As I move my palette knife, faces take shape almost as if guides or friends are appearing.  A slight pressure or scrape can change the feeling expressed from one extreme to another.  But I believe there are no mistakes.  I trust what comes forward.

These faces show me a range of emotions from the first man’s ecstasy, to the young girl’s worry, to the third man’s ruefulness.  I have experienced all those feelings as I’ve loosened my grip on corralling the details of my life.

I choose to live in a place of surrender, knowing that I am safe, guided and part of an intelligent, loving universe.  My art becomes a prayer to simply allow it all, knowing that the next step will arrive in a way I could never orchestrate.

All is well.

Ahhh.  I was back in the studio today, after several weeks of travel. For me to again approach a blank board waiting for me to fill it is to re-engage a dialogue with my spirit.  Just as in “waking” life, there is a settling down to be done.  Any attachment to outcome has to be gently set aside, so that my surrender brings surprise.

I look at this figure that has morphed from a picture of a modern dancer that has called to me.  I realize that her robes seem to be made of clouds and her hands are enveloped inside the folds.  Like me, she can not grasp the future.  She must open her arms to what takes shape, knowing that it is her allowing that brings her peace.

I’ll return to my studio tomorrow to see what else is asked.  I may add some papers to suggest patterns in her robes, or refine the details. But for today, this is enough.

Each month I look at the new paintings I’ve done and they reflect back to me where my focus has been. Perhaps because art comes from unconscious, intuitive knowing, I sometimes take a look at what’s popped up and say, “I’ll have what SHE’s having!”

That’s especially true this month as my husband, Jim and I traveled to New Mexico, where we walked the silted arroyos of Ghost Ranch where Georgia O’Keeffe painted.  What struck me most about her life was her courage in making difficult decisions – leaving her home in NY – in favor of her art.  The rugged, arid landscape she loved demanded the same kind of sacrifices.  Only what was watered would grow.

Choices define us.  They mean claiming our passion in a way that diverts our flow only to what wants to thrive in us.  My images call me to answer to the light that shines already, daring me to do what I love, rather than what will make me safe.

What is it in you that makes you want to throw your arms up and dance?  What shines through the colors of the setting sun, promising you a golden tomorrow?  I invite you to join me in our own O’Keeffian moment.

Art often acts as an invitation to awareness.  I begin a piece and the universe rushes in to tell me what I need to know.  That happened this month as I travelled to northern New Mexico, where the wide, expansive skies became my teacher.  They told me not to hold back  or contrive, but to let the colors of my life loose.  (There’s nothing subtle about a desert sunset.)

I had a dream last night that I had fallen asleep in the desert.  My stillness allowed me to become part of the landscape, so when I awoke, animals chased and danced around me, unaware of my presence.  I wanted to be part of the untamed, unselfconscious life I saw around me.

I’m guided by my intuition, whether it comes in the form of art, dreams, or ideas that seem to pop into my head.  I’m excited by what’s possible when I resist playing safe.

We’re all called to shine, just as we are in this moment. Trust that the knowing you have now will guide you to the next, until your colors travel in all directions.  To do any less is to let the world down.

I love how creativity hijacks me.  I was on my way to creating a background for a figure a few days

ago when a mountainscape took form.  I’ve been wooing it, adding ink and acrylic gel, and working with dry brushes to bring out clouds and highlights reflected in the water.  I’m looking forward to adding color to the sky that will pull the composition together, but right now I’m just observing where it’s leading me.

I have a dear friend who is approaching some mountains of her own.  I like this way of keeping her company.  I’m patient with my journey, hovering over my shoulder to see what’s happening beneath my paintbrush.  I know that she’ll have that same sense of curiosity that will see her through her process.

The more we can shift to being observers, allowing the factors of our lives to coagulate in alignment with the natural flow of things, the more we become artists of our own satisfaction.

From Nick Hornby:

“ ‘ Have you got any soul?’ a woman asks the next afternoon.

That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, and some days no.  A few days ago I was right out; now I’ve got loads, too much, more than I can handle.  I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly…  I can see she wouldn’t be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.”

Where does your soul hang out?  Where is it that you catch the sounds of your own private Rhythm and Blues?

For me, that answer lies in the creative process.  Whether it’s throwing words on a page and watching where they lead, or letting one color call to the next, it’s a matter of suspending order and control so that I can hear the tune that calls me forward into the unknown.

In my fantasy landscapes, I perch on a promontory of handmade paper rocks and watch the water crashing as my path turns.  The blues of change  and loss are inevitable, but it’s my choice how long I sit it out before plunging back in.

Every time I take a week off, I re-enter my studio again like I’m on a blind date.  Will the paints talk to me like they have before?  I pick up my spatula and molding paste like it’s the first time.  I’m nervous, so I clean up every speck of dust in the room and empty the trash can, to prepare for what will happen.

Today this angel spoke back to me.  What do you think she’s saying?  ”Oh, enjoy yourself!”  ”Let yourself flow!”  ”Why play small?”

Why do I have to be reminded again and again how marvelous it is to receive?  It is not my role to control, but to be open to what wants to come.

Thanks to all who visited me in my studio on Friday.  Your comments led me to realize  how much my art serves as a mirror, in which each of you find yourselves.

Two jazz musicians gravitated to my process of letting one color or form call to the next, just the way the notes of their jazz-making answer each other, allowing a shape to reveal itself in the moment.

For one clarinet player, the art resonated with the peace and even silence he feels at the center of his playing.

A writer stood wordless in front of my Native American angel, her face telling me her thoughts.

One of you, whose husband has faced a long term struggle with illness, found yourself in the lines of the angels who appear as guides in that underworld where light shines as never before.

One of you even noticed my Golden paints and offered to put me in touch with the company, located in your home town.

For me as a minister who senses spirit through art, I am moved by your company. Each of you fill out the picture I see, leading me to witness things through your eyes.  I am grateful to you for your visions.

When I was a little girl, my mother sewed two of every dress she made for my twin sister and me.  In the process of looking for fabrics, she often picked up buttons she liked, for their color, shape or whimsical appeal.  Inevitably when our dresses were finished, she’d pull open her button drawer, and there among the packets would be the perfect buttons to complement her handiwork.  I’m the same way with handmade papers.  I have no idea how they’ll wind their way into what I’m doing.  But after the molding paste and paint feel complete to me, I turn to my papers (and saved bits of ribbon and string) and they tell me the rest of the story.

This month was magical to me.  Not only washi papers, but pictures of a Japanese opera in the NYT and nests from San Francisco photographer, Sharon Beals called for expression.  I found if I stayed in a place of curious noticing, that at every turn, the answer to my desire was already laid out waiting for my whim to catch up.

We are living in a time when the evident shifts can leave us feeling wobbly and threatened.  Yet if we live life with fingers spread open so that our experiences can sift through them, we also find cradled in our palm, the perfect next step.

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I’m struck by how synchronicities dot my path when I’m awake to inspiration and guidance.  Not long ago, before I started painting nests, my brother sent me a link for a beautiful series of nests photographed by naturalist, Sharon Beals.  Now as I look for new directions, I have many choices — courtesy of the many styles of bird nests documented in this collection.

Today I applied the molding paste to begin the Common Yellowthroat nest.  I look forward to exploring with this textural base, to see what wants to happen.

There’s something magical about approaching nature from this angle.  It reminds me of taking Sumie classes in Japan, painting plum and cherry blossoms in the spring, and then later, wisteria and irises and chrysanthemums.  I became familiar with these trees and flowers through paint before meeting them in the park.  When I did spot them, they were already old friends.