To be honest, I have very little recall of most Fourth of July festivities. I don’t dislike the day — I’m just ambivalent. Actually, wait . . . . . . . okay, maybe I’m not ambivalent at all.
The best thing I remember about the fourth of July is children. I love seeing their bright faces, watching to see which balloon figurine they’ll choose and then stand in eye-popping awe as a masterfully (and surely exhausted) moustachioed man (or woman) twists and turns and blows and wiggles his way into the skinny balloons until THWACK! And suddenly the child is magically holding a pretty darn good replica of a dog/spaceship/tuba/baby girl/….. And mind you, this is all AFTER we’ve stood in the forever-line for tiny-tot-face-painting.
The saving grace, of course, is the look in their eyes and the glee lighting the entire night sky.
The Wishing Tree: SOLD, 8″ x 8″, Glass, Millefiori on Wedi Board. Colorado Dawn: AVAILABLE, 7″H and 13″ W, Mexican Smalti, Mexican Smalti Tortillas, Chopped and Divoted. Mirrored Wall:NOT AVAILABLE, 33″H x 15″W, Hand-Cut Mirror and Colored Mirror; Outdoor Installation for Ciel Gallery (now demolished). Wasteland: SOLD, 18″ x 18″; Agate, Mirror, Stained Glass, Unglazed Porcelain, Aquarium Gravel, Pewter; This mosaic began with a dream. Because the image is so void-like, I included lines from T.S. Eliot’s Wasteland and The Hollow Men using small pewter beads that crash into the deep. The mirror-backed “void” reflects the viewer. From the center, spirals of poetry and blank human faces form a rough heart shape, balancing the sense of desolation with a touch of hope. From the central abyss, the tesserae become less defined and increasingly chaotic, until in some spots there are no tesserae at all, but only a gouged space remaining. He Said, She Said: NOT AVAILABLE; 12″ x 7″ Drawing on Paper (created for a future project that didn’t happen). Sunbather: NFS, 10″H x 10″W by 5″ Deep; Crystal, Beads, Agate, Glass, Shell, Copper on Stone. Wild Hearts: SOLD, Unglazed Porcelain, Clay, Beads. Sunflower Table:SOLD, 46″ rectangular mosaic partially shown, Glass. The Boy with a Moon and Star: SOLD, Glass on Wedi Board. Late Bloomer:AVAILABLE, 10″H x 36″L x 18″W; Selected by and displayed at the Society of American Mosaics 2010; Glass, Metal, Mineral, Shell, Beads, Carborundum, Wire, Hand-Carved Styrofoam base by me; Through art, I hope to capture and momentarily magnify archetypal awakenings that resonate with the human spirit. I’m drawn to create with mixed materials because I want, above all, to create as full an image as I can manage. Late Bloomer pulls from the miscellanea of life — sometimes messy, sometimes arbitrary, always fascinating, always more cluttered than we had imagined. The pruning and fitting together of disparate materials becomes a way to order my own thoughts, emotions, and priorities, allowing the finished piece to serve as a kind of talisman.
It’s a bit dreary today (not to mention several other days across the last few weeks), so how about a handful of Sunny Provence?!
I took these photos during a glorious week in Menerbes. Now, I’m one of those girls who LOVES traveling countrysides, frankly they just flat out amaze me. Have a look, and let me know what you think!
And no, I did not visit with Peter Mayle, but I did pass his delightfully charming house!
P.S. During our walk along the gorgeously ancient cobblestones, we passed an enticing church that was closed. Not to be deterred, I snapped a bit of the interior through the keyhole.
A few weeks ago, I decided to take a leap — a big one for me. But after years of “NO, I Might Need That!” I felt in the depths of my soul that it was time to purge, to let go and live happily ever after with what I already have — mostly, to feel lighter myself.
Ohhhhh how very wrong I was. Or right. Or something in between. The truth is that I just don’t know, because purging is not in my wheelhouse. But a week or so ago, something in me changed, and I hit the LEAP button. Had I done a positive thing that would make life easier, or had I just wildly tossed all the supplies that I’ll certainly need on Monday?
And in truth I wasn’t even quite sure what my end goal was, but I was definitely certain that some sort of action needed to happen. How did I know? Honestly, that part remains a bit fuzzy, but I forged ahead anyway, enlisting the help of a friend and going at it Big Time.
So we put on old clothes and sat on the floor for hours and climbed through years of well-stashed “but I might need this!” mosaic supplies, eyeing each piece relentlessly. And then, after filling boxes upon boxes upon boxes of glass and china that I reluctantly deemed “will never be used” … I tossed it. Okay not all of it, but so many boxes that my back still hurts, AND I’ve lightened half of my supplies. What was I thinking?
It’s a funny thing. One day life seems perfect, and the next day you realize you’re only using half of what you’ve collected over the years and maybe you DON’T need it all. And maybe you don’t even know exactly why, but you see the path and it’s calling you. And then I shed my very-long-time way of seeing, and suddenly now it’s hard to remember what I gave away.
And even more surprising, I found myself joyously making art again and planning classes.
It’s unusual for me to enter the hell of housework, but sure, every now and then it happens. And this is one of my favorite things about the holidays — the joy of family arriving makes everything fun — even cleaning. I mean, it isn’t raucously fun, but still. At any rate, my life of late has been a whirlwind of washing everything in the house, tossing anything that’s no longer usable, and donating the rest. And then comes the fun part — re-dreaming, re-arranging, re-hanging and, often enough, re-loving.
Yes, the wonderful, mind-altering, fabulous thing happened, and yes, I actually cleaned.
Mind you, when I say I cleaned, I mean I CLEANED — right through the nittiest gritty on the planet. And then another thing happened. A wonderful, magical, mystical thing.
I was hot into ripping off bed covers and sheets and pillows and the errant what IS that? when I saw it. Between the mattress and the box spring, between the feeling and the knowing, between the motion and the act (10 points if you recognize the reference), a small piece of folded paper poked herself out quite nonchalantly. Just a papery flutter minding it’s own papery business. So of course I immediately pulled it out, and with it flew a lilting passel of individually written 20-year-old memories spilled full out and joyously tumbling all over the floor. Some written to me; some written to each other.
And suddenly I was back in those joyous days of artists arriving from multiple states, laughing and creating non-stop, sharing food and ideas and sleeping exhaustedly on every flat-enough service of every room in the house.
Over those years, we made art together for hours and hours at a time, easily filling a day or two with each visit. New friends, old friends, come-and-go friends, love-you-forever friends.
“A security I cannot describe.” “Pure solace, as it always is.” “May you have an enchanted and marvelous time in this room.” “Rest and be refreshed.” “I find peace being in this bed and with those who live here.” “Sorry for the scraps — I don’t travel with paper!” “Rest and be refreshed.” “Is this bed comfy or what???” “Workshops, gardens, peace, contentment, beauty, and inspiring art.” “With each short visit, I’m reminded how it might be to stay with cherished family. Thank you for your friendship, humor, advice, and suggestions.”
And it was, again, bliss, no matter the distance.
Love you forever, indeed. Maybe cleaning isn’t so overrated after all.
* Image above by Pam Goode, taken one night in Ireland.
Some days the wind is so merciless that the few birds venturing out hasten in their flight, cursing the rougher movements, the lack of food, the strain of wings.
Some days the sand blows so briskly that it stings, minuscule dots of quartz and glass co-mingling with the sharper air that pulls my breath away.
Some days seem ripe for staying in and lolling here and there on softer sofas than this.
Yet some days lay splendidly before us, mingling breath and sea and quartz into our dreams.
In truth, I’ve never happened upon a day in Ireland that hasn’t been magic, but the point is that Yesterday was MAGIC. And not only was it MAGIC, but it was MAGIC over and over again.
“What would you like to see?”, asked Olive. “Stripey Rocks and Cows, Please!”, I said all atwitter. There was a slight pause and a bit of a smile and then, “Well okay!”.
It started with the rocks — a mystical evening just beginning to turn, but bright enough to see a glow everywhere (because … IRELAND!”) And suddenly they were everywhere.
Plus a boot.
And then of course, the rest of the story ….
(Press to Play)
Well hello there lovelies!!!!! You made my day!
Becoming, Friday, April 28, 5:00 – 7:00 PM at Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland
Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 27
I’m just back from two and a half days in and around beautiful Dingle, Ireland and surroundings, and I regret to say that there’s no way I can show you everything. I’ll start out with several of our first stops and will try to keep up with my favorites a few at a time.
I never quite realized that there’s only one way to get to Dingle unless you happen to be driving a large truck or bus. All these years I suspected that my co-travelers were having fun torturing me, but apparently not. So yes, we did the Connor Pass, which is either miraculously gorgeous or head-spinningly dangerous, depending on your tolerance for screaming. The road is long and indeed winding, and the fog! Thick as thieves!
One of the highest mountain passes in Ireland, the path is winding and narrow, and the height is 410 meters (or 1345.13 feet) about sea level. With sheer drops and some roads too narrow for two cars to pass (they’re forced to back up and let one move forward at a time), a lot of people consider it great fun. Whether you love it or hate it, it’s absolutely a standout experience.
Closer to ground level, the sea is everywhere, and much closer to my comfort zone.
Below, you’ll see some of my favorites from Day 1.
Enjoy!
Left to Right and Top to Bottom:
1-3 are images from the Connor Pass.
The last six photos are from a beautiful and very secluded beach. Isn’t nature incredible?????
Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 18
Yesterday we had a long, blissful walk along the Bromore Cliffs near Ballybunion. I can’t really tell you how these voluptuously sculpted cliffs have affected me.
The 180 foot undulating cliffs are magic.
They are life, light, and lichen, striated at angles that show the tumultuous heaves of the earth.
They are water, both calm and screaming, and breath, both soft and harsh against the sandy shore.
They are tiny flowers seemingly too delicate to fight for light and space, and yet they thrive.
They are hope and bliss and longing and celebration and dancing like a hurricane.
They are peace and hope and joy.
They are every one of us.
Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, County Kerry, Ireland.
Pam Goode Writes 