringue pie.

Will let you know how that turns out.

New Jewelery & Hiking

2009-10-27T12:14:00.001-07:00

I just had to share this picture I took of myself modeling my new necklace (the larger of the two I am wearing) handmade by my talented friend Stephanie Duley. Her work has terrific weight and texture. I love the hammered pieces and patinas she uses, as well as the way she varies the chains and clasps. She doesn't have her stuff available online yet, but I am working on it folks.

Kelly and I are house sitting in Mill Valley a lot these days. On Sunday we walked out the back door and down the road right into the woods where you can pick up any number of different trails. This was my first official hike since my foot surgery last April, and let me tell you--I soaked up every nuance, smell and color I could like a girl waking up from a coma. The smell of fall is here in its own unique way. No hints of ice or snow in the air. It is dry and dusty. The sun was hot, like Maine in mid August, and I had to keep reminding myself that November is just around the corner.

The light falling through the trees, the oaky, coconut smell of decaying leaves, the wind lifting and rattling leaves. All of it blew through me and emptied me out. I moved my body along the trail slowly, marveling, once we reached the wide old railroad sections, at the road bikers and their snazzy, ultra-tight Lycra. One couple shot past us with "Go Vegan" printed across their buttocks, which made me laugh and turn to Kelly and declare that such moments really locate me in Northern California.

Peeling bark on a Madrone. There were many Madrones whose bark had worn away entirely. You can run your hand along their spine and it feels like petting a wild animal, warm, soft, alive.

Kelly and I vowed to try to get out every Sunday for the next four months and go hiking. It was too long of a hiatus for me. Not just because of the foot surgery. Before that it was graduate school for two and a half years, and training for the AIDS Ride, and working as a TA, and before that it was taking writing classes in Bernal or Spanish classes at the Jewish Community Center. And before that it was working in Berkeley on the weekends. My how I fill my days with to-dos and activity.

Last night I lay in a reclining chair on the deck in Mill Valley sipping on a glass of white wine and let my mind empty out. It was worrying, knitting a complex web of fears and urgency and irritations and concerns. I wrapped a soft cashmere blanket from the couch around my shoulders and watched the pink fade into light blue and the tree branches grow black against the night sky. The wind kept picking up and then dying down. An airplane crossed the deepest patch of pink and its white plume slowly feathered out behind. A few hawks circled and then disappeared, and then some smaller birds dove about. The crickets began to hum or chirp or whatever it is they do. Vibrate the air. I could feel myself slowly relax. My heartbeat slowed and I let everything go for a while. It's funny how moments can be so long if you let them.

My girl kept my knees intact on our hike by carving me multiple walking sticks whenever we found ourselves in the woods on our hike headed downhill.

No, I didn't cut my hair. It's just tucked up in little knots under my hat. Actually, it's getting quite long these days. I haven't grown my hair out since high school. I'd try to, and then something would happen, some trigger, and I'd feel anxious or in need of change, and the next thing you know I'd be grabbing a pair of kitchen scissors and going to town on my hair. When Kelly and I first started dating, she would sometimes discover two or three different hair cuts had taken place within a the space of a week. Don't even get me started on color...

A sign of fall. I wanted to show everyone that we do have some deciduous trees and, in this case, vines, in the Bay Area. Nothing like the East Coast fireworks of color, but lovely nonetheless.

This weekend I return to Esalen for my fifth SUN magazine retreat, accompanied by my friend Blaney. I look forward to lounging in the hot springs overlooking the Pacific, filling myself up with healthy food prepared by someone other than myself, being inspired, hopefully doing some writing, seeing some familiar and much loved friends, and driving along the winding Route One cliffs.

BLTs for Breakfast

2009-10-12T20:11:00.000-07:00

This sandwich rocked in so many ways I hardly know where to start. Fresh sourdough seeded bread from Arizmendi, gobs of canola mayo, black rubbed bacon from Wholefoods that cooked up just right, perfectly ripe Early Girl tomatoes from last weekend's farmers market--bought from the cutest sister team at Fifth Crow Farm, crisp romaine lettuce. Yes, I ate it for breakfast, and let me tell you it was divine.

I also came across these lovely deep orange edible pumpkins at Fifth Crow Farm. I love arrangements that are festive and celebratory, but can then be eaten. Nothing worse than rotten pumpkins or dried Christmas trees on curbs. I want beautiful things in my home that have more than one purpose. These squashes will become soup or sweet bread or pie after I am done admiring them.

Close up of these wonderful lanterns. I am smitten with them every year.

A work in progress at my newly organized desk. My friend Blaney gave us a small red metal file cabinet that just fit under the side of my desk. I now have all my paint, chopped up books, scrap paper, etc. neatly categorized and my desk is a sea of room. It is very exciting and makes me want to bring this level of organization to every aspect of our home/ my life.

The words on this new piece in progress are part of a longer quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe, only I didn't care for her message in its entirety, which felt quite dark and negative. So I co-opted it. I think that's the terminology. So now it says:

"God sends ten thousand truths

which come about us like birds

they sit a while upon the roof and sing

and then they fly away"

And here is a close up of another new piece featuring a tiny sailboat and a quote by Emerson: "when it is dark enough you can see the stars."

And the same piece shown in its entirety.

A new large piece with a snippet from a quote by Gilda Radner: "some poems don't rhyme; some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle or end." I am still toying with this piece. Since photographing it, I have added a layer of charcoal and paint shadowing, which gives it a bit more depth. I also painted the sides a dark gray (they were rose).

This piece came to me while I was practicing yoga a few weeks back. I was riddled with doubts and fears about the future, and then the clouds of my mind seemed to part and I saw this word and knew that I had to create it in fiery reds and hang it some where I would see it on a regular basis as I transition through the coming six months.

Bird on a teacup represents my efforts to begin creating textured items upon which my birds can perch. I love teacups and this was painted to look like my favorite teacup made in Portugal from which I drink my tea each afternoon.

Kind of a dark photograph, almost yellowish. The light in my flat is not great for taking pictures. This piece is small and was inspired by my recent obsession with the gay marriage debate taking place in Maine right now. My home state. Please, please let the forces of change and inclusion win out!

I am looking forward to my trip to Esalen to attend the SUN writing retreat at the end of this month, as well as turning thirty five in December. Five years ago, a friend made me a persimmon cheesecake for my birthday and it was so delicious, I decided to try making one for myself this year. I found a recipe on the internet. Now I just need to purchase a springform pan. Will keep you posted on how it turns out. I haven't made a cheesecake since I was nineteen and a vegan vegetarian. I made a blueberry tofu cheesecake. It was...interesting, to say the least.

I woke from a dream yesterday morning with a snippet of a poem as the basis for a new piece: "all night I floated in the streets of your arms."

I love early morning inspiration.

Autumn in San Francisco

2009-10-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

Life is a Shipwreck, available on Etsy later this week

It's officially starting to feel like Autumn in San Francisco, so different from Fall in New England. The days are still quite warm and sunny here, but the evenings are chilly. Tonight it may even reach the high 40s. Leaves aren't really changing the way they do on the east coast, no brilliant streaks of red and deepening oranges. It's more a gradual yellow to browning of the ones that are dying, slowly fluttering to rest on the sidewalk.

I felt oddly tired this weekend. For the first time in many months, I gave myself permission to lay about on my bed in the late afternoon sunshine--warmer through my windows than outside--and read for hours. I am reading a pretty good novel right now about sisters (I See You Everywhere by Julia Glass), and even though the sisters in the book have a much more antagonistic relationship than I do with my two younger sisters, it is still a delicious escape. I like how each chapter rotates the point of view. Next on my reading list is Lorrie Moore's newest novel A Gate at the Stairs. I was lucky to score an autographed hardcover copy at my local independent bookstore, not something I usually care two hoots about, but she is definitely one of my most favorite writers of all time. I am anticipating long, uninterrupted hours with it.

A friend was in town visiting me at the tail end of the week. I took a half day on Friday and we drove out to Drake's Cove Beach at Point Reyes. My goal was to gather small abstract pieces of driftwood to replicate a mirror another friend created, but the light on the water and shore worked its own brand of magic on my soul. So infinitely soothing to stand in the middle of something as massive and dramatic at the cliffs along the Pacific coast.

I love the ripples on the sand, the irridescent reflected sky and shimmering bands of water.

I'm not feeling particularly wordy today. Wore myself out welcoming my girl back from Maine, where she spent the last eleven days. Yesterday I made squash pie and pumpkin bread and curried tofu with greens for dinner. The recipe for the curried tofu comes from my Cafe Chimes cookbook, put out by my dear friend Kathy Etter shortly before she passed away in 1997. Taking it down off the shelf and thumbing through the recipes returns me to nineteen years old, living in an unfinished farmhouse, making fimo picture frames and drawing flowers with puff paints on t-shirts, chopping frozen pumpkins for the cows my boyfriend and I cared for in exchange for rent. So bittersweet in memory, it was actually a very uncertain time in my life. I will post the recipe for curried tofu next time. It is quite delicious and makes a great wrap sandwich served cold with chopped veggies and tahini dill salad dressing. The secret is freezing and then thawing the tofu before you cook it to make it chewy, like a vegetarian chicken. I think I am heading in the direction of more vegetarian cooking in the coming year. I miss that part of my old self.

I leave you with this lovely image of cows wandering home in Point Reyes. Quite the little dust storm they were kicking up as they trotted along the fence.

A Rant & Dal Shorba

2009-09-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

view from my kitchen window

A quiet, solitary weekend. Kelly is on the East Coast. It is sunny & warm out. We seem to be having a heat wave here in SF. Earlier in the week I debated how I would spend the weekend. Ideas included going to the farmers' market at the Ferry Building for fish tacos, catching the preview of Whip It--Drew Barrymore's new film about an all-girls roller derby, and going hiking out at Point Reyes. Instead, I decided to be still and stay in. I was feeling the need for rest, self-reflection & art. I needed to cook and get grounded. I needed to practice yoga and work some of my kinks out. And my little studio was calling to me, as well as my Etsy shop, which is in sorry need of updating. I am gearing up to have an art sale and believe it or not, that requires a lot of work. Particularly the difficult work of pricing & photographing everything, figuring out the absolutely lowest I can go so folks can afford to buy something--and will in this difficult financial period we are going through--without underselling myself.

The violets in the mountains, available on Etsy

Last night I finished Harry Potter's The Prisoner of Azrakan (yes, I confess, I love Harry Potter movies--they're just so sweet and even when they're scary, they're not grotesquely violent), and tried to fall asleep around 11:30ish, but it was a fitful night. At five in the morning I finally got up and took a melatonin. I had wanted to get an early start today--so much to do!--but I knew I needed to sleep in, and I did so--until almost 10.

Love is Always Revolutionary, available on Etsy

While I was tossing and turning, here are a few of the things I was chewing on. Last night while I was making an enormous tureen of Dal Shorba (recipe below), I listened to two podcasts of This American Life. One of them had a segment about a recent House subcomittee hearing on the practice of rescission in the health insurance industry. It's this practice where when you are diagnosed with a serious illness, they go combing through your history, particularly your initial application for insurance, in order to determine reasons for cancelling your policy.

Perhaps You Thought She Was A Butterfly, private collection

The chief example was this woman who came to testify at the hearings. She was a Registered Nurse who had been diagnosed with breast cancer and required an immediate double mastectomy. The day before her surgery, her insurance company called to tell her they were denying her claim because they had found an incident of dermatitis in her prior history. Dermatitis sparked some idea in their beleaguered brains that this woman had a history of cancer. (She was being treated for acne--not skin cancer.) Her dermatologist called up her insurance company and begged them not to deny services, but they did anyway and it was months before this woman could get her procedure.

This happened to a woman I worked for here in San Francisco a few years ago. She had changed health insurance plans in August and a week or two later, she went to see her primary for a routine physical. Lo and behold, breast cancer. She then spent the next year fighting her new insurance company, who found the timing suspicious and refused to pay for any of the medications or treatments she required.

Can you imagine being told that there are malignant cells growing rapidly in your body, threatening your life, that you need to get your breasts removed, and then having your insurance company decide arbitrarily to deny or postpone your services because they think you might have lied about your prior history? It both infuriates and terrifies me.

So, this anger leads me to other injustices in our society. Like the fact that Kelly and I still cannot get legally married. Religious groups claim autonomy over the word "marriage," and frankly, I could care less about their precious word. In our world, "marriage" is tied to A LOT of financial securities that are denied to me as a gay person. For example, Kelly and I had to complete six different versions of our taxes this year because although the state of California recognizes us as a couple under domestic partnership laws, the federal government still stubbornly sees us both as "single." We lost over three thousand dollars in tax refunds because we aren't considered married.

Here's another financial denial. If anything happens to me, Kelly cannot have access to my Social Security unless I were to adopt her. Here's another one. If we leave the state of California we cannot get health insurance coverage that married couples have access to through their employers, because we are not married.

There are so many beautiful, wonderful things about living in the United States. I've traveled to other countries and seen this first hand. But there are blatant injustices here and inequities that undermine the concept of democracy to such an extent that it seems a joke to me sometimes. The time has come. I want to see real change in my life time. I'm tired of accepting second-class status.

Okay, that was a rant. It's rare for me to get so angry, but the constant public radio reporting about the health care bill and debates and lobbyist and whatnot has been both stimulating and frustrating.

On a separate note, I am also practicing standing up in small ways. At work there is an expert who called me "sweetie" four times last week on the phone. It was so shocking to me that it rendered me speechless. This is something I come up against in my life over and over. Something happens, some interaction with a person that I am not prepared for, and instead of responding to it the way I imagine myself doing after the fact, I draw a complete blank. I get caught in that place between my big mouth and how women are raised consciously and unconsciously to make others comfortable at our own expense.

Yesterday over breakfast I was thinking about this and I decided I need to say something next week when he calls back. I practiced it out loud, "Please don't call me sweetie," keeping it short and simple, but firm. I mean, seriously, would he ever call a guy--either in my position or an attorney--"sweetie"? No f___in' way. But when I think of actually saying it out loud, I feel a mild panic. Hurt someones feelings? Making someone uncomfortable? I cringe. I swear, this is why I suffered from an eating disorder for so many years. Stuffing my feelings inside, pushing them down where they couldn't be seen by anyone. It was lucky I didn't give myself an ulcer.

I'm going to be thirty-five on December 3rd. I am edging toward that phrase "mid-thirties." The good people of Maine will be casting their votes in November whether to revoke the rights of gay men and women to marry their partners. I am torn between seeing this as a wonderful moment in our revolution and being horrified at the very idea that ignorance and prejudice and fear might still win out. There is a great Irish video advertisement my friend Cary forwarded to me recently in which a guy goes around asking every stranger he meets if he can marry his girlfriend. The idea being, of course, that this is what is happening in the gay marriage debate. We are having to ask random strangers for a right we should already have conferred upon us. It's a little bit sickening, but I'll just have to wait and see what happens then.

Back to the art. Thanks for listening. Hope you enjoyed the new pieces sprinkled throughout. I will have many of them listed in my Etsy shop later today.

Below are two pieces I did as a gift for my friend Marybeth's twins.

Dal Shorba
Wash and cook up three cups of yellow lentils in equal parts water and chicken broth. (I just keeping adding liquid as the lentils absorb it.) In a separate pot, saute an onion (minced) and at least five or six cloves of garlic (also minced) in olive oil. Add to the lentils. Then saute two jalapenos and roughly four tablespoons of ginger (all of this minced too) in olive oil and add that to the lentils. Add some chopped tomato (a whole ripe one) or do what I do--add a cup of Raos Arrabiatta pasta sauce (this is my not-so-secret ingredient for almost all soups). Finally, clean and chop up an entire bunch of cilantro and add that to the soup. Let it cool and puree about half to two/thirds of the soup.
Viola! Yummy, healthy soup. Perfect with some fresh bread slathered in butter or a bowl of rice.

September

2009-09-20T14:35:00.000-07:00

Got in late Friday night from another wonderful trip back East. This time I traveled across the country to attend a dear friend's wedding & it was such fun. Set out in the country in a part of Maine I don't spend much time, a real country wedding, complete with wildflower bouquets. The bride is a private lady, so I won't post pictures of her, but here are some shots of the flowers outside the church beside the grange hall where we gathered.

This came out beautifully. I do love the macro setting on my camera. The way certain things come into intense focus and others blur into the background. It's sort of a metaphor for the way I look at life.

I rode up with my youngest sister and along the way we picked up this little person. Marielle says he's a joke gift for a friend of hers who wrote and sings a song about a gnome. Towards the end of the evening after several glasses of wine, I procured him from the car and took his picture in various locales.

My sister Marielle. She is four years younger than me--just the right amount of time that meant I was already out of high school and off to college when she became a freshmen. Over the years we drifted in and out of each other's circles, but weren't exactly close. I was in New Hampshire when she was in Maine. When I moved back to Maine, she traveled south to North Carolina. There was a brief time we overlapped in Maine, before I was off to California.

Something happened the last few years. I can't say exactly what; it's sort of like she became more like me (organized, responsible, on top of things, managerial) and I became a little more like her (playful, spontaneous, interested in music, quick to laugh). Somehow we met in the middle and now she is a person I would turn to to discuss a private matter, a person I want to go out dancing with, or have coffee with, or go for a bike ride with--she's a really, really good friend. I have always been incredibly, almost twin-like connected with our middle sister, but this newfound bound with my youngest sister fills me with an almost indescribable happiness.

Isn't she a picture in her vintage dress & boots? That's a spritzer in her hand.

My beautiful sister Deirdre in her bridesmaid dress with her longtime boyfriend Joe. Note the wildflower bouquet. When Kelly and I exchange vows in Maine, I want to carry flowers just like these.

Maine was good for my head. I painted the outside of my mother's house for three days and spent the better part of one day running house-project related errands to Home Depot and Aubuchon. It felt great to be outdoors using my body. The weather was classic--just sliding into Fall. Bright sunshine, crisp air just this shade of cool, amber and deep red leaves fluttering above my head, tart Macintosh apples, all of it perfect and fully appreciated.

I made my mom and her boyfriend Tom my famous Chicken Tortilla soup and gobbled up lots of financiers from Standard Baking Co. I hung with one of my Stephanies (who also showed up to help paint and brought her own transister radio) and drank coffee with my friend Marybeth. I had a long road trip of a drive up to northern Maine with Marielle, took several ambling walks by myself around Munjoy Hill, and ate supper with my father and his wife Anna.

I picked my nephew Alexander up from school, played a game of hide-and-go-seek, drank several beers around a raging bonfire with my friends Greg and Roniece, and found myself under a canopy of stars on Hancock Pond perched percariously on a tippy canoe at 1:30 in the morning. I heard loons, watched more than one flock of geese traveling South for the winter, and helped my other Stephanie get ready for her first art show, which included buying a couple of her pieces myself...really, what more can a girl ask for?

Home again. I spent yesterday and today deep cleaning, scrubbing and vacuuming the house, washing all the bedding, grocery shopping, baking and cooking, and even labored for several hours to update our Garmin GPS for Kelly to take with her when she travels East to work with Joe, participate in an all-women tree climbing workshop in Massachusetts, and visit family. Some folks think we're nuts not to take trips together more often, and I agree it would be nice, but I'd just as soon go hiking with her here or drive up to Santa Rosa to visit friends.

The time we spend apart makes us softer and more appreciative of each other. Frankly, I think it's healthy. Someday we'll loll together on a beach in the hot sun, but this year it's all about separateness, and the togetherness that separateness can breed.

Diptychs

2009-09-08T07:16:00.000-07:00

A peaceful, reflective three-day weekend. I had hours of time at my desk and new work developed as a result. I sensed several weeks ago that my work was moving in a cleaner, more empty direction. The prototypes I developed to incorporate Diana Fayt's work were a catalyst. I will have some of those and a few of the ones you see below in my Etsy shop by the end of this week before I leave for a visit to Maine.

Biggest recent score--this vintage ladder. I am so in love with it and it solved my shelving dilemma. I have been in desperate need of a "drying rack" to rest pieces between the many layers of paint and glue and varnish I apply. I usually work on several different pieces simultaneously, which means there are pieces sprinkled across my dresser, the computer desk, the shelf above the washing machine--anywhere the cats aren't likely to knock into them. This ladder now serves as my resident drying shelf and may also feature prominently in future photo shoots.

The sad part is that I scored this ladder at a great price because one of my favorite little shops is closing--Stumasa was located at the crossroads of the Upper Haight, Cole Valley, and the tip of the Inner Sunset. It had the sweetest little kid's clothes and old-fashioned well-made toys, lots of little knickknacks, and tons of unfinished wood furniture. I always found something lovely there for gifts or for myself. I happened in on Friday as I was out on a walk and discovered they were closing for good. This is happening all over the city as our economy continues to shuffle along. Another sweet little shop Doe, located in the Lower Haight near where I get my hair done, is also going out of business. I know change is constant regardless, but I am saddened to watch these places come to an end.

A smattering of pieces on my desk just to give you a feel of the weekend...

And some of the new pieces--here is a diptych "Arrival. Silence."

Another one--"Poetry begins with the lightest touch." (This one features a few Diana Fayt circles and will be one for which a donation will be made to P2P Rescue.)

"A breeze arriving from nowhere." This was one of the first diptychs I did. I really love the way two separate pieces work together--and the space between the canvases that links them. These works are moodier and quieter. They look good against a colored wall. Funny to watch myself move from black and white to bright splashy colors and then to this more subtle realm of grays and browns and whites and blues.

A close up of a diptych that features one of my favorite ever e.e. cummings poems...the one above is actually the bottom of this two part piece.

And here is the top.

And here's how it looks together. The poem reads:

i thank you God

for most this amazing day

for the leaping greenly

spirits of trees and

a blue true dream

of sky

and for everything

which is natural

which is infinite

which is yes.

I just made up the linebreaks myself because I found this poem in the form of a quote, so I'm really not sure how it is supposed to look.

A single piece that is so darling and begged to be set alone by itself--"A settling into things." This was my first one with a vine dangling and I liked the way it balanced the image.

A larger piece with a quote from Fred Buechener. I'm not sure who he is--perhaps I should look him up. I clipped this quote from the Sunbeams section of The Sun years ago.

Other things...I made a big pan of chicken enchiladas--my signature recipe with yogurt replacing the sour cream. I also crumbled up a large chunk of goat cheddar in with the colby cheese to give it a distinct flavor and topped the whole thing with an entire clump of finely chopped cilantro. Divine.

I'm ending with this cupcake because it's so darn cute. Kelly brought it to me when she came to pick me up after an estimate. We met up near Dolores Park, where I was happily licking an ice cream cone from the Bi-Rite Creamery. I have to say I think they have the best ice cream in SF hands down. (And yes, I have tried that Humphrey place in the SOMA with all the wacky flavors. Bi-Rite is better!) Anyway, the point is: I love red velvet cupcakes. And my girl knows that and was thinking of me. So I got two desserts. But I brought this one home to photograph first because it was almost too pretty to eat.

Six Years!!

2009-08-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

kind of a dark shot with the self timer because when we try to take self portraits i always look a lot bigger

Woo Hoo!! We celebrated six years since our first date this weekend & it was a great time. Hard to believe that six years ago Kelly walked into the office where I work all decked out in her bike messenger garb and asked me to go check out McLaren park. I thought she was asking me to go see a band play somewhere. We met at a little cafe and apparently I was late (Kelly reminded me of this...I have no memory of that fact).

To celebrate we got all dolled up and went to Nopa, which was the perfect combination of high brow and low brow. The napkins were dish towels, all the wait staff wore brown tops (but whatever variation on the brown theme they wanted), our server admired my leather cuff and knew where I got it, and the food was divine. We had warm olives, salad, tuna nicoise, a pork chop & some pasta I can't spell that I thought was actually beans. But it wasn't--it was homemade pasta, my favorite kind. We drank funky drinks and Kelly's smelled exactly like that echinecea tincture you put in water when you're warding off a cold. It had vodka, cava, bitters and vermouth and it was brown, just like the servers' shirts. The best part was we were seated way high up on the balcony where we could spy on everyone. Very entertaining.

I got surprise anniversary shoes--I love them to pieces. I would love them anyway, because I think it's super sexy and romantic to have my girl buy me shoes, but I particularly love these because they're feminine AND incredibly comfortable. They are made by Earth and have a negative heel--perfect for my little toe that's still healing.

Plus we had massages. Plus I got Kelly a Jeanine Payer necklace that she loves. Plus I passed all my PRAXIS exams.

Then we watched Waltz with Bashir and it was kind of a major downer. The animation was incredible, but after it was over Kelly and I were both just seriously bummed. And it was graphic, even for animation. There were some scenes involving animals that I will never get out of my head. The music was great though and it really made me think about the Middle East, about the nature of violence and history of conflict between religious/ ethnic groups, about memory and why it gets blocked in reaction to traumatic events. After a day had passed I told Kelly I was glad I'd seen it, even though I made a mental note: absolutely no more war movies. Ever. Period.

Yesterday I made enough chili to feed any army. I used our biggest dutch oven, the one my mom gave us for Christmas last year, and it was full to the brim. Luckily our friends are coming over tonight so I can pawn some off on them. It's a running joke in our house that I simply cannot cook a small amount of anything. Guess it was all those months working in the AMC huts...

Friday

2009-08-21T15:39:00.000-07:00

At home today trying to keep up with everything on my plate and not fall behind. In a fit of madness or poor planning, I somehow scheduled a three week online course to begin this week--and tomorrow I take five hours of PRAXIS exams. (For those of you unfamiliar with the terminology, all you need to really know is there are a serious of tests I need to take to qualify for Maine teacher certification for English grades 7-12.) The course itself is actually really interesting--it's on mainstreaming and inclusion for students with special needs. But who knows if I will even end up teaching? Somedays I ask myself if it's nuts that I'm spending my last precious months in California taking online courses and tests to earn this certification. And then yesterday I found myself looking up the qualifications I would need to get certified to teach Art as well. I guess I'm just a sucker for more work.

Between the studying and the coursework and the reading and the practice tests and the regular stuff like keeping my house clean and getting the laundry done and coming up with creative and yummy things to feed Kelly, it's a wonder I'm getting any sleep at all.

Anyway, I haven't got a big gorgeous garden to pull succulent veggies from like my friends Heather and Ben (who are truly awe inspiring and gee, don't I wish they lived nearer so I could drop by for dinner once in a while), but I have started regularly attending my local farmer's market. Last month a new one started up just three blocks from where we live. It's not fancy smancy like the Ferry Building--there's no one selling art and jewelery and there sure aren't any melt-in-your-mouth fish tacos--but it's chock full of organic goodies and homemade soap and honey from bees that live in different parts of our city. There's even a honey made from the bees at White Crane Springs Community Garden, where Kelly built me two garden beds for Christmas one year.

A couple weeks ago, Kelly and I went and bought lovely green tomatoes. I looked up a recipe on my favorite website for foodies--epicurious.com--and soon we had a big ole plate of fried green tomatoes. I'll never eat these without thinking about the book & the movie and how I loved them both and how cute and queer Mary Stuart Masterton's character was in relation to Mary Louise Parker.
And boy were they good (the tomatoes, I mean). I whipped up a little improvised aioli from my memories of working in the huts for the Appalachian Mountain Club and added a few inspired ingredients (a lot of fresh parsley, lemon juice, chives, and a touch of cayenne pepper) and we were dunking and dipping and munching on green beans and exclaiming how we were going to shop at the farmer's market every weekend. When we were done eating, Kelly couldn't believe I'd made so many fried green tomato slices from only two tomatoes. I made the same thing for dinner the following night when our friend Blaney dropped by.

Even though I've been running a marathon in the studying department, I have managed to carve out some time for art. Here are three prototypes for my work with Diana Fayt. The quote on the one above says: "I want to be found by love." Versions of these will hopefully be available on my Etsy shop in early September. Part of the proceeds goes to benefit P2P Rescue, which I told y'all about in an entry or two ago. It's a great organization & I've already got my eye on a Buddhist monastery-looking birdhouse for sale on their website.

I love Diana's whales. This sweet whale hovers above the words "you have simply had enough of drowning and you want to live." The background is a page from a French letter or journal entry from the 1800s.

And for the nostalgically-inclined (just kidding, all my work is filled with nostalgia), a bird perches on a yellow boat: "I remember a wide sky the clouds streaming from us."

This one's a gift for a friend who is getting married next month in Maine. It's one of my rare pieces with no clipped words. But if you look closely, you can see that I carved some writing into the layers of paint.

Goals for this weekend: pass my five hours of PRAXIS exams, watch "Waltz with Bashir" (I am not usually into animation or war movies, but I am obsessed with the soundtrack by Max Richter--his Blue Notebooks is a must for long art-filled afternoons---Tilda Swanton reading fragments of Kafka's journals makes me swoon), bake blueberry muffins, go to the farmer's market, make more art, have a celebratory dinner out with my girl. This Sunday is the six year anniversary of our first date. We are having dinner at a fancy smancy restaurant directly across the street from the cafe where we met for that date--which lasted seven hours and involved a bread and cheese picnic and walks through two city parks. Still ranks as one of my best all-time dates.

Family Reunion

2009-08-08T11:50:00.000-07:00

Where has the time gone? It's a cliche, I know, but the summer is literally flying by at warp speed. I just got back from a week-long family reunion with all the Smith, Snapp & Vander Schaaf cousins and their respective families in the Upper Peninsula, Michigan. I got to meet new members of my extended family (my cousin Ben's wife Lori gave birth to their new son Jonas Nobel while we were there) and spend time with others--such as Mikka Marielle featured above and named after my youngest sister. Mikka Marielle is the sweetest pea--and almost enough to convince me to have a baby of my own.

There is nothing like flying into the tiny Marquette airport--literally a sea of green trees and almost no development. I have never seen anything like it. It made me so happy and grateful that there are still places left in the country where human beings haven't paved over the earth. I half expected there to be no town, but there was a sweet little downtown with some of the yummiest chocolate chip cookies I've had outside of my own kitchen.

The lake at the Page Center where our family descended for the weekend was too cold for me to brave a swim--but all of the young boys and a girl or two were in each day. I went kayaking instead. On Saturday, Marielle and I kayaked across the lake in high winds and went under a small bridge to discover another lake. On Sunday, I dragged my mother out of the kitchen and we snuck off for a kayak to the opposite side of the lake, where the winds were calmer. I fell head over heels in love with kayaking and declared to Kelly upon my return that we were buying kayaks as soon as we move to Maine.

Spending time with relatives I don't see often enough was a treat--cheap haircuts were had. (My cousin Leah is giving her husband Dan a buzz cut in this picture. She had just finished giving their 18 month old the same cut.)

Much time was spent on the dock monitoring the kids to make sure no one drown. (Marielle demonstrates how to put an intertube to good use.)

And the food--what can I say? It rocked. Twenty pounds of potato salad put together by yours truly, along with help from my mom, my aunt, and my sister; fresh bread; barbequed pulled pork sandwiches; all the jam and pickles were homemade from Mason jars; even the cookies were made in advance by my cousin. Everyone pitching together in the kitchen to put out three meals a day and clean up after. We even put on a skit night--which could have used a tad more rehearsing in my opinion, but was, nevertheless, pretty darn funny.

One of the things I appreciate the most about my family, particularly at this stage in my life, is their love of homemade food. My Aunt Lorraine's pantry is a thing of beauty. I can't wait to begin my own pickling and preserving.

I am glad to be home though. I missed my girl and my cats. I have lots of new art begging to be made and a ton of studying to do for the PRAXIS exams I'm taking as I work my way through Maine State Teacher Certification. In another week I start the first of two online courses. The summer shows no signs of slowing down.

I leave you with a photograph taken not in the U.P., but outside my friends Kristi and Zoi's cabin in Goat Rock. It's such a beautiful world out there...hope you're all enjoying it this afternoon.

Time for Everything

2009-07-23T12:30:00.000-07:00

This is an older picture--taken about two months ago--but I love it for so many reasons. My girl is enjoying one of her favorite moments: tea time. A slice of my homemade lemon poppyseed cake (which she has specifically requested me to stop baking with whole wheat flour) and a cup of tea to accompany a bit of reading material. It's become a ritual we share. Once you start truly savoring your dessert with coffee or tea and sitting down at 4ish to snatch a bit of quiet or let your mind wander or listen to the birds, I swear it's not long before you need to do this every afternoon. Besides, sweet stuff tastes better on it's own, as opposed to crammed into an already full stomach after a meal.

But I am posting this picture here today for another reason. The gorgeous cake platter in the foreground which was a wedding present to us from our dear friends Kimball and Margarita, was handmade by our friend Lisa Neimeth, a local artist. I had the distinct pleasure of hanging out with Lisa--who is not only incredibly beautiful, but also incredibly talented--this weekend and attending the Renegade Crafts Fair at Fort Mason. Renegade is sponsored by Etsy, so as you can imagine it was like walking into Etsy incarnate. If you scroll down, you can see the new beehive tea towel I scored on my way out. I was pretty good, all things considered. But that probably had less to do with my self control and more to do with having Lisa there asking me "do you have a budget?" Um, hello? Never. But it isn't a bad idea.

The weekend was packed with art: seeing it, doing trade for it, making it. I was in the zone. I was lost in a world inside my head. The only things marking the passage of time were the light falling in different angles across the street whenever I looked up, or the occasional need to hit the replay button on my ipod. When time seems to slow down to where it almost stops, there is this lightness to being, this playful quality to existence that is expansive and timeless, even outside of time. My values shift, my breath slows, my clarity of vision is more, well, clarified. I need less. I go for hours without talking. I forget to eat, to call people back, to do the dishes. The sorts of things that usually fill my days until they are dashing by me at high speed, me trying to grasp hold of whatever I can.

On Sunday about 2:30 I was starving, but didn't want to spend a lot of time preparing anything. Still, there's only so many times one can eat cereal in a week and call it a meal. So, I made my old standby--Jasmine rice cooked in chicken broth with oven roasted brocoli. You just toss the brocoli spears in a bit of olive oil and sprinkle them with salt and pepper. Broil them for about ten minutes. They're delicious and chewy and salty--not soft the way they get when you boil them in water. The lovely blue bowl was a gift from my friend H. It's my favorite thing to eat out of.

As you can see, my desk/ studio is a disaster. Not featured: piles spilling onto every surface of my floor. It was work to keep the cats from nesting in my bamboo scrap boxes or trying to eat my clippings. Oh, for shelves and a door I could close...One day.

Favorite new tea towel by Rustbelt Fiberwerks. I can't convey how much I love this towel. It's simple and clean, but beautiful. I have a sense my art is moving in a more simplified, less crowded direction (even if my workspace isn't.)

The beginning of a small shadowbox. I have three in progress. Shadowboxes are like three-dimensional collages, immensely satisfying, full of curiousity and texture, and much harder to put together. At least for me. For now, all of the objects I'm working with are in flux. I keep adding and taking away elements, trying to achieve a Joseph Cornelian sense of perfection in balance.

A Fit of Creativity

2009-07-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

Long Ago I Deciphered Your Laugh from a Thousand, private collection

I have been so busy lately, it's been a complete whirlwhind. Friends in town visiting; meals that brought new meaning to the word feast; housesitting in Mill Valley, complete with a round-the-clock koi pond watch that nearly did me in. (The koi pond belonging to my employer & good friend Bill leaked all weekend, growing worse over the five days I was housesitting. It required me to get up in the middle of the night with my headlamp to check the water level, adding the aqua pure softener each time I refilled the tank.)

Anyway, I have been lucky enough to sneak away for hours at a time this past two weeks to work on my art. I thought I would share a quick series of photos of the latest developments. In the piece above I used one of my friend Diana Fayt's sketches. (Diana is an amazing artist and you can check out her work here.) I love this image of a girl lost in thought, clutching her purse or briefcase and pulling her coat tightly about her. It's moody and conveys so much emotion with few lines. The red bubbles are cut from the same sketch. I originally made this piece for my own collection. However, currently Diana and I are in conversation about collaborating on a series of collages, part of the proceeds of which would benefit P2P Rescue, a U.S. based, not-for-profit organization working to raise awareness about and support for Sri Lanka. You can read more about this organization and their fabulous birdhouses built from salvaged tsunami wreckage here. If all goes well, I may be carrying some collages featuring Diana's sketches in my etsy shop in the near future. I'll keep you posted.

I've started using acrylic paint to cover the sides of my collages, experimenting with complimentary colors, blending paint, and building up multiple layers to give my work a more polished look. I've also begun varnishing my collages with a glossy acrylic topcoat. This not only looks great (in my humble opinion), but it also makes them more durable and immune to damage. A great plus, as for some reason folks love to hang my art in their bathrooms. Seriously, I cannot tell you how many times I've gone to someone's house that has purchased or been gifted with some of my work and found it hung either directly above or across from their toliet. This is especially true of my older, black and white work.

Her Own Sense of Grace and Beauty, available

I don't know why this is. Maybe it's because the pieces I make tend to be small and look good in small rooms. Maybe the quotes I used were so deep they naturally lent themselves to contemplative bathroom moments. For a while I wasn't sure how to take this, but I recently adopted a sense of humor about the situation and joked to K. that I should switch the name of my etsy shop from Words & Images to Bathroom Art.

I Remember You, private collection

Another development I am playing with is writing more poetry. I cut words out of old books and rearrange them on my work table until I have a snippet that tells a story of some sort. I love the poem fragment on this piece.

I remember you

the way you loved;

thin as gossamer

our winged flight

I got so carried away painting my new work that I decided to pull a bunch of pieces I'd made this past year down off the wall and paint their sides too. It gave everything a fresh new look, and incidentally created a bit more work. Now I have to reshoot all the pieces I have in my etsy shop because they no longer have plain wood sides.

If You Cannot Be A Poet, available

But I don't really mind. I'm kind of on a roll these days. I have renewed artistic energy flowing through my veins. Ideas, color and combinations of images are just popping into my head out of nowhere. I'm often working on two or three pieces at the same time. I'll glance up from one collage and my eyes will fall upon two completely different scraps of paper and it's like a little light goes on. Oh! Yes!! Those two will look great together.

Pilgrims of the Timeless and Untravelled, available

The piece below is a perfect example. I was lovingly painting the side of my pilgrims collage (featured above), when I suddenly realized that the pink vines and bold orange and yellow stripped paper created a fabulous funky contrast. I added the vintage mandolin player, tinting her cheeks and clothing with pastel chalk, gave her a few red poppies, a scrap from a vintage French dictionary, a Parisian stamp, and a "Merci" flag. At the last minute, I turned the pink vine paper around backwards so it would be slightly muted. And then, I fell in love. Isn't she sweet? She's my ode to the wonderful street performer with the flaming red hair I crushed out on in 1996 in Montmarte.

The Girl, available

"The Simplicity of Blue" was another experiment. A study in blue--blue swallow, blue paper clouds, a vintage blue stamp, an antique French letter, and textured blue paper I found in a junk shop in the Mission last month. I originally painted the sides a deep aquamarine blue, in keeping with the theme. But the blue was overpowering. So I added a thick coat of white, let it dry, and then scrapped the sides down with sandpaper. It instantly aged the piece, giving it the look my friend Paul jokingly refers to as "chabby chic."

The Simplicity of Blue, available

That's all for now. I've got plans to spend the entire weekend making more art, to be interrupted only by brief periods of eating and sleeping. New work will be available in my etsy shop early next week.

Hope all of you have a restful or creative weekend, as your needs dictate.

Some Good, Old-Fashioned Celebrating

2009-07-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

Whew...it's been a full weekend of celebrating here at the Vander Schaaf/ Palomera household. On Saturday, most Americans were out and about barbequeing pieces of meat and waving sparklers or standing in the sidelines watching their town's parade march along Main Street. I remember marching in just such a parade myself about a million years ago. If memory serves, my sisters and I were carrying Japanese parousels my parents had brought back from one of my father's business trips. They smelled of wax and paper and paint and no one else was carrying anything like it, which is sort of the story of my childhood. But, I digress.

This weekend was all about celebrating my girl's 44th birthday. Can you believe it? And she still looks like she's in her early thirties. In fact, in my nine-year old nephew recently left me a voicemail message letting me know that although he knew Kelly was older than me, she looked younger than me. Now, I'm thirty-four, so either it's a tremendous compliment to her, or a wee bit o' an insult to me. My optomistic nature prefers to believe it's the former.

We had a long and wonderful weekend, full of making art, birthday phone calls, snuggling with the cats and sleeping in, opening presents while sipping coffee (a generous check from her mom, a new down jacket from yours truly, windstopper fleece gloves from her mother-in-law, a sporty messenger bag from my sister Marielle, and beautiful postcards in tins from some of our favorite long-distance friends), amazing food, country drives, and hanging with friends.

After losing ourselves on back roads for hours taking photographs and falling in love all over again with the California countryside, we pulled into our favorite restaurant Zazu, where our friend Kristi hosts and her girl Zoi is a chef. When asked later what her favorite moment of the weekend was, Kelly replied "walking into Zazu," and I have to agree. Pulling open that old-fashioned screen door, full of anticipation at seeing our friends' faces and the amazing food we'll be eating. Really, it can't be beat.

We got there early enough that it was still light out and assumed our usual seats at the bar. Zoi and Kristi sent out our surprise first course: homemade Grape Nuts--soup spoons filled with toasted farro, half and half, and raspberries. It was an inside joke, poking fun at how prior to meeting me, Kelly's meals use to consist of either a bowl of cereal or a slice of Nizario's pizza. I have to say, it was quite good and elicited a hearty laugh from both of us.

After sharing a plate of house-cured salami, pickled grapes, tartufo (sheep and goat milk cheese with trufffles), and grilled bread, we snuck out to the backyard with our respective glasses of beer and wine to hang with Zoi's dog Prune and check out the garden. Prune is the sort of dog that makes cat people like ourselves rhapsodize about someday actually getting a dog.

Our dinner of fresh green salad with strawberries, goat cheese and some kind of amazing white balsamic vinagrette; spare ribs; steak; chard; and Skordalia potatoes, was followed by a plate of raspberries with sweentened marscapone cheese, then by a blueberry and blackberry crisp with a candle in it. Each bite was deeply satisfying, and imagine our surprise when no check ever appeared. It was a very generous birthday present from two of our dearest friends and we were full to the brim when we departed to drive to their house at Goat Rock, where we were staying the night.

But let me back up a bit, even before we had our celebratory dinner at Zazu, there was some mighty fine eating at our house.

When asked if she wanted birthday cake or birthday pie this year, Kelly replied that she wanted birthday cookies. Being the supportive girlfriend-partner-wife that I am, I quickly began gathering the ingredients.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is truly the cookie recipe to end the search for the perfect cookie. Oatty, nutty, brown sugar goodness abounds. I have made my own modifications to the recipe, which I originally discovered in the Tartine cookbook. (Aside to all you bakers out there--this pastry book is a must have. I have been frequenting Tartine the cafe for years and this book gives away most of their delicious secrets!) One more point worth mentioning. Kelly loves oatmeal-raisin cookies, while I prefer oatmeal-chocolate chip. We both like nuts, so I make the dough and simply divide it into two bowls, add cinnamon and raisins to one bowl, and coarsely chopped Scarffen Berger chocolate to the other. Presto, we're both happy.

Chocolate-Oatmeal-Walnut Cookies

12 oz. bittersweet chocolate (I use semi-sweet)
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
1 cup unsalted butter at room temperature (I always use salted)
1 3/4 cups sugar (I use half dark brown sugar and half white)
4 tsp. blackstrap or other dark molasses
2 large eggs
2 tbsp. whole milk
1 tbsp. vanilla
1 tsp. salt
1 cup walnuts, coarsely chopped (I add another half cup of chopped pecans as well)
1 cup unsweetened coconut (this ingredient is my own personal addition)
1 cup raisins

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a nonstick liner. Coarsely chop the chocolate into 1/4 to 1/2-inch pieces.

In a mixing bowl, stir together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and oats. Set aside. Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter until light and creamy. Slowly add the sugar and mix on medium speed until light in color and fluffy. Stop the mixer and scrap down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as needed. Add the molasses and beat until well combined. Add the eggs one at a time and beat well. (Side note here--I never crack an egg over a mixer bowl full of ingredients, which is like asking to have egg shell in your cookie. Crack the eggs separately beforehand in a small bowl that allows you to fish out all the tiny bits of shell.) Beat in milk and vanilla, then add the flour mixture and beat on low speed until well incorporated. Fold in the nuts and chocolate chunks or raisins with a wooden spoon.

Have a small bowl of water handy to wet your fingers and palms while shaping the cookies. Make small balls of cookie dough and then press them into three-inch disks on the sheet. Bake until the edges of the cookies are lightly browned, about 12 minutes.

It always helps to have a birthday drink handy while baking cookies or putting together the perfect new birthday dinner. Kelly's favorite is one part citrus vodka to two parts soda water and ginger beer. I squeeze half a lemon in as well, making sure to round the rim with the lemon so the tartness is present in each sip. Garnish with thin slices of lemon and a couple of pieces of candied ginger.

And last, but not least, I tried out a new recipe on Kelly as a pre-birthday dinner. Cheese and shrimp-stuffed poblanos with red bell pepper sauce. I found the recipe on epicurious.com and you can too by clicking here. (Note: to get the separate recipe for the red bell pepper sauce, click on the words in the ingredients list.)

I was inspired to make something using poblanos by a recent trip back East and a delicious dinner at my friends Edie & Michael's house. I made a few mistakes with this recipe, which I will briefly share here so you don't do the same.

Mistakes to Avoid When Making Cheese and Shrimp-Stuffed Roasted Poblanos with Red Bell Pepper Sauce...And a Few Things to Do.

1. Don't get started late. This deceptively simple recipe actually has several time-consuming steps for the novice to master.

2. Do not allow yourself to get half in the bag on white wine while skimming the recipe and gathering the ingredients. This leads to confusion and misreading.

3. Do stop to admire your beautiful and fragrant basil leaves. Lift them to your nose and breathe in the smell of sunshine and soil and rain.

4. Don't over-broil your poblanos (or your red bell peppers) in the oven. They will get too moist and come apart when you try to peel and stuff them. (If you have a gas stovetop, Zoi tells me you can actually char them using tongs and avoid the broiling process altogether.)

5. Humming along to music like Kathleen Edwards' latest CD is always a nice way to keep your blood pressure down when you realize part way through that you started so late you'll be eating at 9:30 pm.

6. Do dig for compliments if your dinner companion isn't immediately forthcoming. (Mine is, but I still dig because I'm just that kind of girl.)

7. Try to laugh when things go amazingly, haphazardly, incredibly wrong. Like when you explode a Pyrex baking dish containing poblano peppers in your oven midway through the evening. Even if, especially if, it's the third Pyrex baking dish you've exploded in the last three years. Laugh into your wine. Laugh while you extract the big chunks with a pair of kitchen tongs. Laugh while your girl vacuums the rest of the shards out with the hose extension. Cause like your old key chain reminded you, poop happens. Even on birthday weekends that are supposed to go perfectly.

The Peeling Paper Technique

2009-07-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

Or, alternatively, this post could have been titled, what to do with a collage that turned out all wrong. Let me start a bit further back in the story, for the benefit of those who haven't been following my career in collage with utter fascination.

About six years ago I began collaging photos and quotes from The Sun Magazine--the most wonderful, ad-free magazine out there--onto canvases. It began with a homemade Christmas card for my mother as I renewed her annual subscription, and ended, two hundred or so canvases and many years later, when I found myself moving away from black and white and into the world of color.

I sold off or gave away most of what I created during the era of Sun collages, keeping only my absolute favorites, and an odd collage or two that didn't quite turn out the way I'd hoped. One of these was a rectangular collage I'd originally collaged vertically. Despite the fact that I loved the story I was trying to tell with that collage (a first date, the anticipation and the romance hovering in the air as a woman lifts her hand to knock on the front door, a quote from Toni Morrison: "Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all."), the collage never quite worked. I hung it in my entryway where it didn't get much love (ah, the sweet irony), and there it rested, collecting dust motes, until one afternoon when I wrapped it in gold paper to give as a birthday gift to a friend. That night, however, as I was leaving my flat, my perfectionism kicked in. (Never been all that good at giving things away I don't absolutely love.) I changed my mind and grabbed a different piece of art. The wrapped collage was jammed in the back of my closet, still in its gold paper, for another few months.

So, to make a long story even longer. I dug out this woebegotten collage last month and began scraping the original image off. Surprisingly, most of the thick layers of Modge Podge pulled off like dried glue, lifting the surface layer of the magazine page with it. After carefully removing the remaining bits of collage and podge with a boxer cutter, I looked down at my canvas. Lo and behold, I had inadvertantly accomplished one of the techniques illustrated by Claudine Hellmuth in the chapter about creating interesting background surfaces.

See, what happened was the back side of each photo remained attached to the canvas, leaving a backwards, barely visible layer of text. To this I added layers of gray and yellow paint, an old torn piece of sheet music, and some merry choral singers. Finished up with a surface coat of beeswax and there you have it--a gorgeous new collage.

There's a secret message in this one that I'll let you in on, my avid blog readers. The song title hovering above my jolly fellows reads "The Girl I Loved in the Golden West." It's an ode to my girl, who I met in the Golden West and whom I am bringing to the Lovely East.

Stonefruit Crisp

2009-06-30T06:57:00.001-07:00

It's summer out there, even for those of us that live in San Francisco, home of the notoriously damp and chilly June, July & August. And despite that reputation, we have been enjoying some very warm and sunshiney weather. This morning, however, as I peered out my window, I saw gray-blue skies and wind dancing in the branches of the olive tree, so I decided it was a good time to write about one of my favorite summer treats--stonefruit crisp.

Traditionally, crisps are made with apples or even peaches. My Joy of Cooking bible-of-all-things-edible, also suggests "slightly sugared rhubarb or pitted cherries," both of which, I am sure, are quite good. But if you want to taste something truly divine, might I recommend the combination nearest to my heart: apricots and plums.

These lucious little fruits practically jumped out of their boxes at the market and into my basket. Chop them up into fat slivers, arrange in a baking dish, sprinkle with fresh lemon and top with a heartly dollop of oatmeal crisp and you've got the hot, sweet, tartness of summer exploding in your mouth.

For those who prefer a recipe to my loose descriptions of food preparation (and these days, I consult my cookbooks like a novice--ever since I decided following recipes verbatim would be a good practice in discipline), below is the recipe with my own variations included. Most crisp recipes don't call for oatmeal or pecans, but I have a crazy nut fetish that compels me to add hazelnuts, pecans, almonds or walnuts to nearly everything I cook. Make it avec or sans nuts, but definitely make it.

Stonefruit Crisp

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

12-15 ripe apricots
12-15 ripe plums or pluots
Juice of one lemon
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup darkest brown sugar you can find
1/2 cup uncooked oatmeal
1/2 cup softened butter
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons cinnamon
1/2 finely chopped pecans or walnuts
1/2 cup (1 stick) room-temperature butter

De-pit and slice apricots and plums into whatever size chunks you wish (I think a good rule of thumb is four or six pieces from each fruit. If you cut them too small, they cook down into jam). Layer the fruit in a medium-sized baking dish and sprinkle it with lemon juice. Using your hands--as opposed to the pastry blender or double knife method Joy of Cooking recommends, I mean, playing with your food is half the fun--smoosh up all the other ingredients until you have what looks like unbaked oatmeal cookie dough. Arrange big dollops of the dough all over the sliced fruit, distributing it as evenly as possible.

Bake about 45 minutes--until the unbaked oatmeal cookie dough turns medium brown and the fruit bubbles at the edges of the baking dish. You can serve it with vanilla ice cream or fresh whip cream (I prefer the latter), but frankly, it's darn good all on its own.

Voila!!

Back in San Francisco

2009-06-28T08:48:00.001-07:00

I arrived back in San Francisco late Wednesday night after a week-long visit to Maine. It was a very full visit, but not in the typical way visits home often are for me. I spent time with dear friends--particularly my old all-girl crew from Pat's Groceria & Cafe who understand how a first- rate martini and a platter of blue cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon can warm the cockles of a girl's soul. On this visit, however, instead of running around like a maniac visiting everyone I love within a two hundred mile radius, I hung out with my mom and sister Marielle working on various projects around the house, photographing things for my mom to sell on Ebay and Craigslist, helping Mars downsize her wardrobe and fixing her recent haircut, cooking & baking, and celebrating my sister Deirdre's 33rd birthday. I am so proud of my sisters. Deirdre managed to graduate with a masters in nursing, pass her boards, and secure a job in less than a month. Marielle is becoming more like me with each passing year, at least that's our inside joke. She is more organized and managerial than ever. It gives me a thrill to watch her in charge at The Front Room, quietly dictating orders and running the show.

I also spent a bit of time with my nephew, celebrating his 9th birthday and shuttling him to and from Camp Ketcha in Scarborough. We even had a sleepover at Gram's house and I was surprised by a spontaneous hug early one morning when I opened the refrigerator in search of cream for my coffee.

But the biggest news is that Kelly and I are going to buy the house you see in the picture above. It's my mother's house and she smartly put me on the title several years ago when she purchased it. I helped pick out colors for exterior paint (we are going to stick with the barn red color and use a medium gray on the trim. On Monday, Mom & I spent an hour at her morgage advisor's office going over our options. It looks like it could happen as early as this winter.

I am so excited at the prospect of home ownership. I made Mom go around the house pointing out all the flowers and vegetables she put in and naming them and telling me a little bit about them. I drank tea on the front stoop and bought hanging flower beds from a country flower stand. I helped my mom's boyfriend (who, along with his son, pulled down all the mint green vinyl siding and are busily restoring the old cedar shakes) attach a rain gutter to the back of the garage roof. And I chopped up chives and parsley freshly clipped from her garden for the haddock I prepared my last night home.

As my 35th birthday approaches and Kelly and I discuss our impending move East, I find myself reflecting on the last seven years. I had no idea I'd stay in the city this long. I couldn't have fathomed six and a half years working in administration at a law firm, or attending graduate school for creative writing, or all the experiences and breakthroughs I've had making art. I made a couple of amazing friends, ones that fall into the "lifetime" category in my mother's old adage: "Friends come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime." I spent six weeks with one of my best friends driving across country and camping; I healed my broken heart, learning a tremendous amount about myself in the process; I overhauled my wardrobe; rode my bicycle to Los Angeles; lived alone for the first time in ten years; and met and married the love of my life, a fellow artist and philosopher (she wouldn't describe herself this way, but I would), the person with whom I want to talk over everything and anything, who makes me wildly happy even as she constantly challenges me to grow.

Years ago, I worked at a small vegetarian cafe in North Conway called Cafe Chimes. The eleven months I worked there were among the most solitary, and yet happiest of my life. It was one of those periods in one's life in which one feels oneself growing and morphing into the person you were meant to be. Where each day when you wake up, you feel different, yet more yourself and very much alive and aware and present. Shortly before I left to return to Maine and the college I kept dropping out of, my friend Kathy Etter, the owner of Cafe Chimes, put out a book for passersby to write their thoughts in. One person inscribed this quote that has stayed with me ever since: "So much has been given to me; I have no time to ponder that which has been denied."

I think of that quote often as I look back over the last seven years and count the numerous blessings, and even the losses, which were their own kind of blessing.

So anyway, this blog is supposed to be about art--at least in part--so here is a photo of my most recent collage "Bluebird." I am so excited about the breakthroughs I keep making in my art as I continue to follow what I love and find beautiful. The words down the side of the collage say: "the lovely open taste of summer," and at the bottom is a snippet from an old time country song titled "Back Among the Clover and the Bees." I think the nicest thing about making art is the making part, the discovery, the way image and color and text come together to create a mood and tell a story. People liking my art, or even buying it is bonus, but ultimately not the point.

And last, but absolutely not least, our dear friends Heather and Ben, who themselves got married a mere smattering of days after Kelly and I had our civil union ceremony at City Hall a year ago, sent us the most wonderful set of handmade tea towels as a one year anniversary present. They arrived in the mail yesterday and I promptly hung one up on the front of our stove to admire. Honest to goodness, when I count my blessings, having such amazing friends tops the list. Thank you you two lovebirds! You enrich my life in inexpressible ways and just thinking about how much I love you makes me a little weepy.

A Weekend of Art

2009-05-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

(The Ride)

This weekend, for the first time in months, I was inspired to sit my butt down and get to work. The foot has recovered sufficiently from the corrective surgery I had in early April, allowing me to go for hours at a time without elevating it. My girl helped me rearrange our living room into an inpromptu studio--a process that is still very much in progress.

Saturday I worked for six or seven hours straight teaching myself how to use beeswax from a great book by Claudine Hellmuth. It is not as easy as it looked. I spent the first three hours making two collages and then completely unmaking them, as the wax was difficult to work with. It dried instantenously, creating a thick white layer that obscured my images. I couldn't get it to "glue" down layers of art paper either. An entire antique French letter purchased at a vintage shop in Healdsburg was sacrificed in the process. Whole passages of photocopied text I tried to transfer onto the dried beeswax surfaces with nail polish remover were applied and removed when they failed to take. (Above you can see one of my few transfer successes.)

But I persevered, breathing my way into greater pools of patience, silently chanting the mantra that each failure was a lesson in what didn't work and pointed the path to what might.

(Silence/Shadow)

And it worked. I figured things out. I taught myself a few new tricks. I worked through problems that arose and created some beautiful new pieces in the process. I am deep into this swallow series right now. I can easily see how artists end up working with the same image over and over to experiment with color and composition. Frankly, one thing I learned about myself this weekend is that I have two very different sides to myself artistically. I can do one beautiful piece, but then I have to do a quirky one to balance it out. Half of me craves the realization of moody, pensive loveliness, and the other is all impish and silly. I will post more of the silly ones next time.

(Swallow I)

I finally asked my girl to take some pictures of me at work so I'd have something besides my own elongated arm self-portraits to put on my blog. Seeing myself from this angle was very interesting. My tattoos, which are on my back and shoulders for a reason, really jumped out at me. Note the healthy glass of vino blanco that nurtured me through my "there is no such thing as failure here" phase.

The piece I am working on in these two photographs is my favorite of the day. I was so thrilled with how the gold wrapping paper worked out.

And Sunday Kelly woke me up by declaring that Saturday was so much fun, we should do it all over again. So we did.

Several new pieces will be available on my etsy shop later this week.

apple pie & good intentions

2009-03-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since last I posted. Little did I realize how much of my time and mental energy school took up. Freed from classes & assignments, I have been letting myself do whatever I feel like doing. Which means, in a nutshell, cooking & making art. This past weekend in a flurry of activity, K. & I ditched our living room in favor of creating an art studio & I baked an apple pie almost from scratch. I say "almost," because I still haven't nailed the crust part down yet. I tried a few weekends ago to make pie crust from scratch following not my dear friend H.'s recipe, but one from the Joy of Cooking. Admittedly, I misread the directions (a tendency I tend to have) and didn't add all the flour at the right time. I ended up with two giant dough balls with all sorts of hard bits in them, that lingered in my refrigerator until I finally mustered the nerve to toss them out. Throwing away food--even unedible food--smacks of childhood moments at the dinner table & haunting images of those who do without.

Anyway, I confess. I buy my pie crust. Organic. From WholeFoods. I'm just that kinda girl. Maybe, with any luck, one day I'll live closer to my friend & she'll show me first hand how to make crust. The kind with vodka in it like the cherry pie she made last November.

Well, all of this is to say that Hi! I'm back & more committed to writing on a regular basis. I want this little online journal to capture life in the beautiful city I am priviledged to call home right now, as well as the life of one who makes art & all the cooking I do on the side. I am using cooking right now as a practice in slowing down, actually reading recipes, an antidote if you will to the frenetic pace of life in this postmodern age. It's deeply in my veins that I make my own food. Plus, it just tastes better. So, here you will find food & art.

I want to stop freaking out about the economy and work and money and having enough time and wishing I lived in the country where I could pickle my own beans. I don't live in the country right now, I live in this glorious city. And one day when I do live in the country, or something resembling it, I'll probably rhapsodize to every available ear about how great San Francisco was and how much I miss the banana cream pie at Tartine; the crepes at Ti Couz; the fish tacos at Nick's or the farmer's market on Saturday mornings that I have to stand in line for half an hour just to order; the view of the Marin Headlands as I drive over the Golden Gate Bridge; the endless, year-round sunny days.

Message in the Pavement

2008-08-31T11:31:00.001-07:00

On the way to the movies with K., I found this message carved into the pavement. It stopped me in my tracks and begged me to take a photo. It seemed perfectly in keeping with my mission to make this blog a log if you will of life in the beautiful, crazy, wild, magical city that is San Francisco, which I love with all my heart, and which, one day in the not too distant future, I will have to say good bye to.

"Make it Happen." Make what happen, exactly? I can't figure out how this applies to my life right now. In as much as I have learned about myself these last six years, I have lost something too. Or maybe just set it aside on a shelf for future consideration. That is to say, I don't know what my dreams are anymore. I used to have a lot of them, big ones. For a while I wanted to be an actress. Let me correct that, a rich, famous actress. I know that is not exactly an admirable goal, but it was mine growing up and I might as well cop to it. Then for a long time, my dreams faded into goals and those goals revolved around what my career path in life was going to be. If there is one thing living out here has taught me, it's that what you think is going to happen often doesn't.

I thought when I moved to SF I would get a job in publishing or editing, with an academic department perhaps. Instead I waited tables for three months and then became a receptionist at my godfather's law firm. This turn of events was humbling, even embarassing for a while. I pictured myself as a sort of unimportant secretary, which conflicted with my feminist desire to run the show. I wanted to shout at people, "I have a master's degree, doncha know!" Especially when they (the callers) spelled things for me or treated me like a non-person, like a disembodied voice. Basically, for four years I operated a telephone line like a dispatcher, and ordered supplies, and logged evidence (property) for trials. Luckily, when I got really down in the dumps and felt like a total loser, or got irritated at folks in the office whose egos seemed to bowl me over, I had K. to remind me to think of my job as a spiritual practice. "Some folks pay big money to go on retreats or live in caves in the Himalayas in order to have the sort of ego-annihilating experience you live everyday."

This actually helped. I began to see where my own ego was fighting for power, control, and recognition. I brought myself back over and over to the basics: making coffee, washing dishes. In the yogic tradition, this is called "beginner's mind." I had been used to being thought of as smart, capable, successful, in charge. For a long time, I couldn't see the value in what I did. As the years passed, and other things happened to burn away at my ego (like getting rejected from seven PhD programs), I worked hard at my job, took on new tasks, built my body of knowledge and eventually was promoted. First to assistant office manager, then to office manager.

Now I have my own gorgeous office filled with K.'s art and boxes of tea and an ipod sounddock. I can close the door and call my own shots to a certain extent. I make enough money to live comfortably in the city, to afford to give generously to friends and family, to shop at Wholefoods without worry, and to still be able to set aside a large chunk for my savings account each month. This is the first year I've had an IRA. In January, I will be fully vested in the company's profit sharing and pension plans. Because we are registered as domestic partners, K. gets health and dental insurance through me. None of these are small things. But in the meantime, where did my dreams go?

In December, if I complete the stack of wingless, headless, half-developed short stories piled on my desk, I will graduate with my MFA in creative writing. The program has been an incredible gift and I am grateful to have been given yet another opportuntity to pitch myself into a place of discomfort and not-knowing. I entered this program wanting to study nonfiction, and immediately switched to fiction. First long fiction, then short fiction. In doing so, I entered a pretty unfamiliar world. I've always loved reading, but never studied it formally and, with the exception of the SUN magazine, didn't even read fiction. Half the time, I didn't know what the other students were talking about. I had to break everything open and study craft over and over to grasp the simpliest concepts. How do beginnings relate to endings? What effect does writing in the first person have? Why does every image in the story have to mean something?

As my time in the program passed, I made new friends and began to feel comfortable taking risks. I brought in short stories I thought were crap and sat there with the proverbial tape over my mouth listening to the other student's feedback. I learned to put my defensiveness aside long enough to hear what the instructor and students thought. And even the hard work was joyful, by which I mean filled with the creative energy whose cultivation is a work of joy.

Now I can see the end in sight and must buckle down and put everything I've learned into my art. I have to be okay with not having time or the energy to do all the things I want to do, cooking from scratch, cleaning our flat, writing letters to friends, taking pictures, making collages, just being with K. hiking or biking or going for a long drive and having a spontaneous picnic.

But after this is done, then what? What do I want to make happen in my life, to give it meaning and pleasure and to bring balance? What are my dreams now, and what are the first steps I need to take toward making those dreams a reality? These are the questions I wrestle with. I have felt in limbo for a long time about living in the city. I am ready to be a homeowner. I fantasize about owning my own house the way some, if not most, women I know fantasize about being a mother. I yearn for it, daydream about it, look at houses for sale on the internet. It is not a reality out here, and I miss my family and friends back east, and I miss the seasons, and the way the long, dark, cold winter shadow descends slowly pressing us into our houses and urging us to nest. I long for work that is fulfilling in some soulful manner, not just because I am helping others, but because I am using all the parts of myself, my intellect, my patience, my curiousity, my compassion. I have a sense that it involves teaching in some capacity, but I don't know how or where or when. I have to stay open in this limbo, not grasp, be present, alert, continue to save so that when the time is ripe my options are wide open. I don't know what I am supposed to make happen, but I want to, whatever it is.

Flowers in my Bedroom

2008-07-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

I thought someone out there might be interested in seeing what I see every morning when I wake up, which is to say, works in progress. Here is a glimpse of an unfinished painting. You can just see the flowers emerging from their pencil sketches. I think these half-finished paintings are so moving. They speak to me of what is in process in my own life.

Years ago, during a bad breakup, I taped a section of a poem to my bathroom mirror. It went something like this: "I love you with what in me is unfinished. What has no wings, what is unfolding..." I'll try to dig the poem up and post it in its entirety. In the meantime, this following poem will have to suffice. This poem gets me everytime. It puts goosebumps on my arms and punches me in the stomach. I first heard it years ago in a movie and rewound the movie until I had every word. Then I did some research and here it is. Written by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. about his experience of flying a small airplane more than half a century ago. It is titled "High Flight."

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,--and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of--wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor even eagle flew--
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Minor & his Doppelganger

2008-07-25T10:02:00.000-07:00

A doppelgänger or fetch is the fictional ghostly double of a living person, a sinister form of bilocation.
In the vernacular, "Doppelgänger" has come to refer to any double or look-alike of a person. The literal translation of the German word is "double–goer," meaning someone who is acting (i.e. going) the same way as another person. The word is also used to describe the sensation of having glimpsed oneself in peripheral vision, in a position where there is no chance that it could have been a reflection.

Do we all have one? In high school, one of my favorite English teachers--Mrs. Paluska--returned from a trip to Europe with a photo of a store mannequin she thought looked exactly like me. I still have the picture lying around somewhere. In it you can see the reflection of Mrs. Paluska holding her camera up to her face to take the shot. I have to admit, the mannequin did look like me, in a slightly 80s, Molly Ringwald sort of way. The photograph also gave me an opportunity to glimpse how others saw me, which in itself was a novel experience. In my mind, I'm never that put together.

Our cat Minor is terrified of his shadow self, to the extent that we had to remove this stuffed animal to an undisclosed locale. This is a rare moment of two-ness.

In exciting news, our little family is prepping for a new addition. Mars Debo (not pictured), a two month old mini version of Minor, will be joining us next Friday if all goes well and he tests negative for ringworm. (Doesn't every word with "worm" in it just give you the shivers? It does me. I never want to have any sort of worm and am still traumatized by some photos of a parasitic worm in a textbook years ago.)

Culinary Delights

2008-07-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

The original title for this post was going to be "Jesus in my Cheese," but I thought someone might take offense. I swear this face just appeared in my cheese. All I did was slice a section of rind off one of my favorite rounds of Cowgirl Creamery Red Hawk (so stinky, yet so good!) and lo and behold--a tiny face, smiling at me. As if to say, "hi there--how's it going? So glad you're going to eat me." I dropped my knife and ran for my camera. Then I ran for Kelly and made her come in the kitchen to bear witness to the visitation. It felt a little strange to eat the cheese later, a holdover from my vegetarian days (nothing with a face!), yet I did so thinking better to consume this little guy then let him mold in my fridge. For days after my kitchen felt vaguely holy. Perhaps I should have lit a stick of incense before smearing him across a hunk of french bread.