It’s easier to paint a tree, than to grow a tree, I think now. As I grow older and impatiently wait for the maple I planted three years ago to grow more. My paintings of trees hold the memories of trees of childhood and long ago.
Here’s some of my favorite tree paintings…each one has a special meaning in my childhood. continue reading
I know you are (each) looking at me as a blogger to say Pithy and interesting things, but let me tell you how I am really thinking tonight! If this is offensive or strange to you, to hear real deep thoughts, you may skip this post.
I have been putting my mom’s illness in vague terms to save her reputation. The truth is, she has Lewy Bodies disease and there is little reputation, to save any more. The cat’s out of the bag…. continue reading
The Santa Rosa fires were of epic proportion. Here is a current page from my creative journal. I titled this drawing, My Memory of Trees on Fire!
It is a sketch of trees that I see along the 101 Freeway after the fire. You can see the handprint of the edge of the fire, where a green tree ends and black trees start. continue reading
Map of the Oakmont Fire threatening Spring Lake, several miles to the east, at the Ledson Winery area. This is the fire activity on October 16th.
The fires around Sonoma County are frightening. The Ledson Winery, the one I wrote about in The Art of Getting Lost in Sonoma, is standing dramatically against a backdrop of flames in the Oakmont Fire! My mom’s apartment is just two miles away from this fire and she has been under mandatory evacuation orders since October 9th, and she’s sick so I worry about her. Her neighbors at the retirement community were evacuated to the fairgrounds or to their family. We wait for the rain expected on Thursday to stop this madness…
The wind is like fire
tapping treetops, rippling leaves
and touching me now.
I wish I could stay
Forever floating in the valley,
From mountain peak to waterfall,
As quiet but strong as a canoe.
My spirit went into the forest
and found the treasure of my own
warm and beating heart
inside pure waters where
there is no death,
Where there is but rebirth and love,
and the love of children
hopeful and hungry — and
The sound of my own song.
~ by Irene, about a recent hike in the Sierras.