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Showing posts from February, 2009

Happy Birthday Woody, or, Why I'm Glad I'm Presbyterian

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Today is Woody's Birthday. The Rev. Dr. Woody L. Berry is my pastor, mentor, counselor, collaborator on matters relating to art, life, the journey... and best of all, my friend.  If I hadn't wandered in to Maxwell Street Presbyterian 3-1/2 years ago, I wouldn't know Woody and that's not a scenario I like to consider. I wasn't a Presbyterian then but after my second visit I knew I'd found home. It has been a relatively short distance from visitor to member, deacon, active  membership committee participant, house writer. My frequent conversations with Woody are light posts marking the distance between the stretches that are at times, dark, reflective, sometimes lonely but always filled with meaning. He has this way, that continues to amaze me, of taking a concept that seems difficult, convoluted, maddening, and untangling it into a framework that is so easy to grasp that I can't imagine how I didn't see it in the first place. He's one of the smartes

Hop, Hop, Hop, Giveaway Alert!

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Cruising around blogland is one of the most rewarding, fun ways to spend an icy-rainy afternoon! I've visited regulars and found some amazing new sites. After checking in with Jodi on Sweet Repeats I hopped over to see Nancy Lefko's  moving new piece; while there I saw the 'house project'  the Metsy team's benefit for those devastated by the fires in Australia.  On Artsnark's blog, along with a poignant piece of art, I saw more houses, noticed they were done by a fabulous mixed media artist who loves right here in the same town - can't believe I've never met her. So, naturally, I visited her blog, P is for Paper and left a comment there too. She's included a tutorial along with photos of her contribution to the Victorian Brush Fire Appeal shop on Etsy, which will be open through March. My friend Karin   posts daily journal entries, each one looks like it couldn't possibly have been done in a day; she has been a great pal and encouraged me to

Creativity, the Mystery of Muse

Thanks to Lani for sharing this amazing take on the muse, the daemon that visited ancient Greeks on their quested for creative enlightenment. Or not. Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, One Woman's Search for Everything... across Italy, India and Indonesia , examines her skyrocket journey to unexpected publishing success - over 5 million copies in print, NYT best seller list, etc. etc. and whether or not that is a good thing, a frightening thing or just frightening.  That most of us have a smidge of fear, whether of failure or success is a given; but on her site (click on the book/link) the 10 most asked questions of the award-winning fiction writer mention of fear only in the context of traveling alone safely and then, returning to the daily grind after such an amazing journey. People want to know where she found the pizza in Italy and how they might meet the healer, the medicine man, find the Ashram. Nothing about whether her heart clenches as she tightens up the final

Peace Angel Altered Tin

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This Peace Angel is for a winter wonderland-themed altered tin swap, still apropos considering the cold front that is approaching Kentucky. And it's only 30 degrees! Fortunately the altered attic is very well insulated and being on the third floor, stays toasty warm.   I may be a couple of months late  but fortunately my swap pal and I use the same calendar! Wonder if she has started on mine... I love altering tins and this time I wanted to try something new, so I made a cutout with my trusty dremel, and twisted the edges back for an uneven, yet, rustic look. It was also a good reason to heat up the beeswax, mmmm, love that smell and the way found objects, lace even, can be repositioned with a blast of the heat gun. Angels abound at Christmas but like Spruce trees, adorn our lives all year long. A gold halo and wings? How else would they fly... Love the little german glass doll that I snatched up at Kristin's Retro Art Cafe , along with an assortment of heads and other body par

For all Chronic Babes out there...

There's a site for those of us with Chronic Illnesses. Invisible ones that is - the kind that alter your life and then add the mockery of no telltale evidence to explain why the handicap tag swings from the rearview. The latest post is on fibro, which, being relatively new in its discovery/diagnosis cycle, is often called into question by a segment of the medical community. I'm glad I don't have that one. More than one of my closest friends do though, one of whom has no other auto-immune disorders to cushion her from the harshness of the blank stares she's often met with when she 'crashes.'  We all have our own lingo for hitting the brick wall, that moment when the flu symptoms hammer down and there's only one option - bed. I've been at this a while and I've practiced my pacing - most days that doesn't happen until six or seven in the evening. But the flurry of activity on the barometer damns most of my best efforts and I've had a few zinger

sweet tweet

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I've been watching Random Notes daily for my Sweet Tweet journal entry, which I mailed at the last possible moment. It popped up, for sure, in my mailbox yesterday - the label fell off!! I had spent almost as much time on the envelope as the page so the postal carrier took pity on me and brought it back for an address. I used this quote on one of the pages I made for the visual journaling workshop I recently completed (over but not abandoned!). And, since the theme was birds and sweet, I thought it fit rather nicely. I think we are all tempted to let a pesty nest start tangling in the do, now and again anyway. My favorite ways to disassemble the sorrow roost in whatever stage I manage to catch it, are making art, wandering through blogland and keeping in touch with people who use their time and talents to create projects like the journal this page will hopefully end up in - if it gets there in time. Jane at Random Arts is one of my all-time favorites... pal, artist, shop owner, bl

A Valentine's Day Treat

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I've enjoyed chatting with friends who were kind enough to share their true Valentine's Day sentiments - the hoopla, extravaganza - romantic and thrilling,  for some. Me? I stood at the door, waving. My daughter and her buds helped chaperone a ballet babysitting fundraiser/party; my husband took my son to a concert deemed by the music critic as ideal for those inclined to wear their heart - and/or spleen on their valentine sleeve, music befitting the original ancient Roman Lupercalia festival, a raucous affair involving goat-skin whips and fertility chants. Ahem. I ate red licorice and watched Sweet Home Alabama. Again. I love when Reese Witherspoon decks Candice Bergen. Anyway, about 30 minutes in, unable to prop open my eyes, I went to bed with a good book and promptly fell asleep. But I was honored!  I felt loved! My daughter made a poster-sized card wishing me a Happy Day and my son made me a Rice Krispie... treat. (I tinted it pink for visibility of the detail). Did he use

Happy Valentine's Day

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ahhhh, another reminder of Valentine's Day. Romance, the scent of roses in the air mingled with chocolate and sliders? That's right, you can, if you have a reservation, enjoy a candle-lit dinner with table service at White Castle. 49-cent sliders served on a silver (OK, maybe it's plastic) platter. I haven't been to the WC in decades though I do have some fairly extravagant memories of Valentine's Days past.  Like the year I decorated my (then) boyfriend's car, bumper to bumper with shaving cream, streamers and balloons, then made sure his coworkers were watching after the receptionist rang up to tell him he'd left his lights on. Rather than being embarrassed, he drove through town honking back at other drivers, even making a drive-through run at the bank. Fast forward twenty-two years and, since I asked him to make cards for the kids, I'll probably get one too. Jim is an illustrator after all, with his own line of greeting cards at Oatmeal Studios. That

Another Journal Page

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I did this page the other day. It was the end of a long day spent iced in and I was really tired, and in a hurry. But so far, it's my favorite, though I haven't ventured very far from the yellow/gold base color that I've used on most all the pages. There doesn't seem to be any way to predict this process, whether the images will be cohesive, if I'll like the way the pages look... I suppose that is the real beauty of doing this in the first place. To loosen up and let go, freedom from the over-thinking that rules most every area of my life. So, now it's time to start the actual journaling part - writing on these pages? They seem sacrosanct, like doing a collage and then writing all over it. Obviously, after having struggled through this entire reverse process, I still have miles to go. Being a writer, this should be the easiest part. We'll see.