summer is coming. at least that is what the calendar indicates. in recent days it has snowed in colorado. it has been rainy and damp and cold in wisconsin. the spring storms have been devastating the central states. but summer is coming.
and with summer comes a little slowing-down, moments to linger in the sun, sit in lawn chairs and chat, sip iced tea on the deck, have picnics under the canopy of a tree. we pick clover and make necklace chains, count the petals on a daisy, lay in the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass.
i am a list-maker. i come from a long line of list-makers so dna is definitely involved. with the layer-cake of jobs that comes with being an artist – performing, visual, any kind of artist – lists are a necessity. i use paper calendars, old spiral notebooks with kirsten or craig scrawl on them, pa pads that my sweet poppo made, composition books. sticky notes, pencils, highlighters and sharpies rule my office-supply world. i am analog. and i love having all my ducks in a row.
we were on our way to hike late one afternoon when we encountered these ducks. walking the crack in the street, all in a row, i heard in my ever-present-soundtrack-mind, “quack, quack, waddle, waddle, quack, quack, waddle, waddle (from an 80’s mcdonald’s commercial – watch for 0:54).” they seemed unperturbed by our approach. we stopped to let them pass and get safely to the side of the road. i’m positive i saw the last one carrying an office max bag.
when we moved into this house 30 years ago the kitchen floor was an old green and orange linoleum. needless to say, this was not my favorite color combination nor was it my favorite floor. we laid a clean white tile floor on top; a temporary fix to hold us over. a couple years later we chose to put hardwood down, mimicking the rest of the house. that required stripping off the old floors – the white one and the green and orange one. weren’t we surprised at how many layers we found! but below all that mess was the sub-flooring, a solid foundation on which to lay new hardwood, a new start for the little kitchen.
peeling back the layers to expose what’s beneath it all can be exhilarating. but it can also be intimidatingly revealing. we are nervous to find what is below the surface. we feel trepidation about the underlayment; should we rip out and replace? what will we need to do to shore it up? can it withstand this?
it’s the same for each of us. we feel vulnerable letting others know what is underneath it all, this positive front of ours. the complexity of sedimentary-life-layers is confusing and we seek ways to not feel them, not acknowledge them, not share them.
but the firm subfloor is there. we are resilient and fluid. we have been shored up by the obstacles we have climbed, by the challenges we have surmounted and we are surrounded by others who all can relate, were we to tell them.
the orange and green linoleum of our lives is still there, underneath, but it is now serving us, either as the underlayment of our ever-learning-ever-growing-future or part of what we found, dealt with, ripped out and replaced. either way, there is room for the hardwood. the foundation is solid.
one of the cool things about living in kenosha is the ability to easily get to two major cities – milwaukee and chicago. we drive up to milwaukee to putter around, go to the art museum, walk along the river in the third ward, go to antique shoppes. we usually take the train to chicago, driving south a couple towns for more frequent schedule choices. we walk the streets of the city, find places for coffee or glasses of wine, attend national geographic live events or a play or concert, visit with friends.
but we are actually less city people than we are outdoors people. and so, more often, we will head out – west of the i – and take a drive out in the county. in next-to-nothing we are surrounded by farmland, breathing in the scent of rich dirt in fields that are turned over for planting, some yielding early croplings*.
in also next-to-nothing time, david whips out his sketchbook and pencils to capture the really gorgeous patterns in these fields of green. (these words make me think of the stunningly beautiful song fields of gold. if you haven’t ever heard it, please take a few minutes right now and click HERE. you will be glad you did.)
just a sketch, but a reminder of the moments we passed these fields, talking or listening to music, singing along or simply silence in the car. a breath of fresh air, a drive to rejuvenate, maybe a hike on a trail to restore us – all west of the i.
there are those places – where you sit and your breathing slows down. the blue of sky calms you, the warm sand molds to your shape and the water beyond where you sit lulls you and quells the inner mixmaster of your thoughts.
for me, many many years ago now, that place was crab meadow beach. i felt some kind of kinship with the seagulls and the lure that shoreline had on them. off-season still found me sitting on the pebbles along the waterline, in the sand gathered in small wind-dunes, on the cement dolphin or walking, walking, walking, ankle-deep in a surf that changed daily. a place where i could sort out growing up, it soothed me, challenged me, spoke to me.
it’s not always a beach. or the top of a mountain. or a quiet lakeside cove. or an inviting stump on a thick woodsy trail. most of the time we don’t all have access to these things on a daily basis.
but there is a place. where you can find the silence you need. for david, this is often in front of his easel, a fresh canvas waiting or an unfinished painting beckoning. this painting – ALKI BEACH – reminds me of that place. the places nearby, the places within. the rocking chair in the room upstairs, the adirondack chair in the backyard, the piano bench. the place you draw the seagulls close, whisper your thoughts to them and send them on their way back into the world.
there truly is nothing as powerful a game-changer as touch. the touch of your lips to the tiny fingers of an infant, the touch of your ailing parent’s hand in yours, the touch of an embrace by a beloved. when you are yearning to be held, to hold – waiting – and the moment comes, the briefest of hugs, the slightest brush of fingers against your cheek, the feather kiss on the top of your head, the swept-up entwine…all capture the attention of every nerve ending and of your heart, and you sigh, at last. surely all will be well. you are not alone in this vast universe.
it drives them nuts, i’m sure, but i still write or say “triple always” to my children. a redundancy of course, the “triple” emphasizes the “always”… an unnecessary modifier that says “eternally”…. i love you eternally.
there is a boeing commercial we see often. in it, the narrator is stating steps of preparation for flight, counting down. then she says, “guidance is eternal.” that’s what i have heard every time. until one time i asked d why he thought she said that. he responded that she was actually stating, “guidance is internal,” which clearly makes more sense in the aviation world.
i had to listen more closely the next time to hear “eternal” as “internal”. i did discern the difference, but i still, each time it airs, hear “guidance is eternal” anyway, and maybe that’s a good thing. it serves as a reminder from an unlikely source, a sort of subliminal message, perhaps, at a time i need it. an absolute when looking to the universe for answers to unsolved questions, small eddies of confusion, sorting and attempts at balance, at level positivity, seeking wisdom from those who are beloved but on another plane.
the guidance is there. waiting. it is internal AND it is eternal. triple always.
nancy wrote that they added a drop of food coloring to the bubble mix for sweet lily. it must have been enchanting…colorful bubbles in way-below-freezing temperatures, crystalizing, transformed by the absolute cold. i know there are bubbles in this house; i just have to find them. and then, next time, i will be out on our back deck, wand in hand.
there really is something about bubbles. in the summer, at the farmer’s market they sell gigantic bubble wands. while browsing one day, there was this little girl….chasing these enormous bubbles. no worries on her mind, just arms outstretched, running, ready to embrace oversized magic. it instantly reminded us of the innocence of a child, the seizing of something simple, the joyous caress of a moment.
this morsel and this not-quite-done-painting CHASING BUBBLES make me want to run into the sunshine or, perhaps, the falling snow, and chase iridescent dreams.
as you know, we are two artists living together. so everything around our house has meaning of some sort. each rock, each piece of wood, each feather, each vintage suitcase, each peace sign, each wooden box, each old window frame, each peeling screen door, each painting. before david’s paintings also found their way onto the walls, there were several paintings i had painted. well, “painted”. i spattered and brushed black and white paint to the beating of my heart onto large canvases until i knew the paintings were done and then hung them up. they each have a story – a heart narrative that might not be obvious to you, but is something i can feel each time i look at each of these paintings.
david’s work is stunning. although some of them are for sale, we have pieces of his displayed on our walls – stories on canvas, we have chosen to hang paintings that tell part of our story together. you never get tired of looking at something that is a piece of your life, a canvas of an intimate moment here or there. K.DOT & D.DOT SEE AN OWL is one of those. it’s an exquisite collection of color and movement and reaching. in our story, it is about seeing an owl in the big old pine tree in our backyard. on your wall, it could be about any moment in your life that you and your beloved looked forward, pointing into the future, embracing it, excitedly sharing together something inordinately full of meaning and just yours. paintings are like that.
ken calls this my MUSH album. he is an amazing producer and i feel fortunate to call him my dear friend as well. he produced 14 of my albums and, although one of my albums and a few vocal singles were done in nashville, now i can’t really imagine any other recording projects without him.
MUSH stands for made-up-shi* and is aptly named. this album came at a really inspired time for me. artists have their highs and lows, inspiration-wise, and this was one of the highs. i’ve mentioned the story before, but i’ll short-story it here again: i had a list of titles – titles i wanted to use eventually for compositions; i carried a notebook and scraps of paper everywhere i went. i had this list with me as i recorded two other full-length albums in nyc at yamaha artist services. in-between recording the two other albums, i would choose a title and play it. simply play it. my heart is laid out in the tracks of this cd; every title was meaningful to me, every piece tells what it means.
AS IT IS is the title track so it’s interesting that i gave over the melody line to a flute, the only piece on all of my albums that has a flutist playing. it’s also rare for me to step away from the piano and, in the production-post-initial-recording phase, play a keyboard. but life is like that. you have to give over sometimes. the texture changes. the melody isn’t yours to own; sometimes you are support staff. make peace with it. it is as it is.
AS IT IS: life. we are right here…where we are supposed to be in this part of the journey…the best time is now. simply because life is as it is. (liner notes)
purchase and download the album AS IT IS on iTUNES or CDBaby
reverse threading 