Things come into existence, stay for a while, then leave again. Leaf art is inherently ephemeral. Maybe that’s what’s so compelling about it. 

Musings, music, and how stories change.

Procrastination showed me how far away I was, and let me feel the awkward off-ness of it all…

When there’s so much happening moment to moment.

It’s the sensation that was familiar, the muscle memory of holding the brush just so between my fingers, of dipping the brush in ink, and the careful touch of black ink to white paper.

Kintsugi could show the way of mending, perhaps – of filling the spaces between, of sealing the missing spaces, or holding close what I left behind so long ago.

When do we decide to shed what no longer benefits, or what is no longer true, to reveal something else of our self? And when do we decide to keep our spiky exterior too, because we really do still need that sometimes?

It didn’t seem to want to follow my usual way, or the usual expectations I have of how a chime is “supposed” to be when I make it.

Tell the story as if you are journeying on the chime. It kept coming back to her in the following days.

Images next to images, being juxtaposed. Expressions next to expressions, having dialogues.

My own chaotic and thundering prints excited me, until I didn't know how to quell these forces of fire and water, of seen and unseen.

The threads of my past are remembering. Maybe these wands are enchanting me once again to this season.

Stitch by stitch, through tangled thoughts and random emotions…

What we need often comes from within, spiraling upward from our depths to reach the place we need, season after season.

When nature shows us the way to be true to ourselves, and in turn, be truly respectful in relationship with her...

From the past bring it forward, and out of the darkness bring back the brightness, and shine as it always has.

Somehow she knew she was to do something with the paper, that she was meant to find it. Or maybe it found her. Because it seemed the vessels were trying to show her something, another way.

Repeating is deeply within us, a dynamic, cyclical, ever-present repeating.

Maybe making was a way in which I was reminded of that deep place of our shared connection.

Holding onto a memory and behold where it leads… the beauty of St. John, palm tree seed pods, mark making, and waves...