Archive for July, 2013
All artwork at Lovely. Please contact Liz Shaw.
This is for my friend, Maili. Her blog is The Maili Files. She’s a wonderful chef and writer. She loves cabbages.
It would be Lovely to see you at Lovely!
“Make your ego porous. Will is of little importance, complaining is nothing, fame is nothing. Openness, patience, receptivity, solitude is everything.”
~Rainer Maria Rilke
Dunga Brook Diary
Infused Metal Plates
Float Mounted, Ready To Hang
Art comes into being in that abstract interval between a thought and reality, and no one – not even the artist who created it – can remeasure the influences that caused it.” (Edgar A. Payne)
“One of my mentors, Miss Pamela des Barres, imagines that if my images were music they would sound like Beethoven, Sinatra and the Beatles combined. I’ll take that.
It is my intent to deify and illuminates the ordinary and my desire is that you might find the beautiful in the ordinary, too.
Each photo is imbued with the mystery of love at first sight, infused with my present and my past and my daily rebirth into a new freedom, a swan dive, if you will, into the deep end of the pool, lit by color, texture, and emotion.”
If you are interested in being a collector, thank YOU!
There are 5 in a series, some near sold-out, email a description of your selection.
Credit cards/Paypal, shipping- West Coast $15, East Coast $10
For D. D.k. Crawford…the story of Chevy’s return home.
Chevy disappeared this past Thursday as I was walking him, I had dropped his leash for a minute to look for my grandmother’s ring, which was refashioned from my grandfather’s platinum and diamond hat pin (he was a dandy back in the day), the ring had gone missing near the creek, probably broke when I scaled the walls of the creek, earlier in the day).
No ring and when I looked up from my search, no Chevy. He had disappeared into the tall grasses around us- we’ve had so much rain he could just poof, disappear. He likes to mosey off to look for fun creatures, I wasn’t too worried as he always reappears, in 10 minutes or an hour, he always comes back.
One time he flushed a deer from this very spot, he chased close to her heels as she zigged and zagged, trying to shake him. She crossed the road and jumped a fence. So did he. I could hear heavy breathing as she plunged into the woods 30 acres away. He came back ten minutes later, heaving and breathing heavy, himself.
But this time, he didn’t come back. I called and called. My son and I searched until 2am. No Chev. That night, I was lying in bed when I heard his bark, it was 3 am. I went outside and called, no Chev. I sat out there for an hour, he never barked again.
Next day, more searching, the hills and woods held no clues. We expanded miles past our home, nothing. We made flyers, we called pounds and vets. Friday at 3 am that bark again, I went outside again, called and fell silent, hoping to hear him again, I was trying to get a read on where the bark was coming from. No more barking.
Saturday morning, I was up early, walking towards where I believed the bark was from, behind Tim’s barn. My neighbor, Margo had heard it, too. No luck. All day Saturday there were false sightings. I drove for miles, handing out flyers. A woman had seen him an hour from here. Someone on the next road had heard barking.
I knew these weren’t him. He is a wanderer, not an escapee, he comes home, an hour tops, and he keeps his circle close to home, even on the trail of a deer, nipping at a deer’s heels, he will circle back in a bit when he is worn out. I was devastated. I was sure, despite the barks, he was gone.
My fear was his leash was caught and he was strangled in a panic to escape. This deep sorrow was actually, I believe, the realization of how much I love this guy, how much he has been my touchstone for the past two years of my journey into the middle of nowhere. How much I need this guy. We aren’t done, I kept thinking, please.
He is my photographer’s assistant. Every meaningful photo I have taken, save the past few days, he has been by my side. A gorgeous close up of his eye was my first test photo for the aluminum prints I have had so much success with. He is a subject in all of my photography shows. He is in every image, in spirit.
Despite being sure he was gone, my feet wouldn’t stop walking the woods and the fields he loves so much. About to give up, I gave it one more walk, an hours walk, no luck. Returning home, behind Tim’s barn, I heard a bark. I stood on a hill and looked at his barn, I texted Connor, come back, I hear him, he’s here, meet me at Tim’s barn. I scoured the barn with my eyes, calling his name. No answer. I got closer, I called and called. Is he in there? It is a behemoth of an old barn, you could lose an elephant in there.
A bark! The burdock in front of me, down the hill towards the barn rustled, shook and I called again, it shook harder, he is there! Chevron! You are ALIIIIIIIIIVE, I yelled, My baby lives!
I fought my way through giant weeds to the burdock, he was their wagging and wriggling and licking my face as I unspooled his mangled leash from the base of the giant weed. Nearby was the gopher hole he’d been trying to reach.
Oh my god, I love this guy.
He dragged me to the creek, joyously flying through weeds for his first full drink of water in 3 days. And, relief.
That is the story.
“…Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
~ Hermann Hesse
Because I did something crazy (bought a house sight unseen from a post on Facebook and gave up my career and my 25 years of LA memories and connections to move to the middle of nowhere), because in order not to go crazy within the crazy of this move I started taking pictures with my iPhone (it was a two pronged habit- one it soothed and two it helped me tell you the story of where I landed when I moved to the middle of nowhere) and because people responded to my iPhone photography habit and the thousands of pictures I’ve posted on Facebook, I’ve had three iPhoneography shows with one more on deck and three web based articles about my special brand of crazy, I’ve also sold a bunch of these iPhone photos (printed on metal which pops the color because I am a color HOUND- want one? Let me know…). Crazy how all this good stuff happened because of a crazy decision.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?