hello,

welcome to my week.

i dipped my hand into the digital world this week.

and can't decided whether she wants to 

remain soft or would like more color.

i will stare at her a while and 

look for a sign.

in the meantime, 

the silhouettes in the heavy fog this week 

has captivated me.  

happy st. patrick's day, a holiday commemorating

saint pactrick since he 17th century!

and happy paint party friday as well.

day 11

29 faces

after spending the last several days 

painting in journals

my fingers itched to rip and paste

to create this face 

and

a poem by one of my favorite poets

“Despite the enormous evening sky 
spreading over most of the canvas, 
its moon no more 
than a tarnished coin, dull and flat, 
in a devalued currency; 

despite the trees, so dark themselves, 
stretching upward like supplicants, 
utterly leafless; despite what could be 
a face, rinsed of feeling, aimed 
in their direction, 

the two small figures 
at the bottom of this picture glow 
bravely in their carnival clothes, 
as if the whole darkening world 
were dimming its lights for a party.” 
― Linda Pastan, Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems, 1968-1998

day 5

29 faces

this morning i started with an unfinished early collage 

sitting in on a closet shelf.    i find knowing i will paint a painting a day 

is a soothing thought.  i know that i will spend

whatever time it takes to discover what painting 

will emerge.  there is no conflict, only a focus and 

willingness to be with the process.

after more paper and glue

and then completed.

according to the authors of creative collage techniques, 

collage was first used about 200 bc after paper was invented

in China.  but it wasn't until the 10th century in japan that it became 

widely used by calligraphers to accompany their poems.

i like thinking that perhaps some of my ancestors where early

collage artists and poets. 

a poem by hermann hesse

translated by robert bly

sometimes

sometimes, when a bird cries out,

or the wind sweeps through a tree,

or a dog howls in a far off farm, 

i hold still and listen a long time.

my soul turns and goes back to the place

where, a thousand forgotten years ago,

the bird and the blowing wing

were like me, and were my brothers.

my soul turns into a tree,

and an animal, and a cloud bank.

then changed and odd, it comes home

and asks me questions.  

what should i reply?

sunset from redondo beach looking at palos verdes where i live

day 3, 29 faces

i started with the first acrylic 'expressionist' self portrait that i tried 

in the first painting workshop i attended a few years ago.  

at the time i didn't know that a workshop was different from

a class or at least that was my experience.  the workshop was filled 

with people who had been painting for some time, the instructor did not give

lessons.  i was nervous and intimidated.  he came around to your desk 

when you had questions. well, I had questions like

 how do i start

where do i start

like that... i didn't know even the very basics.  

i didn't know anything  about painting everything i learned helped. 

each time i picked up a brush, there was the potential for  learning.  

i still think this is true.

since i haven't picked up oils in a while i decided

to paint over the above painting with a limited palate of oils.

 at the end, i did a little finge rpainting with the leftover paints.

here is the result.

i've been busy...along with the online painting challenges i have been

taking misty mawn's online workshop.  one of the assignments

was to find three photos of yourself at different times in your life

and write about them.  i decided to write in the second person.

1-You inhaled the world

with your curious eyes, 

that exuberant energy

Too much, really, for 

your reserved Japanese family.

But there you are in all

your glory.  Nothing

could stop you.

2- Still curious, now walking

with measured steps.

A burning desire without 

direction.  Yearning,

hungry, open.

You’ll find your way.

3-Ahh.  Your time has come

And keeps coming.

Beyond your wildest dreams.

Living the life with Love

in Love.  Ever grateful.

irene rafael

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding, Four Quartets