When it starts getting dark, Jon and I go to the barn and tuck the chickens in for the night.  This means we close the barn door and watch them as they roost.  Tonight they were already on their roosts.  Fran and Shirley Partridge snuggle up together by the window and Oprah and Freaky perch on the 2×4 in the corner.  They make delicious cooing noises while settling in.  Usually Mother or Minnie, the barn cats, come around.  Tonight it was Mother.

There’s something so satisfying about seeing the chickens safe in the barn, for the night.  I’ve never had children or even had the desire to have children,  but being around and taking care of the chickens, donkeys, dogs and cats has jump started my nurturing instincts. I still find myself holding back sometimes, afraid of loving them too much, making myself vulnerable to the inevitable loss and pain.  But I’m learning that it’s  through our vulnerabilities  that we connect to one another.  And there’s no shame in it or weakness.  I think allowing myself  to love is actually one of the bravest things I’ll ever do.

The Fox and The Chicken Notecards

Jon just published his article on the Fran and the Fox called The Fox on Bedlam Farm in  the online magazine Slate   I loved reading the story even though I lived through it, because you know Jon has some great and often funny insights on the whole thing.   And it gets better because  there’s a slideshow (I love seeing pictures of animals, even though I live with them and see them every day)  including some of the photos from the Fran and the Fox notecards. So check it out.

We still have note cards are for sale.  There are six, 5×7 notecards in each pack.  They are $20 + $5 shipping.  So if you’re interested you can use the paypal (which has made my life so much easier and I am grateful for even though it took me about a year to use it) button below or if you’d rather use a check you can email me at maria@fullmoonfiberart.com.

But even if you have the notecards already or don’t want to buy them, still check out the article on Slate  It’s worth it.

Zombie-Ghost Goddess

Words, Words, lots of words.  But I got this far and saw that my Goddess was a ghost.  And a Zombie. A Zombie Ghost.  I don’t mean to complain, or whine, but this one took it out of me.  My whole body aches and I’m exhausted. (although that could be because of my yoga class last night).   If it were a painting, I could paint over her and try again.  But it’s a collage, so… I’ll collage.

But it’s late and I’m tired and the whole thing has made me feel shitty.   Jon and I have been taking about working from emotion.  Bringing the feelings up from the body instead of working down from the brain.  Hence my new writing style ( like using the word shitty)  and this new piece which is wearing me out.

So for fear of being called a complainer (what do I have to complain about I love my life etc. etc. ) and because I knew it would make me feel better, I went back at it. I got this far and  I’m feeling better so I must be satisfied, but I’ll wait for the morning to make my final decision.

Feeling better by my body still aches, must be the yoga

Jon and I were talking about words and writing and yesterday I realized that I’ve been feeling more confident about using words in my work.  The words have been stronger and more legible.  They used to blend into the images, almost as decoration, now they are as visible and as important as the images themselves.

I wanted to make a piece showing this and the phrase I found my voice in freedom and words came to me.  Because this is what it’s really about, me finding my voice and believing it’s important enough or worthy of being heard.

So this morning in meditation I had a vision of a vast landscape with miles of fabric flapping in the wind and the letters of the alphabet (all in different colors like the plastic magnet letters I had as a kid) came falling out of the sky into my mouth.

I couldn’t wait to get to my studio. I stitched the goddess standing on her  tree stump opening her mouth to be filled with letters to be made into words. ( or are the letters coming from her mouth)  And when I got done with the letters and the words  I  didn’t know what to do.   It seemed like it should have been a collage because I had all this empty space.  So I filled in the space with, well… stuff.  And the stuff has nothing to do with the piece. (really, what’s with the boats?)

When I showed it to Jon he said ” Where are the words?”

Somehow I had done it again.  The falling letters are there and the phrase (which is just right) is there, but they get lost in the “stuff”.  The “stuff” shouldn’t be stuff, it should be words.  And the words should be what I want to say.  “Listen to me, my words are important, I have something to say, I am here! I exist! I finally found my voice and I will be heard! You can’t ignore me anymore! Etc!

So tomorrow I’ll try again to make those letters into words.  Strong words that shout, not cower and hide.

I finished the streaming part of My Dreams Are Catching Up With Me yesterday and will give it a border next week.  I need to get an inventory list to  Zaidee for the Mothers Day Show,  by the the end of the week.  So the work doesn’t have to be completely finished, I just have to know which pieces will be in the show.

Since making the Collage Wall Hangings I’ve started making the words in the Streaming pieces more legible.   It also has to do with me having more confidence in the words.  In the earlier pieces the words blended more with the imagery and were harder to read.  (I’ve had some complaints about that, mostly from my writer husband who can’t get enough of words, written or spoken)  I know a part of me was unsure about them, maybe they weren’t good enough, or were stupid, or weird, so I tucked them away just in case.

But now the words flow.  They come to me in dreams, in waking, when I’m reading, or walking or doing the dishes.  And I trust them.  I used to want to save some, thinking I might run out of them, but now I know the more I use them, the more words come. Like more Joy brings more Joy, more words bring more words.

And of course I know the words work because people connect to them. So thank you all for being part of the creative process.  I don’t know what it would look lie, but I do know my work would be very different with out your feedback.

I finished one streaming piece and started the one above  this morning.  I was so preoccupied with Izzy this week yet created 3 new pieces of work for the Mother’s Day Show in Greenwich.  I felt detached from the work and it seemed to give me more freedom.  I was less inhibited, not as concerned or self-conscious  about the end result.  I haven’t finished any of them, they all need borders and this last one needs lots more, but I was driven to get the images and words out.

Here are the rest of the unfinished pieces:

      The Mother’s Day show is a one day event at Seventy Main in Greenwich NY.  It will be on Saturday May 12th from 10am-6pm.  Jon will be giving a talk on photography and inspiration at 2pm.  For more information go to Events

Thank  you all for your sweet and heartfelt words about Izzy,  I so appreciate it.

When I woke up early this morning, I was alone in bed.   I went downstairs and saw Jon sitting on the living room floor wrapped in a quilt with Izzy’s head on his lap.  Over the past year, Izzy had become my dog as much as Jon’s.   But on the last day of his life, Izzy wanted Jon.  You could see the love and  trust pass between them.  I imagine Izzy was looking at Jon in the same way he did  years ago, when he decided to be Jon’s dog.

Izzy was my dream dog.  The kind of dog I’d always wanted but somehow never had, maybe I didn’t think I deserved to have such a great dog.  I started taking him into my studio about a year ago when Frieda became Jon’s writing dog.  He was perfect for me.  He would find a corner in the studio and sleep while I worked.  Once or twice a day I would look down and see him staring at me.  We would snuggle for a while ( I always felt like he knew I needed a break) then he’d go back to his corner.

I never had to worry about him, he didn’t barked at the mailcarrier and if the UPS man came to the door, Izzy was happy to see him.  When we went for a walk or did yard chores, I never had to worry about him running off.  He was always there, paying attention but not needing constant attention.

Izzy had become my dog. That’s how  I knew there was something wrong with him when, on Monday, he slept too long under my desk and had a hard time walking on the path and I felt the strange lumps under his chin. When we found out he had cancer I had no doubts that he should suffer as little as possible and it was best to let him go. And I knew he shouldn’t be cremated, but buried in the shade garden in the front yard where he loved to sit.  When I planted the flowers on his grave, I felt so good about being able to do these things for him.  I’ve always seen Izzy as a spirit dog and believed he’d have a smooth transition from this life to whatever comes next.   I cried for the three days before he died knowing that death is the most natural thing in the world and thinking I would find some relief when he was no longer in pain and knowing  that we had done everything we could for him.

But now, after all that,  I  still can’t stop crying.  Because Izzy opened something up in me when I finally  allowed my self to have and love the dog I always wanted.  And now he’s gone and I’m wide open, feeling emotions I’ve never felt before and don’t have words for.

Florence's House April 24, 2011

I was just looking through my tiny sketch pad, the one I carry in my bag, and came across this drawing of Florence’s house from a year ago tomorrow.  It must have been one of the first times that Jon and I stopped at the house together  so Jon could take photo’s of Rocky and his newly fallen down barn.

I remember it was the clothes line that first captured my attention, but as I drew the house, I thought it just the sweetest thing.   The shallow side porch and the old wood shed and the unusual bell on the roof.  (We have since found out that Rocky will come running when he hears the bell ring).

I didn’t pay much attention to Rocky back then.  I was more interested in the life of Florence, the old woman who lived there alone. (And she was old we found out later,  103 years old.)   My whole life when I’ve thought of myself as an old lady I pictured me living and dying alone in my own house.  I guess I’ve always admired women who have been able to do that, I’m not sure why.  And I never think of it as lonely either, there seems to be something satisfying about it.

I only got to know Rocky after Florence died (I never did meet Florence) and it was on one of these trips to visit Rocky that Jon and I knew we wanted to live there.  The first time I walked into the house, I was enchanted, and knew it was home.

The house seems to want us too.  It stated working on Jon over a year ago, when he took his first photo of Rocky.  Or maybe it’s Florence that wants us there.  She’s a pretty strong presence and I have a feeling she’s not completely gone yet.

Another view of Florence's house from March 2011

I think I made a potholder from one of these sketches.  If any one out there has one, I’d love to know.