Karen's Muse and Musings

Where has the time gone?

It has been over THREE YEARS since my last blog post! I knew it had been a while, but I can't believe it's been that long. A lot has happened during these years including my mother's death and the birth of another grandson. Losing my mother took away any desire to create. Thankfully, that desire has returned. So, I don't know if anyone is out there since you've probably all given up on me, but here it is — my first post in over 3 years.

In an effort to get the creative juices flowing again, I decided to particpate in The Documented Life Project. The theme for January is "The Blank Page and How to Face It." This past week's art challenge was the color wheel, and the journal prompt was a quote from Georgia O'Keefe:

"I found I could say things with color and shapes that I couldn’t say any other way..."

So here is my interpretation of the challenge and prompt.

I began by gluing down patterned tissue paper with matte medium. Then I painted Golden Fluid Acrylics Titanium White to tone down and partially hide the tissue paper. After that, I used Distress Paint (Spiced Marmalade, Peacock Feather, Peeled Paint and Faded Jeans) to paint over my background. I dabbed and smeared with my fingers. I should have photographed my fingers during this process, but you can imagine! Then I used this texture tool with the white acrylic paint to put white spots and dribbles all over. I die cut the letters to spell out color. I decided the spread reminded me of a garden, so I cut this poem written by Vita Sackville-West.

This little space which scented box encloses
Is blue with lupins and is sweet with thyme
My garden all is overblown with roses,
My spirit all is overblown with rhyme.
As like a drunken honeybee I waver
From house to garden and again to house;
And, undetermined which delight to favour,
On verse and rose alternatively carouse.

I scattered some random words around the page, then stamped a honeybee image and a flourish in black ink.

I'm excited to approach the next week's challenge, so hopefully it won't take me 3 years to get back here!

From Skinny to Fat

If you follow my blog, you know about my Oh My Gothic group. We formed about 3 years ago to do a collaborative art swap each year. First year we made gothic arch-shaped pages, and the second year we made house-shaped pages. Last year we did skinny book pages, 4" wide by 8" tall. Now we are creating fat book pages, a 4" square. We are wising up in that we are now only seriously arting up one side. Still, I managed to be late. The page above is my June page, and it's for the very creative Lenna. It's a fabric collage stitched onto watercolor paper. You may recognize the bird. It's a scan of the Lincoln sparrow I painted a few weeks ago. The words (oh, by the way, Lenna's theme is quotes) are from Emily Dickinson.

Hope is the thing with feathers   
That perches in the soul,   
And sings the tune without the words,   
And never stops at all,   
 
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm   
That could abash the little bird   
That kept so many warm.   
 
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,   
And on the strangest sea;        
Yet, never, in extremity,   
It asked a crumb of me.

Lenna puts together the most amazing swaps. You should check out her swap blog here if you love to create and swap art.

A Bit of Whimsy

This is my whimsical rufous-sided towhee also called the eastern towhee. I was happy to find a use for those pretty orange buttons because they are pretty special, being vintage bakelite. I have decided not to put a twig at the top of this one, but I am not sure yet how I will hang it. I will think of something. The quote is from Emily Dickinson (who else?), and here is her complete poem.

A bird came down the walk:   
He did not know I saw;   
He bit an angle-worm in halves   
And ate the fellow, raw.   
 
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,   
And then hopped sidewise to the wall   
To let a beetle pass.   
 
He glanced with rapid eyes   
That hurried all abroad,—   
They looked like frightened beads, I thought   
He stirred his velvet head   
 
Like one in danger; cautious,   
I offered him a crumb,   
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home   
 
Than oars divide the ocean,   
Too silver for a seam,   
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,   
Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Soon I will be selling these bird fabric collages or quilties in my Etsy shop, but if you are interested in purchasing one, contact me.

High from the earth ...

I did it. I tore myself away from the computer and other distractions long enough to make this  project using the nuthatch that I painted on muslin. I cut it out and sewed it into this little fabric collage. The words at the top are from a poem by my favorite poet, Emily Dickinson. Here is the complete poem.

High from the earth I heard a bird;   
  He trod upon the trees   
As he esteemed them trifles,   
  And then he spied a breeze,   
And situated softly   
  Upon a pile of wind   
Which in a perturbation   
  Nature had left behind.   
A joyous-going fellow   
  I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction   
  And badinage partook,   
Without apparent burden,   
  I learned, in leafy wood   
He was the faithful father
  Of a dependent brood;   
And this untoward transport   
  His remedy for care,—   
A contrast to our respites.   
  How different we are!

I have to show you the back side of this piece because I like it almost as much as the front. My friend, Caryl, gave me some of this gorgeous mock suede fabric when she sent me my skinny book page.

Every Inchie Monday — Heart

A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,   
That sat it down to rest,   
Nor noticed that the ebbing day   
Flowed silver to the west,   
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor constellation burn,   
Intent upon the vision   
Of latitudes unknown.   
 
The angels, happening that way,   
This dusty heart espied;
Tenderly took it up from toil   
And carried it to God.   
There,—sandals for the barefoot;   
There,—gathered from the gales,   
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering sails.

– Emily Dickinson (1830-86)

The Best Valentine Ever!

I now know that I have the most wonderful husband in the world. In the past, I had thought it might be the case, but I wasn't sure. Now I am. Yesterday morning — Valentine's Day — he surprised me with two beautifully wrapped packages. Very surprised since I thought we were only exchanging cards. I opened the smaller of the two gifts, and it was a book of poems, The 100 Best Poems of All Time, edited by Leslie Pockell. Inside he had placed a bookmark beside "How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Thinking that was very sweet and romantic, I opened the second gift. This was a beautifully framed photograph of the poem. At first I thought he had purchased a print and had it framed. Imagine my delight upon discovering that he had done it himself! I discovered that after he bought the book, he waited until I was asleep one night and then photographed the poem in the book. He positioned his wedding band, standing up, in the middle of the pages, then he arranged the lighting so the ring created a heart-shaped shadow.

Here it is — the best Valentine ever!

HOW do I love thee? Let me count the ways.   
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height   
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight   
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.   
I love thee to the level of everyday’s           
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.   
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;   
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.   
I love thee with the passion put to use   
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.           
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose   
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Mermaids

As promised, here are my mermaid skinny pages for my friend, Cat. I thought I would have them done sooner, but my first set is in the trash ... uh ... I mean the prototype file. I found two poems that inspired these pages, but I had the hardest time finding a way to incorporate the poems until I decided to put the poems in the tails! You can't read the entire poem in the tail, but you can get the idea. Here's the poem that inspired the page above.

Who would be
A mermaid fair,
Singing alone,
Combing her hair
Under the sea,
In a golden curl
With a comb of pearl,
On a throne?
I would be a mermaid fair;
I would sing to myself the whole of the day;
With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair;
And still as I comb I would sing and say,
"Who is it loves me? who loves not me?"
      - Lord Alfred Tennyson, The Mermaid

 

The second one is darker because of this poem:

A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
     - William Butler Yeats

Isn't that sad? I love it though. It's been haunting me for days.

You probably recognize the top parts of the mermaids as paintings by John William Waterhouse, an English Pre-Raphaelite painter who lived from 1849 to 1917.

Angel of the Weary Hearted

COME to me, angel of the weary hearted!   
  Since they my loved ones, breathed upon by thee,   
Unto thy realms unreal have departed,   
  I too may rest—even I: ah! haste to me.   
 
I dare not bid thy darker, colder brother
  With his more welcome offering appear,   
For those sweet lips at morn will murmur, “Mother,”   
  And who shall soothe them if I be not near?   
 
Bring me no dream, dear Sleep, though visions glowing   
  With hues of heaven thy wand enchanted shows;
I ask no glorious boon of thy bestowing,   
  Save that most true, most beautiful,—repose.   
 
I have no heart to roam in realms of Faëry,   
  To follow Fancy at her elfin call:   
I am too wretched—too soul-worn and weary;     
  Give me but rest, for rest to me is all.   
 
Paint not the Future to my fainting spirit,   
  Though it were starred with glory like the skies;   
There is no gift immortals may inherit,   
  That could rekindle hope in these cold eyes.   
 
And for the Past—the fearful Past—ah! never   
  Be Memory’s downcast gaze unveiled by thee:   
Would thou couldst bring oblivion forever   
  Of all that is, that has been, and will be!

— Frances Sargent Osgood