Monday, January 31, 2011

Monday January 31, 2011 A River of Stones

A Small Stone #30

I take a deep breath
And relax
My spirit is at peace

I think of sandy beaches
Sand between my toes
Now desert sand
And stickers in my toes


Message in a Bottle 1-3-11

Communication comes in many forms
Perhaps a smile across the room
A folded note slipped into the palm
The phone rings
The bell on the computer announces
You've got mail

It used to be
Word or symbols scratched
On a canyon wall
Smoke signals
A note tied on the ankle of a pigeon
A telegram sent over wires
A letter slipped into an envelope

But nothing really compares
To a note in a bottle,
The sender doesn't know the destination
Or if it will arrive at all
It is an act of optimism

To see if it will be found
Where it will go
And if you will call

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Sunday January 30, 2011 Carry on Tuesday/ A River of Stones/I Saw Sunday/Sunday Scribblings

Carry on Tuesday #90 Prompt: Use any or all of this Longsfellow poem.

Between the dark and the daylight
When the light is beginning to lower
Comes a pause in the day's occupation
That is known as the Children's Hour

I have chosen to work with the first line.

The sliver between
Dark and daylight
Belongs to me
It is the time of day
When this day is first revealed.

Sometimes a pure fresh green,
The green you find when
You look under or within,
Sometimes pink, lavender and blue
Sometimes yellow and blood red

It is a moment of expectation
Breathless, quiet and still
Before the explosion
Of the sun
Coming into full view,
Lighting all the earth,
Reassuring all is still here
The same as you

A Small Stone #30

I can hold you in my hand
A dust catcher no doubt
Sit on the shelf
You conceal
Waiting to reveal
All the words
And pictures within
One page after another
Ready to fill
The quiet hours

Image from the internet.

Sunday Scribblings #252

What is safe
Is it a small strong box
Under the bed
Warm when it is cold
Eat when hungry

Your feet firmly
On the ground without fear
It will give way
Turn your back
Without fear of attack

Good weather or foul
There are those
You can count on
To be safe is
To live without fear
Even from self

Check out weekend window. Great images of Taos, NM.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Saturday January 29, 2011 A River of Stones/Writer's Island

Image from the internet.

A Small Stone#29

Gathering ideas
Into a basket
To separate
Seed from shaft
Sorting to category
A constant activity
Picking up a single idea
Holding it to the light
Calculating the next step

Image from the internet.

Prompt % for 2011: Illusion

Yesterday is erased
Forms come into sharp focus
As they are disappearing

Dissolving again
All is an illusion,
Reality is but a slight of hand.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Friday January 28, 2011 A River of Stones

Image from the internet.

A Small Stone #28

I looked at the writing on the page
Characters formed beautifully
But without understanding
I do not speak your language

Image from the internet.


These are a few of my favorite films.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Thursday January 27, 2011 A River of Stones/ Poets United/ Magpie Tales

A Small Stone#27

Holding the old
Journal, tattered and torn
Written in your Grandmother's
Hand, 1868
Spoke across time
Of days gone bye
Her time to mine

Poets United prompt: #33 Fire

Red, orange, and white
Fire is a coin
With two sides


And yet....

Sets hearts ablaze

Fire across the prairie
Flames lapping with the wind
Howling like a banshee,
Hooves touch lightly in flight
Wild fire was first recorded
around 420 million years ago.

Smoke rises
Wafts messages
To spirit world
Burns earth into vessels
Fire transforms

In a darker time
"A great way to rid
Oneself of witches,
Gypsies and fags,"
A few live coals,
Breathed into flames
A coin with two sides.

Magpie #50

Plan "B"
I'm not sure
I could advise
Others to follow
A mysterious arrow
But it seems to me
When an arrow appears
From nowhere
It probably is
The Universe speaking.

Stop, look and listen
Make a choice
Based on the heart,
An adventure unexpected
In a winter landscape
Take the bread
From your pocket
Drop some crumbs
To mark the trail
Just in case
You don't like it.

Tuesday January 25, 2011 A River of Stones

Image from the internet.
Small Stone #25

The day has been
Like a paper chain
Each link is attached
To the next link
Each activity of my day
Has been attached
One to the other

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Tuesday January 25, 2011 A River of Stones

A River of Stones
A Small Stone #25

In the shadows
Of the studio
It is my soft furry kitten
He curls upon my desk
And I think, he thinks
He is helping me at
The computer.
And maybe he is...


Monday, January 24, 2011

Monday January 24, 2011 A River of Stones/Potluck Poetry

Image from the internet

A small stone #24

While watching Masterpiece
Theater, I heard the words:

What the eye can't see
The heart won't grieve over.

Perhaps it is true.
Or maybe it should be:

What the heart doesn't know
The eye won't grieve over

Keep the heart in the dark

Images from the internet.
Potluck Poetry Prompt: Rules, regulation and Laws

Heart Attack
Since the heart is said to be
A lonely hunter
When it decides what it wants
Does it follow all the
Rules, regulations and laws

Thump, thump
Thump, thump

The desire of the heart is
Based on lots of things
But no one tell it
What to want,
Rules, regulations and laws
Be damned

Thump, thump
Thump, thump

The heart will find tit's victim
And devour it
Leaving its bloody tracks behind
Foot prints in the snow,
Rules, regulations and laws
Be damned

Thump, thump
Thump, thump

It is the only way
To satisfaction
The heart may lay
Quietly thumping
But on that day
Its a horror show
No matter the rules,
Regulations and laws.

Thump, thump
Thump, thump

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Sunday January 23, 2011 Sunday Scribblings/ A River of Stones/Carry on Tuesday

Images from Stardreamingwith Sherry Bluesky: A Poet on Poetry.

Sunday Scribblings #251 Eternity

One of the biggest words
In the English language
It is something
We will never see
And yet...we will be

Could it be that
All eternity
is complete
In this moment

We are here
We are now
This is all there is
A little piece of

I hold it in my hand
Turn it to the light
For all to see
It is yours'
It is mine
This little piece of

I offer it to you
The two pieces join
A little more complete
A little larger piece of

For Sherry and her beloved companion, Pup.


A River of Stones

One Small Stone #23
Sunday isn't the same
When a woman loses her shadow
Lonely and alone
She navigates sorrow

For Sherry and Pup.

Carry on Tuesday Prompt: Are we there yet?

The sun is shinning and
The world is different
Far away
Nothing is the same.

I call to you
I hear no answer
Nothing is the same

Only time will heal your leaving
The world is different
I do not know my way
Nothing is the same

The sun rose in you
Now it rises alone
The nights are lonely too
I howl to the moon
Nothing is the same.

The minutes drag
I call out,
Are we there yet?

I had no idea
How hard
Or how long
the trip would be
Without you

For Sherry and Pup.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Saturday January 22, 2010 River of Stones/Writers Island

Saturday morning
Silently pink colors the sky
Distant bark greets the day

By smiley face 116

Writers Island Prompt# 4: Clarity

To get clear
To reach understanding,
Who am I?
What am I passionate about?
What am I trying to say?
To who am I speaking?
I am often filled with questions.
As I slowly turn the dial
Waiting for the
Edges to come into focus.
To become clear.

Sometimes I have an idea,
I take it from the shelf,
Examine it
And realize it is not ready
Or... I am not ready,
I have no clarity,
I must wait.
It is returned to the shelf
And I select another

The time will come
There are no deadlines
It's about clarity
And sharp focus

The idea is but an embryo
Newly formed
It floats
It has its' own time
And I must wait
For it to
Become fully formed.
Fully clear.

Friday, January 21, 2011

Friday January 21, 2011 River of Stones/We Write Poems

We Write Poems Prompt #38 Morning Wake-up Call

Suddenly I am aware,
I have returned exactly
To fit into my body,
I quietly rise,
Put on my clothes
Return to collect
Beau, the sleeping,
soft kitten from my pillow.

Close the bedroom door.
It is till dark,
All is quiet.

Turn on the kitchen light
Make coffee,
Heat the water,
For the rich back coffee
Prepare breakfast.
Sometimes I read
Or catch the news.

I step outside
It is still dark
All is quiet
I take a deep breath
Of fresh mountain air.

I go to the studio,
Beau is waiting at the studio door.
It is his morning routine
He loves to go to the studio.
He helps out with the computer
And falls asleep in his chair.

I turn on the computer
The screen glows in the dark.
I pick up my pen
My journal is open
Often I write until mid-morning

Then I turn to my projects
Upon the work table,
Their arrangement,
Reflects the end of yesterday,
Or to a painting waiting on the easel

There is such beauty in the early morning,
I like to the see the sun rise above Taos Mountain,
Before this happens,
It is still dark
And all is quiet.


A Small Stone #21

Shhhh... listen...
Stillness and quietude...
The magic of
Early morning light
The sun begins its'
Assent over Taos Mountain

A new beginning
The mystery continues
Ancient sky watchers,
Scanned the sky.
Prayed in the kiva
Taos Valley, so long ago. now.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Thursday January 20, 2011Theme Thursday/Poets United/ A River of Stones/Statement about Artists' Books

Theme Thursday Prompt: Flip


... Flip

... Flip

... Flip



Both sides the same....


Poets United Prompt: #20 As time Goes Bye

As time goes bye,
I realize there
Are things that have gone bye,
Like the memory of lovely meadows,
High in the mountains,
I loved each day,
But know I'll never pass
That way again.

And time goes bye
So many things that were
But with time
They have gone bye
Fading into distant memory
They are the glittering jewels of my life.
Skipping across a sparkling steam,
From rock to rock,
As a red dragonfly in summer.

Image from the internet.

Small Stone #20

On the first day of school,
I received my books.
Since I could not yet read
I did not know what they said,
But I knew they were precious.
I remember we were told,
Do not write on your books,
We made brown paper covers
Today I still hold books precious.
An entry, a beginning.


Petite Enchantments Book Project

Petite Enchantments is an altered book. I selected this book project as my first project, because of the number of little books that would go inside. I found the little bookcase, and I painted it with buttermilk paint. The challenge was to create little books to go inside of the little bookcase. It was a good opportunity to teach myself to make books. They were small, but they had everything a larger book would have. I created the little books, from a children's book, Nursery Friends From France, My Travelship, A New and Decidedly Different Series of Travel Books for children. It was a delightful children's book, I found in a used bookstore in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The book was no longer in good condition, so it didn't cost very much.


The artists' book is a work of art that is conceived as a book and doesn't exist in any other form or format. I have become interested in artists' books and artists' book projects. Artist's book projects are artists books that extend beyond just the book, or may be a series of books. As in the Petite Enchantments, the altered books, the bookcase, and an additional book, used as a pedestal for the little bookcase.

According to Brad Freeman, "...artists' publication are a marginal activity (even within the art world), there are few outlets for viewing and buying them. However, the number of stores that carry artists' publications has increased in the past fifteen years.

April Sheridan says, "In this moment, I notice a number of remarkable things occurring--culture shops popping up that are including artfully made books along with music and clothing; a number of people using books in their art; conferences on the future of the book and the future of letterpress."

She also says, she has often heard artists say, "I'm not a writer I'm an artist"? "Some artists fear writing, fear even a basic critical engagement or discourse They believe that in some way it might remove the pure pleasure they receive from the making. But writing is a way of thinking and thinking is what improves the outcome of our artistic process. Writing is essential to understanding and to connecting us to the rest of the world."

Joanne Mattera reported from Art Miami, last year it was the "tree," this year it was the book; paintings, installations, everything--"book."

Lucy Lippard published the essay Conspicuous Consumption: New Artist's Books, " which she outlined reasons why the democratic multiple had failed to reach its full potential. She felt that the artist's book, in attempting to compete with mass culture, had modeled itself on commercial publishing and thus become a watered-down imitation of both literature and art."

"While criticizing the apparent failures of artists' books, Lippard also highlighted a number of artists she felt were making exceptionally promising work. She cited Wendy Ewald's Appalachian Women: Three Generations, which she praised as a work that combines photos and oral history to create a moving document about the "real world" issues. Lippard called Masao Gozu's In, New York, a book "whose form as well as its content provide a bit of a jolt."

"There are two ideas about artist's books. One is the democratic idea, that artists want to make books that are intimate, portable and that communicate meaningful content to a diverse audience, and the other is the expensive work that sells to a few private collectors and special collections libraries."

As an artist, I like the idea that as books are disappearing, I am fetishizing books or making precious. It is with an actual book, my sensibilities awaken. I love book and enjoy the tactile qualities of the book. I love to hold them, touch and feel them, smell them and of course read them. There is also a history of the pages of a book that I like; a sequence, the marking, the tears, topography, and the weight of a book. As Tess Kincaid has posted on her blog, "I adore the scent of old paper in secondhand book stores and the dance of words on a page..."

For more than a thousand years all manuscripts were written and illustrated by hand. There has always been a tension between the text and the illustration: if the book was sent to the illustrator first, little room was left for text. And if the book was sent to the text artist first, very little room was left for the illustration. Sometimes books are made up of only words, and sometimes books are only illustrations. The book has a complex format that is difficult to exhibit and laborious to produce. The making of the book confers authority on the maker and the cultural icon of the book remains a potent sign.

The experience of making and reading books occurs in a private and meditative apace. The activities of making a book are socially coded in a positive way for me. The sewing of pages, the handling of glue and paste, sometimes detailed drawings and paintings. The making of a book reflects the attention to detail and a disposition toward an esthetic pleasure in the selection and combination of materials.

Taking time off.....

I am taking some time off from posting on my blog.  I am studying, practicing, have so much to learn....