The Sketchbook project

I found this little project in one of the art magazines. They send you a tiny little sketchbook (3 1/2 by 5 1/2), you fill it up, send it back and it goes into a show. They are due Feb. 15th.
If you are interested it is:

The Art House
309 Peters. St.
Atlanta GA 30313

I have to get busy!

Urban Cowgirl

I only managed to attend one rodeo last year and did not get to take nearly enough photos. This chicka's tattoos and sunglasses were very intriguing.

Deer Crossing

This is my third entry for the abstract show. I like playing with textures and layers of paint. Photographing the gold leaf is challenging however. It shows up a lot shinier in the photo than in real life. The brown patches are more interesting than the photo shows because they are instant rust.

Hard Winter

This is my second abstract. The weather and terrain here can be unforgiving. In Sparwood, which is the next valley over from where I live, 11 snowmobilers were caught in an avanlanche last week. Three survived. Mother nature is not to be taken lightly.

February is the Cruelest Month

Relax, I know it's not February yet, but that's the name of this painting. I have an abstract show coming up in Kimberley. I'm rather happy (at the moment) with this one. Abstract always lures me with the idea that it would be easy but it is not! I've been wanting to do some abstracts so this show gives me an excellent reason to pursue them.

Hmmm...

I was trying to do some bighorn sheep paintings but this just didn't turn out. The ram was itching his shoulder with his horn but it doesn't seem to come across in the painting. The twisty design element looks like a tapeworm and there is no corelation between the sheep and the background. I'm thinking paint-over.

You learn something every time you paint. Sometimes you learn that your'e not the hot stuff you think you are!

Clock of the Wind

This beautiful poem was published in the VictoriaTimes Colonist last Christmas season. I tried to track down the author but had no luck. It makes me feel such a sense of place. Although it appears to have been written about Vancouver Island, I feel the same way as I walk through the Columbia Valley winter landscape.

Clock of the Wind

I follow the path to the winter stream,
past the confetti of huckleberry leaves
to pick maple leaves caught in the sword ferns,
to keep the David Austin roses warm.

It's nearly Solstice.
I follow the water's sound,
the tree branch sound,
listen to the clock of the wind
winding through the hemlocks.

I'm bound to this place
like the small dark birds
I can't name
who have found their home
in the crowned branches of the salmonberries.
I listen for their heatbeats. Their wingbeats.

And these dark days,
when the sun stands still,
I want to hang broken mirrors, small clocks
and castanets from the apple trees.
Dance.
Bring back the light.