Our little town was a showcase for art yesterday and today -- sponsored by the arts organization in which I am involved -- and from all observations and reports, it was "fabulous." We had more than 100 artists involved in 23 venues, and a small group of resilient volunteers who worked like mules to make it happen. And *I* was one of the exhibiting artists! Our photo club's works were displayed on the walk, and it was exhilarating to see my photos up on that wall.
Creativity, in whatever form, feeds the soul and the heart. It expands the mind and keeps us sharp and *alive.* One of our older artists was demonstrating pencil drawing, a medium she has only recently learned after painting in oils for many years. And what incredible detail she'd pulled out of a simple set of colored pencils! Another long-time artist and talented photographer exhibited a photo she'd enhanced after attending a workshop on Photoshop Elements and learning about layers. It was her creative soul that saw the vision, but I loved that she had just learned the technique from one of our photo club workshops.
Creativity encourages us to find unique elements in ordinary objects or supplies. Cooking, for instance, can be such a creative art form, and yet most ingredients are readily available in most groceries. It's how you blend them, how you shape them, that makes the end result a creative work of art.
In that respect, I guess each of us is a creative work of art, with ourselves the artists. Out of ordinary humanity, we become unique individuals, shaped by circumstance and our reactions to joy, sorrow, pain, trouble, pleasure, etc. Our inherent gifts help determine the results, of course, but as with any artistic endeavor, it is the vision that drives the creation. And as the potter can throw the clay back onto the wheel to be reshaped or the artist gessoes over a canvas to begin again, so can we smooth out our lumps, wash out our false starts, and reform, re-create who we are into who we want to become.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Winter's approaching
Two cords of wood, plus what we'd had left from last year's pile, are neatly stacked and covered with a tarp tonight; leaf dams have been scooped out of gutters; the kitty houses are swept out and piled high with rugs and purr pads to keep them snuggly warm; and we have our first fire in the wood stove tonight.
Whew. Our bodies are telling us that they've been a little abused, too, and that we need to be gentle with underused muscles that are burning with overexertion.
But it's a nice feeling to be prepared for winter. We've got rain forecast for the next several days, and it spat a little on us as we worked outside, but no downpours yet. A satisfying day, actually, to work hard and to see what we've accomplished. That's what I love about any kind of physical labor -- you can see your results immediately. In our normal work, it can be months before you reap any rewards, if then.
Oct. 30 was okay, although by day's end I was ready for it to be done. Staying very busy helped to keep my mind occupied and focused on other things, but when I finally put down the busy-ness in the evening, I felt the strain of the anniversary and the effort I'd expended to make it *just* a day. I heard from only a few friends and family, and that loving reach was greatly appreciated, even if it did make me lower my guard and allow the tears to puddle.
Yesterday, on All Hallow's Eve, I gave thanks to the universe for the gifts my mother and father gave me, and smiled at marigolds still bright and profuse in the nearly-spent garden. They are considered the flower of the dead for the Dia de los Muertos celebration of Mexico, representing the sun's rays and life, and symbolizing that the dead have not lost their place in the universe. (I confess that I plant them to keep the bugs away from the veggies -- an organic approach to gardening -- but I also love their cheery colors.)
Their pictures, along with those of Tony's family, smile at us every day from the top of my grandmother's chest of drawers we use as a buffet in the dining room. It's an altar of sorts, a place to honor them and to remember them daily, and to give thanks for their lives.
Sunday church services closest to Nov. 1, All Saint's Day, always honor the past year's dead members by lighting candles and tolling the bells and saying their names. I won't hear my mother's name read in her hometown church, nor my uncle's remembered in his faraway church. But they are engraved on my heart, along with my father's. I honor them with my words, with my memories, with my gratitude for their lives. Thanks be to God.
Whew. Our bodies are telling us that they've been a little abused, too, and that we need to be gentle with underused muscles that are burning with overexertion.
But it's a nice feeling to be prepared for winter. We've got rain forecast for the next several days, and it spat a little on us as we worked outside, but no downpours yet. A satisfying day, actually, to work hard and to see what we've accomplished. That's what I love about any kind of physical labor -- you can see your results immediately. In our normal work, it can be months before you reap any rewards, if then.
Oct. 30 was okay, although by day's end I was ready for it to be done. Staying very busy helped to keep my mind occupied and focused on other things, but when I finally put down the busy-ness in the evening, I felt the strain of the anniversary and the effort I'd expended to make it *just* a day. I heard from only a few friends and family, and that loving reach was greatly appreciated, even if it did make me lower my guard and allow the tears to puddle.
Yesterday, on All Hallow's Eve, I gave thanks to the universe for the gifts my mother and father gave me, and smiled at marigolds still bright and profuse in the nearly-spent garden. They are considered the flower of the dead for the Dia de los Muertos celebration of Mexico, representing the sun's rays and life, and symbolizing that the dead have not lost their place in the universe. (I confess that I plant them to keep the bugs away from the veggies -- an organic approach to gardening -- but I also love their cheery colors.)
Their pictures, along with those of Tony's family, smile at us every day from the top of my grandmother's chest of drawers we use as a buffet in the dining room. It's an altar of sorts, a place to honor them and to remember them daily, and to give thanks for their lives.
Sunday church services closest to Nov. 1, All Saint's Day, always honor the past year's dead members by lighting candles and tolling the bells and saying their names. I won't hear my mother's name read in her hometown church, nor my uncle's remembered in his faraway church. But they are engraved on my heart, along with my father's. I honor them with my words, with my memories, with my gratitude for their lives. Thanks be to God.
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