Winter garden

Winter garden is temporary acquiescence.
It sings of silence. Life suspended. Of turning inward and down and deep.
Weeds that seemed to taunt me, to mock my efforts mid-summer are now submissive.
No fight left. No desire to conquer.
They have laid down their bones, their armor.
Anyone believing it is a truce, would be mistaken.
But it is reprieve. I revel in it.
I love the dark and deep that is the earth smelling of leaf decay.
I love the skeletons that were last season's fierce vines.
They rattle in the wind and tell me stories of warmth, of facing upwards, of tea mornings spent together in solitude.

Life, death, rebirth;  constant reminders.
The ongoing cycle of the growing-dying things here.
My life which has always seemed to pivot in the garden.
My center seems to come back and back and back.





Moss covered hand-prints in concrete telling of children who are no more.
Their now-hands will never fit that small shape again.
Mosaic fragments of a life that no longer exists, hiding beneath
hibernating rose bushes. A pin prick view into the past.
Rebirth isn't always some mystical idea.
It's happening all around. Every second.
I know this to be true, in the winter garden.






There is no choice...
Change is the crux of everything.
Our conclusion is in the stories.
In the building of fragments.
In the shifting of seasons. In how well we navigate loss.

Through moving hulls of seasons past, and protecting soil, in clipping of rose hips, and
clank of shovel I find the center of the universe.
Everything hushed. Everything waiting.
To show me the exuberance of growth untamed yet again.
How "life persists" is the constant and death not separate.
It never was.

Diving into the deep end

                                                                                      Photo copyright; Keith Dixon Studios 2014




Longing calls.
Laps at your feet and drifts through your days, river gently chiseling stone.
You might finally shrug off this long dormancy.
Finally awaken.

But you can't see bottom. Back away from the depths and keep on doing what you do.
Stay with the surface.
That which feels like safety in an unsafe world.

Dissatisfaction with that safe world, takes you right back to the threshold.
To the silky feel of the deep end lapping at feet again.
Dip your foot in.
So soothing, intriguing...
ebb and flow.
What would happen upon submersion?

Diving in, both exhilarating and terrifying.
You know what might be there, what is calling.
But not how deep you can go.
Or what will swirl up out of the abyss.

So you keep playing roulette with your dreams.

Can't do it.
Responsibilities.
What will people think?
How will I make money?
I don't know if it's safe.

You don't have to fling yourself off a cliff. Wings might be overrated.
Just have to keep tuning in to the things you love.
Utterly.
Wholeheartedly.
Unconditionally.
With all the fears riding along, until they slowly drown....because the deep end can't support them.

Can you quench this longing, this unending desire?
You will never know how deep you can go.
Knowing is for the safe ground.
Some get tired of standing at the edge and wondering.

Step forward.
It's the baptism only you can give yourself.
Nobody else in all the world holds this voodoo.
The world marches on, it isn't holding it's breathe.

What you thirst for washes over you, it closes over your head.
You aren't drowning though.
Not at all.

It melts around every smothered emotion.
There's so much in the deep, all you can do is be alive this moment.
Be unsure and terrified and in love with this one life,
with the chasm of desire and every possibility it holds.

The truth is, you can swim and float and even dive and dive again.
You don't have to fling yourself off some ledge.
Just step in. Sink deep. Feel what you love surround you.

Come on in...the water's fine.



                    Photo copyright; Keith Dixon Studios 2014

Threads of our scars

Cancer survivors;Martha, Sharon and Brandie.Courage and beauty embodied

What I have learned is that we are made up of scars. Fabulous, awful, cutting and dangerous scars that connect us. Connect our stories and our alone. Scars our bodies weave. Scars we weave.

Knit them gently. Oh so gently. Let them be a landscape.  Delicate embellishment.  These scars that connect us. Never knitting them so tightly that breath becomes labor. Not making a tomb, creating of them a casket of fear and longing. Knit them gently. So we can pull a tendril here, or there. A thread of seeing. A thread of knowing. Of  I see you and of the telling.

 Let us be a landscape...a story. Let us sing of longing and desire and pain. Sing loudly. Sing boldly. Intertwine these scars ever so delicately. Press them into our skin, our spirits with grace. Let the sediment sift down in between so they don't define us as much as our stories about them. Let these scars illuminate strength, fortify fragility with the knitting together.

Inspired by Andrea Gibson poem, "Birthday".

Our bodies will walk with the strong fiber of being. Walk through this world with threads trailing behind. Don't pull too hard. Let them brush against our skin as we walk. Stitch us together in resilience, their tendrils entangling. Kindred spirits facing dark...facing hurt. Spirits facing light and breathing it all in at once, until the scars can barely contain the fiber. Until the dark nights and lonely days turn into soft. Until the tide of your existence can ebb and lull without a battle.

We are not at war with this world. With it's stories told upon our skin. Our scars are not all battle wounds. They stretch with our coming and going. Becoming silken threads. They float with us as a trail of braided wonder. Touch them.  Yield to them. Feel their ridges describing this terrain.

Our craters and lumps, our tears and engravings, the gaping holes we try to fill that scream of longing not met. That meteorite impact can't be filled. Except with wonder; or maybe occasional chocolate. Look in awe at this skin carrying cells. Broken and vast and whole all at once. Own this terrain.

This fearless wonder of a machine that has not yet taken us out of this world. When it does, I hope our scars are soft and perfect and woven so gently we can breathe down into them.

Let them be a cradle to carry our stones and eggs and beautiful things. Let them be an ark to carry our iron, our blood, our dreams. Rocking inside that boat of scars, across the voyage of forever. Our star-stuff embodied in not-so-broken flesh.

This flesh that walks like a flash on this sphere before morphing into other star stuff. Cocoon ourselves in this scar-boat carrying us across the vast. Love it; every cell is art, stories, earth, and salt. It's varied forms were never meant to last.

"500 Reasons to Love You"

*Credit and thanks to Keith Dixon Studios for photography.
Art available at Ren Allen, Artist online gallery.

Act of defiance; part 2

Does there really need to be a part 2? Why yes, yes I believe so.

Some awesome synchronicity happened from the last post which caused me to remember one of the thoughts I originally had when Judy Clements posted for advice about how to deal with painting for the public. She asked, I answered and that comment led to the first blog post on this topic. But the thread that keeps tickling is about process.

Process is very different from outcome. Are we outcome oriented or process oriented?  As a parent, I am much more interested in my children's process than any outcome. As an artist I tend to put outcome goals on myself. That can be dangerous territory.

Of course we have ideas about what we want to create, or at least a general direction. Frustration often stems from outcome and expectation not meeting up. Part of me thinks it is the artist's curse because the things you see in your mind are often going to be far more amazing than what our hands can create. An artist's mind is full of WOW.  How do you express that "wow" in adequate terms?

What if we release a lot of our ideas about outcome? What if we become like children again and learn to experiment. Become willing to create "crap" without labeling it as such? What if the process is the most important part and outcome secondary?

I'm not going to pretend I have this mastered. I care about adequately expressing what is in my mind...no doubt. It rarely matches up. I am learning that expectations in art are pretty much as deadly as expectations in any other part of life.  * Liberally apply some Zen Buddhism here*.

Art has a life of it's own. Sometimes the thing we imagined we would say with our art or try to create  has different ideas. Just as willingness to be vulnerable is powerful, so is release. Release of outcome. Release of judgment of our own art, even though that has it's place in growth as well. Release enough to be at one with our process. To immerse ourselves in the process. Even lose ourselves in it once in a while. Let's see where this art can take us.

Process and judgment. Those two things bring me back to painting for an audience.

Process is messy. It doesn't look very good at various stages. In fact, it looks pretty amateur. Process means making "mistakes" we didn't want to make. It means stopping and fixing those things or incorporating them. Process is often private, intense work.

What happens when you allow yourself to be eviscerated? To be laid bare? Exposed for the world during that process?  It feels oh-so-vulnerable. So oh-my-god-they-can-see-me-when-I-want-to-hide in the process.  It is the most exposed feeling I've ever had.

That is what brings up the insecurities. It gets comfortable to finish work and put it out for the world to see eventually. But to let just anybody see your process?

What does an artist's process look like?

That has as many answers as there are artists in the world. One thing I have realized over the years is that we need to see process. We need to see the mess. The not-quite-there form. We need to see artist's struggle, see them question themselves. We need to know we share similarities.

It is far too easy to put yourself in the category of "I could never do that" and let go. Watching an artist during the creation of art is fascinating. Watching birth is fascinating!  Birth of all kinds, metaphorical or not is messy business.

Inviting people into my mess has helped me learn so much. It has helped me connect with my audience in a whole new way. Keeping them out of that process makes art a mystery. A mystery and a dance to which they have not been invited. I love inviting people into my world now. It keeps me humble because dang, I make a lot of mistakes. It keeps me connected because they can ask questions while they watch it unfold right in front of them. It shows people what process looks like and encourages.

People need to know about the mess of birth. That the frustrations which accompany creation are okay. That they are not alone. That you welcome the mess.

It was really awesome to watch world renowned body artist Craig Tracy and his sweetie Ashley Breaux painting for a huge audience during the Palate to Palette event in Chattanooga recently. Their willingness to be surrounded by noise and questions and photos and hub-bub gave so many of us a chance to see their work flow in person. As a body painter it was empowering. I learned about tools during this observation and solved some of my own challenges. Rather than intimidating, it was growth.

Do we have a responsibility to share our process with others? Not necessarily. Only the individual can choose that. Solitude has a very important role to play as well.

For me, it has been a crucial part of my evolution as an artist. My hope is that others realize the insecurities are going to surface. They exist for most of us at first. You don't have to take them seriously though.

As my friend Patti Peters says when those voices start tripping me up...."Shut UP Ren. It always turns out fine. Just paint."

Just. Paint.

Exactly.

             Photo courtesy of the brilliantly talented Keith Dixon Studios.

Special thanks to client and friend Renee Bowman for commissioning this piece and for letting me share it in such a public manner!

Acts of defiance

Demonstration for Flat Rock Middle School Students, 2013

I am an artist. Not often the one I'd like to be. But here I am, stumbling along, learning all the time and quieting those voices who try to tell me "not enough".

Not good enough. Not talented like those other artists...you know, the REAL artists. Not dedicated enough to my craft because I didn't get a degree or formal training. 

But an artist of sorts. The kind who comes and goes from the craft with little sincerity other than a need to have a method of expression in order to quiet oneself. In order to find ways to say things I can't otherwise say. To focus my angst and swells of desire to see and do everything in this world. To keep from exploding.

I have been a dabbling artist my whole life. A practicing artist, the kind who makes some money here and there, for most of my adult life. Then I found the magic of body painting. 

I remember discovering this amazing art form in 2004. Suddenly my Superpowers* came into clear focus, my ability for creation and collaboration had found their home. Their WOW. I knew I wanted to paint people forever and that I would never be done with this. I just knew. Deep in my core. 

So body painting led to body painting shows. Body painting shows came with a price. The most frightening thing of all for me as an artist. I had to paint in front of people. Real live people.

They would see my process. They would see that I was a fake, not a real artist. Just a silly girl trying to do something she wasn't qualified to do. Certainly not for an audience. Buying some paint and painting a few people does not make you an artist. It can't fool them. Not for long.

But see, I had committed to this show, to this painting for a live audience throughout the day as a big "fuck you" to those voices telling me; not good enough. I do that frequently you know. 

Body art show at Nelson Fine Art, 2012

Like the day I hung a canvas painting right over the fireplace that I wasn't happy with. The painting I wasn't sure I'd ever be happy with. "People will see this" they said. "People will laugh" they said.  "People will know you aren't a real artist" they said. "Fuck off and die" I answered. "I'm hanging it up anyway."

So I did.

Guess what?  Nobody laughed. Nobody thought less of me. In fact, it inspired a few people. 

The voices got a little bit quieter. They could see I meant business.

But then my very first body art show came around. They started getting louder again. "Fuck off, I'm painting anyway" I reminded them.

So I did.

Guess what?  People were thrilled to see someone body painting live. To see several of us body painting live.  

Some of them had never heard of body painting and here was a room full of locals, willing to expose themselves (quite literally) to share this amazing art form.

The voices got less intense again.

Practice painting in studio, Jonesborough TN

I have continued in this manner many times over. Every time I paint for the public, which is now a regular activity, I feel that little nudge of "what if I can't think of anything new?" It is now a whisper...a silly flirt of a thing I can smile at and remember when it had more power. It is familiar, so I don't mind it's silly little attempts, failing as they are. 

Sharing your art with the world, with a live audience is often daunting. Sharing anything you care deeply about is hard at first. It won't get easier if you keep trusting those voices of disbelief. Telling it to "fuck off" is as simple as picking up the brush. It is as simple as saying "yes" to some request. It is doing the thing you do. Over and over and over again until you know, without a doubt, that your dreams and desires are far more powerful than the voices that say "wait, don't expose yourself...don't be vulnerable".

There is a great power in choosing to be vulnerable. Putting your art or music out in the world is a willingness to choose vulnerability. A willingness to be strong. A willingness to grow and to inspire others.

There will also be naysayers. Someone who doesn't appreciate your art. Someone who doesn't like it even. Gasp!! You aren't painting (drawing/singing/dancing) for them. You're doing it for you and for those who find themselves connecting to it. Let the others go. It's ok.

The last time I painted live for an art event, I was working with my back to the passing crowd so they could see my model. Portfolio and magazine articles about my work were spread out on the table next to me, for the interested. Someone behind me stopped and with a snort of derision said something about how "goth is the one thing that never goes away". 

Painting for Mini-Documentary filmed by Jami L. Bennett**

GOTH?? My art was being perceived as GOTH?  I was so annoyed I almost couldn't continue. His one inaccurate perception  (probably based on the decorative skull painting) was enough to make me mutter under my breath several times throughout the evening. "Goth? I'll show him goth!"  Did he not see the beautiful maternity bellies I had painted? Did he not glance at those sweet baby feet of tiny twins?

You know what? I wasn't painting for him. I am not painting for the people who see body painting as some freak show or for those who want to buy yet another paint-by-number landscape. I paint for me. I paint for the humans who come to me with a desire to express themselves or to find healing.  I paint for the chance to get better, to learn and to continue to inspire and be inspired. I paint.

Because I paint, because I care deeply, I will continue to paint in front of audiences. I will share my art form because some person, somewhere is going to connect with it. No voice in my head, no fear is worth letting go of the desire. 

Tell the voice to "fuck off". Right now. Today. Say "yes" to something you've been wanting to do that scares you. Move....just keep moving. It will be ok. I promise.

The voices of fear, the voices of "not enough" are only as strong as we allow them to be. The love for a thing is their Kryptonite. Our determination, their death. As we paint while people watch, their opinions and thoughts are really none of our business. We are about your business of creation. Breathe deep and watch it be born....

We choose how we answer those voices in every response. Every act of picking up a brush. Every direction that is opposite of safety. Let our response be an act of defiance.

*Credit to Fabeku Fatunmise for the notion of Superpowers and how to find them.  

**Mini-Documentary available at YouTube for viewing.

Photos courtesy of the brilliant and amazing Keith Dixon Studios.

2012 synopsis

New Year's resolutions haven't been my thing for a long time, but I still look to the New Year as a chance to re-organize, examine, process and reflect. This year I'm feeling a need for some goal setting maybe, just  maybe. We are a goal-setting, goal-driven society but I see that cause a lot of grief for people as well. It's not so much the goals as the attachment to the goal that can become problematic in life. My Zen practice reminds me of this and the impermanence of it all.

For the first time in a long time, I am mapping out some goals. I'm realizing that it's the small things for me. The daily practices I need to be more mindful about.

It might be as simple as sitting down to write or do art instead of getting on Facebook. Or bake some bread and make soup for my family. I want those small moments to be wide awake as well..it is in the daily tasks that we build the life we choose.

2012 was a lot about growth and taking big leaps. I'm hoping 2013 is continued growth and  personal development. I'd like to think that the steps I've taken up to now have prepared me for bigger success, for more dedication to the interests I have and to claiming more fully this life I love.

2012 was about saying "yes".  Yes to self-employment, yes to marriage, yes to signing up for a body are competition, yes to the development of a book.... YES.

Mostly I just sit in gratitude for all that is mine in this life. For the opportunities and friendships that have come my way. For my children, for this home, for the life we are building and have built together. For a soul-mate, for connections and for the time to do the things I love. For health and access to wonderful food.  I am a most fortunate human being.

As we reflect on the year and look towards the future, let us not lose living in the NOW. Right this second, we have much.

 EnJOY this moment, enjoy the planning and scheming and make sure you make some room for body paint and photography. Because I'd love to see you soon!!!

137 Project

I started the 137 Project with the most fabulous Patti Digh.  At first, it spoke to me because it is a daily prompt, a community, little pieces of writing or reflection or whatever-I-choose-to-make-it. It is about living like you're dying. I'm a fan of living in that manner. Both like you're dying (which we all are) and like you'll live forever. Patti encourages us to make the most of every day and at the start of the project there were 137 days left to the end of the year. 137 days to make a difference. 137 days of perfectly messy living.

I signed up for many reasons, not the least of which is to support Patti's family as they face medical bills due to lack of insurance and a battle with Renal Cell Carcinoma that her husband was just diagnosed with.  I wish our method of providing health care weren't so jacked up. But it is. And that leaves a lot of us vulnerable, without insurance. We need to take care of each other in such times.

The first assignment was to simply find 137 objects to help count down the days. 137 of what? I don't like assignments. I balk at prompts. I could think of nothing meaningful to use as a touchstone. I didn't want to do it. So I stayed with the feelings and decided I might just read and be a wallflower in the 137 Project community. Patti finds some really cool people. The kind of people I might want to have tea with or discuss this living and dying business with or learn from. Yeah, that's what I'll do. No assignments for me.

I sat with that thought. I sat and read about marbles and beads and buttons and beans and beautiful stones and collected items and thought how cool and artistic these people were. They posted pictures. They told about the significance of the items. My friend Gail even put up a pegboard that belonged to her Dad, who had died some time before. They were so much more organized and thoughtful than myself.  Why does it always come to comparisons? Years of comparison and grades can't be undone easily.

Behind me sat a basket with garden seeds. Seeds for a garden that is being neglected right now. Seeds that are waiting for their turn to die and grow something new and die again and become something new again....and on and on and on. Just like we all do.

And that's when it hit me. I don't like more "stuff". I don't want little objects cluttering me up more than I already am. I am trying to eliminate more stuff. Seeds die to allow for the growth of the plant it becomes. The plant grows and in death nourishes more life. From microbial to tree, all of that cycle is such a great way to watch what all life on this planet becomes. Cells being used up, dying, being reborn as other things with the same molecules and ingredients that have been here for millions of years...eons.

Life, death and rebirth. Not in some mystical sense, but actual rebirth. The rebirth that happens with my compost pile and the letting go of my mothers hand or kissing her cheek for the last time. The letting go that we must learn if we are to live well.

Seeds. Seeds I can do. I can allow these to be my symbol, because they are the perfect analogy for living well. They won't clutter my home except for a short time. They will be planted at various times throughout the next 137 days and they will die and be turned under to nurture my soil for future crops. I can do this 137 Project...maybe not on time, maybe not in an organized fashion  but if nothing else, I will face more of myself and in doing so face more living and dying.

Pea and Oat seeds beware. Your time has come.

Chocolate Covered Strawberry shot glasses

  How perfect is this recipe for a summer soiree? Strawberries are just about out of season here so we need to hurry!  Thanks to "A room with a view" for posting this at Facebook. Just the inspiration I need for this beautiful, sunny day.

A Room With A View
Chocolate Covered Strawberry Shot Glasses:
Ingredients
2 pounds Large Fresh Strawberries
16 ounces, weight Melting Chocolate
Vanilla Vodka
Godiva Liqour
Chocolate Syrup
- Try to choose strawberries as big as you can find, unless of course you want to make baby shots
- Cut the point of the strawberry off so they can stand on their own, the melted chocolate helps form a little base too which makes them even more stable
- We recommend hulling out the strawberries using a paring knife and grapefruit spoon, you have to be careful not to make them too thin or they'll break (nothing a little melted chocolate can't help mend!). Don't forget to pat strawberries dry before dipping in chocolate.
- Freeze the dipped strawberry cups for maximum sturdiness, and to keep your drink cold. Let them thaw for a few minutes before serving so no one breaks any teeth
Melt chocolate in a small bowl and dip the bottoms of each strawberry in the chocolate. Set on a tinfoil-lined baking sheet and freeze.

Combine vanilla vodka, Godiva liquor, and chocolate syrup in equal parts and fill each strawberry when you’re ready to serve. Allow strawberries to thaw for a few minutes before serving.
- Top with whipped cream and sprinkles for an extra special touch (we thought of the idea after already doing the grocery shopping, oh welll)

 — 

Snakes!

My life consists of tea, art, children, garden, makeup and photography for the most part these days. Which is cool, but sometimes even I, laugh at the seeming dichotomies that exist.  Currently, my hands are still embedded with evidence of dirt digging and weeding from yesterday.  There are no signs of the snakes I held. Yes, snakes.

I started to pull back some black plastic in the garden area used for killing weeds. Something moved underneath and I recognized the tell-tale snake movement. Having encountered a small garter snake a couple days earlier, I assumed it was this little garden friend. I called Keith's attention over so he could see it as well. I dramatically pulled the black plastic back quickly to discover not one, but at least SIX various snakes who went diving for the remaining edge of the plastic to hide from us. It was like something out of an Indiana Jones movie!!

Of course he goes running for the camera. I left the snakes hiding happily under the remaining plastic until he returned and then we removed the last vestiges of plastic. After carefully identifying them as non-venomous, I dived in and picked a few up, one at a time to let Keith get closer with the lens. It was pretty darned amazing!  Some of them were brightly colored and some dull as they were getting ready to shed again. All were garter snakes of varying age from what I can tell.

The picture above shows most of them, but Keith missed one on the left side of the pic! They do blend in well.

We put some stacks of rock and wood around several of the snake holes they dove into, as to encourage them to continue frequenting the garden.

Later, we let the chickens (neighbor's chickens we are caring for) out of their coop to forage through our yard. We fed and watered as usual and collected several eggs as well.

Tomorrow these same hands will apply makeup to faces of brides and that does make me laugh a little bit. From eggs, dirt and snakes to primers, foundation and eye shadow...my life is never dull. One foot in the homesteading world, one foot in the fashion world. I love it but find it hard to meet people who really  understand that dichotomous pull. Fortunately, Keith walks that path with me and is desirous of both worlds as well. What a strange and beautiful gift that is.

I realized I'm not blogging much. First it was all the emotional upheaval of a divorce, then it was the working all the time thing and finally I just blame Facebook. Which is easy to do but the truth is I have a litany of excuses about why I'm not writing or blogging lately. A blog post isn't very interesting without pictures right? The list goes on, but the simple fact is that it's just another choice in a myriad of choices about how to use time.

I compose words and pictures in my head almost constantly. Falling asleep I will actually see body paint designs and sometimes the garden plants calling to me. I'm hard wired to create it seems. So with or without photos, with or without my lovely litany of excuses, with or without any ounce of creativity I am determined to get back to it.

Some of the things I want to remember this week...that will surely slip away from me;
     ~Found a garter snake under the black plastic I was using as weed kill in the garden. He let me pick him up and stayed close when I put him down. I finally found one of his little holes in the dirt and set him loose near it so he could go hide...which he promptly did. We made a stack of rocks around his home to encourage him to hang out. Snakes are welcome in my garden.

    ~Flew high on a trapeze! Yes I did. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once and I still can't believe I completed a mid-air transfer. Terrifying I tell you. Stepping off that platform was a lot like leaving my job. "I can do this. I can do this. I can do this" I keep telling myself. Then; "oh my god, what am I thinking?" and then just trying to remember to breath.

    ~More body paint for our book project....one step closer with every stroke of the brush. Another step off the seemingly safe platform of comfort. Which doesn't really exist at all except in my mind.

    ~Met the instigator behind the revival of storytelling here in Jonesborough and the spark that set into motion what would become the National Storytelling Festival (if I believed in ghosts, I would think my Mum had something to do with this one) Jimmy Neil Smith while shooting photos of the very-wise and funny author Patti Digh.

    ~ Being the caretaker for Suma, our orange tabby who managed to sneak out of the house and get into a cat fight (far as we can tell anyway) whose wound abscessed then tore open before I could even get him to a vet. Which is good because I'm actively keeping it drained, cleansed and medicated each day and he is doing really well. We've got a good understanding of each other or my face would have been torn off by now. I swear he knows exactly what I'm saying to him. He's cried a couple of times but not acted aggressive one time, even when I am pressing on it to help drainage. I love that cat!

We started cleaning out the neglected garden today and I have this feeling of complete and utter satisfaction even though things are still messy. Keith is the best partner for this kind of thing (yes honey, I forgave the tearing out of basil and watercress this time) because he actually cares about the results, cares about learning what each plant needs and is in total awe every time something does well (which tends to happen out there a lot) and grows quickly!

I feel a sense of being in the right place, at the right time and all is well.  Even with the normal bumps and fits that life brings... All. Is. Well.  We are looking to the future but building in the here and now. This little acre, this little garden, the basil and rosemary, the weeds and mess, our cute downtown studio in an old building...it is ours as much as anything can belong to a mortal.

Tonight we rest, tomorrow we plant. I'm not sure if there will be pictures to share....we may be too busy doing.

    ~

Full circle

In the garden...

life, death, re-birth.

pulling apart life

creating death

roots curling into bones

to bring

new

Peeling black plastic away

sighing at the remembering

of potato leaves pushing

against the dark and cold

refusing to be forgotten

I tear at the old

the past

the dead

and forgotten

I tear at the web of memories

chocolate mint

reminds me that nothing

is gone.

Form may be illusory

but structure remains

Stand of beehive

ghost-like

awaiting new form, new lives

awaiting usefulness

practicality

the very cells that often

holds us together

through the dark

to emerge

as more than mere usefulness

bringing back the spiritual

element

the garden....

life, death, re-birth.

On this day....

A day off from any makeup or photography work, plus beautiful weather equals a day in the garden. This day, I had the company of our neighbor's free ranging chickens. Their clucks and sounds I'm beginning to learn. From the high-pitched questioning to the lower-pitched "I'm happy to be in the sunshine digging up your worms and eating your lovely compost" voice.

I dug. They dug. Dirt got scooped. Dirt got flung. Almost onto the camera lens a few times....those girls have serious talons.

I planted spinach, they followed me.

We have known these chickens since they were one day old. We chicken-sat when our neighbors left town and now we're eating their eggs. Green Aracauna, brown Orpington, gorgeous, thick-yolked, free range eggs.

On the deck, plant starts seek sun and with wind and temperature changes, prepare for the garden life. A jug of Sumac tea might be found steeping.

Ok, in actuality this is my first time making Sumac tea. It looks amazing in the sunlight...those red, punctuated berries. That pink-golden, wild edible, free-for-the-taking drink. There is something most empowering about learning to forage from the wild foods right under our noses. When the zombie apocalypse comes, we will have our berry tea!

On this day, I foraged from last year's planted crops. Amazingly, the winter has been mild enough to leave several plants either intact or re-emerging early.

I gathered new spears of mint, rosemary, chives, parsley, oregeno and swiss chard. Here is what happened to them.....

Please understand, that when I tell people how to cook most anything, I expect you to have a basic understanding of cooking and adjust the amounts to fit your own crew. So no measurements here.

Chop the swiss chard, oregeno, chives and parsley and mix into some already-cooked macaroni.

Make a cheese sauce, leaving several sprigs of rosemary in the sauce the entire time it's cooking (lightly crush the leaves to extract more flavor before dropping into the milk), always adding more cheese than any cheese sauce recipe ever calls for. Probably a bit more salt too.

Pour cheese sauce over the pan of veggie/herb/pasta mix.

Sprinkle more cheese on top (hey, I never said I was into low-fat ANYthing people!) and bake until bubbly and lightly browned.

Serve to household of hungry people and a boyfriend that bakes bread. Ok, those aren't required but the bread making thing just made the entire feast even better.

Serve with the steeped mint leaves (cold water steep for several hours) or the aforementioned Sumac tea. Because you're that cool. Yes, you are.

Perfection.

Being in the now....

Trevor Allen; tech-geek, troll, music writer, roller-skating awesome oldest son.

Twenty-two years ago this very evening, I was in labor with my first child. He is a 6'4" man now. Yet always my baby. I had no concept of where this mothering journey would take me, nor could I see the faces of my babies not born. Lessons are best learned in the looking back, in the reflection. New Year's asks us to look forward.

I say stay in the now.

The view from here....

Not all of us will get to enjoy the entirety of 2012. Many will make resolutions that will be broken and further the cycle of negative feelings about self. Some will accomplish great things. But right here, right now is where the magic is.

Looking back helps us connect meaning. Looking forward is complete mystery, only to be disseminated in the looking back that is to come. Right here, right now, we have people who love us, changes to make, ideas to dream up and moments to be present for.

When I used to attend Unity, the constant phrase was "today is a new day". Good reminder. Every day, every moment is a chance for new. For being fully present for ourselves and our experience, for making mistakes and taking chances. Right here, right now.

In 2011 my partner moved in to my house and we became a family. In 2011 I worked harder than I ever have as a makeup artist. I didn't do enough art and writing in my opinion. I got a speeding ticket for the first time in 20 years. I questioned myself a lot. I dreamed more about traveling but didn't do much of it. I was mindful and mindless. I was too loud and probably didn't sleep enough. I met some amazing new friends and kept on falling in love with my old friends. I opened a studio with some other fantastic humans. My divorce was finalized and I had to face up to 22 years of ignoring some pretty important things.

I recently decided to start writing and doing more art again. Without resolutions or fanfare, without labels on what constitutes "enough" I am back at it. Because every moment I'm alive, I can begin again. And again. No mistakes, just "learning-takes". The only failure is to quit caring, to quit doing, to let fear hold us back.

So in 2012? I vow to keep being loud, to dream big and feel like I'm overwhelmed with them. To keep falling in love with people and places and my work. To start anew when needed. To cry and laugh and fuck up and do it all over again. I will keep on being me. Isn't that what the world really needs after all? More people awake, living fully.... willing to dream and do and BE.

My hope for humanity? That they will continue to inspire me. That if there is fear holding them back from some amazing, crazy, off-the-chain dream they will go after it anyway. That people will start to realize how important community is. That caring for this planet will become the norm. That all of us will slow down a little bit and let the pleasures of food, drink and friends be present. That colors and words will wend their way into all that we do. That the off-beat, unusual people will not have to face scorn or bullying. That all of us find a way to be more fully human with compassion. That differences will be cause for celebration, cause for learning, not cause for derision. That every day will be a new day.

Oh, and that a lot more people will recognize this truth: "what people think of me is none of my business!"

Happy New Years tonight and every night!! May all of your being embrace YOU.

Happy New Year from the Allen-Dixon clan!

Hello 2012

I'm really good at finding interesting people. Sometimes I think that's my only true gift in life, is finding the amazing ones. They change the way I think, they inspire me, they make me look at myself differently and they help me grow into a better person.

Maybe that's why Danny Schmidt's "Company of Friends" speaks to me so thoroughly. I have good friends. I mean "good" as in amazing, talented, brilliant, vibrant....incredible. If I'm known by my company of friends, I leave behind a story worth telling.

That's what 2012 is about. It's about community and connections, it's about more deeply being with myself and taking my ideas and dreams seriously, without taking myself too seriously.

I started a group called Imagination Tribe in 2004 with a desire to connect with other artists, creative spirits and dreams. It served a purpose for me at that time, to open up to my artist side in a new way. As the group evolved it became more of an art trade group and I found myself needing something different, something more.

So in 2012 Imagination Tribe is going back to the original intent. The original intent of connecting with like-minded, free-thinking, creativity-seeking, learning, growing people. The original intent of nourishing a need within for not only forming with words and colors but forming community around it. The original intent and beyond.

Because the further I travel in this life, the more I meet people with some deep-seated need they are not expressing and I'm realizing how many of us need community at a time when the world is both losing and gaining access.

In the wee hours of the very first day of 1990, I became a mother. My sweet first born turns 22 next week and I can feel the waves of change in my life. The restlessness that has always existed for me, is still there. The struggle between growing deep into a community or flitting about like a gypsy is still there. Thankfully, my children have been patient with me....

Imagination Tribe is a way to honor all of it. To bring together, to unite, to grow a creative spark into a flame. I hope that a few of you will join me, I hope that a few of you will inspire me yet again to trust that struggle, to trust those urges. 2012 is about change for me. Not the kind of change that huge transitions bring into your life, but the kind of change that is about emergence.

Hello 2012, I'm going to enjoy getting to know you.

Imagination Tribe......

Community. Concepts. Paying forward. Creation. Melding words. Growing. Creating. Honoring diversity. Gathering. Talking. Laughing. Reaching out. Serving. Challenging. Discussing. Getting uncomfortable. Walking to the edge. Pushing. Birthing. Evolving. Inspire. Unite. Emerge.

Spinning inward....again.

This season has been difficult for me, many years now. The darkness seems to reflect the inner workings of my moods and transitions. This season highlights loss.

I don't know if it was the death of my mother, or the death of relationships and trust that started this turning inward, this movement with the winter rhythm. I seem to pull back as the trees lose summer vibrance, going dormant as cold folds itself into hills.

The feelings of loss, of sadness come and go. Mostly I'm too busy with life and children to pay it much heed. But it sits, waiting for a moment to surface.

It surfaced yesterday. It surfaced after two days of feeling on edge. It surfaced in tears and hopeless feelings and anger. Facing yourself in that state is difficult. Facing yourself with compassion is even harder....being given compassion during that darkness is a gift. Some know how to give that gift and for that I am deeply grateful. Ever have I walked this path alone, until now.

I've been dreaming about Mom and old houses. Old houses come and go from my nights since I can remember. There is something about the convergence of past and future in those dreams, though I can't quite grasp what they are telling me.

Christmas brings a lot of the dark to the surface. I'm sure it has to do with all those Norman Rockwell celebrations we had as children and the reminder that it will never exist again. Loss.

I turn inward, toward reflection and even in this dark, in this night, I sense another awakening. There are so many magnificent events unfolding in our lives, so much gratitude and beauty. And that's really what this post is about. How the dark must exist to make room for the light. How embracing loss, embracing the terribly difficult seasons of night are part of the beauty. How hurt and shadow and sad are not something to be avoided.

I'm not talking about wallowing or ignoring symptoms of depression. I'm talking about opening ourselves to all of the experiences we face, even when it's hard. I'm talking about facing them and learning from them. I'm talking about not glossing over the hurt or sad or night with fake joy, platitudes or new age hoo-ha.

There is a Zen peace I get from being with the grief rather than denying it. I am at one with my winter world, void of brilliant colors with growth silently, gently urging itself from the deep.

Found a journal entry from November of last year where I wrote: "Sunshine, wind and Appalachian hills bordering this day....children in transition, my spirit torn--never sure if there is a home for me here. I watch the trees dropping leaves, feel the freeze coming and I dread the season of dark, of turning inward. Spiraling inward seems like too much of a risk now. I want to run, to hide, to go where nobody knows me and there are no responsibilities. Children, money, the life I chose keep me here--but there are days I dream of my cabin in the woods....."

There was my "aha" moment, that clarity that only looking back can give. This is the season of dark, of dormant, of quiet growth and of facing loss. But it is only a season. It's importance to my artist spirit can not be denied. I welcome the dormant, the quiet, yes even the cold. For within it is the key to awakening for me. Awakening and awakening and awakening......again and yet again.

This time I am not alone. This time I have not only a mirror but someone to walk the dark with me, without getting sucked into it's insatiable hunger. This time I know it is only a season and we are not defined by the seasons of our lives as much as grown by them.

Seeds will be purchased soon, garden plans made. The house is facing some changes too.....for too long it has been dormant as well.

Awaken, awaken and awaken. Once again.

I am happy, I am grateful, I am not alone. But I never really was after all.

Occupy your mind....standing for the people.

There are many claims being flung about casually, about the "average" Occupy Wall Street protester and those who support the movement. Many of them center around the notion that protesters are "lazy, jobless, young" and "looking for a handout" or desirous of "entitlements". I can not explain my personal stance repeatedly so this post is something I plan to direct people towards when needed.

I'll begin with introducing myself, since there isn't much of an "average" OWS protester and I have met so many diverse people from all walks of life through this process. I want to make it abundantly clear that I speak for myself, for my own views and not for any group in this post.

I am a business owner: I have been a makeup artist for over a decade and I work in a shared studio space as an artist and an assistant photographer. I also work full-time for a large corporation that is generous to it's employees and socially progressive. I am a mixed-media artist, teaching classes on art and makeup. I have four amazing children and have been homeschooling since 1996. I am passionate about gardening and self-sufficiency. I embrace hard work, do not believe I am entitled to anything in this life and plan to work until the day I die.





First, the accusations that the spin-doctors are successfully convincing people of:

OWSers are "jobless, looking for a hand-out"

Anecdotal evidence here; my ex-husband tried to find a job for three years and could only get minimum wage, temp work. This is a man who went to college, owned a business, was a sales manager and top salesperson at the last company he worked for before going into real estate. I have friends in their 40's now who are back in school, going into debt because that's the best option right now. There is story after story of people trying HARD to get jobs...there aren't enough jobs when big corporations are willing to send those jobs overseas as well as using slave labor in developing countries!!

Being jobless does not automatically make a person a non-contributor in society. Since when did not having a job make someone unable to have a voice? Or help make positive changes? When is that a factor in deciding who has a right to political process? Larry King filed bankruptcy in the past and lost his job. Susan Boyle was jobless and caring for her mother at home at one time. Many, many writers and artists and other creative types find themselves in the "jobless" category throughout phases of their lives. SO what?

The other variation on the "jobless" theme is that they are "young people looking for a hand-out"

Two false-hoods at once? Cool! So let's go with the notion that most OWSers are "young". This is a problem how? I can't stand ageism. Young people have often been the cause of great and significant change. Young people in this country are locked in compulsory schools for 13 years of their precious lives, told they can't contribute anything of value, not allowed many freedoms most adults take for granted and then we are going to devalue them when they are actually standing up for their country? Standing up for what they believe in? Showing they are NOT the mindless, tv-watching, lazy Americans they are accused of being....then they get ageism flung at them again? REALLY? The young people I've met are articulate, intelligent beyond their years, willing to work hard, able to motivate an entire movement and they are being mocked? This is hard for me to stomach. Kudos to them for their motivation and energy. Our country has a chance in hell if they are the next generation.

It's interesting how disrespectful the older generations can be to our youth when they have something important to share or ideology aimed at change, yet not think twice about sending them into war to die "for our country".

Beyond that, there is more diversity at these protests and events than the press would lead you to believe. Don't trust everything you see on television. Maybe watch some of the live streaming and find out for yourself what is really going on. You aren't required to watch the bias in mainstream media....we can all report and be the media these days.

On to the "looking for a hand-out" portion:

If the protesters are asking the government for ANYthing, then it is not at all a hand-out in the sense that our tax dollars pay for it. Big banks and other industry got a huge hand-out in the form of the bail-out dollars and that's ok?? So a hand-out for giant mechanisms that don't use sustainable business practices is ok but individuals needing anything can go screw themselves? There is so much wrong with that I don't know where to start.

As a society we choose what tax dollars pay for. If we want those tax dollars to go to things like, oh, say education rather than war, this is some socialist/extremist/anarchist plot??? I'm a Mom. I'd like to have my kids get access to higher education more than I'd like them sent over to a foreign land we have no business in, to die for some corrupt government scheme. Many of us see problems with where the tax dollars are being spent. As a group, we can decide where that money should go, rather than trusting corrupt politicians. As a society, we have already decided that we want police and firefighters and a military. If anything linked to government money is a "hand-out", then let's cut those programs and see how well that goes over!

Most individuals actually needing a hand-out are people struggling terribly. As someone who has been on welfare in the past and found my way through troubled times, I am deeply bothered by the mean spirit and hatefulness toward anyone wanting some help. It's a nice thought that those people would get the help they need from their immediate communities but history has not shown that to be true. Most people don't want a hand-out forever...they want a chance.

Why shouldn't we, as a people, decide that education is more important than killing? That tax dollars are in our power to decide how to spend, that anything coming from the government is not truly a "hand-out" but a choice of how to spend our tax dollars for the collective good?

I don't know about you, but I'd like a voice in how those tax dollars are spent. I don't want to bail out unsustainable businesses. Which brings me to the accusation....

"You want to end capitalism"

It is not capitalism to finance businesses that have run themselves into the ground with shoddy practices. It is not capitalism to give a hand-out to companies that don't conduct their business profitably. It is capitalism to allow them to fail.

In the past, unregulated capitalism has led to horrendous treatment of employees, massive pollution and in this day and age, a recession that is teetering on the brink of a full-scale economic collapse. The evils of unregulated capitalism is a great look at the issues surrounding this topic. If unregulated capitalism works, then PLEASE, please, please show me one example of a developed country in which this has been a success for more than a few decades. Just one example. You can't. Because humans tend to be greedy and power-hungry people don't make great decisions for the entire society. The past 30 years have proven this.

So where is the dellusional, hateful attitude towards OWSer's originating from? Probably people like Glenn Beck who championed the bail-outs before speaking against them once he landed on Fox News. He also spoke out against Wall Street "largesse" at one time. Why are you suddenly taking a different stance Glenn? Ah, nevermind.

Limbaugh himself was against the bail-outs that were begun by George W. Bush and continued by Barack Obama. So it seems that we do indeed have some similar ideas, even if it is distasteful for me to admit that. I only say that because of the hatefulness and divisive attitude that most opinion/entertainers on Faux News like to create. But then, it makes them money.

As a protester in support of Occupy Wall Street, I only speak for myself. I say the bail-outs were the most socialist thing this country has ever done,
~ that it is not "socialist" to choose where our tax dollars should go (yes, even if it is to higher education)
~that the money needs to be taken away from politics,
~that our young people are very well our hope (the older generation has fucked it up pretty good, dontcha think?),
~ that big corporations should be held accountable for their actions and how they affect the populace (yes, it is your fault if you dump mercury in the river and people start getting cancer from it) and that it is time for the people to rise up and demand a government FOR the people and BY the people.

When our forefathers wrote the Declaration of Independence, they understood this all too well:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.

Notions such as these are our only hope....but it may still be too late.





All images used in this post were taken by Teri Butler Dosher at the Occupy Johnson City solidarity event in TN on October 15th, 2011.

Peace

There is a quiet that comes as the sun gets low in the sky here. I'm feeling like a mama duck these days, as the ducklings follow me around the yard while I do chores and into the garden to nibble on lettuce. They're starting to quack instead of peep. It's rather amusing to look behind and see those three, running as quickly as their unwieldy built-for-water bodies and webbed feet will allow.

The hush that comes in the evening is my daily peace. Cool air melts down through the center of our property in the low-lying areas and crickets start their thrum. Birds are making their last run to the feeder and I sit thinking about what a great life this is.

The kitchen garden is in full swing, the lower garden moves closer to revival and plans for a third garden area are brewing. Thinking about the unlikely odds that we would return to this house, in this manner, with this timing cause me to smile at the absurdities in life.

One of the apple trees did not survive last winter, the long winter for me. It will burn in the solstice bonfire along with the tulip poplar that came down in a storm not long after I moved away from this place.

Keith and Trinity are in Columbia closing out their time in that city, closing out an era of their life, saying goodbye to his past and packing up what is needed for the now. It's been a year of endings and beginnings for all of us. What Keith and I are building in the here and now is reviving many parts of our spirits that had been lying dormant and silent for too long.

I sat with Jalen as he fed the ducks lettuce from the garden last night. Peach glow of sun washed the tree tops as we sat on newly mowed grass, tired and happy from a day of friends, water and sun. I was utterly and completely content in that moment. I've heard it said that there are two kinds of people in the world; those who are content and those who are not. I'm not. Not usually. By "content" I mean "in a state satisfaction, not wishing for more"....because I always want more. More experiences, more learning, more travel, more ideas, more LIVING. I don't want more stuff, I want more from the days I have left on this spinning ball.

Because of that, those moments of complete and utter satisfaction don't come as often, I'm thinking about the next thing, the next project, the next chore, the next plan.

So to sit with my son, and be utterly and totally satisfied with my life and where I am in every way, felt so very peaceful. So many life experiences caused me to depend on myself, to crave independence and never wait around for somebody else to rescue me. Those are useful traits in my book, but sometimes I forget to slow down and savor things enough. To really be in the now fully. I live in my head and the now is hard to meet there.