mass moca

Larry and I drove to North Adams yesterday; a beautiful day for the drive. Mass Moca was packed. Usually when we go, it's much quieter and not so filled with children or adults. But despite the overload of additional stimulii: the buzz of people walking and talking, children running like wild amidst the already somewhat frenetic art--it was a great day.

I always feel a bit like a kid in a candy store when I get to Mass Moca. Seem to get up there about twice a year. For my birthday, and around now. It really is close enough that we should be able to get there more frequently, but life is busy enough.

The main floor was Matthew Ritchie, and feeling overwhelmed from the moment I walked in due to my on going health issues with as yet undiagnosed lyme, I decided at first not to read all the info on the wall, and the myriad pamphlets. That lasted about a minute. I walked into the first gallery and just sat, to see what my reaction/response would be and it was this: apocolyptic primordial soup. And I loved it. So much so that I had to go back and read what it was all about, and I'm always a bit overjoyed when I actually get it before knowing what it's about. I love that art is intuitive, and that it conveys without needing to be explained. I imagine if I were not so hurried feeling all the time, and sat with things longer, I would absorb even more in this way. Without reading, but I have learned that it is helpful to know a bit, even a tiny bit about what the artist is thinking, doing. It just adds to the experience. But it is nice to let oneself respond and feel first, then learn more.

Upstairs, a variety of artists groups dealt with socio political issues ranging from genetically modified foods to homelessness, blackness, and the detritus and forensic evidence of urban living.

My attention span is shorter than normal at the moment, and the largest gallery which usually houses a huge installation -- the last time we were there it was Gober's Stations of the Cross -- was closed. So we headed for coffee at Brewhaha, sat and watched the sun set and the clouds, then listened to NPR in the car for a half hour before our ritual dinner at Grammercy Bistro, which was even more delightful than usual, because we were not only the first one's there but the only ones.

from String Theory: Floor to Ceiling
Posted by Hello

uploading photos finally

With a week off from my day job and despite some health issues, I am finally getting to play with the photo posting option on blogger. This week in addition to cleaning out my studio so I can actually work in it I hope to get the photo option down pat, and also figure out how to do links within the body of the blog. And then I can get back to blogging for real.

been too long

Way too long, but after the seemingly fallow time, new growth. I've begun a few new projects. The most interactive of which is Let it go Let it Flow. You can take a look and be a part of it at goflow.blogspot.com

I am still working on String Theory: Floor to Ceiling, and with a new computer on its way, may actually get photos up and posted within the next month or so.

I submitted a proposal to Exit Art for their prayingproject. Whether or not I am accepted, it has inspired Soul Service: Magic Medicine for a Post Modern Panic Attack, an art performance piece that I hope to be able to manifest in both New York City and upstate.

No links this week. Hopefully will get back to that soon.

deconstruction

My newest obsession is decontructing clothes. My latest find, a Marc Jacobs slip or lining, with cut hem that I am reassembling and embellishing for a freind. A trip to Girbaud inspires me to cut apart a dress I've never been able to toss, that I never wear, but love all the same. It would be a better night gown, but I haven't gotten to that point yet, which is one I ultimately reach with many clothes I can't part with, but just don't wear.

Considering my art work is so involved with recycled, tossed off and found materials, this new form of expression isn't so unexpected. And exhibitions, even performance art and installations of reconstruction have been happenening for years. Still it would be fun to do a walk in exhibition where people could bring their clothes and I could cut them apart and remake them. Maybe even combine odd elements. But that's another one for the burner. The back burner. On my more recent to do list: the windows at Ansonia pharmacy.

the matzo files

Next Monday, The Matzo Files open in conjuction with Howl, The 2nd Annual Festival of East Village Arts. My recycled fiber art from The Scrapbooks of Child Imaginary, along with goddess figures, lint balls and precious metal wrapped hearts is included among the work of 250 artists.



What do art and matzo have in common?



The Matzo Files

Streit’s Matzo @ Suffolk and Rivington

Monday, August 23rd

5 to 7pm



The Matzo Files is a new, artist-run, non-profit collaborative project

on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, sponsored by the Artists Alliance, Inc.



Streit's is the oldest family owned matzo bakery in New York.



Through the generosity of Streit's Matzos, art has a home in the factory's shop on the corner of Rivington and Suffolk. Artists from the local community and beyond have the opportunity to show and sell their work to visitors to the Matzo Files. Visitors will taste a bit of Lower East Side history and enjoy seeing the matzo bakers in action. Customers who enter the store for kosher products will be curious to see artwork showcased in such an unusual setting.



THE MATZO FILES: FLAT FILES AND BOXES FULL OF ART BY 250 ARTISTS.







LINKS



http://www.artistsai.org/Matzo_Files/index.html

www.streitsmatzos.com/info.html

http://www.howlfestival.com/

long story short

To continue and finish the story of my niece and me getting our noses pierced...We walked out, around the corner and into a gallery where I asked the owner if he knew the guys at the tattoo parlour. He said his daughter had gotten her belly button pierced there, and he thought the guys were great. So I walked out and made my decision. After a couple of minutes in the used book store, I headed back with my courage.

I almost turned around and walked out again when I had to sign the papers, checking the boxes that said I didn't have hiv or hepatitis. And sitting in the chair, I was downright scared. My niece stood by watching and when the needle went in, I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do to a 12 year old.

She seemed to feel the same way, having watched me grimace and clutch the arm of the chair white knuckled.

So we spent the rest of the day, the evening and the next morning talking out hte pros and cons until she decided that she was definitely going to do it.

So back we went. Got her nose pierced, had lunch again at Jane's. And finished our 2 day expedition into the holy grail of the nose piercing adventure.

Opus 40

As my bloggings and lack thereof make evident, art has been taking a back seat this summer. Although I'm not happy about it, I am confident that there are lessons in this too. Epiphanies about the importance of putting our art life and self first come daily.

And so it was with great gladness that I found myself unexpectedly at Opus 40 this weekend. It is always amazing to take in with one's eyes and soul, the possiblities of commitment and vision.

'Opus' simply means 'work' in latin. Although we tend to think of it as more descriptive of a life's work and a great accomplishment. Which Opus 40 most definitively is.

Rather than my decribing it poorly for you, visit opus40.org

Two little gems amidst the gigantic sculptural: there is an apartment available to rent there, and a lovely little gallery space.

Pierced

My bloggings are taking a back seat to the constant whir of life. Freelance assignments have swamped me. And I try to keep my weekends computer free. Working at the screen all week all day long fries my eyes and my mind.



My niece is visiting from Isreal for a few weeks, and we spent last weekend together pursuing a kind of holy grail. Nose piercing. I've been wanting to do it since I was a teenager. And when I turned 47 a few months ago, I promised myself to do it at last. When my niece came I asked her if she would come with me. She said she wanted to do it too. So we asked her mom, my sister, who said yes, and the adventure began.



I thought it would be fun to have it done in Woodstock where we might spend the day, do a little shopping, have a little lunch. So I made some calls the day before, and was told I would need a signed release form from my sister, notarized, with her passport because my niece was not 18.



When I walked into my mother's house the next morning to pick up my niece, my sister was trying to fax the documents, my mother was freaking out, my father was stomping around, and my niece couldn't wait to get out of there. It was pouring, torrential. My parents were on their way to the funeral service of a freind who had died a few months before.



When we finally got to my house, my niece realized she'd left her own passport at my parents, so we had to drive back to get it. By the time we got to Woodstock, I'd been driving for 4 or 5 hours. So when the guy who was supposed to do the piercing told me he wouldn't, I was aggravated to say the least. He claimed he didn't know she was only 13. I'd told him on the phone the day before. And he said that their faces change too much. I countered that babies have their noses pierced in other cultures. But he wouldn't budge and back into the car we slumped.



We'd noticed another tatoo/piercing parlor on the way to Woodstock and I kept it in mind driving back toward Kingston, wondering what we could do. We stopped and looked in; it wasn't open yet. And while we waited for the rain to let up to run back to the car, we noticed a woman opening the door and followed her.



While the place in Woodstock had been slick and bright, with displays of tatoos and body jewelry, even a counter top interactive video screen, this one had decidedly female energy. It seemed like the kind of place you might go for a seance or a fortune telling.



The girl at the desk told us what the guy in Woodstock had said on the phone: we needed a notarized release form. She also warned us against trying to have our piercings done at the mall, where they would use a piercing gun that would splatter our flesh. She also let us know that only a ring would do; a post would almost insure infection too.



When we left I was feeling a bit desperate. Everything I was being told was fueling fear. And yet, I desperately wanted to do this, not only for myself, but as an experience with and for my niece. I owed her a gift for her bat mitzvah a few months before, and this was I thought, going to be perfect, something we'd both remember forever.



By this time we were both starving so I headed for downtown Kingston where I knew a great little place for lunch, and suspected there might also be a tattoo parlor around the corner.



It was the real deal. We could have been in the East Village. The room was smokey; the music was heavy metal, loud. There were Jesus posters lining the walls. And beyond the jewelry cases, arranged in a v with the wide angle opening into the room, as if to invite you to travel its unmarked path to the back, was a darkened space with barber shop chairs.



The guy who came out to help us was pierced and tattooed everywhere. His fingernails were dirty. I noticed that none of the jewelry was in the little sterilized pouches like those I'd seen in the city. They were just laying flat inside, on the glass.



I used the bathroom in back and it wasn't pretty. The guy in charge who was doing a tattoo had a cigarette dangling from his lips and quite a few teeth missing. But he didn't ask me to sign any papers for my niece and said they would do it, as long as she was tough. We said we'd think about it and come back.

summer speed

the lazy days of summer are escaping me. time is moving too quickly. barely a moment to catch my breath. one moment jumps to another. the days are a string of pearls that slip through my fingers each time i try to fasten the clasp. and yet... a few weeks ago by the light of a not quite full moon i drummed by the light of a small fire pit i built in the side yard. i played my flute in the sun. i have been harvesting mint like crazy. the chamomile is in full bloom as is the lemon balm. sage is sprouting and basil too.

driving the back way from my house to omega two fawn crossed my path. larry saw a fox on our way home from the movies one night. there are too many dead racoons in the road. turtles are sunning themselves on branches and rocks in ponds by the side of the road.

i have not had much art time lately. still plugging away on an installation piece that is coming together one small bit at a time. and i had a commission for a ring from a co-worker who just moved to hong kong. also, the catskill rural aids society asked for another donation of mazel tov, spice of life and healing herb magnets -- people apparently fight over them at these fund raisers to which i am happy to donate.

next weekend i will be leading a shamanic journey workshop at the women's martial arts special training in massachusetts. 350 women martial artists learning and sharing ancient styles and modern insights with one another.

for more info:



nwmaf.org

heightened moments

I was walking down Wooster from Grand, on my way from one Deitch Project exhibition to another when I stepped into what seemed another world, as if waters were parting to life itself. Two women in blue smocks and blue bonnets to protect their hair sat on a stoop eating their lunches. A dark haired woman, not so young tentatively negotiated the sidewalk with a stroller and its twins. A Latino woman stepped out of a car parked on the curb and turned into the sidewalk as if offering the child in her arms. And there across the street a black man sat in the sun, a wide brimmed, circular pointed hat shading his face, a newspaper spread at his feet and and rising from the pavement surrounding him, as if the wings of a phoenix, tribal drums and masks and other african objects in a fan of fantasy directly across from the open garage door that functions as Deitch's entrance. I wondered if it were a part of the installation within, somehow knowing it wasn't. But once inside, transported again by teepee and sphinx and patchwork paintings I thought of Burning Man, and yearned for alternate realities on my way back from lunch to work.

Apparently I have been too busy to surf, blog or post because I've felt the pull but haven't got to it. So today's post is a brain download. I haven't anywhere to send you other than into the reaches of my own experience.



Last week I was walking back to the apartment and noticed a man with a cane stumbling, or more accurately poking his way into the street on 28th between Lexington and Park.

I walked up and asked if I could help. I noticed he was wearing the bright ikats of Africa both on his head and in his dress. His eyes were thick and white. When he said yes, he was going to the downtown train, I took his arm and started walking him there.

I asked his name and he said Richard, I told him mine and he laughed a bit, "Richard and Riva", he said. The time passed so quickly, too quickly for me. Richard was walking fast, his cane moving rapidly right and left, and he was leading me more than I him. He drifted right and I brushed along side the buildings. I let him know outloud when we came to the corner and he had to step down. I struggled with the word for "island" to describe the step up and down in the middle of the street we needed to take. My mind was totally engaged in trying to negotiate what I saw and translate for him in a language he might understand. I knew from the class I'd taken with blind students for my black belt test that the best way to communiate to the blind is simply to speak. They can't see if you show. My instinct is to show in touch, but words are good guideposts and I reached for them in ways that one isn't accustomed to on a daily basis. By the time I'd gotten him down the stairs and into the turnstile of the Downtown 6 I was exhausted with effort, and even as I turned to go, asking "are you alright now?" and hearing him shout a jubilant "yes, thank you!" I wished there were a way to prolong the meeting.

While we were walking he told me he was a musician, and played the flute. I had just recently started learning to play a Native American flute I'd purchased almost 15 years ago. A flute that has begun to teach me my soul songs and connect me with an inner self that has always been with me, though not always so close to the surface, not always so accessible. Walking home I wondered if Richard might have been a teacher sent me and I'd missed the opportunity to ask that vital question.

He'd asked me if I knew a good Indian place to eat, there in little India, but I admitted we didn't really eat Indian food that much. Funny I wondered since Larry is a vegetarian, and these inexpensive Indian restaurants surround us.

Richard said he lived on the upper west side and someone had told him he could get good spices at Curry in a Hurry. Which is really a restaurant not a spice shop, but I imagined someone must have guided him next door to the appropriate place. I worried how he would arrive at his next stop at the train, but knew in my heart that either someone else would offer their hand, or Richard would find his way, quickly exploring with his cane, unafraid to bump into walls or trees, or step down into the gutter of life.

In ancient journey folklore, born of the act of pilgrimage, it is customary to travel with gifts. The first person one meets when setting out is a sacred touchstone with an important message. I wondered what Richard might have shown me had we had a few moments more.

networking

Two weeks ago I co-hosted a workshop at the Highland Cultural Center with Ann Haaland and Elisa Pritzker. It is always so great to meet other artists and have the sense that one is understood and connected. There's a shorthand of language about what we do and why. No difficult explanations. Short sweet sentences get the message across. And there's no blank look in the others' eyes. But, as I think I mentioned in passing conversation there, often what we percieve to be blank stares are really not misunderstandings, but complete awe and rapture. Non artists are amazed at what we do. So next time someone seems to be somewhere else when you are talking about your work, entertain the thought that that blank look in their eyes is love, or something like it.



Ann's website is annhaaland.com

Her work is just beautiful and an inspiration to those of us who are still grappling with web presence and professional presentation of our work.



Tonight I am off to a Burning Man event in New York with Bman founder Larry Harvey. The Rabbi, The Reverend and The Renegade is about spirituality, community and activism. Visit burningman.com for all you need to know about this amazing annual alternative art community built in the Black Rock Desert every year. The event I'm attending tonight is a bit of a touchstone for me, as I have not yet figured out a way to get myself to the playa this year.



Have a beautiful day.

the drawing center

The exhibitions at The Drawing Center in Soho are always amazing and the show that is currently on is particularly so. If you think of drawing as being something done with pencil and paper, this show will open your eyes and mind to a new range of possibilities outside that single dimension.



http://www.drawingcenter.org/current.htm



On my way there I noticed hanging in the windows of one of the Soho boutiques, some of the most amazing art dolls I've ever seen. The artist apparently works in clothing and still lifes as well. The artists name is Manon Gignoux and lives in Paris, but there's really nothing much on the web. So I will for now have to content myself with the work I saw in the store. There were also still lifes in old suitcases, a salt and pepper shaker wrapped in sweater like garb, a clothed bowl and other beautiful objet d'art.

Monday morning

Reading this was a salve this morning as I return to the work week:



http://www.bearingwitnessjournal.com/story.htm?story=VKVXJI



I got there from here:



http://www.spiritualityhealth.com/newsh/items/home/item_216.html



And I'll let you know where else I've landed later in the day.

getting out of the way

One of the most amazing experiences I've had since returning to work and New York City life after Omega is the resistance I've sensed in myself, the walls that start to go up unconsciously.



I've had a few moments where good things were happening, but because they were different, not the usual fare, I found myself resisting. And it took quite a bit of thinking to actually breathe and allow for the acknowledgement that this was in fact exactly whatI had been asking for. Both were work related situations that take me out of the reach and realms of an individual I have some difficulty working with. Both give me a greater degree of autonomy, ease of work and working relationships. Even more money. All things a blessing.



And once again I am reminded of the bounty of the universe and the amazing things that come when one has an open heart. The trick is to stay open. It is difficult and I feel myself hardening daily, vs. the softening I felt as each day melted into me at Omega.



It's been a busy two weeks, with not much downtime. Little time to create art, although thanks to my Omega getaway, I have a great new system set up for the installation piece I am working on. It's all in a box in the living room so when I get home for the weekend, it's within easy reach and I can meditate in the making without the production of getting ready to work. It's all ready to go, and I'm always ready. It's a great insight for future projects, that is, to create a mini work bin situation that allows me to work at a moment's notice. My studio at this point is so crammed and cramped, working there is impossible. It's more a storage space for all the materials. I can either spend time reorganizing or working, and I prefer to work!

mail art

Here's a link to an exhibition in the UK to which I sent a mail art submission. The theme was: Is Mail Art Dead?, and I haven't been able to find a pic of my submission, but I really love how the show was hung. Also, link to the site of emma powell, one of the curator's, who invited me to participate. (Reminder, until I figure out how to link, you'll have to cut and paste.)



http://homepage.mac.com/emma_powell/is_mail_art_dead/PhotoAlbum53.html



http://www.rejectamenta.com/



This week's personal lesson was about not rushing. I started running to catch a bus, something I never do -- and ended up tripping on my too long pants, and falling on one of those subway grates in the side walk.

As I lay in bed last night trying to fall asleep, I realized I didn't have an appendage that didn't hurt. Between chronic karate injuries, and these new minor traumas, I'm hobbling around and very aware of the gift of mobility, arms, legs, even the fingers I'm now using to type this.

The evening I actually tumbled, I lay on the couch thinking about how upset kids get when they fall and scrape their knees, and not really remembering my own childhood falls so much, as having compassion for how traumatizing it is. Your whole body gets shaken up. You're really not sure what has happened. And then there's the heart racing fear...Maybe there's a metaphor in all this for the daily tumbles and falls we take. Of course we get up, brush ourselves off and get on with things, but what's the big rush. My evening at home nursing my wounds was good therapy. Just wish I'd followed my heart home, instead of trying to catch a bus to get to a karate class I didn't really want to go to, before I took the fall.

too busy for my life

Two weeks after returning from Omega I still haven't had time to either process all the enlightenment or look for new paths for inspiration. But here is a link to painter Stacie Flint's website. stacieflint.com Stacie attended the Sacred Balance workshop at the Highland Cultural Center, which is hosting an artist's networking party this Saturday from 11 to 2. Hope to see you there, at Casa del Arte. For more information pritzkerstudio.com or hccarts.org

Re-entry

It has taken a few days to get here. Being disconnected from technology for two weeks has been a great blessing. And I find myself wanting to remain longer in the quiet of the country, far from the glare of the tv and computer screen. But my connection to you who read these entries is the point after all. And I gladly embrace my return to this.

My artist in residence at Omega was a deeply moving experience, two full weeks of deeply moving experiences. It is astonishing to realize that one can make such intense connections with others in two short weeks. So much so that you can't imagine not seeing, hearing, and being with them. This was particularly true of my bond with the woman who was essentially my manager but felt more like a light along a path. To learn so easily from another is a sacred lesson. And to be guided without overtones of authority but of shared, mutual interest, integrity and the good of the whole. But above all, almost without intention, and simply in the sheer ease of being, being present, being in the moment.

At Omega, one is living in community and learning when to disconnect from the hive in order to replenish oneself is another essential lesson. One that I hope I can integrate into my life more fully.

But perhaps the most important lesson has been this: upon returning to a life I was not so eager to step back in to, I am experiencing the love and spirit I encountered at Omega, and thought was left behind. Today is my birthday and I have been gifted with so many touching sentiments and little gifts at the office, that I am truly overwhelmed.

My heart is opened and I hope I can somehow share that opening with you in the coming days.

signing off

I'm off to an Artist in Residence at Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York. My studio's cleared out and my car is full. So please check back in 2 weeks. I'm sure I'll have lots of inspiring insights and ideas for you then!

Working full time in the corporate world isn't easy when one has the artist's soul. And particularly difficult at this time of year when I so long to be outdoors, or working with windows wide open.

I was finally able to squeeze in a bit of art making this weekend with a project I've had in mind for months now. That is, creating a pair of earrings with the over-sized emblem of the karate school I study at. It's a five petalled plum blossom with three inner circles. They look very hip in that Japanese animae kind of way. Exaggerated, expressionist, not classical Zen. I'm not sure my grandmaster would approve, but I love them.



Links worth visiting today: two. Well, I'm sure there are many more, but these are the ones on my radar today.



One sent by my sister who always sends the greatest.



http://factoid.lavoice.org/heavy/



Make sure you read the first entry in this blog. It explains everything.



The other, a business of art site that I think is particularly great. Sign up for their Art Matters e-letter.



http://www.artistcareertraining.com/newsletter.asp



And finally, not a link, but a thought to leave you pondering. I received an email from my freind Robert in Los Angeles the other day with the following quote and query. I pass it on to you:



"In 'The Blind Assassin', a pivotal female character in her seventies, looking back over her life, states that 'at some point in life, one must make a choice between Romanticism and Classicism.'



I found this to be an intriguing idea, with many ramifications. I looked up both movements and distill them here:



Romanticism: an emphasis on the imagination and emotions, an exaltation of the primitive, an appreciation of external nature, an interest in the remote, a predilection for melancholy.



Classicism: adherence to traditional standards (as of simplicity, restraint, and proportion) that are universally and enduringly valid.



What is your take? Would you see yourself as Romantic or Classical? What do you think are the benefits and drawbacks of each tradition?"



I've been rolling Robert's questions around in my head for a few days now, a multilayered Zen Koan that leaves an enigmatic smile on my lips and in my heart.

It is the most amazing morning. Birds are twittering. Everything seems to get greener by the minute. The lilacs and the crab apple are in bloom. My wild garden is full of tiny surprises.

Coming home for the weekend after a hectic week working in the city (New York) is such a blessing. Even when one comes home to surprises like the cat being locked out of the mudroom, and having to use a rug in kitchen all week as litter box.

I recieved a really touching letter from one of the participants in last week's Sacred Balance workshop, who admitted that he'd rather not have been there, but "maybe my lesson is that I should be more uncomfortable being uncomfortable." I think his insight really captures the essence of what balance is and isn't about. Stretching is always tough, but there's nothing like being able to touch your toes -- or reach for the sky.

Having recently gone through testing for my black belt in the traditional Japanese style that I study, this idea was brought home daily, for about 2 months solid. It was an exhausting process, and one can't sustain an intense level of stretching and testing of body, mind or spirit for too long a period of time. That's what leads to burn out. But by stretching ourselves daily, a little at a time, and/or every once in a while putting ourselves to the test -- we can make amazing, if not always comfortable -- leaps forward.

Today's suggested link: Hudson Valley Materials Exchange. Google it to find the url. The gallery currently has a three person show. And always has amazing materials from industry and business, to recycle and reuse in inventive ways.

Pandas, Picasso, press and more: cut and paste this link and add it to your favorites



http://art.weblogsinc.com/

While I don't have anything particularly inspirational to say myself this morning, I just visited my favorite art blog and Anna Conti does. Be sure to read her May 2nd entry at

http://www.bigcrow.com/anna/journal/home.html

This is a site I check into every few days, and it has lead me to other great art blogs as well. So happy blog hopping!

I am re-reading Women Who Run With the Wolves, by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph.D., and this morning I read a passage that was particularly poignant:



"There is such a loss of meaning when one gives up the life made by hand that all manner or injuries to psyche, nature, culture, family, and so forth are then allowed to occur. The harm to nature is concomitant with the shunning of the psyches of humans. They are not and cannot be seen as separate from one another. When one group talks about how wrong the wild is, and the other group argues that the wild has been wronged, something is drastically wrong. In the instinctive psyche, the Wild Woman looks out on the forest and sees a home for herself and all humans. Yet others may look at the same forest and imagine it barren of trees and their pockets bursting with money. This represents serious splits in the ability to live and let live so that all can live."



Hardly a page goes by in this book that doesn't strike me to the core. As synchronicity would have it, I seem to be reading each chapter at exactly the appropriate time. It's a book I am reading sporadically, not wolfing down in every spare minute. So it is all the more magical and instructive when the ideas and issues that I am reading about parallel those in my life at the moment.



Being all about archetypes, this book will resonate at any time, and every time.

A couple of great lint links!



http://www.lauraperry.com/

http://www.studiocapezzuti.com/lint/lintletters.htm

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self. - Cyril Connolly critic and editor (1903-1974)



I think this applies to our art making too.

A link for three wonderful women -- Carol, Kathy and Lisa -- who were in my Sacred Objects workshop at Brookfield Craft Center a few weekends ago. Please keep checking back, as I will be adding more info in bits and pieces. This one is a bit of a read, but fascinating I think. About why we "make things" and "make special". (You will have to cut and paste the url as I haven't figured out yet how to link.)



http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/calebcrain/artistic1



By the way, it was our workshop together than inspired me to start this blog, to which I will be adding a comments feature so we can all stay connected. And ultimately photos, as well!

I have to admit that I wanted more than anything to be outside all day. But despite the distractingly gorgeous weather on Saturday, the workshop I presented at the Highland Cultural Center's Career Development Institute -- Sacred Balance: The Circle of Art, Work, Life -- was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Everyone who participated was courageous in sharing their personal difficulties and experiences juggling the many balls we artists tend to have in the air at any given time.

And special thanks to Elisa Pritzker for joining us with her many valuable insights into the business of being an artist.

It's an amazing experience simply to be in the space that Elisa has created with her husband Rob at Casa del Arte in Highland, New York (check out pritzkerstudio.com). Her living room is filled with art and always new ideas.

I hope that everyone who attended left with inspiration to find the sacred balances in their own circles of life, work and art.

One of the most amazing things I find in presenting these workshops is the unexpected things I learn myself. My eyes are continually opened to new ways of seeing. As I mentioned in the workshop, you never know when some small thing you say may change another person's life.