Discovery

Mosaics in Ireland

/ Pam Goode / 13 Comments

Flowers on the Wild Atlantic Way, Photo by Pam Goode
Mosaic by Pam Goode, Wild Atlantic Way

My studio mate in Ireland and I are both mosaic artists. One of us (NOT me) churns out gorgeous new work daily, and you’ll definitely want to keep an eye on her!

I, on the other hand, tend to spend a lot of time in my head and approach the actual work with the zeal of a sloth and the pace of a snail. I’m tempted to start making pieces now, so I can simply pop one out of my suitcase every other day and wow myself with my “productivity.”

Does that count?

But sometimes, and often in Ireland, I’m so overwhelmed by beauty and generosity that art just rolls right out of me like so many thank-yous to the universe.

The art above is one of those gifts.

On the left is a slightly blurred photo that I took about a decade ago on a gorgeous windy day during my first residency in Listowel, Ireland. We were exploring and enjoying a glorious walk on a glorious sandy beach — first along the high dunes and then down to the water under brilliant blue skies. That’s where I discovered the yellow shells shown in my last post, as well as a host of pink darlings twirling joyously in the breeze that immediately became my inspiration. On the right is the stained glass mosaic that I created from my photo.

If you happen to find yourself in Ireland during the month of April, please stop by and say hello. If we’re lucky, you may be be able to join us for a workshop! (Date to be determined; likely mid April)

Star Struck

/ Pam Goode / 1 Comment

A few years ago, I took a walk with my son and grandson through Historic Fourth Ward Park — a beautiful wildflower and indigenous plant heaven with a watershed pond smack in the middle of Midtown Atlanta. We walked and walked and gaped in surprise at the loveliness in front of us. And isn’t it funny how many “native” plants you’ve never seen before? Humans do have a bottomless hunger for the new, don’t we? — so often ignoring what’s right in front of us.

After resetting my expectations, I wanted to sit on the steps a bit and get a fuller view, and then a thing happened — I glanced down. And then? Sprinkled across the steps were metallic stars and equally delightful shapes in every color just sitting there glittering at me.

At first I wondered why someone had left their treasure behind, but I soon realized the answer — of course they had left them for me, and for any other passerby who needed a moment of joy.

As summer continued, I made two additional trips to Atlanta, again charmed by walks and hikes and exploring with no agenda other than Mac’s nap time. We could go anywhere, and indeed we went everywhere — parks and woodlands and rivers and bamboo forests and streams cleansed the soul and sharpened the vision, and it was bliss.

And surprisingly, the stars never stopped appearing, showing themselves on the Georgia Tech campus, city streets, the Doll Cemetery, along river beaches and woods, at a roadside memorial, the waterfall park in Greenville, my Charlotte walking path, and even at Pawleys Island. I knew they were left for me — left for each of us — as a message to hold on, look high, laugh, eat good food, create, sharpen my sight, keep walking, keep acknowledging, keep dreaming.

Nine months later I bought a package of gold stars and we tossed them high on New Year’s Eve. Not surprisingly, there are still a gracious plenty between the planks of my kitchen table, and seeing one glint with the light as I walk past never fails to make me happy. And now since that very first 2020 sighting of the stars, they’ve just kept coming, usually where you’d least expect to see them, and other times when you need to see them most.

We are never as alone as we feel.

Birds and Words

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

Today I got out early enough for a bit of a breeze and so many birds, The birds are a gift to my own ever-tenuous ability to hear, as well as a sort of much needed cosmic validation that stretches between us. I’m still here and you’re still here, and some knowing of that life spark passes between us.

When I walk, the words flow, quite unlike the way they sit, box-like, arms crossed and eyes shut tight to truth, when I’m still. I often invite them quite graciously to join me at the table, but they know my tricks. And more, they know the cage has to rattle for truth to escape.

So I use my legs for the rattling. They say exercise saves lives. I say that much of that rebirth springs from the ground and heads straight to the page.

Birds in Tree Crop