Blues And Purples Are The Colors Of My Spring

Blue and purple, kind of like a bruise. I've been having a hard time getting through the cloudy, rainy days of spring this year, when all I really want is sun and warm and bright, dewy mornings. Depression isn't this big, romantically tragic artistic thing for me – it's a set of weights on my ankles, a fog standing between me and my drive to create. But it's almost summer, the sun is coming more regularly, and I'm working on finding inspiration, refilling my creative well, and then BLOOMING.

I am loving blue and purples flowers like never before. Sweet rosemary blossoms with their vivid blues, flowering sage with its dusky purple, against ten thousand shades of green. I'll go for a walk and stop every few blocks to capture something of the colors of the season. It's like a compulsion. But what a glorious compulsion! I try to get a ladybug's eye view, and the results are so rewarding. Looking at these photos warms me like sunshine.

The Secret Architecture of Hearts

The Secret Architecture Of Her Heart
Original mixed media collage by Crowgirl.

It's been a busy spring! I've been making art, working on decluttering, beginning the spring cleaning, riding my bike, making various things, sewing, and more. Lately I've found the acts and arts of various handcrafts to be particularly satisfying. Nalbinding a pair of socks, hand-stitching a leather journal, making wee felt pincushions – all are wonderfully fun.

Hand-stitched journal made with scrap leather from Oregon Leather,
linen thread, Strathmore drawing paper from Oregon Art Supply.

Both Barret and I are working on various projects, and so our living room is something of a glorious mess at the moment. A variety of yarns, wool felt, wool fleece, leather scraps and related tools, stacks of paper, jars of pens, my sewing box, my knitting basket, cookbooks stacked everywhere promiscuously! It's not the serene space I aspire to, but so much making-in-progress is satisfying in its own way.

My sense of domesticity comes and goes. For me, there's all kinds of gender baggage around the various domestic arts. But there is something about a mindfully organized home, well-cared for, filled with thoughtfully chosen things, stocked with books and tea, that creates a sense of refuge – a haven from the outside world, a world we create from the secret architecture of our hearts. We live in a busy world where a lot of us struggle with making a living though, and there isn't always time to cook from scratch or do a perfect job of tidying.

In my most recent struggles with decluttering and spring cleaning, this bit from "Always Coming Home" by Ursula K. LeGuin has been inspiring me:

"A bright imagination, a clear intellect, warmth, readiness, magnanimity, grace, and ease are wanted in the practices of gardening, farming, sharing food, caring for animals, cure, care, healing, and comforting, the arts of making order and cleanliness where people live and work, all dancing and delightful exercises, and all the arts and practices of making music, of speaking, of writing, and of reading aloud or socially."

Aww yeah. That certainly seems like part of the blueprint for being a wise and purposeful adult to me.

Springtime Thinkings

Spring is very, very definitely here in the Pacific Northwest. We've had more sunny days in the valley than I can ever remember for February/March. Oh, I do love the sunshine! But at the same time, we're likely to have a rough water year if things don't change soon. The snowpack in the Cascades is being described as "historically low", and that's where our water comes from. I'm torn between celebrating every glorious warm bright day and worrying for August.

I haven't been making a lot of formal art lately. I've been doing freelance design/web work, decluttering and trying to get myself back in the habit of riding every day. I've been thinking about how we shape our world and our cultures, and how few of us are living in a world over which we feel like we have control. How little of our surroundings are shaped by our own hands. I think we're missing out on something essential to being human.

Not too long ago, I was reading a short story in which the author mentioned being a "wise and purposeful adult." I keep coming back to those words, and trying to figure out what they mean to me. I'll try to let you know what I figure out. Do the words resonate for you?

When We First Think Of Spring

When We First Think Of Spring

January flew by. Seriously, I have no idea where the month went. Probably to bike rides and cups of tea; to knitting and cuddles with the kitties, to walks to the coffee shop with my Bear. A good way to pass a cold, dark month.

When I created this collage, I was thinking about the first signs of spring that we find in the depths of winter. I pictured a woman standing in the snow with the coming season growing from her footsteps. I wanted to include a sheep because very often the first indicator that spring is on the way are the baby lambs. It's still winter –and we have a ways to go still– but the light and warmth are coming back.

And now this is when we start thinking of spring. The first snowdrops and crocuses (croci?) are bursting out of the ground, the days are definitely longer, the birds are busy with the seeds we've put out for them. The cats are busy staring through the glass at the birds (and one very fat and sassy squirrel who apparently likes to taunt them), with murder in their little furry hearts.