pink lungs.

mother & daughter/acrylic on canvas/2004

"how the pink lungs of their bodies

enter the fire of the world

and stand their

shining & willing"

mary oliver (moccasin flowers)

and now my body is creating pink lungs again, fleshy toes and a toosh i will want to eat for the rest of my life and a face, 2 eyes, 2 ears, lips and a nose... how will they form? what shape will they take? each piece full with stories, each of her cells laden in our poems, his and mine, inside skin, inside this belly, growing, happening now and we already know this story is so different than the first and one would think, many have said "you know what's ahead" and i don't agree with them as i have no idea what's ahead, only different... creating a womb again, this time on a lower floor. there is fear this time.. and she is loud, clear, very vocal. horns on her head and maybe this story goes through my vagina.. horns and all.. so afraid and then i write and its with a swatch of exciting - i think i need to be living here more, exploring this deeper water.. definitely deeper this time around.. and warmer... so it holds me in a more scared and sacred place.. so intimate the journey.. and the desire to collaborate is here too. getting closer to the fear.. sewing cashmere around the cold, bringing her in, the beauty in me, the trembling girl, the incision, the stories of all the wombs before me, huddling up together and starting this conversation.. with a thread and a needle, words on a page, color, freedom, fighting the layers that must be warm to rise, to be seen, to be aware of, to be ok with, to sink deeper into the unknown, keep swimming and allowing, don't come back to the shallow end to explain it all.. keep swimming in the warm, mending the cold, stitching myself in the sacred where it feels natural, aligned, i see my face there... i have to stay down there, i get scared up here... down there breeds the flora of curiosity, discovering something familiar but not yet apart of me, available if willing.... keep swimming down to the warm parts, where i can sink into that wisdom, the seeds of self, the pink lungs that yearn only to breathe, bloom, be in the bright opening of it all and to embrace it fully before i come up for air and share it with all the others.

august, 2010.

reconnect....

wow.. i have been around the corner pouring the love into a conversation i so deeply believe in of nourishing all the mamas in the world.. and definitely in our country.... empowering and inspiring them to connect intimately to their need to be fed... and it feeds me too... and so does the word... and i miss you over here... and yes.. there is a beauty in my belly.. she is here and ready to rock and roll... i want to share more about her, the journey, the dark and the light spots, the exposed photo collage of this time, this life... the life of a renaissance mama... i am happy to be here.. so blessed to grow in this way... i will be back sooner than later.. till then.. may we all keep growing, eating, feeding each otherxxx

motherhood

the stitches are beginning to come undone & my mother, my child, my motherhood is beginning to tear through the fibers of my fears, the skin i wear on the second or third layer of myself, like an organza skirt that lays on my skin...so light and airy you have no idea it's there but i do.  the cells are reproducing so fast that i can hardly hold onto myself...trying to zip these big black bags, obese at the seams with swatches of my soul, my body parts, my anger and all that comes with it, inside, unfolded & worn. i sit on the bags.  i sit on the flesh that i came from, unravelling the map faces of all the mothers, looking up the longitude and lattitude of where i can go to get away. to not do what she did to me, to run, to wash my face, to hold it all in & do something soft. i go back to the bags....i try to close them up faster & faster. the zippers keep breaking. and so does the chandelier, the mirror, the phone... another natural disaster. every minute is the apex & nadir of the play.  observing life like a pirate. one eye gone, a hook for a hand, assessing the damp log & hoping to hit gold.  it's a pure body thing, the stories come without a preface or a warning. the kettle gets so hot and begins to whistle so strong and i am all alone.

defining motherhood as i sit on these bags and cry.  

hope & hunger....

this deep pulling ...wanting the meat of my 'to do' list to just slide off the bone & feel sated somewhere inside... in everyway...the fantasy of being in my stride, doing my thing e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y, tapping into this depth that is like the coyotes coming into the rural neighborhoods - starved & at your door step.  they are hanging out in single file at the surface of my skin... pointy jaws, rough paws & hungry for something & more of that something... 

hoping that a honey cake will keep it to a mellow roar... maybe today a strawberry chocolate cobbler & a pear butter cake... 

hoping this sweet bandaid will allow the pause i am so yearning for...the flow that waits so patiently

while i am stirring avocadoes and toasted pinenuts with my hands, sewing the words soft onto a canvas & fitting a hoody tunic... framed by the words mama, mama, mama....all day long...the calling that coerces me to be in the present moment.... 

hoping for a name... renaissance mama.....we can do it all.... everything starts in the kitchen...this delicious life that keeps me hungry for more... in the crevices of each day the light comes in...inspiring me to stir, mix, create something amazing....

i am connecting women to their kitchens... the stories we missed this time around.. what happened? we were burning bras, we became ceo's & roasting a beet is an enigma....our mamas didn't want us to be like them?... they wanted us to make 'something' of ourselves?... and what is more important than eating incredible foods, surviving abundantly, protecting your kin, being the shaman mamas that we are, being the memory.....this is where i am living these days...connecting the pieces that already live in us...they are in their, in here... at the surface... like the coyote & we are hungry for the connection... 

more to comexxx

miss you.....

so... sorry.....there has been no action on my part... its a place in my self i mourn too.. this word, so precious.. and the time to take to write some of it down... the time.. the time.. oh the time...and then i lose my camera... changing lives in the kitchen.. creating space to meet self, lick wounds off the spatula, mix, stir, believe in something like a beautiful meal, round abundance of bowls & squashes & fingerling potatoes.... it rains like a dance today.. a celebration of so much... clearing the air, feeding the land, delivering the blessings of nature... and there are still holes in this landscape.. so much to be warmed up & digested...there are a lot of books on how hard it is to sit down and just write....and then you read those books and you are still not writing..... maybe you feel closer to the word because there is a me too in the room... that me too is something else.... see you soon.. X

change is here....

the gift of rain....tears of blissed out joy, a relief in my ankle joints & this clean cool feeling in my hair.

i knew fall was planning a party and we were all invited...yippeeee!

loving my neighborhood...

time for barley in soup....gratitude for grains...

parsley, yellow onion, carrots & zuchini.... barley & beef to create a thick warm soup... the beginning of this new skin... almost time for cashmere... change is here.. vote for change!

happy halloween.....

who knew what future this hermes tie box would have....

you never know what is going to come out of the studio....

subtle sustainability...with a twist of quiet couture 

fun for the front door... be well & please eat homemade candy!