Karen's Muse and Musings

Time for a New Look

In honor of the recent first anniversary of my Typepad blog, I decided to freshen things up by trying a new look. After completing the "remodeling," I searched for a poem to fit the renewal theme. However, I found this lovely poem by Robert Frost, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so this is my offering for you today.

The Exposed Nest

You were forever finding some new play.
So when I saw you down on hands and knees
In the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay,
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end,
I went to show you how to make it stay,
If that was your idea, against the breeze,
And, if you asked me, even help pretend
To make it root again and grow afresh.
But ’twas no make-believe with you to-day,
Nor was the grass itself your real concern,

Though I found your hand full of wilted fern,
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clover.
’Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over
(Miraculously without tasting flesh)

And left defenseless to the heat and light.
You wanted to restore them to their right
Of something interposed between their sight
And too much world at once—could means be found.
The way the nest-full every time we stirred

Stood up to us as to a mother-bird
Whose coming home has been too long deferred,
Made me ask would the mother-bird return
And care for them in such a change of scene
And might our meddling make her more afraid.

That was a thing we could not wait to learn.
We saw the risk we took in doing good,
But dared not spare to do the best we could
Though harm should come of it; so built the screen
You had begun, and gave them back their shade.

All this to prove we cared. Why is there then
No more to tell? We turned to other things.
I haven’t any memory—have you?—
Of ever coming to the place again
To see if the birds lived the first night through,

And so at last to learn to use their wings.

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.

East Meets West

Asian is the theme for this week's Gothic Arches. It's funny because it's not my first choice for art style, but my friend, Shirley, has been here this weekend, and on Friday we ate Thai food, and yesterday we ate sushi! So something definitely is in the air.

Shirley and I have had a delightful time together. Eating, of course, was one of the highlights, but so was shopping. I took her to some of my favorite local stores where we definitely did some damage. (Warren, honey, if you're reading this — Shirley did most of the shopping!) Afterwards we came home and drank Grey Goose martinis and shared art tips — the perfect way to spend an evening.

Boy with Goose

Make up your own story to go with this one.

You can now order prints of my artwork such as this one at Etsy.

 

Goose photographed by my good friend Joanne Thieme Huffman and used with her permission. Thank you, Joanne.

Clara

I am falling more and more in love with vintage cabinet cards and photos. Clara is one of the latest additions to my little "family." Once again, I can't help but wonder about her life. Was she happy? Did she marry, have children, grandchildren and grow old? Why is her photo being sold on eBay? What happened to her family? I will probably never know the answers to these questions, but, little Clara, you now have a home with me.

You may remember seeing Clara in Tree Hugger, and now I've just completed a collage sheet with her sweet, haunting face.

This week's theme for Gothic Arches is heritage. I chose an old family photo taken at a family reunion in 1936 as the basis for my arch.

My grandmother and grandfather are in the photo along with aunts and uncles. The handsome young boy on the right is my father at the age of 10. This is my heritage.

The quote is taken from Family and Politics by Letty Cottin Pegrebin, but it is well worth reading the entire quote.

If the family were a container, it would be a nest, an enduring nest, loosely woven, expansive, and open. If the family were a fruit, it would be an orange, a circle of sections, held together but separable—each segment distinct. If the family were a boat, it would be a canoe that makes no progress unless everyone paddles. If the family were a sport, it would be baseball: a long, slow, nonviolent game that is never over until the last out. If the family were a building, it would be an old but solid structure that contains human history, and appeals to those who see the carved moldings under all the plaster, the wide plank floors under the linoleum, the possibilities.

Happy Easter!

I wish you all a safe and happy Easter. Peace be with you!

Karen

Tree Hugger

Digital art created in Photoshop.

What kind of world do you want
Think anything
Let’s start at the start
Build a masterpiece
Be careful what you wish for
History starts now

excerpt from the lyrics of "World" sung by Five for Fighting

All Things Celtic...

... is the theme this week at Gothic Arches. Who wouldn't love this theme? Especially me with my father's family coming from Ireland and my mother's from Scotland. So, I had to do two arches. My first honors Saint Brigid of Kildare, not as well known as Saint Patrick, but also a patron saint of Ireland.

And, for the second, I had to have a little more fun with a wee little person. (I know, I know. Wee and little mean the same thing, but when I say it in my best Irish brogue, it sounds right!)

The wee little person here is my husband. Somewhere along the way he lost his wings. I'm not sure what happened.

Glass Houses and Tornadoes

With tornadoes blowing and baseball-sized hail falling all around our area today, what did I choose to do? Build a glass house, of all things, while watching the TV weather coverage all day — just in case I had to run down to the basement. My husband and I had this strange conversation that only a married couple could have. You know the kind, when you're only half listening to each other? He comes up the stairs talking about the huge hail just reported on the TV. I'm thoroughly engrossed in my little glass house, so I say "guess what I'm doing, I'm building a glass house." Suddenly we were aware of what the other was saying, and we both burst out laughing.

I'm sure most of you have heard of the terrible storms that have blown through the Atlanta area over the last 24 hours. The force of nature is amazing. My family and I are okay, but my heart goes out to the people who have lost their homes and, in at least 2 cases, their lives.

Boy in Window

This is my third piece I've done recently with black birds, as in the color, not just blackbirds. The bird above is actually a Jackdaw, a type of crow. I created "Boy in Window" for my sister's book, "As Simple as Black and White," for the Colors round robin. 

JONATHAN HOUGHTON

THERE is the caw of a crow,
And the hesitant song of a thrush.
There is the tinkle of a cowbell far away,
And the voice of a plowman on Shipley’s hill.
The forest beyond the orchard is still
With midsummer stillness;
And along the road a wagon chuckles,
Loaded with corn, going to Atterbury.
And an old man sits under a tree asleep,
And an old woman crosses the road,
Coming from the orchard with a bucket of blackberries.
And a boy lies in the grass
Near the feet of the old man,
And looks up at the sailing clouds,
And longs, and longs, and longs
For what, he knows not:
For manhood, for life, for the unknown world!
Then thirty years passed,
And the boy returned worn out by life
And found the orchard vanished,
And the forest gone,
And the house made over,
And the roadway filled with dust from automobiles—
And himself desiring The Hill!

Edgar Lee Masters (1868–1950).  Spoon River Anthology.  1916.

Blackbird

Another arch for Heather.

The quote is from a poem by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903).

The Blackbird

The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
    The lark's is a clarion call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
    But I love him best of all.

For his song is all of the joy of life,
    And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
    Our heart and lips together.

Enough said?