lovestrees

ya know i do...


we had one sunny day last week, so there was no question how i was gonna spend it. went off to see some trees i hadn't seen since last fall. this stick now lives in the tree in the top pic...


this tree flag has been out two years now. look at how bright those caran d'ache crayons still are. jeez, this impresses me!


this one has one year of service in...


so beautiful...


farther along, this is me in total sun/sky/tree bliss... eating grapes and listening to shawn colvin sing 'crazy'. there cannot possibly be a drug better than this. i'm not far from the packrat mansion in this post from last september. it appears that the mansion is still occupied...


walking back... looking south i can see two valleys and mt. lassen, which last erupted in 1915.


i haven't done any art this week! it's come to me like a bolt of lightning that it's time to sell my lampworking stuff, and believe me, it's a lot of stuff. so i've been taking pictures and putting things online to sell. i still have my torch, oxy concentrator, and kiln if you know anyone who wants to start lampworking. i will make them a very good deal...

anyway, this is the disintegration bundle that i buried last spring when everyone else in seth's collaboration was revealing theirs. i felt so grouchy this morning (not doing art, you know) i figured digging might help, so i dug it up. no way! not nearly disintegrated enough!


oh yes, the doll... she arrived at my mother's and i think she is well loved...

i read this in 'the power of your other hand' this week...

...all progress must come from deep within and cannot be pressed or hurried by anything. Everything is gestation and then bringing forth. To let each impression and each germ of a feeling come to completion, wholly in itself, in the dark, in the inexpressible, the unconscious, beyond the reach of one's own intelligence, and await with deep humility and patience the birth-hour of a new clarity: that alone is living the artist's life: in understanding as in creating. There is no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide.

Rainer Maria Rilke, 'Letters to a Young Poet'


XO