Soul Humming

Paper Dreams

 

Seth is posting stacks of paper today for all the stackaholics out there. And he is encouraging others to make their piles as well.

When he first made his call I got out my favorite 12" x 12" sheets of thin deli wrap

and started painting six big sheets at once.

It's a fun way to make background papers for mixed media and collage projects.

It was a little windy outside so I taped them all down to the patio and set to work with my brayer to roll on color after color.

They are bright, lively bits of my day, ready to go into something bigger and more.

I thought that was all I would include. But then, this morning as I was gathering the bits to photograph, I remembered another stack of papers, a precious one, that I keep in an old curio cabinet in my hall.

When I got married almost fifteen years ago, I decided I not only wanted to make my own invitations but I wanted to make the paper for them as well. I made so much paper pulp I could have wallpapered the world with it. I have a few bits of that paper left. It is full of seeds, leaves, and flowers from the garden of my house at the time. I love that special paper. It calls me back to the memories of that girl who finally decided being married was magical when the right man was asking. Those papers make me happy because they hold so many dreams in them.

Gossamer hin unryu paper like wispy webs.

As the wedding guests grew in number I finally had to give in and buy some handmade paper from my favorite paper shop. I have a precious few sheets of the most gorgeous Japanese kimono papers and unryu from Hiromi. Her shop in Bergamot Station was always an adventurous treasure hunt. She was the sweetest, funny girl. She had a German Shepherd named...hmmm....I think it was Psycho. He had an unusal name like that. He lived there in the daytime with her among the enormous stacks upon stacks of amazing papers that reached to the ceiling. There were papers with whole pieces of fruit embedded within. Oh how I miss going there!

Also, in the old wooden cabinet I came across an autograph book that belonged to me when I was in elementary school in the 70s. The picture on the front is classic 70-something.

And inside I have folded all the pastel pages into little accordion fans which hide the silly rhymes written by all my friends. It's a great keepsake from a time I do not remember much about.

And my most favorite of all the things I ran across deep in the back of the cupboard were three letters. One was written by my dear, dear grandmother, another was from her brother, my sweet Uncle Arnold, and yet another from my precious Mom.

My mom used to own an antique mall and my grandmother, a couple of my great-uncles, my aunt, and more family had booths there. These letters were written during a big sale on the day that she was closing the doors.

My grandmother and great uncle have since passed away. It was like a hug and a hello again from them to me. It made me smile deep in my heart to find them here this gray morning. These stacks of papers were new and old but all dear to me. I love finding the unexpected which surely was meant to be right here in my hallway. Thanks Seth. You always come up with such inspiring, fun adventures.

she refused to be led

i spent most of yesterday working in metal. and now my wrist remembers what that feels like. so i spent the last few minutes flinging out this little sheeplet who does not follow anyone whatsoever. and who could blame her for the?

happy monday to you!

Halloween is Coming...

We headed up to Roger's Gardens this afternoon to check out the Blackstone Theater, their rooms filled with Halloween treasures. They always have the most amazing pumpkins, gourds, decorations, and accessories.

 

Blackstone Theater: Roger's Gardens Halloween 2011 from Elora Lyda on Vimeo.

Here are some of the wonderful things we saw...

Huge bumpy pumpkins in the brightest orange.

These striped pumpkins were very small and very cool.

So many awesome things to decorate your own creepy castle.

They sell kits to make this fun haunted gingerbread house.

The portraits were especially eerie with this frightening couch overflowing with rats.

Pumpkins in every color including bright white and gray.

They have some fab black hats for the gentry.

These big pumpkins are awesome.

There's a whole room of these terrifying

holgraphic images.

They are SO scary!

Even the big Santos was wearing black today.

And when you are finished with all things Halloween,

there are so many other beautiful things

to enjoy!

...it rhymes with puke

 

Bluebird by Charles Bukowski

 

 

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up?
you want to screw up the works?
you want to blow my book sales in Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die
and we sleep together like that with our secret pact
and it's nice enough to make a man weep,

but I don't weep, do you?

years ago, when i first lived in hollywood, when i was still the sort of girl who was half southern baptist ruffles and half rock and roll trouble-maker, i read a Lot of charles bukowski. if you don't know who that is, i'm not gonna tell you. it gets my skin up when someone doesn't know who he is. it hurts my feelings a little bit, when someone says Who is That? like his name is dirty. two of my friends at my book club this week didn't know who he was. it makes me laugh now but at the time i took it a little personal. like how the hell could these girls, these smart girls who read All the Time, not know hank? seriously? bukowski helped me through a crazy ride down a hellish time of my life. he's like an old friend. i think everybody should know him.

and just to be clear, that is Not me in the picture above

back then, i was about 24 years old, one day during lunch, when i was at work, i was sitting at my desk reading the days run away like wild horses over the hills or some other excellent book of his poetry. my boss came in and sat down in the chair next to my desk. he was an extremely smart fellow. an intellectual head and shoulders above the rest. i hadn't been working for him for all that long but i admired his quiet intelligence. he was big time to me.

he looked over at me and saw my book and said, What are You doing reading bukowski? i looked right back at him and said, why wouldn't i read bukowski? and then i realized he only knew me as the southern baptist sweet young girl in a skirt. he didn't know about the rotten, dark, black-hearted girl underneath the pink dimples and eyelash flutters. i still remember sitting there and talking to him about bukowski and going on from there to talk about other writers and movies and such. that was a lovely job just for that reason alone. the people there were not only interested in art but they lived artful lives. i miss that about that place. the crazy, the stress, i don't miss it so much. but the smart interesting people are much missed.

once i saw a documentary on bukowski way back before barfly came out. someone at that same office loaned it to me. it was fabulous. i remember a scene where hank is in a 7-11 or a liquor store, some such place. and someone wants to know who he is. he tells them his name. the person doesn't get it. he says, bukowski. buke, it rhymes with puke...he's perfect, that guy.

for me, living in l.a. and finding someone so soulful, so depraved, so lost, but found, who had lived in l.a. and wrote about the streets i loved, the madness and insanity, it helped me. it inspired me, it scared me, it shocked me, and it entertained me. i will always love charles bukowski. and if you don't know who he is then look him up already. read many of his poems before you give up. some of them are nasty and crazy. some of them are so deeply moving they will make you feel better. so keep trying different ones because if one isn't your sort you are sure to find one that is. he had a lot to say and there's a little bit of you in one of them.

Alone with Everyone

by Charles Bukowski

  the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

this day

this day began at 4 a.m. with our second collie, Kai, who came to us from the collie rescue. we believe she must have spent a lot of time in a pen because when we walk her on the leash, she always pees right in the middle of the sidewalk. and if she doesn't feel well in the middle of the night, she doesn't know what she should do to let me know i need to come help her. she sleeps downstairs because she chases the cats, who sleep upstairs.

margo polo

popkin, aka poppy

and as i am a light sleeper, if her nails are clicking on the wooden floor, i wake up. and last night that is what happened. she doesn't bark to let me know she would like to go outside so i'm not quite sure if she is just finding a different place to lie down. but i kept hearing her clicking around and then she made one small noise so i got up, in the dark, and felt my way down the stairs and over the baby gate that keeps her on the first floor. poor old her. a new canned food had messed up her stomach and it was not pretty down there. i know, this all probably way more information than you care to hear. but this is my life and the gritty details create it so that's that.

i put her outside and knew, based on this happening before, that it was probably best to let her spend the next 2.5 hours out there. i cleaned up and headed back to bed. but i could hear her whining at the door, then she would bark. and by now it was a little after 4:30 a.m. and i didn't want her to wake up the neighbors or the kids, so i made the journey, in the dark, back downstairs and over the gate to let her in. i put her in the kennel so she would not be out and about experiencing her stomach ailment all over again. she was not so keen to be put in the kennel and that made me feel sorry for her even more. she's the sweetest, sweetest dog ever and i didn't want to make her feel like she was in trouble. i also didn't want to get back up to such a disaster and knew she would lie down and sleep and be fine. so she stayed in the kennel.

i never did go back to sleep. after that my mind kept picking at ideas and tumbling them over and over like they were beautiful, old coins. everything is so interesting at 5 a.m. the traffic was moving outside. i could hear it coming on stronger by the minute. people were in their cars heading off to important places and not so important places with cups of coffee of in their hands and their own daydreams flipping through their heads.

with only four hours of sleep i felt like the inside of my head was a sandbox. it was going to be next to impossible to get the kids up, fed, lunches made and out the door. but, lucky, lucky me. my husband got up and took care of everything. i did get up for a minute to help my oldest then went back to bed with a pillow over my head to the morning sounds. still, sleep was running away from me. i stayed in that bed until 11 o'clock! and here i sit now just getting out of the shower still needing to be dressed and moving. it's like time is frozen and i am hanging on to an icicle of the frozen night. i hear my phone dinging at me down the hall as someone is texting me.i see the sunshine on the house outside. but i am lingering between.

i am in here thinking of painting after painting after painting. i'm also concocting my idea for my Christmas ornament for the upcoming adorn holiday exchange. it is always best to get busy on that early but i never seem to manage it. maybe this year...

i'm hoping to get my studio picked up this week. to get to work and fill my etsy shop once again with all sorts of things. i'm also hoping to finally stock some prints in there. they're just as lovely as the original paintings but so much more affordable.

now to step into the world of those awake! i hope your day is productive and filled with joy. make sure to smile today, work at your happiness, and share it with others. be blessed!

Inspiration

 

About four or five years ago, my kids were still relatively young. And I was certainly younger than I am now. For whatever reason, back then, inspiration was something that came to me like oxygen. It was always available in overflowing vats of powerful creativity. I didn't know that it wasn't always going to be this way.

It doesn't worry me that it isn't here as much. I am not working at my creativity as I was back then. That part bothers me. Life changes. The way people need me has changed. Two little boys, a husband, a house full of animals, and they all depend on me. It is a joy but it is also taxing to my mind, to my sense of self which feed my desire to create. I don't turn to paint as I once did because it is messy, it is time consuming, it is a bother.

As soon as I begin a project I have to move on to make a lunch, drive a carpool, help with homework. I am not a person who is good at being divided in the process of creativity. When I work and my mind gets to soaring, if I stop, the rhythm is is not easily recovered. So, instead, I do not begin at all.

I confess, I miss the magic of inspiration. Before, when I would see a fat, red, ruby, I would immediately build something around it in my head. When I would shower, the words would pour out of my mouth just as the water rained from the nozzle. I could write a story in fifteen minutes in my liquid sanctuary.

My kids are going back to school tomorrow. Before my computer died I had three different book outlines cooking along on my computer. I have piles of sketches for projects and articles and bits and pieces of things begun and left behind all over the place. Much cleaning and organizing is in order but the ideas are percolating again.

For the first time in a long time I am yearning anew for inspiration fed hours of creating. I am looking forward to a revival of myself, my spirit, my creative animal, and to reconnecting with all my blog friends.