An Artist Who Writes
“Windows open out onto the universe around you, but doors will take you to where your imagination lies.”
― Anthony T. Hincks
I have always been fascinated with doors, both literal and metaphorical. What lies behind them? Always I have found in my life when one door closes another one will open- often leading to a much better place.
All photos shot in 2013 along the Camino de Santiago with the exception of the yellow door which was shot in Ireland in 2017.
“You could sell those”
a familiar phrase
then watch my passion
turn to drudgery
as I turn out clones of my art
for a few shekels in my pocket
or I could continue to create butterflies
just for the joy of watching them fly
setting them free
without attachment
savoring the delight
as they land
in another’s hands
It takes a certain amount of energy to sell ones work- at least as much as making it. After the New Year, I have given up such notions to just play and experiment with printmaking, clay, and mosaics. It’s liberating to just experience a process without attachment to profit or outcome. Play is undervalued in our culture. It is so rejuvenating.
All I could hear
was the swoosh of my skis
and the sound of my breath.
When I stopped
I was wrapped in silence
Skiing today at Todd Lake near Mt. Bachelor, Oregon
Upstairs in my studio is a jumble of old photographs and boxes of slides from my youth in shoe boxes beneath a work table. Those of you from the “pre-digital” age might relate to this. When my son was born over thirty years ago I changed my ways and carefully 
documented his life and our life as a family in tidy photo albums- until he left home. Currently, my photos are all on my cell phone or floating in “The Cloud.” Now and again I think that I should go through and sort out my old photos into albums. But then I ask “Why?” I’m not famous. I have no grandchildren.
They have no meaning other to myself and will mostly be recycled as with my physical body. Maybe if I’m lucky some will wind up in some artist’s collage.
Shoe Boxes
When I die he will find them
Decades of my life
Stored in shoe boxes upstairs
Hundreds of captionless photos tucked in envelopes
Slides stacked neatly in folding Kodak boxes
Captured by a cheap camera
In eager hands
They illustrate the stories
That have largely gone untold
The forces of my life
That sanded me smooth on the inside,
Carved on the surface
Experiences of a young woman
Seeking adventure
And a place at the world’s table
When he finds them
He will see a younger me
With unnamed friends and unnamed lovers
Unnamed mountains
Unnamed rivers
Smiling
He will see walruses basking on rocks,
But not hear their music
Cabins, but not feel their warmth
Trails, but not know their destinations
My stories will die with me
Melding into the ethos
He will never know my joy
My youthful dreams
My pain and disappointments
The person before Mother
The me before you
I have been feeding the wild birds around my house for years. In the morning I watch them from my bed as I sip my tea. There is also a feeder hanging in front of my kitchen window giving entertainment as I wash dishes. It’s a meditation of sorts. There are the usual year round residents and then the migratory birds as they make their way North or South in the Spring and Fall. I never tire of watching them.
BIRD FEEDER
The Chickadee stated its presence in the branches above
“Chicka-dee-dee-dee”
“Chicka-dee-dee-dee”
Impatient
I fill the old mossy wooden feeder that hangs from a tree limb
With an abundance of shiny, black, sunflower seeds
From the bucket hanging on my arm.
The chickadee knows me
I am no stranger to the birds here
The nuthatches, jays, juncos, hummingbirds
We are neighbors, friends of sorts
They go about their business and I to mine
hanging laundry, working in the yard
As I gaze from my window
I delight in their flit and flutter about the feeder
And find peace in watching them
Losing track of time
Well worth the price
for a sack of bird seed
“Rocks and minerals: the oldest storytellers.”
― A.D. Posey
I’ve always been fascinated by rock formations. There is a story there if you pause to notice…..
A drought in New Mexico?
An uplift of an inland sea?
Swimming has been a part of my life since I was a teenager. It provides me with exercise and emotional release. I try to swim at least twice a week.
Last week when I stepped out on the pool deck I was dismayed to see a class taking up the last two lanes. All the rest of the lanes were full except for the water jogging lane. I asked the lifeguard if I could swim in that lane, assuring him that I would move if water joggers showed up. He replied, ” Oh, no problem. I’ve never had any problems with the 11 to 1 swim. You guys always seem to work things out on your own.”
His statement gave me pause. As I swam, I realized that in the 27 years I had been swimming in that pool, I never had issues with any other swimmer in the lanes. Every day during the adult lap swim, people of all shapes, sizes, ages, varying ethnicities, and political leanings manage to share this aquatic real estate and get along. We make room for one another and try to join a lane of similar swimming ability. When I have asked to join a lane, I have never felt unwelcomed. We stay out of each other’s way. There is a politeness to a fault.
If only the rest of the world could operate like the 11 to 1 lap swim.
Lap Swim
Lost in a fluid world
Bubbles of air
Stream past my ears
Immersed in liquid meditation
The sound of my breathing
The rhythm of my strokes
The repetition of laps
Soothes me
Thoughts dissolve
Emotions untangle
Problems find solutions
Suspended from land
In the blue cosmos
Of the public pool
I you are into gardening you know that to stimulate growth, a shrub needs to be pruned. A plant subjected to stress is stimulated to flower.
Originally my intent for this blog was solely to promote my artwork. The events of this last year changed all that. After the 2016 election, I was devastated. My mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in February. My father passed away in May. Disasters, man-made and natural, plagued my psyche. I became blocked as a visual artist. Then, I put promotion aside and began to write poetry and began my blog .
When I signed up for WordPress I wasn’t expecting more than just a platform to just plunk things online. I found community, I found like-minded people all over the world. I found hope, motivation, & inspiration. I’ve grown as a writer and as a blogger. Two of my poems have been selected for publication. There are followers on my blog and I follow the blogging journeys of others. Finally, It’s taken me a year but I have finally shed my fear and have started to create with heart again.
In the darkness I have grown. Through hard times, I have begun to flower.
The year 2017 slunk away
Like stray cat that lost a fight
Leaving bloody tracks and tufts of fur
In its wake
The flood waters have receded
Fires still burn to the south
Refugees across the globe pray for safety
The homeless seek shelter
And the men still beat their chests in Washington
Shouting over truth
But if you are very still and listen
You can hear the sound of the peoples’ drum beats
Pulsing
Building up strength and timbre
Beneath that thin veneer of chaos
Power is as ephemeral as a passing storm
Blowing itself out with the passage of time
Give pause and consider
For 365 days the sun rose and set of its own accord
The tides ebbed and flowed
And one day in August
the moon crowned the sun king
With a corona of light
Wrapping us all in illuminated smiles
We are still here
With our lives
Our memories
Our dreams
Celebrating community
Beauty and love
Between the lines of a script
We did not write
There will be a new story
Starting tomorrow
We have the choice
to change the outcome, beginning with ourselves
And we will all be there
To feed the fire of hope
To light our way through the New Year
Of 2018
Wishing you all the best in this New Year,
Alanna
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In meditation the goal is to focus on the breath, observing thoughts with non judgement. It is an exercise to become aware of one’s inner dialogue without criticism. According to 
By Alanna Pass 