Forget Reading This Post

Be present and focus on what matters most instead

This Christmas season I hope you will be with people you care about, doing things you enjoy, and taking time out to celebrate what matters most.

Why dwell on what didn't get done, what could have been, or what's missing? Whether you're alone, with a few people, or a brood of family or friends, stop time and notice what's right in front of you, who is around you, and why you're part of it. 

Cherish relationships that give you strength and take in the earth's beauty and the creativity that we are surrounded by every day. Even the snow that sometimes impedes our travel has incredible beauty if we're open to seeing it. 

As this year comes to a close, my family and I wish you many joyful moments to capture, if not in photos, in your heart and mind.

And express gratitude.  It is powerful.

(P.S. The photo above is of my husband, Bill, our daughter, Lena and son, Nolan, about eleven years ago)
 

What's Cookin'?

Definitely nothing in my kitchen!

Much to the disappointment of my family.

I am making a "recipe" I have never really made before. Some of the ingredients I have used and know very well, others not often if at all. Some are like those little-known spices you have to reach way back in the cupboard to get and realize how much you've wanted to use but never had the right recipe.

The ingredients I'm using are not spices, or culinary in nature. Instead, here's the list:

• cradled wooden panels

• photographs of a memorable experience

• encaustic wax, heated on an electric griddle

• encaustic paints & pigment sticks

• archival print paper

• hake brushes

• blowtorch & heat gun

• strong arms and good eyesight

No, I'm not in my kitchen.  I'm in my studio creating a body of artwork called the Gratitude Collection, based on a memorable trip to the Netherlands in 2015 with my father - a WWII Canadian Veteran who helped liberate that country. I'm working through trial and error and, well, a few science experiments.

The element of using encaustic, or fusing hot wax, is new to me, and after a fantastic workshop with artist Dietlind Vander Schaaf, I knew instantly that the beautiful texture and ethereal quality of the wax were what these images needed to come to life.

I'm accepting the challenges and the unknowns because I think it is important, and I'm hell-bent to get this work into the world. The people of the Netherlands need to know how powerful their gratitude is and what it can accomplish in the world.

This recipe will take patience, resilience, maybe an assistant or two (AKA children), and a supportive network of family and friends. I am blessed.

So, while my husband makes his cranberry relish (it's Pepto pink but we love it!) for our US Thanksgiving meal, I'll continue feverishly working in my studio.

I invite you to watch this video of the first piece in the making: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e_Vmwb6anY

Be grateful.  It is powerful.

End of an Era

Late afternoon sun streams through the sawdust covered window, and I realize with quiet relief that I'm ready to say goodbye.

Whether we like it or not, whether we embrace the concept or wrestle it to the ground, death brings change, and change brings new growth and exciting things.

My Dad and brothers have had a partnership in a business for many years and with the passing of one of my brothers, it has become necessary to clear out and move on from what was part of our lives since before my siblings and I were born.

An onerous task, clearing out decades of things that were waiting to be: tools waiting to sharpen saws, wood to turn, planks to shape into a project, parts waiting to be installed into machines that are no longer being made, the old wired dial up phone, my Grandfather's planer and tools he used as a building inspector, and some machinery that was customized and configured with belts and pulleys devised by my father and forefathers to get the job done.

Surrounded by history and memories of my past and my family's past, I help sort through dust covered items that I can only hope will make someone else happy. I come across things that I remember and find things that bring forward a story I had never heard before and am so grateful to listen to. "The darker pair of skis were ones that I bought for Mom," Dad says.  "I ordered the bindings and attached them to hers, but the lighter pair I made from scratch", telling me how he steamed the wood to curve the ski tips and made the poles too.

One last time, I look out through that dusty window and see the ballpark I once played on, the swings now gone, and the desire to stop time washes over me like the ocean tide.  

There is solace in knowing I have captured what matters most and I'll find a way to celebrate and preserve it. I embrace what will be, and patiently wait for inspiration to flow into my brain.