The Artist in Our Soul Part 3

Growing up,

 I was privileged to live in a wonderfully sunny, south Florida area, 

with the ocean very close on one hand

 and
 orange groves, horse farms and dairy ranches all about.

Sort of suburban, sort of rural . . . 

After marrying, I migrated to my dream destination

 in the verdant mountains of North Carolina.
There I was enveloped in centuries old first growth forest, pine needles, moss and ferns.

Now in the front range of Colorado with access to the Rocky Mountains . . .

 I have to say
 I've led a blessed life.

I've truly lived in some of the

  most
 incredible places on earth.

We know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

 and 

we're as happy as we choose to be . . . 

but I can honestly tell you that I've found each of these places to be awesomely beautiful!

There is something to be said for the habit of finding contentment in one's surroundings.

God's creation  
with its' harmony and scale is the basis of beauty to my eye.

I could gaze at the ocean or the mountains forever and not tire of the view.
I delight in sunrises and sunsets, full moons and rain storms.

I have a collection of seashells, beach glass, driftwood, river rocks,
bird feathers, abandoned bird nests, porcupine quills,
 turtle shells, ostrich eggs,
 fossils, arrowheads,
 twigs . . .
pressed four leaf clovers, queen anne's lace, violets . . .
 and every wonderful thing I find when I go hiking.
These are more than mementos . . .
  they speak to my heart.

My grandchildren will visit next weekend, and  

one of their pleasures 

when the weather is nice 

is to take

 a 

nature walk 

with

 Mimi.

We generally walk around the neighborhood to see what we can of nature.

There are rocks to pocket and bird feathers to gather, wild flowers and leaves to collect.

We take note of the "cloud pictures", what's in bloom and the sunshine and shadows.

If the weather is warm, we have a place where we remove our shoes and socks, and wiggle our toes in the cool green grass - just to enjoy the sensation of free toes.
We even stop to watch creepy crawly things in the dirt.

Last summer strong winds blew tumbleweed all around my place.  

My 5 year old grandson collected them for hours, piling them against the house where they would be protected from the wind. 

He stocked the porch with a hundred of them, and when I protested
 that 1000 tumbleweeds were enough,
 he offered to share them with neighbors who were outside.

Most of them graciously accepted his bouquets.

To this day,
 I have tumbleweeds decorating my antiques booth at
The Gallery,
because he insisted I should take them to the shop
 and sell them to people who didn't have tumbleweeds!
Cute Kid!  I like the way he thinks!

He was mesmerized with the beauty of these natural elements.

I hope I can inspire
 my little ones
 to enjoy collecting specimens of nature.
It's never too early to begin
  examining the bounty
all around us.
To see the perfection of the Creator's artwork
 is to begin to appreciate and understand
 true beauty,

and to find the
artist
 in our soul

The Artist in Our Soul Part 2

A cold, rainy, snowy morning, socked in with fog . . . 

reminded me of some early spring days back in the mountains of 

North Carolina.

Those 

Appalachian

 spring mornings 

could bring nearly anything . . . 

from soft snow to piercing sleet to a week long blizzard and power outage.

They said it would always snow on

 April 15th,

and it did,

every year for all the years I lived there.

When I moved to North Carolina,

 I purchased a house which had originally been

  a 100 year old barn.

  Soaring ceilings, massive beams, huge stacked rock fireplace, steep, narrow staircase, 

closet tucked beneath the slant of stairs. 

 The windows made of small, leaded, blown glass panels, 

soaring 9 foot high, 

recovered from an old inn which had burned down.

The house nestled in the midst of ancient forest in a tiny clearing,

 bordered by a stream.

Behind, were the remains of an abandoned orchard and grape arbor.

One entire side was deck - lofty - peeking into the tops of the trees.

The bones of this house were perfect!

I felt my creative juices began to flow the moment I saw that house. 

 I knew immediately it had to be mine.

There was something so inviting, so harmonic, so completely romantic about it.

Was it the setting? 

 The light filtering through the trees was perfection.

  The rustling of wind in those leaves?

Was it the repurposed nature of

 barn turned house? 

 Perhaps.

The sound of the stream could lull me to sleep at night.

Rain on the old tin roof . . . ?

Wildflowers were all about . . . ivy growing along the front porch.

It was one of those days,

 when I first laid eyes on that old place, 

and knew it belonged to me,

or,

I belonged to it.

As if I was 'coming home to a place I'd never been before', 

like John Denver sang.

There was artistry in the design and in the wavy old glass panes and in the site,

and it spoke to

 the 

artist

 in my

 soul.

The Artist in Our Soul Part 1

I imagine every person is something of an artist in their own right.
 Whether one paints or bakes, sings or dances, writes poetry or prose,
is a sculptor or dressmaker,
a
beautician or a bridge builder,
we use our particular abilities to express ourselves to the world.

 I spent many years in my young life determining where I would make my mark -
would I become a writer, a public speaker, an astronaut or a stewardess?

My mother taught me to read when I was four.
 I was voracious, devouring anything and everything I could.  When I started school I discovered the Encyclopedia Britannica, and was immediately fascinated with the
American Presidents and First Ladies.
My mother always told me I could be anything I wanted to be
 when I grew up,
and I wanted to be the
 President.

I asked questions . . .
At a tender age I perceived that the President of our country had people who told him
what he could and couldn't do.

I began to consider Queen, instead.

The Queen seemed to have so much more power, and fewer people who bossed her around.
I asked my mother how one went about becoming Queen.
I learned, to my dismay, that you needed to be born into a royal lineage, or to marry into one. . .


. . . this was more complicated than I had initially thought,
but, by the time I was about six, I was set upon finding a prince to marry.
The prince I could find the most written about was Prince Charles of England.
I was not impressed . . .

There was no limit to my imagination, and I was delighted to read everything I could find
about royalty, throughout my elementary school years.
I eventually decided the potential for meeting a suitable prince was limited, so I moved on to other
 professional possibilities.
(truthfully . . . I'm still watching, just in case . . . )

I explored areas . . . specifically those where my personal skills and wishes might be executed
without someone telling me I had to conform to rules.
I determined this profession would need to be in circles where no rules existed.
My mother assured me that rules existed in all areas of life, but wished me luck in my pursuit, and encouraged me to become anything I desired to be.


Artist!
I was enamored with the potential of being able to create something,
and having no one assert that it was "wrong", or that I couldn't do it my way.
Artists were always right. They expressed their views in their work - and must be accepted for whom they were!

Unfortunately, the art teachers in my elementary years believed in coloring inside the lines.
I was beginning to believe I would need to start my own country.

For the next fifteen years I struggled with my artistry, my self expression, my self realization.
 I married and settled into a new home, and took delight in all aspects of life. . . .
particularly the endeavors of feathering my little nest.

I enjoyed the fact that I could mix paints to achieve the precise shade of wall I wanted.
I decided to paint the four walls of my first living room four ever-so-slightly different shades of the same color, so that daylight moving across them would create a variety of nuances.  Sunrise, mid-day, sunset, evening incandescent light . . . oh, I was in heaven!

I had a huge palette, and could make my world anything I desired!  In the eight years we lived in that home, I painted and repainted and painted again . . . so thrilled to be able to change the mood and ambiance.  I explored the differences in seasonal light, and discovered the variety to be had from cool or warm or full spectrum light bulbs!

Mirrors were magic!  I could reflect and enhance the view, add depth to a room . . .
the possibilities were endless!
I wall papered over the painted walls.
I stripped wallpaper and textured the walls with plaster.
OOH LA LA!
I was queen of my own little country.

To be continued in the next post . . .

Snowy Days

It's snowing today . . . . and with blizzard warnings posted, I took the liberty of closing the shop early and returning to my cozy little home, where I'm curled up with a cup of tea. I love to light a fragrant Votivo candle, (compliments of my dear friend Anne, who has gifted me with several of these delightful, longlasting candles). Votivo's Honeysuckle immediately transports me back to my childhood in the south, where honeysuckle vines crept along the fences and fragranced the evening breezes with a sweet, relaxing purfume. The smell is so true to nature that it evokes memories of summer nights, of catching fireflies in a mason jar, and relaxing on the porch, eating homemade peach ice cream. I'll while away the afternoon listening to my favorite CD's and browsing through a stack of decorating books for inspiration. Planning my next series of vignettes for the shop keeps me busy . . . . seeking just the right combination of textures and colors to delight the soul. Of course my foundations always seem to be scrubbed pine tables and cupboards and almost always must include my trademark chunky white ironstone bowls, platters and pitchers. Add a touch of wire or other industrial style metals, or perhaps a few pieces of beautiful silver . . . . some spring greenery, tulips, ferns or ivy, and soft, nubby cotton or linen fabrics . . . . and an ancient book, opened to show off the mellow contrast of black print on aged page. A bundle of hand dipped candles, tied up with waxed twine, or maybe vintage satin ribbon, will complete the setting.

Another tablescape will include antique watch faces and gears, garnered in a crazed white pottery bowl, resting on a placemat of old sheet music . . . . and away I go, drifting into my land of imagination and nostalgia. Vintage garden urns, moss, and soft sepia photographs tucked into the mix make me smile. I begin to experiment in my own livingroom, dragging my treasures from one area to another, until a mellow French breadboard has become the "tray" beneath a glass cakestand, heaped with white seashells . . . . a sterling silver compote houses an abandoned birdsnest, and my little stack of Victorian wicker suitcases has become a pedestal to highlight an 1880's platter heaped with tiny leatherbound books. Ahhhhh . . . . this will work! Now to translate the concept from home to shop! Maybe I'll add a pair of antique spectacles, or some tiny wrens eggs, or nestle a handfull of skeleton keys in the birdsnest.

The possibilities are endless. The garnering of your favorite things, each special and memory provoking, into a single display, can indeed be an artistic expression. Some artists use more traditional mediums, and some of us create a three dimensional, ever evolving still life of found objects and memorabilia. Whether you treasure a love letter or a vintage handwritten recipe, if that simple piece of history has meaning to you and it evokes a response within your soul, it should be used to create your personal artwork. Surround yourself with the things that have meaning to you. For some, a river rock, tumbled smoothed by time and the flow of water is a most inspiring and thought provoking paperweight. For others, the feel of a wooden spoon in a pottery bowl means home and continuity. I am particularly delighted by tones and textures of a single color. A color-range of whites: snow, eggshell, alabaster, cream, mother of pearl, oatmeal, ivory, vanilla, wheat. When shown in varying textures such as yarn, ironstone, handmade paper, lace, linens, paint, book pages, basketry, leather, buttons, seashells and enamelware . . . . the qualities of that color become so special and so beautiful that I have no need to add other colors to achieve the satisfaction of my soul. I encourage you to experiment with your favorite things . . . . and I wish you many snowy play days !