Where Bloggers Create lV

 The first thing you might notice about my studio is that I have way too much stuff, a circumstance shared by many artists and crafters, I'm sure...  but my collections and supplies comfort and inspire me on a daily basis. 


With everything visible and within reach, my creative spirit bounds to life as soon as I walk into this overstuffed room.

Favourite artists' works are always close at hand. On my door is a poster titled, "One World, One Hope", designed by Joe Average for an AIDS Conference held in Vancouver some years ago. 


Its plea for united brotherhood never fails to move me.

While it's true that I have a lot crammed into this tiny space, it is organized and tidy...at least, most of the time!

Drawers, shelves and containers of all sorts are pressed into service in an effort to keep the chaos at bay. I particularly like clear jars that let me find what I need at a glance, be it scrabble letters, buttons or beads.

I continue to believe there's a little magic to be found in my storybook tins.

Unfortunately, time restraints

 have often kept me from 

pursuing my artistic efforts

 to the extent I might have wished, 

but as I have just hit the magical 

retirement age, I will finally be 

able to chase a few of the

 dreams I have kept on hold 

for years. 

What a glorious feeling of

 freedom and

possibility that is!

This picture was taken
as a scrapbook
project was ongoing.
I could have tidied it up, but desks are made to work on after all, not be show pieces.




The carpet has long since come
out and I've been waiting, (a while!), for my dear husband to finish putting in the hardwood floor.
Growing weary of 
drab plywood 
underfoot, I painted
on this cheery rug.
 I will miss when
it finally gets 
covered up, though I don't think I need worry about that just yet!

Inspiration boards spill over with 

opera programs, postcards 

and assorted bits that

have captured my 

imagination.

My Artful Dodger poster always 

makes me smile...Nick Bantock's

 artwork simply

amazes me.

This is my muse. Isn't she beautiful?

We rarely see figurines of this sort 

here in Canada...I was delighted to

find her while on a visit to the States.

Her grace and quiet beauty embody

all the qualities of a sincere

and giving heart that I work on

emulating every day. 

Always the dilletante, I am easily pulled from one project to the next.

While happily prepping journal pages, I'll spy my colourful stack of wool and decide it's time to knit another scarf. The fact that it may be summer does not discourage me from rooting through baskets of woolly balls to begin a new project.

I am hooked on all Stampington & 

Company publications. In neat and 

orderly rows, I store every issue 

of Somerset Studio, Artful Blogger 

and Where Women Create. 

My goal is to be published in 

Somerset Studio. Of course, 

that  means I need

to control my procrastination

habit and actually submit

something!

It goes without saying that books are

 an important part of every room. 

I have always been a bibliophile, and 

own a sizeable collection of 

art and crafting books that I pore 

over lovingly.

If I could only control that 

evil doppleganger, 

Penny Procrastination,

I have all the tools I need

to produce great art!

Photography being my 

first love,

I'm fond of setting up

 vignettes

of vintage sewing goods 

and 

stationery supplies.

I love the little

medicine cabinet  

below and am always on the lookout for

antique jars to

fill it up.

A collection of tiny chairs line up on the window ledge, ever-ready should very small visitors come to call...I'm sure there are faeries at the bottom of my garden.

As convenient as computers unarguably are, doesn't everyone love the look of old typewriters?

By now you will have guessed

my secret...that I spend

more time talking about making 

art than actually doing so.

While photography and writing 

are my passions, and I do

pursue them avidly, I am aching 

to expand my creative 

boundaries. 

I am making progress. It certainly helps to have my own space with its bounty of supplies and endless inspiration. Wonderful things are bound to happen here!

   

I know how fortunate I am to have my own space and never take it for granted.

I am also doubly blessed....my studio adjoins our personal library which is stuffed to the brim with books. How lucky can one lady be?

For more inspirational studios, do stop by Karen Valentine's blog and check out her party. It promises to be spectacular...

http://www.mydesertcottage.com/

The Mona Lisa Smile

Because Leonardo's "Mona Lisa " was in the news recently, I thought to dig out a story I wrote some years ago. I was in an art history course at Kwantlen University, (where I also work), and to my great delight, the instructor offered that we might write a story about a Renaissance masterpiece in place of a carefully documented essay.

.

 I happily rattled off this tale...

.

As she was wont to do in times of stillness, Lisa surrendered her thoughts to childhood. It was easy, here in her parent’s house, to look back on the past. The warm air around her, heavily sweet with the scent of wisteria, was the same air she had delighted in as a child. The verdant slopes that rolled lazily away from the villa’s doors were the same lush hills she had roamed so frequently as to know them by heart.

          She pictured herself, once more, in the middle of her father’s vineyard, tracing with her eyes the orderly rows that stretched away from her on the south-facing slope. They seemed to her nearly endless, snaking lithely down the hillside, only to merge at last with the silver strands of olive trees in the valley below. She knew if she turned left, she would find herself in a meadow flush with wild poppies and sun-baked grass; if she went right, she would come to the kitchen garden where multi-hued clumps of lavender and thyme eagerly released their pungent odors as one brushed against them.

          Watching over all was Villa Vignamaggio, whose gold-tinged glow spoke both of the sun going down and of the warm haven that waited within. It had been the center of the earth for her, this land her father owned and the home he had built on it for his family.

          Dimly, she became aware of outside music nudging its way into her reverie, but Lisa brushed it aside. She heard only the sound of ivy-clad cypress trees tugged about by the wind and the ever-present rustling of grape vines heavy with the need to shed their bounty. This was the music of the earth; this was her concert and she needed no other. It was surely this sense of belonging to the land she felt nowhere else, that had made her request the portrait sittings be done at the family villa. She had come home to a place that some part of her had never left.

.

          Abruptly, a startled squeal rent the air, forcing her back to the present. A small striped kitten leaped nimbly onto her knee, to then nestle deeply into the velvet folds of her gown. It was not hard to deduce that her youngest pet had worn out his welcome with the massive wolfhound sprawled tiredly across the feet of his mistress.

          Lisa stifled a smile and resisted an urge to fondle the purring bundle in her lap. Signore Da Vinci was most stringent and would not wish her to ruin the pose he had so carefully crafted. She had found herself inordinately pleased when he’d told her she was the only woman he knew capable of sitting still for any length of time: he was not one inclined to bestow his compliments lightly.

          She tried to catch the master’s eyes, hoping to find approval there, but he remained hunched behind his easel, lost to everything but the process of putting paint to panel.

          The afternoon sun slowly slanted its way out of sight. Servants lit candles that gently filled the room with light and warmth, and still Lisa remained on the balcony where she had been seated, her arms resting on the balustrade, her back to the sky. She felt a chill run across her shoulder as the evening air took on dampness. Nights in the hills were as cold as the afternoons were warm: it was this balance that made the grapes grow succulent and fat.

          From the corner of her eye she could see a bright fire built by the workmen at the edge of the fields. Stoked with trimmings from the olive trees, it carved out a fragrant sanctuary in the gathering darkness. Frequently as a child, she had sat beside such fires, comforted by the easy laughter of the labourers, content at the end of their long work hours. Inevitably, the day came when her mother took her to task for doing so.

          “It is unseemly for one of your station to frolic with the peasants as you do, young lady.  I will not have it...do you understand? Why, I’ve been told you even go to the cellars to see how the wine is made.”

          Lisa opened her mouth to speak of the pleasure she took from the damp brick floors and the smell of fermenting grapes; but her mother cut her off before she could get out a sound.

.

          “Such nonsense! That is men’s work and none of your affair. You need only concern yourself with learning to run a household so that your servants do not cheat you, and your husband may be assured of returning each day to a home that is well-ordered and inviting.”

          Lisa tried to respond, but was again forestalled.

          “Enough!” came the admonishment. “You will fetch your embroidery and we will speak no more of this matter.”

          Lisa turned away in tight-lipped dejection. As she started across the terracotta floor, her mother’s voice carried after her clearly.

“You are not beautiful, daughter,” came the oft-heard reminder. “It is true that where beauty is missing, a humble and dutiful nature may nicely take its place - yet, as you are neither humble nor dutiful, I despair of making a suitable match for you. Is your father to support you all his days?”

          Lisa’s fine eyebrows rose sharply and she turned back in indignation.

         

“Why, I shall support myself, of course,” she responded adamantly. “I do not need a husband for that. Indeed, I do not see what need I have of a husband at all.”

A short gasp escaped her mother’s lips, and in the charged silence that followed, Lisa watched the colour drain from the rouged cheeks; saw the lips take on a paleness that was never allowed. That gasp was followed by one of equal surprise from Lisa as her mother’s hands shot out to grab her by the shoulders and give her a hard shake.

“Insolent girl! Do not get above yourself, or no one will have you.”

In spite of this dire prediction, Lisa made a good match when her time came to marry. Though Francesco del Giocondo came with no title, it pleased Lisa’s mother well that he was wealthy and much respected for his role in civic politics. He had become the city’s leading silk merchant: Signora Gherardini never passed up a chance to tell anyone who might listen that her son-in-law supplied the finest bolts of silk to the leading citizens of Florence, foremost among them, the Medici family. Moreover, with fabric as Francesco’s stock-in-trade, she was, herself, able to wear gowns of stunning opulence. Why her daughter continued to dress so plainly, when hers might have been the finest wardrobe in the province was beyond all understanding.

          For her part, Lisa surprised herself by coming to love the older Francesco. She believed him to be a better husband than most. He solicited her opinions, and listened thoughtfully when she spoke of things that ventured beyond the domestic. Never had he treated her as anything but an equal. She had borne him three handsome children, though her heart ached always for the daughter she would not see grown, and would never forget.

A cloud seemed to pass over her soul and left its reflection in her eyes. She simply could not accept that her late child would remain lost to her forever,

Once, when Signore da Vinci stopped work to jot a note in his well-thumbed journal, Lisa had been unable to stop herself from asking what he was writing. Without looking up, he’d replied absently, “I am observing that to plunge things into light is to plunge them into the infinite.”

It had taken her breath away, that sentence. She’d understood instinctively that the breadth of life was more than she could see, more than she could even imagine. She’d felt the wholeness of it, the knowledge that all was one; that nothing was ever truly lost. If hope had a voice, it lay in the words she had just heard.

.

A sudden stillness brought her back to the present, where Signore Da Vinci had put aside her brush and was watching her with studied intensity. As she met his look with her own frank and open one, his hands rhythmically stroked his long beard and the air between them cracked with life.

“Ah, Mia Dona,” the old painter at last crooned. “You are not entirely of this world, I think.”

Lisa felt the shadow lift from her eyes. Once more, a scolding voice seemed to fill her head. Lisa had come home on the summer afternoon of her twelfth birthday to find herself in trouble yet again.

“Lisa – where is your cap?” her mother had demanded harshly. “Are your guests to arrive and find you with damp, flushed cheeks and stains on your bodice?”

Lisa had sighed impatiently at the familiar tone, which made Signore Gherardini angrier.

“Do not scowl in that unladylike manner,” she’d continued, pulling twigs from Lisa’s loose hair. “What I tell you is for your own good. You will earn no one’s admiration if you do not learn to temper your bold ways.”

Lisa’s face twitched at the remembrance of her mischievous ways, knowing that the feisty girl was not as far removed as some might imagine from the respectable matron she’d become. Now, as then, she tilted her chin resolutely forward, slid her eyes slowly aside to focus on a point only she could see, and allowed the corners of her mouth to pull up in the smallest of smiles.

Signore da Vinci said nothing more but with a twist of his own lips, took up a brush to capture the light and the life that lay in that elusive smile. 

.

Where Women Create III

 

.
Computer problems caused

me to miss the July 15^th deadline for, ‘Where Bloggers Create III’, an absolutely amazing event hosted annually by the wonderful Karen Valentine of ‘My Desert Cottage’. 
.
I participated last year and was thrilled at the chance to peek into the brilliant spaces of so many wonderful artist/bloggers. You should definitely check out the link at the end of this post…I can assure you, you’ll be amazed at what you see once you venture into the rooms where women explore creativity, and share their joy!

.

 .
.
Though too late to participate in the event, I thought to share a few shots of my own tiny corner of inspiration for friends who
stop by.

.
.
.

In this room, I surround myself with things I love. Settled at my desk under the Tibetan prayer flags sent by my dear friend Sherry Blue Sky, it is impossible not to feel inspiration bubbling up to the surface.
. 

.

Mine is a space stuffed to

the ceiling with treasures,

and though tightly

packed, I can put my

hand on whatever

 I need at a moments

notice,

.

Colourful boxes help keep me organized, and are cherished as
much for their beauty as for the many items they can hold.

.

.

Pens and pencils line up in neat rows...
.

 

and rubber stamps

stand to attention

against an

art-bedecked wall.
.

It's telling that my husband never worries I'll drag him into jewelry stores, but does wince visibly when I suggest a quick look into every stationery department we pass!

.

Order is good, but any decent studio
 should contain its fair share of whimsy…

It seems only fitting to me that rulers
reside in boots, and cigar boxes
overflow with jewel-toned buttons.
.

 

.
.
.
.
.
While I call this my studio, there is  very little art made there, I’m afraid.
.

I do tackle the odd project like this shadowbox

honouring my mother and father...

 .

an assemblage built around how dearly my mother loved her father...
.
.

and a collage that says how strongly I feel about the need for art in our lives.

 .

.
.

But when pressed, I’m forced
to admit that my studio is
 mainly the repository of
 my many collections!
.
Things old and worn call out to me….

Cameras long out of use...

.

.

.
.

 typewriters for which one can no longer find ribbons...
.
,-.

.

and vintage sewing notions stuffed into clear jars.

.
.

Some pieces are loved more dearly than others. I truly believe there is magic to be found in my little storybook tins.
.

 I adore this old
pen-nib box,
quickly salvaged
when it was

discarded at work...
 .
.
.





.
 and I've been collecting
wheeled tins
for so long that
they’re old friends
to me now.

.

.
.
.
.
Discarded film reels,
vintage school primers,
and bright balls of wool
have an intrinsic

beauty that I’m unable
to resist!
. 

.

.

Clearly, I am an incorrigible

magpie!

  

.

.
.
.

I share my studio with Miss Prue. 

 .

A quiet and easy companion, Prudence tends to wear all her jewelry at once and simply pulls on more layers when she can’t decide which outfit to wear...
.

As I've been known
 to take the same
carefree approach
to life, we've come to

consider ourselves

'artistic' rather

than 'eccentric'!

.
.

The very best thing about my studio is that it adjoins my library with it's floor-to-ceiling shelves and scores of books.
.

.

A daily wander from one room to the other is the best way to remind myself how blessed I truly am...
.
Hopefully, you enjoyed the tour of my little world. I also hope you drop by "Where Bloggers Create III "- it is a true celebration of the friendship, inspiration and inclusivity that makes blogging the true joy it is in our lives.
.
http://mydesertcottage.blogspot.com/
.
.