I had a painting teacher named Elizabeth Ross when I was at CPCC. She grew up on a farm in Virginia outside of Middlebrook. Very small town. She does an art work shop for a week out at her farm each summer. Great environment for growth. It was a wonderful session. I have had lots of problems with my asthma though, so that interfered to a degree at the beginning of the week and one day I had a fever, but all of that didn't stop me from enjoying being in my surroundings. I think Thoreau was onto something when he went into those woods. Less noise, not necessarily to think, actually, no, not to think, but to feel and observe and absorb. Disassociation in order to let go and forgo one's self to become whole with all existing things. Learning to see. Learning to form a community and bond with others who are like-minded. Anyway, here are pictures.
Barn Cat inside the main house
Rolling hills
We had to seek out vessels. I love trunks and suit cases. This was an old brief case.
There are always kittens on the farm around this time of year.
I sat on this porch swing as the sun was getting ready to set,
I was reading a book (Learning to Look) and this kitten
came and snuggled up next to me.
View from porch swing.
Mornings are one of my favorite parts about the farm.
We have what is called writing circle. Elizabeth reads a poem or excerpt of an essay.
This year she had a visiting poet named Larry Sorkin come.
We would have about 30 minutes or so set aside to respond to the reading in
our journals. Then we would go around in the circle and share
what we wrote about. The space for this was non-judgmental
and non-critical. After writing we would write little
prayers for the universe and put them in that prayer bowl.
If I were a cat I would like to lay in there too.
At night we would sit by the campfire and each read one of the prayers and put
it in the fire to send it off.
This whole exercise of writing and sharing what we write or rather,
sharing ourselves and our thoughts really
showed me, as well as others, how we are all so similar.
Yet, at times we can feel so alone,
but we are not.
The Gaia Meditation
by John Seed and Joanna Macy
WATER — blood, lymph, mucus, sweat, tears, inner oceans tugged by the moon, tides within and tides without. Streaming fluids floating our cells, washing and nourishing through endless riverways of gut and vein and capillary. Moisture pouring in and through and out of you, of me, in the vast poem of the hydrological cycle. You are that. I am that.
EARTH — matter made from rock and soil. It too is pulled by the moon as the magma circulates through the planet heart and roots suck molecules into biology. Earth pours through us, replacing each cell in the body every seven years. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we ingest, incorporate and excrete the earth, are made from earth. I am that. You are that.
AIR — the gaseous realm, the atmosphere, the planet's membrane. The inhale and the exhale. Breathing out carbon dioxide to the trees and breathing in their fresh exudations. Oxygen kissing each cell awake, atoms dancing in orderly metabolism, interpenetrating. That dance of the air cycle, breathing the universe in and out again, is what you are, is what I am.
FIRE — Fire, from our sun that fuels all life, drawing up plants and raising the waters to the sky to fall again replenishing. The inner furnace of your metabolism burns with the fire of the Big Bang that first sent matter-energy spinning through space and time. And the same fire as the lightning that flashed into the primordial soup catalyzing the birth of organic life.
You were there, I was there, for each cell of our bodies is descended in an unbroken chain from that event. Through the desire of atom for molecule, of molecule for cell, of cell for organism. In our sexuality we can feel ancient stirrings that connect us with plant as well as animal life. We come from them in an unbroken chain — through fish learning to walk the land, feeling scales turning to wings, through the migrations in the ages of ice. We have been but recently in human form. If Earth's whole history were compressed into twenty-four hours beginning at midnight, organic life would begin only at 3 pm . . . mammals emerge at 11:30 . . . and from amongst them at only seconds to midnight, our species.
In our long planetary journey we have taken far more ancient forms than these we now wear. Some of these forms we remember in our mother's womb, wear vestigial tails and gills, grow fins for hands.
Countless times in that journey we died to old forms, let go of old ways, allowing new ones to emerge. But nothing is ever lost. Though forms pass, all returns. Each worn-out cell consumed, recycled . . . through mosses, leeches, birds of prey. . . .
Think to your next death. Will your flesh and bones back into the cycle. Surrender. Love the plump worms you will become. Launder your weary being through the fountain of life.
Beholding you, I behold as well all the different creatures that compose you — the mitochondria in the cells, the intestinal bacteria, the life teeming on the surface of the skin. The great symbiosis that is you. The incredible coordination and cooperation of countless beings. You are that, too, just as your body is part of a much larger symbiosis, living in wider reciprocities. Be conscious of that give-and-take when you move among trees. Breathe your pure carbon dioxide to a leaf and sense it breathing fresh oxygen back to you. Countless times in that journey we died to old forms, let go of old ways, allowing new ones to emerge. But nothing is ever lost. Though forms pass, all returns.
Remember again and again the old cycles of partnership. Draw on them in this time of trouble. By your very nature and the journey you have made, there is in you deep knowledge of belonging. Draw on it now in this time of fear. You have earth-bred wisdom of your interexistence with all that is. Take courage and power in it now, that we may help each other awaken in this time of peril"
on which you were born
cannot be expected
to stay forever the same.
Earth changes,
and home
becomes different places.
You took flesh
from clay
but the clay
did not come
from just one place.
To feel alive,
important, and safe,
know your own waters
and hills, but know
more.
You have stars in your bones
and oceans
in blood.
You have opposing
terrain in each eye.
You belong to the land
and sky of your first cry,
You belong to infinity."
~Alla Renee Bozarth
This is a lady named Lois' studio. After visiting her last year for the first time,
I was just fascinated with learning how to make books.
This is Lois.
This was an interesting shot. Lois is standing. The lady in the middle is Nan Covert.
She is a visiting artist that is at the farm for the week.
The lady on the right is Elizabeth Ross.
This is the whole class!
Beautiful sunset one evening on the other porch!
I took this in downtown Middlebrook. There is a river in Goshen, which is close
to the farm. The day that everyone went was when I had a fever and chose
to stay at the house and rest. Me and my friend Sean decided
to stay an extra day because we could. We didn't have
obligations to return to in Charlotte until Monday night.
Anyway, I wanted to go to Goshen because I didn't get to go
last year either. This photo was taken before the adventure.
Me, Sean, and Eric ventured down the river for about 2 hours.
The river was shallow and there were huge algae covered slipper rocks.
After slipping and getting tired of falling I found a walking stick.
For some reason instead of turning around from where we came
to go back, we decided we would cross over the river and climb up
this man made wooden wall to the road and walk back to the car.
We tried to find a spot where the current wouldn't be too strong, either way
though, it was difficult because the water was fairly shallow,
and the rocks were very slippery.
Too much body weight on top and not enough weight to ground me in.
Sean crossed first, then Eric.
I got in and realized too often I think I am stronger than I am.
I tried leaning into the rock and inching sideways but my
leg swung out and around me and Sean had to get
in the water and pull me in, or rather, out.
Quite an adventure!
this was part of my set up the first day we were drawing
That container of pencils and red holder was
given to me by a good friend who I had to say bye to today
because he is moving.
He was my drawing teacher. I helped him organize
and pack things for his move and there was a lot
he had to get rid of,
so he gave me a lot of neat things.
The following are just process pictures.
Not finished, stopped because I got bored with it. I will look at it in a month or so.
My eyes will be different and I"ll know what to do.
I like using frozen fruit for ice sometimes. During a critique I decided I was going to paint that.
Only worked on it a couple hours, so, not finished.
No comments:
Post a Comment