Lifting Up My Eyes

If I had to choose a text that sums up this week, the text that has surfaced in my brain more than any other, it would be this one:

As part of my self-care each day, I try to leave the hospital at least once to go look at the mountains.  And I continue to be struck by how many patient rooms have a window with a view of the mountains.  The other day, when I was with a non-verbal patient, I commented on the wonderful view, and he sat up to look out the window.  It was the first moment that I felt sure that he understood what I had just said, and this verse came to my brain, in all its King James version glory.

Yesterday my monthly Bible study met by way of Zoom.  It's become a way for members of my Florida church to stay in touch, even as some of us have moved very far away.  Yesterday, we didn't have a definitive plan for the meeting, and I happened to have the Psalm open in a website.  So we did a lectio divina on the Psalm, and I did a bit of sketching while we discussed.

The sketch is done with fine tip pens, and then I took a watercolor brush and brushed water over it.  The color for the sky comes from the color in the brush when I went over the mountains with the wet brush.  

It's not exactly what I had in mind when I started, but that's part of what makes it wonderful.  Between the uncertainty of the ink and the water, and my non-professional skill, it makes art an adventurous process, which can reveal much more than if I had skills to reproduce the same image, time after time.

I am planning to take supplies with me to work and to spend some time each week sketching--another self-care practice I hope to implement.  Exploring self-care practices is one of my learning goals, so I'm allowed to explore them--what a joy to be in such a place!

Making Marks on Paper: A Prelude to Collage

Earlier this week, I went over to a friend's house to catch up.  She's got a studio in her basement, so we sat and played with color while we chatted.  Through the years, we've done all kinds of creative activities together, so it's always a pleasure to catch up this way.  She set out markers for us, a bowl of water, and some paint brushes.  I had brought paper and an old hymn book that I'm using as an art journal of sorts, when I remember that I have it.

I ended up with an assortment of colors on paper:

This one may be my favorite:

But I loved the ways the colors blended when I added water to this picture:

Now for the eternal question:  what to do with these papers?  I had been planning to paint paper that I'd later use in collages for card making.  I'm inspired by my friend's Christmas card that she gave me this past year:

Take a closer look at the art--painted hymnbook pages!

So, I've stashed the papers back in my hymnbook where they will wait for their next incarnation.  I feel lucky to feel inspired!

Winter Weather Inspirations

When we left the house yesterday morning, we thought we'd stay for the covered dish dinner after the worship service at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  But as we approached the higher elevations at 7:45 in the morning, snow started to swirl.  On the other side of the mountain, in Bristol, it wasn't snowing, but the forecast called for rain to turn to snow in the early afternoon, so we decided not to stay for lunch.

On our way back across the mountains, I was surprised by how much snow had stuck to the ground and the trees while we were in Bristol.  The roads were still in good shape, wet, yes, but not frozen.  I was glad we had decided to get back earlier than planned.  The higher elevations were under a winter storm warning, so it was good to get up and over earlier rather than later.

Later, I tried to sketch what I had seen. As with last year, the first glance of a winter landscape looks like variations of gray and black to me, but when I look closer, I see lots of browns, along with some deep greens and burgundies.  I continue to try to capture what I see, but both my skills and my art supplies (Copic markers) are inadequate.

In many ways, it's much more fun to take the longer view (and to take more time):

Last week, I tried to sketch the winter sky, as it shifted from blue to snow, and I thought I had failed.  I was happy to look at my sketchbook last night and like this picture more than I remembered:

A goal for my sketching practice for this year is to include snippets of observations that might become poems.  Here's one of my favorites so far (the sketch itself doesn't photograph well):

Squirrels scamper

across the spines of winter trees.

Skeletons of past springs.

Sunset coming, cold winter sky.

Soon I will bundle up and head out for a different kind of inspiration, the kind that comes from a walk in the winter landscape.  It's the kind of day that will be windy and cold all day, so I may as well go early before I can talk myself out of it.

Sketching the Season

Last week, I made this sketch:

I started off making the sketch of the witch in profile, and that went so well, I decided to add the other witch.  I don't often like the way I draw people, so this sketch was such a happy surprise.  I added color, trees, more color, and the moon.  And then, because I am the way I am, I made additional sketches throughout the week, hoping for a repeat success:

I didn't create anything that I liked as well as the first sketch, but it was fun to keep trying.  

I kept my sense of humor/heresy (I wrote, "If the Holy Trinity was 3 witches . . . " at the top of the page:

I've gotten better at sketching houses since I first tried to draw a haunted house way back in 2020:

It's been awhile since I've been on such a sketching binge.  What a joy!

Yesterday, as I was taking pictures and enjoying the last day of warmth on the deck, I was struck by the leaves drifting by in the blue sky.  I can't capture that picture well, but I did photograph some leaves:

I put them in wine glasses and other arrangements:

I tried to capture the tree and the leaves.  Here's the photo of the tree I wish I had photographed a few days ago when it had more gold leaves:

Here's the sketch before I add color:

And then I tried to do something interesting with leaves and my favorite sketch:

Then it was time to come inside and get ready for my evening Ethics class.  It's an interesting time in which to be taking Ethics; more on that later.

A Week in Sketching

As I looked at my sketchbook, I was struck by how much visual art I've created in the past week.  I started this sketch on Oct. 3, and I've worked on it 5 minutes a day.  I call it Hydrangea Bloom with Squash Blossom:

It's not the only sketch that has color:

I've also worked with the Zentangle approach to sketching.

I've played with a new media, chalk that is more powdery than a traditional pastel:

I used it to play in an old hymnal.  This was my first attempt.

I went on to try to create a sketch that has something to say about the hymn:

I've got many more sketches, which is unusual for me.  If I posted them all, I'd be posting at least 5 more pages.  I don't usually sketch this much in a week.  Is it the expansiveness that comes from starting a new sketchbook?  The inspiration from being at Convocation?  Needing to be in a chair for long hours in the day, away from my computer?

I am happy to have had this time before needing to turn my attention back to academic writing.  And I'm really happy with the hydrangea sketch!

A Sketch to Welcome Autumn

I've gone from not writing about sketching for several months (or longer) to two blog posts in one week about sketching, which is fine.  Over the last few days, I returned to a practice that I only do occasionally, trying to replicate someone else's work.  Here's the final version of my sketch, which looks more vibrant on my desk than in this photo:

And here's the original, from this web site:

"First Day of Autumn" by Kim Leo

As I was sketching earlier this week, I realized that some of my markers seemed dried up, yet again, some of the important ones, the orange ones, in coloring pumpkins.  I do hate filling the markers, since if there's a way to do that easily and neatly, I haven't discovered it:

But it's much more economical to refill markers, so I do it.  

And I do take some delight in all the blibs and blobs of color on various papers (paper towels, cotton balls, a sheet of sketchbook paper):

Long ago, I needed more constant inspiration when I was doing a daily sketch for a card with a date on it that would greet students as they did the COVID sign in protocol.  I both wanted something special for students and a way to make myself sketch more.  These days, I rarely need that inspiration in that same way, but it was great to feel motivated that way, and to be relatively successful.

Virgin Mary, Harriet Tubman, and Haunted Landscapes

It has been awhile since I posted anything about my sketching practice.  I've continued sketching, at least 5 minutes a day; it's part of my morning spiritual discipline, the Morning Watch devotion time that I lead for my Florida church on Facebook.  I've been doing that since late March of 2020.

I've also continued to sketch at other times, but it's often closer to doodling than anything that seems worthy of a blog post.  However, last week I changed my approach and ended up with this sketch:

It began when I read this passage for my seminary Systematic Theology course, a passage from Jurgen Moltmann's The Way of Jesus Christ:  Christology in Messianic Dimensions:

"The Holy Spirit, not Mary, is the source of life, the mother of believers, the divine Wisdom, and the indwelling of the divine essence in creation, from which the face of the earth will be renewed.  . . . It is the Holy Spirit, not Mary herself, who is co-worker with the messianic son of God, and who together with him will redeem the world" (p. 86).

I felt a bit annoyed at the dismissal of Mary as a mere vessel, a womb for hire.  Moltmann's language aligns the Holy Spirit with some feminine aspects, but it still irked me.  I had a vision of the kind of Mary image that I had sketched somewhat obsessively back in December of 2020:

I had a vision of that figure but with trees and a big moon in the sky, a more autumnal Mary.  As I sketched, I also added the star in the left corner, the star that is the Christmas Eve star in my iconography.

As I sketched, I was also thinking of Harriet Tubman and swampy landscapes.  I wasn't surprised when the river emerged, but I didn't anticipate the basket when I was first thinking of the sketch.  Unlike many sketches, I started work on it and completed it in the same sitting.

It's not quite done with me, this sketch.  Earlier this week I started another sketch as part of my morning spiritual discipline.

An Hour of Sketching Nature

One of the delights of taking a class is getting credit for something I might do even if I wasn't taking a class.  But I also delight in taking a class that forces me to do what I've always wanted to do but was never disciplined enough to make myself do.

Did I learn a foreign language this week?  No.  But I did go outside and spend an hour sketching as part of my Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class.  What a simple activity:  take a pencil, take a sketchbook, try to really see what's in front of you.

We went to the lovely courtyard in the center of the campus buildings and spent a few minutes walking and observing.  We came back as a group for five minutes, and then we went forth with our task:  spend one hour fully observing and sketching, while being careful not to destroy the nature we're observing.

I had been captivated by a small tree, by the colors of the stem and the featheriness of the leaves.  I started sketching these leaves while I was standing close to them:

I tried sketching without looking at the sketch, which was an interesting process, but didn't lead to a very good sketch.  I approached the leaves from various angles.

Then I decided to sit across from the tree; in the above shot, you can see the ledge on top of the small brick wall where I perched.  That's when I noticed the trunk and decided it was time to shift focus.

I drew the curve of the branches and the swirls of the bark.  Then I decided to bend closer, and that's when I noticed a whole branch that I hadn't seen at first.  Eventually, I produced this sketch:

I remembered our teacher's instructions to get close, so I bent over and ducked under the tree too.  When I came back to my sketching perch, I had a dead leaf in my hair, so I decided to sketch that:

I felt a bug on me, but didn't stop to shoo it away.  Eventually, I looked down to see a small grasshopper (some other bug?) making its way into the sketch:

After the hour was up, we reconvened to talk about the process.  Where did we spend our hour?  Would it have been different if our teacher had specified not to erase?  Or if she had required us to stay focused on the first thing we started to sketch?

We briefly talked about the theology/spirituality aspect of the class.  Does God study us as closely?  How do we feel about that?

During numerous points of Thursday's class, I thought, I will do this process again.  I will return to this courtyard and sketch for an hour.  Will I?  Maybe.  But if not, I'm happy I had the chance to have this experience--and to get class credit for it!

Reaction Drawings

In my Creative Process as Spiritual Practice class yesterday, we explored an interesting practice that our teacher called Reaction Drawings.   She gave us a stack of blank paper (just regular paper like the kind you'd use in a copier or printer) and a graphite stick (like pencil lead without the wood around it and squared edges).

It was a 30 minute exercise.  Every 30 seconds, the timer dinged, and we turned the sheet of paper over and did a new sketch/drawing/scribble.  That was the only instruction.  Here's my first sketch:

And my last sketch (which might be upside down):

And a selection of the ones in between.

It was an interesting experiment.  Thirty seconds isn't enough time to worry about technique--it's not even enough time to finish a sketch.  Some of our sketches responded to past sketches, while others went in a different direction.  The frenzied pace didn't let us sink into a meditative space (both a plus and a minus).

I said that I expected to go through my pile of sketches and find one that I didn't remember drawing.  That didn't happen.  I was also intrigued by my approach to the graphite stick.  It took me about 12 sketches before I turned it on its side and experimented with broader strokes.

We spread out all of our sketches in one space which was an interesting way to see them.  It also allowed us to walk around the room, once we all gave permission, and to look at everyone's work.  And because we had all went through the same process, it wasn't a chance for one person's sketches to shine, for one person to be lauded as the best artist.

Our instructor talked about using the process as a reaction to something specific like a newscast or a piece of music or a mood.  She talked about her own experience, about using the process to journal in a way or to jolt herself out of boredom/blockage or to move herself out of a bad mood.

My teacher brain also thought about other ways that this group process could be interesting.  Could it be used in a Composition classroom?  Are there other places where fear of the blank page might need to be overcome this way?  I think the answer must surely be yes.

What a great class!  When I begin to doubt my reasons for being on campus (yes, it happens--I'm never far away from self-doubt), let me remember this class and the opportunity to take it.

Sketching the Female Tree-Mermaid

For much of my life, I would have told you that I was no good at visual arts.  I was a word person.  But if you could look at my school notebooks, you would notice that I was always drawing.  I would have dismissed those efforts as doodling, the kind of drawing that doesn't count as art.

I still do that kind of doodling, particularly during meetings where I'm having trouble paying attention.  Sketching lines which turn into vines.  I'm also fond of swirls.  Sometimes the lines want to be something else, something larger:  a bird beak and then the whole bird.

This week, I was taking notes during a meeting, and then I drew a box around the date of the meeting.  At the edge of the box, I drew this:

I thought about how it looked like a tree, so I decided to start a new sketch that would be a tree.  I drew a few swirls, and I realized that my tree also looked like a woman dancing, perhaps a very flexible woman with her leg stretching to the sky.  I continued to sketch, and I ended up with this:

As I sketched lines at the base of the tree (or the woman's skirt), I noticed that it had a certain mermaid vibe going, so I emphasized that.

In the end, I liked the sketch enough to save it, which I don't usually do with my meeting doodles.  Maybe I should start calling them illuminated meeting notes.

If William Blake had to sit through some of the meetings that I have attended, he might have sketched a whole different set of doors of perception.

While I'm recording my sketching life, let me also record the words of my teacher from late in 2021.  She said the my swirling style reminds her of Van Gogh.

I think of my 7th grade self.  In 7th grade, I became obsessed with sketching a horse.  I had a friend who could draw such beautiful horses.  I could not.  I just kept drawing the same sad type of horse, over and over.  It was probably that experience that made me think I couldn't draw.  I kept drawing a horse, week after week, seeing no improvement.  It didn't occur to me to try something else.

Many years later, when I was in my 30's, I did try drawing something else, and I was delighted to be able to draw a flower that people could recognize as a flower.

Now I draw any number of creations, and many of them have a bit of whimsy--or a lot of whimsy, in the case of this female tree-mermaid.  They delight me, and they make the hum drum parts of life more enchanted.

A Universe, in Fabrics

One of the highlights of the week-end intensive that I attended the first week of January was the chance to spend time with a good Create in Me friend on the day before the intensive began.  We are both quilters, so on that Tuesday, we went to find a quilt shop in Lexington, SC.  We ended up at Jessamine Quilt Shop, a space which had more compelling fabrics under one roof than I've seen in a long, long time, a universe in the form of fabrics.

I didn't have my camera with me, so I couldn't capture the clever way that the quilt shop transformed the bottom level of a house into the shop and the studio space for lessons.  

The owner told me about this fabric, a story so compelling that I had to buy a yard.  Each small strip represents a batik pattern used in the past year.  I love the idea of preserving a year of batik this way.

Oh, who am I kidding?  It was the colors that drew me in, and I'd have bought a yard, even without the compelling story.  And yes, the above picture is blurry.

I was attracted to the other two fabrics because they reminded me of the sketches I had been creating throughout the past 15 months.  Here are all 3 fabrics:

And here's a sketch from December 2020:

And here's one from more recently, in late 2021:

I don't have a plan for the fabric, but it delighted me, and I'm happy that I got it.  I have a vague vision of a quilt, like this one, which is my favorite that I've ever made:

Stay tuned!