Category: http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post

What the Ocean Provides

Posted in art journal, beach, cruxifix, disability, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, journaling3 Comments

My husband Jim and I got to drive from Portland, Oregon, where we live, to the sea side town of Seaside. I took my trusty journal along.  Not only do I like writing and sketching by the ocean (and everywhere else), but it helps me cope with the fact that my mobility is so much more limited than it used to be.  I’ve had problems walking since I was sixteen, but since I turned fifty, 3 years ago, my joints and balance have deteriorated a bit more. 

Three years ago I felt pretty safe just using my cane at the shore, but now I need a walker to keep from falling.  My friend photographer Clyde Jones took this about four years ago.  I was getting along pretty well with my quad cane. 

Jim now brings camp chairs and we do tandem journaling and breathe the sea air.  I forgot my camera, so I did a lot of quick sketching.  When I sketched, I kept thinking of those nice polished visual journals that get posted on line.  I despair that my drawing will never be that good.  I like drawing birds and people and things that tend to move quickly, so I’m scribbling and trying to keep up.  But even when I draw a rock, some days, the drawing isn’t so great.

But that’s not why I keep my journal.  Even with bad drawing, it’s good memory.  And it keeps me from dwelling on the past.  If you want to live in the present, sketching is a very helpful tool.  The inner chatter stops.  If you do it long enough, even the inner critic (sometimes known as the itty bitty sh**ty committee) goes quiet.

At our first stop for sitting on the beach, a man and woman were building a cross.  The woman held pieces of drift wood together while the man tried to cut rope with a rock.  Jim was alarmed that she was leaning over to hold up the heavy wood and might throw her back out, so he offered the man his knife.  The man refused and said he only built crosses with things that God provided.  The woman said, “Maybe God provided him with the knife,” but the man kept working the rope on a the rock.  He had on designer looking sunglasses, a nice watch and a leather fanny pack.  “The Lord doesn’t usually provide such large pieces of rope.  I’ve built lots of these crosses and I always only use what we the Lord provides.”

So Jim sat back down next to me.  Eventually the woman let go of the driftwood til the man got t he rope sorted out.  He was singing praise songs.  And when he finished, he took a picture of the cross with a digital camera.

I drew it quickly and terribly, but the story is set in my mind and I captured details I wouldn’t have otherwise.  I also totally forgot about not being able to frolic at the water’s edge.  

Has your journal ever elevated your mood and helped you see the humor in humans?

Here’s some pages from yesterday — on thin sketchbook paper and painted later with cheap pan watercolors.  Not so very artful, but a delight to me nontheless.  And now I have a little bit of the ocean to carry with me all month.

 
 Thanks for looking.

Little Madonnas — An Illustrated Story

Posted in black madonna, bus, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, icon, illustrated story, madonna, Memphis42 Comments

I have been writing stories for many years now.  I’ve also been making art for many years. It has finally occurred to me to combine the two impulses and create some illustrated stories.  I was inspired by the response I got from my post Pencil Man to start with the stories I’ve written (and have yet to write) about using public transportation.  They are my “Adventure in Transit.”

I hope you can read the scans okay.  I created the spreads on paper just a tad too large for my scanner, but I used wide margins, so all the text shows.

I haven’t linked up to Paint Party Friday in quite some time because I’ve been too busy to really participate in the blog  hop, but I’m going to link this up.  If you want to see lots of creative work, follow the links and enjoy a visual feast.

Let me know what you think.

Seeing Eye Dragon

Posted in blindness, dragon story, fairy tale, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, seeing eye animals, seeing eye dragon, service animals, Story6 Comments

I got a chance to tell my story about Iris and Aurora yesterday at the Disability Arts and Culture Program’s fundraiser for the Inclusive Arts Vibe dance program here in Portland, Oregon.  While there weren’t as many children there as I had hoped, it was fun sharing the story and my fabric sculpture with everyone there.  I made this for a Somewhat Secret Place Art show a few years ago.  I made this particular sculpture very tactile and I embroidered braille tags on it naming the piece, Shared Vision, and Iris, a blind goddess and her seeing-eye dragon.

I have this dream of one day getting the story published in both type and braille with raised relief illustrations, but only time and luck and a lot of haggling would make that happen.  Meanwhile, I decided to just share it here.  For one thing, it’s much too long for a standard picture book but I like the length.  It’s a nice meandering fairytale.  So here are some pictures of the art and children enjoying petting the dragon and learning about braille.

Aurora the Seeing Eye Dragon
Iris and her seeing eye dragon

Kids learning about braille and how to touch and learn

And here is the story.  Please feel free to share and retell this story, but give me proper credit.  I have a copyright on the story, but  a story not shared is no fun.

Iris and The Dragon Aurora

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Long ago and far away, when there were still a few dragons flying around, there lived a young couple named Zelda and Zachariah.  Zelda was a medicine woman for her village, and Zachariah grew the plants and herbs to make the medicine.
They were very much in love, and more than anything they wanted to have a child.  Soon enough, they were blessed with the birth of a baby girl.  She was the most amazing baby they had ever seen, with creamy skin and snowy hair.  Her eyes were clear as crystals that danced and sparkled and delighted Zelda and Zachariah.  They named their daughter Iris after the goddess of the rainbow.
Their neighbors didn’t like that baby at all.  She was strange looking.  And it was obvious she couldn’t see with those weird eyes.  That baby was blind.  
There had never been a person who was blind in the village.  Everyone in the village was practically perfect.  The village itself was practically perfect.  It was nestled in a valley surrounded by fertile fields, lush forests, a clear river and majestic mountains.  The land provided everything they needed.  Everyone ate well and was healthy.  And if they got sick, the medicine woman could fix them right up.
But now that she had the strange child, they began to not trust her.  If she really knew how to make people healthy, why did she have a blind daughter?  Mayor Bighair stopped buying her hair tonic.  It made Zelda and Zachariah very sad.  They didn’t want to leave their beautiful village, but they didn’t want their daughter to grow up with people saying bad things about her.
Zelda told everyone she and Zachariah were taking the baby to visit her cousin in a village on the other side of the mountains.  They were gone for a long time.  Then one morning, the villagers smelled the aroma of good medicine coming from Zelda’s chimney and saw Zachariah tending his garden. 
Mayor Bighair visited the couple and saw no signs of the baby. 
“We left her with my cousin and who will love her and take care of her even though she’s different.”
“You did the right thing.  A child like that is better off with those kind of people,” Mayor Bighair said.  He bought his hair tonic and told the villagers they could once again see Zelda for their sicknesses  Things went on like they did before. 
Except Zelda and Zachariah hadn’t taken Iris away, but had made a room for her in their basement.  She slept during the day and played at night.  They were sure the day would come when the people in their village would be more understanding; until then, they would protect their precious daughter.
Iris was a happy and helpful child.  When she was old enough, her mother taught her all about herbs and how to be a medicine woman.  They both worked on medicines to make Iris see, but she never did.  They also worked on medicines to make the villagers kinder, but that didn’t work either.
But Iris learned how many footsteps it took to get anywhere in the house.  She was a whiz at math.  She helped her father keep the accounts and plan his most productive garden ever.
Iris and her mother made pots with images of all the different herbs carved on them so Iris could find the right herb by touching the pot.  Iris showed her mother how to arrange the mixing bowls, mortars, herbs, and utensils so everything was in easy reach. 
Things went well until one day, a plague of fiery red dragons nested in the mountain forest above the village.  The villagers could hear the dragons’ terrible roars and see their hot fire breath billowing into the sky. 
The villagers knew those dragons were up there scheming to burn the village and eat them. 
Mayor Bighair called a meeting.  “If only they knew we are perfect people, they would find another village to devour.  Who can we send to talk to them?”
His soldiers and policemen had all fled as soon as they saw dragons fly over the village.   Everybody in the village thought they should run, too; there was no other way.  Then they heard a small sweet voice sing out, “I’ll go talk to them.  I’ll tell the dragons not to hurt us.”
A beautiful young woman with pearly skin and crystal eyes wearing a long dark cloak stepped into the crowd.  Zelda and Zachariah ran toward her.  The villagers figured out pretty quickly that this young woman was the baby Zelda and Zachariah said they sent away many years ago.
“No wonder the dragons are here!  That weird girl brought bad luck to our village!  Send her to appease the dragons.”
“I’ll be happy to go.  I am not afraid,” she said.
Her parents begged her not to, but she ignored them.  Mayor Bighair told her, “If you’re tricking us and plan to run away once you get to the forest, be warned your parents will be jailed if you don’t appease the dragons.”
“Run away?” laughed Iris.  “How could a blind girl like me do such a thing?   escort me to the edge of town and I will find them and take care of them.”
The villagers did, although they were pretty sure she wouldn’t take care of the dragons — the dragons would have her for supper.  Maybe that would give them enough time to pack their belongings and run.
As soon as Iris stepped into the forest, she felt around on the ground until she found a long stick.  She used it to find her way along the mountain path.  It was not the first time she had been there.  Often while her mother and father were asleep, she sneaked out to explore the village and the forest beyond.  She counted her steps and followed sounds and smells to find her way around.  She loved the sweet air of the forest, the rough texture of tree bark, and the cool touch of the leaves and grass.
Now she followed smell of sulfur and smoke and made her way to the edge of the dragons’ lair.  She took a deep breath and almost gagged it smelled so awful.  She listened to the roars and grumblings but didn’t hear as much as she expected.  She estimated it was only one dragon family – a father, a mother, and a small one.
Iris took a small cauldron out from under her cloak.  She gathered leaves and dried sticks and made a fire.  She poured water from a canteen and herbs from a small pouch into the cauldron.  Soon it was bubbling and filling the air with a sweet minty smell. 
The dragons went quiet.  They sniffed the air and looked around for what was making that wonderful aroma.
“It’ll be ready soon,” a small voice said.  “I know you’re hungry, and this will make everything better.”
The dragons saw a girl hidden in the trees.  She was the most unusual looking person they’d ever seen, but whatever she was cooking smelled delicious.
Nevertheless, she was the enemy.  The dragons roared and blew fire in her direction, but the girl waved her hands and said, “Wait a minute!  If you burn me, I’ll never get it finished.”
The dragons were stunned.  People always ran when they blew fire—or attacked them with swords and spears.
“My name is Iris.  I know you’ve been suffering, and I want to make you feel better.  I don’t want you to set fire to our land, so I brought this tasty medicine.” 
She scooped up a big spoonful and held it out.  “Father Dragon, would you like to try it first?”
It smelled so good, and Father Dragon was so hungry, but he bore many scars from being attacked by people.  “Don’t try to trick me.  I know you’re trying to poison us.  I should burn you up right now!”
“I am the daughter of a medicine woman; I can’t poison anything.  This will make you feel better, I promise.  Mother Dragon, will you trust me?”
“Trust a human?  Last time we trusted people they stole our lands and…”
Before she could finish, the little dragon flew up and slurped up the whole spoonful.
“No, Aurora, No!” the dragons roared.
“It tastes better than it smells.”  Instead of falling over from poisoning, the little dragon did a double back flip and looked healthier than she had in a long time.
Iris scooped up another spoonful and Mother Dragon lapped it up.  “Oh, this is that mint that grew in Dragonland.”
Father Dragon pulled the whole cauldron off the fire and tasted it.  “You’re right!  Aurora, come drink more!” 
The dragons drank the entire cauldron and licked it clean.  The smoke stopped coming out of their mouths.  They were no longer red.  They were golden with beautiful blue wings.
“I knew it!”  Iris said.  “When I first smelled your breath I knew you had indigestion.  You should stop eating people; they’re not good for you.”
“Eat people!  Nasty!” said Aurora.
“We’re vegetarians,” said Mother Dragon.  “You don’t get this big eating people.”
“But people ran us out of our native land, and we can’t find the dragon plants we used to eat.  We have to eat anything we find in the forest.  It’s miserable.”
“It gives us gas,” said Aurora.
“I think my mother has something you can eat.  Let’s go down to the village and see her.”
“We’ll clean up first.”  The dragons flew off to a mountain river that lay a few wing-flaps away.  When she noticed Iris hadn’t followed them, Aurora came back.  “Why aren’t you coming with us?”
“I don’t know the way, and I couldn’t see which way you went.  I’ve never been to the river.”
“I’ll take you there,” Aurora said, and she let Iris hold on to her wing and walked with her to the river.  Iris was afraid to get in the water, but the little dragon splashed and played with her until they were both good and clean.
The dragons flew Iris back to the village, but nobody was there.  “They must be hiding,” Iris said.  “They’re afraid of you.”  She called out, “It’s okay! They don’t eat people.”  Nobody came out.
Iris took them to her house.  Only Aurora was small enough to follow her through the door.  Iris’s parents trembled in the kitchen.  Zelda hugged Iris, and Zachariah tried to chase Aurora out.
“Don’t be afraid.  This is my new friend, Aurora.  We need some dragon flower.”
“Dragon flower?” her mother asked.
“You know,” Iris said.  She felt along the back rows of the shelves and found the pot with the dragon carved on it.  “This one.”
“I haven’t thought of that in years.  We used to prescribe it for nightmares, but there’s almost no call for it anymore.  Your father has lots of seeds, if I remember well.  We used the flowers, they’re huge, but if you let the fruits grow they get as big as a house.”
Zelda went out to talk to the dragons and fed them a bit of the dragon flower.  Off in the distance they saw some people watching.  “It’s okay,” Zelda said.  “Our Iris has tamed the dragons.”
Mayor Bighair stepped out of the crowd.  “Tamed the dragons?  She’s a witch.  Anyone who consorts with dragons must be a witch.  Her mother’s been a witch all along and has had us under her spell.  We’ll all be dragon food if we don’t leave this town right now and enlist another village in fighting this scourge of ….”
He talked on and on.  Iris whispered something in Aurora’s ear and Aurora flew up and snatched at his hair which came off in one grab.  It was a wig!  Mayor Bighair’s face and bald head turned bright red, and he ran out of the city and was never seen again.  A few other villagers left, too, but most stayed and found out their village was even more perfect than before.  If they had dragons in the village, they knew they would always be safe. 
Zachariah planted a big field of dragon fruit so the dragons always had plenty to eat.
Iris never had to hide again.  Anywhere she wanted to go, all she had to do was call for Aurora and she would be her guide. 
Sometimes Aurora would fly Iris to strange new lands.  And if ever people they met were afraid, they would show them that a dragon is not such a scary thing, once you see it clearly.
###

A sequel, some links and lots of perspective

Posted in art journal, Danny Gregory, guadalupe mccall, http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008/kind#post, kevin kling, transformations2 Comments


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I’ve got a little hodge podge of reviews and links for you today:

Nita and friends
First, let me introduce my guest book reviewer for today. Juanita Laush is my 89 year old neighbor in the Bridge Meadows Community, a community in North Portland, Oregon, set up to serve the needs of families adopting 3 or more children out of the foster care system.  We are both part of the elder housing and serve as sort of surrogate grandparents and mentors for the 25 children that live here. 
Juanita is a vibrant member of our community and an inspiration to us all.  She is a poet and writer who has served with the Willamette Writers organization.  She has been a community activist and supporter of the arts all her life. 
I asked her to review this book because of her poetic nature but also because I believe literature written for young people can resonate with all ages.  One of the things we have discovered among our elders here is that the puzzles of childhood are still fresh in everyone’s minds and heart.  I think reading about children helps us revisit our young selves and gives great opportunity for growth, even as we enter our twilight years.  Both Juanita and I loved Summer of the Mariposasby Guadalupe Garcia McCall. 
I was resistant to the idea of a novel told in poetry, but found under the mesquite immediately compelling.  It is lyrical but plotted and unfolds like a great story.  The depth of feeling expressed is subtle and rooted in love of family.  Even as Lupita’s mother gets increasingly sick and the inevitable takes place, there is a place for hope and for family unity in this lovely story.
Here, then,  is Juanita’s review of under the mesquite by Guadalupe Garcia McCall. 
“Mesquite:  a sturdy tree or shrub with sweet bean like pods, sharp thorns and extraordinarily long roots, native to the southwestern United State and northern Mexico.”
          From the beginning of Guadalupe Garcia McCalls’s book under the mesquite, (2011, Lee & Low Books) I wanted to join her.  The poetry of McCall’s writing about 15 year-old Lupita let me word by word.  Imagine, an entire novel composed in poetry!  The weight of her words flowed lightly like the laughing waters of the Rio Grande near her Texas home.
          I stopped expecting paragraphs and fell into the rhythm of her simple poetry.  Her big family with its mix of Spanish and English languages, cultures, and food recalls for me the memories of the smells of warm tortillas and simmering pinto beans.  The account of the morning murmur of conversations from the kitchen startles me with sensations of the summers I spent in Mesquite, New Mexico, which began in my 15thyear.
          There was a tall cottonwood tree a short walk from my father’s small adobe house on the outskirts of the tiny town.  While the children of his new family napped, I escaped the heat under the shade of the tree.
          Lupita’s story as eldest of seven children, tells of responsibilities heaped upon her by her mother’s illness, compelling her to put her dreams on hold.  She and the tiny twig of mesquite grow together until she finds comfort in the shade of its branches as she pours her feelings into a notebook there.  The writing reveals her curiosity, her mother’s wisdom and love.
          Lupita juggles her life between two countries and cultures on the border between northern Mexico and southern Texas.  When loneliness for their Mexican familia compels, her family visits relatives in Mexico.
          under the mesquite speaks to all ages and especially to immigrants courageous enough to seek better lives in another place.  A great book for teens and parents to read and share.
          –Juanita Laush
***
Yesterday, a friend sent me a link to the American Public Radio show On Being with Krista Tippet.  I hadn’t listened to it for a long time, so I’m really glad I have good friends looking out for me.  This last show was on a storyteller and writer I’d never heard of, Kevin Kling, and I immediately became enchanted with him and his way of telling and creating stories.  

“The Losses and Laughter We Grow Into

Kevin Kling is part funny guy, part poet and playwright, part wise man. Born with a disabled left arm, he lost the use of his right one after a motorcycle accident nearly killed him. He shares his special angle on life’s humor and its ruptures — and why we turn loss into story.”

I don’t want to sound melodramatic here, but I think this interview and listening to his stories changed the way I think about my own stories.  
I have long taught and practiced the art of “change your story, change your life.”  In retelling my own story to myself, I have come to appreciate the value of having a disability and growing up in a fractured family.  Still, I often get bogged down in my need to tell stories with light at their center, and my need to report the facts, which are more like dark matter, bleak suck-holes that silence me.
Last week I put aside a bleak story I was trying to lighten, and tried not to think about it. But then this interview came into my life and I’m once again encouraged about my own dark matter and the whole concept of not having to fix it, only to tell a story that lets me sleep at night. 
Deep thoughts are here in this interview, as well as the humor that helps us cope with what we lose and how we change, grow and resurrect ourselves.  I actually am a bit alarmed that I never heard of the guy before, but I do believe a proper mentor comes along when you can see him or her most clearly and maybe that’s why I heard of him now.  I’ve got his books on hold at the library and look forward to learning more from this fascinating and joyful man.
Let me know what you think.  Listen here:
http://www.onbeing.org/program/losses-and-laughter-we-grow/1863
***
Also, I want to mention Danny Gregory’s blog again.  I reviewed his book A Kiss Before You Go some weeks ago on this blog, and talked about how his books helped me create new ways of interpreting life.  His new anthology “An Illustrated Journey: Inspiration From the Private Art Journals of Traveling Artists, Illustrators and Designers,” is a total delight and gives a lot of insight into how we can make art a part of our everyday life, even if we are only traveling through our own small neighborhoods, even if we don’t draw so well.  Of course, this book goes wonderful exotic places and we get the pleasure of seeing those places interpreted by a variety of talented artists.  From tightly rendered representations to scribbly and washy impressions, this book makes one want to put aside the camera, slow down, and really look at what we’re seeing.  His blog is featuring interviews with contributors to the book, plus posts from his own travel adventures.  Be sure to scroll through the blog and find the wealth of inspiration that he has posted.  
 http://dannygregory.wordpress.com/
Then go out and draw something!  Everybody had to start somewhere and nobody ever really masters drawing. Have fun with it!  It’s your life — make your mark.
a sloppy but fun journal entry inspired by an artist in Gregory’s book an Illustrated Life,