Lens, Lines and Lineage Exhibition @SCPL

On June 10, I hope you will join me along with photographer Ed Boden and fellow artist Jawanna Herd at the Scott County Public Library in Georgetown, Kentucky as it opens its gallery doors to the public for the “Lens, Lines and Lineage” Exhibition.

I have 10 pieces in this exhibition.

These works were done over the past 18 months and they are unlike anything I have done before and will ever do again.

I began with a 30 x 40 canvas that became “The Spirit of Radio” and ended with the two smallest pieces, “Let it Be” and “Kashmir”.

All of the pieces are titled from songs that have played through my head and on my radio throughout my life here on this big blue marble.

While the pieces are not representative of the lyrics themselves, they are a reflection of those rhythms and emotions that arise and arose from the music as it flowed through me.

Each piece is built from a chosen palette base of Oil Paints or Acrylic Paints at my easel, followed by the addition of varietal colored India Inks. After drying and curing, white ink makes its way to the painted and inked surface from a flat work position.

Phase I and II are completed in the solitude of my studio and the white inking or Phase III is done at the breakfast table on the first floor.

Some phases of work require privacy of thought and others require the movement and energy of a livelier location. Most of the time I prefer working near the kitchen and the family room. Even if I am alone, the energies of those spaces are warm, refueled and always changing.

Life, is in the busy places.

As the white inking begins, I allow my mind to dance through the rhythms of music to the song that has been designated through the palette choice from the beginning.

I take breaks often and give rest to my fingertips and my mind and I had to reorder ink, not once, but twice.

It took some practice to allow my hand and my subconscious to work in unison without practicality and overthinking getting in the way.

When I returned to the work after breaks, I spun the canvas and began a new starting point, to create a dispersed flow of starts and stops.

This process will hopefully enable the viewer to look at the pieces, without being drawn in one direction or another.

While many critics might find this an odd objective, since balance, composition and the draw of the eye is usually a large consideration for works, it is a sincere hope that each time they are viewed, new outcomes abound.

In a sense, these pieces are a collective of broken rules.

I am truly excited to be a part of this Exhibition and I am also looking forward to the reveal myself, as their presentation design will be a surprise for me as well.

See you on June 10. 5-7 pm.
If you can’t make the Reception, you can find the Exhibition up through July.

Boost post

Like

Comment

Share

Timed In.

“It has been said that in human life there are moments worth ages…”
~William Wordsworth

The past week or so has given me a lot of opportunity to think a bit more than I usually do.

Disturbing dreams, moments of reflection, friends who are ailing or going through tough times and lessons taught in nature right outside my back door.

I started thinking about how eventually, our lives are going to be discussions at family dinner tables, stories handed down to people we will never know or see; and how we live our lives today, will determine what kind of lessons, smiles, metaphors and gained tales of perseverance, wisdom and humor will delight ears long after we are gone.

All the struggles we endure, obstacles we overcome, joys and sorrows, loss and gains and even subtle celebrations change the world around us, influence the people that we encounter and echo long after we leave this earth.

So why do we waste so much of our time, worrying about the inevitable?

We push back, hide from, alter and try to outrun, Time.
When actually Time is a kindness.

It affords us opportunities along the way of our lives to change. It gives us emotional growth our entire lives, to bloom into the best versions of ourselves we can be.
Whatever that is, is ours to produce.
We are the director, writer and ultimately the critic.

So don’t be hung up on time.
Lost or gained.
Just live.
Your best life.

Struggle is normal.
Failure is normal.
Success is your version.
But be happy.
Be your own true story.

Hear your own echo.

Misty Taste of Moonshine, Teardrop in my Eye…

“Hope is the physician of each misery.” ~Irish proverb

Sitting at my easel today, with my headphones on, I found myself wiping tears from my cheeks as the song Country Road slipped gently into my head through the modern magic of Pandora.

The simplicity of winding roads and discovering America through a renewal in Patriotism and dedication to Country as we approached our Bicentennial, it seems, I took all too much for granted at age 12. Back when “isolation” was lying on my Chenille bedspread waiting on a friend to call that ugly orange rotary phone and whisk me away from my lilac painted walls on Clays Mill rd.

Back when my only worries were keeping my leather Adidas clean and having enough lunch money leftover for a Dr. Pepper and bag of Doritos for my walk home.

Listening to the song wind its way through the emotional highs and lows of taking me home along that “country road“, I found myself relieved that my parents were able to live and die feeling safe in a world they had always known. I am not sure if they could have processed this world we have right now. Not because of any diminished intelligence, but because the arrival of this skewed version of reality seems so deliberately cruel.

I am not someone that prays for the end of times.
I am selfish that way I suppose.

I want to wear myself out here on this big blue ball.
I want to exhaust all there is to being human.

I want to love all I can.
I want to run to all the corners and say I was there.

I want to embrace all the wonderfulness here and believe in Mankind.
I want to know what it is like to see our kids change the world.
I want to watch their dreams grow and explode into incredible realities.

I am not ready to say “this is it.”

I am not ready to say that we are spiraling into a new era of hate fueled speak and intolerance.
Regardless of what the mean spirited and maniacal humans out there try to do to destroy my Hope, I will remain steadfast.

I will Hope.
Man, will I Hope.
And I will pray.
Consistently.

I will Believe that we are capable of recovery.

We WILL be strong enough to enjoy the ride.
We will go Home again.

~Margie Rigney

Eve of Eve’s Past

“And, so, Christmas comes to bless us!
Comes to teach us how to find
The joy of giving happiness
And the joy of being kind.“
~Gertrude Tooley Buckingham, “There Will Always Be a Christmas,” 1940s

I love the process of things…the beginnings, eve’s-of, the right-before-the-finish stages.

When I was little, by the time I was 10, both of my sisters were married and gone. So decorating for Christmas, rested on the shoulders of my mother and myself. My Mama made it a point to wait until the last two weeks before Christmas to put up the tree.
No exceptions.
It was a guideline that was not to be messed with. You could ask, when you saw other living rooms beginning to blink red and green on the street, but the answer would always be, “It’s not time yet, Margie May. You’ll just have to wait.” It was excruciating to see that other homes had already transformed into winter wonderlands while ours still proudly displayed Thanksgiving refrigerator Art from Clays Mill Elementary.

“Enough of the hand-print turkey!”
It was time for glitter and snowmen on red construction paper and tree tinsel and ornament hooks wriggling their way into our camel colored shag carpet.

My wish for new decor would usually be granted after a Lawrence Welk or Bob Hope Christmas special and my mother would turn to me and ask if I wanted to go to the attic for “the boxes”.
And. Oh. The. Boxes.

So many boxes.
Shoe boxes, cardboard boxes, sewing machine boxes…any box with any structural integrity could be elected to pack up decorations and hold the blue million limbs to the artificial Christmas tree we packed up the previous January.

I knew the boxes by heart.
They didn’t need to have “Christmas” in red crayon along the side for me to know their contents. Because I knew that the box that had a picture of a Samsonite make-up case, was indeed my Mamas mercury ornaments wrapped carefully in pages of the Lexington Herald newspaper. (The Herald Leader came later, it was a combo of the newspaper morning edition Lexington Herald and the Evening edition, The Lexington Leader-My parents got both editions…just to be super informed I suppose, or maybe it just helped wrap ornaments and line our brown paper garbage bags)

I knew the G.E. headlamps box contained the 8 or 9 strings of large multi colored bulbs that would burn your fingers off and melt the tinsel into curly-ques if they came in contact with one another and I knew that the very old, off colored cardboard box that was older than our house and made my hands itch, held the precious ornaments I loved the most.
Because they were nearly all different.
Each one with a little story.
Stories that I loved listening to and my Mama loved telling.

We had what I believe was probably the very first model of the Artificial Christmas tree. One green, splintery, wooden pole that set directly into an overly complicated tree stand, initially intended for live trees. Each of the limbs originally had tags on their twisted wire ends labeling them A, B, C, D, E… for their position on the tree stick. However, they disappeared, one by one over the years so we were left guessing their placements on the tree.

Some of the holes for the limbs had become so enlarged from use that we would employ fishing line, run from one limb to another to prop them up. Then turn that side towards the wall.

We did this and nobody ever noticed, because my mother was an Artist.
A tree Artist.
Artiste’ de la Arbor.
At least to me. Together, under her guidance, we would transform this box of straight wire limbs into a glorious 7 foot Crowned Conifer.

We had a small stereo in the living room with two Christmas Albums, that we played while we worked on the tree. Andy Williams Christmas and Bing Crosby Holiday Favorites. If I got tired of those, repeating, I would sneak in The Sound of Music and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. (Both of which still reside in our LP collection)

My father was never much of a decorating participant. Even before his father was killed by a drunk driver on Christmas Eve when I was just 9, but even more so after. My mother and I would bribe him to visit the living room from his recliner in the den to marvel at our work with promises of cookies and hot chocolate. He would always smile and make the proclamation, “BUT REMEMBER NO WREATH!” which was his own way of reminding us that wreaths were for the dead. (This was very true for people of his generation, wreaths on doors were notices of death of a loved one). It seemed as if after he said this, and his conditions were met, it was okay to proceed.

So we would jingle the bells that he did think were permit-able and he would take them and hang them from the finishing nail that resided unnoticed on our front door the rest of the year.
And in that one moment, he was participating and had unknowingly become a part of Christmas.

We were sneaky like that. My Mama and I.
Luring him through the house by means of sweet treats and relinquishing him of his “bah humbug” attitude without him even realizing it. Over the years his heart would soften,the tragic loss of his father would be remembered quietly and only good memories would remain. He would embrace and celebrate his own role as Papaw and with that, his world became a kinder, gentler place and even though it was different without my Papaw, life did go on.
Christmas still came, trees were lit, dinners were had and presents were wrapped.
*******

So having said all that…here I sit. I just set the lights on our tree, David put the ladder back and was so nice to use the air compressor earlier to dust the tree we have had since Martha Stewart first graced the public with her tree collection; long before the oceans drank Atlantis and long before she served her sentence in pretend prison for tax evasion.

Tomorrow we will put the ornaments on this 9 foot behemoth.
The kids will work until the 200+ ornaments are all resting on branch tips and David and I will share stories and legends of their origins.

But for tonight, I will enjoy this Eve of Ornamentation. The prequel to adornment.

Remembering my Mama, my wonderful Father and their subtle ways of celebrating tradition and honoring family who were no longer with us.
To you, and yours, as you embark on this Christmas season, I wish you unlimited, Peace, Forgiveness & Hope.

The Joy of Plain Paper

When I was younger, I drew on everything.

The bottoms of Kleenex boxes, photos of people in the local newspaper, any spare scraps of paper we had laying around, I was scribbling on it.
Even things I shouldn’t.

My favorite most treasured piece was the small thin white cardboard piece that was in my mothers Pantyhose packaging or the one that was in my Fathers folded dress shirts.

I suppose it was the size of 6×8. Just big enough to create a small painting or pencil drawing on.

To me, that was extremely fancy paper.

I would often ask for paper for Christmas and Birthday gifts. I didn’t enjoy Construction paper like most kids, it was never my favorite. It seemed too bold, already deciding what color to be, how precocious.

I liked paper that had no idea what path was in it’s future.
I wanted adventure.

Plain. White. No lines and no holes, Please.

One time my Father brought me a roll of unprinted magazine paper that was the end of the roll. It was probably 25 feet of clean, white paper.
Majestic.
Beautiful.
Vividly, blank.

But it was ad-slick, so the only thing I could use on it were markers and ink pens.

So I made wrapping paper with it.

I would draw the repeated patterns or something for a special occasion and then my Mama would use it for shower gifts or birthday presents, I would accommodate almost any party style.

Graduation? How about 300 graduation caps and tiny rolled diplomas on a Bay City Rollers plaid background.
Baby Shower? I got you. Bottles, pacifiers and diaper pins adorning a squiggly line checkerboard pattern in blue and pink. 

I can still remember what a lengthy process it would be to finish a piece so large that it could wrap a dress shirt or baby blanket set delicately in tissue paper, inside a white McAlpin’s gift box.

Often people that received them would say that the “paper is prettier than the present!” and I think they mostly said that to be nice, but it was flattering nonetheless to a nine or ten year old girl with marker stained fingers and a lot of imagination.

I truly enjoy doing work to see it used.

Even as a young person it was important to me.

***

Because Artist’s works are deserving of being valued and one day finding the perfect space to tell their story, often our pieces are stacked in inventories that are only seen on rare occasions where they can be unveiled to experience their stories together in a shared setting.

(Unless they are sold to our wonderful collectors and buyers.)

The river of Isolation we are all experiencing, is leaving a wide wake.

It seems everyone is caught in the cross-hairs as we move through this new time of change in our lives.

I look forward to a time when we can return to a showing of work on a regular basis; where Art is again in its rightful place, adorning gallery walls, surrounded by visitors and collectors and celebrations occur just for the sake of Art.

A time where we can gather and gaze and lift the Arts again as well as our glasses in a well deserved toast and cheer to returned normalcy, which we took for granted and hopefully never will again.

Remember the Artist, the Singer, the Performer, the Builders and the Makers of Merry.

We are struggling.

When we emerge, celebrate our Homecoming.

Show up.

Support.
Encourage.

“Art is the triumph over chaos.” ~John Cheever

#Hashtags…For Me, Just Saying No.

“Pictures must not be too picturesque.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Today I was working on my instagram account, hashtagging my work and I stopped and asked myself “why?”

What is the basis for my exposure to #trees? Am I thinking that someone is going to contact me for my piece because they are casting a wide net looking online for tree art?
I don’t think I want my work to appeal or appear Generic or #generic, but I am being #sarcastic I suppose.

I had to ask myself repeatedly Why? I even wrote down some answers quickly and found even more questions arose about what need or purpose I am fulfilling when I post images of my completed work to the public; Only to contradict myself in the next feeling or emotion I wrote on why I choose to bare or disclose work so openly.
And it made me think.

Really hard.

I was caught in the cross hairs of wanting to share my work because it makes me “feel so good to create”, and the effects of over exposing the hours of effort on canvas, so casually to the public. As if it was “uncomplicated and simple”.

Because, as Artists, each piece is a tiny bit of ourselves.

Our DNA is actually all over the work.
Physically and mentally.
Each piece leaves with us as a part of it.
Our hands caress the canvas, turning it, adjusting it, embedding in it….our breath is cast out in calming exhales all over hues of blue and rainbow.
It is not simple or a flourish of “ta da!” moments.

Are there dangers of over exposure, flaws in over sharing and losing the mystery of completion being offered as a reward for personal viewing and experiencing for those that truly appreciate our efforts? I wondered that today as I thought of Artists that had come before me, both local, regional, National and Worldly known.

I came to the conclusion that I am blessed with a beautiful group of humans that appreciate my work. Honestly, I never thought I would sell any of my work when I started, much less have over 300 bits of framed imagination out there on walls I have never seen. I began this and still do this because if I don’t, I feel like inside, I might die a little.
Every, day.
If I didn’t occasionally and often place a brush to canvas and inhale a mix of oil and acrylic.

Even though I love the honor of being a mother, wife, sister etc…without painting, sketching, feeling that physical role of idea to paper expose itself, I feel ridiculously, incomplete.
It seems silly almost to imagine that something so basal can be the key to unlocking the rest of your purpose.
But it’s real.
It’s true.
It does.
For me.

So that brings me back to where I was earlier…Is the time that it takes to create relevancy on Social Media worth the effort? Is hashtagging and working in this forum good for me?
Or is it time wasted on a public audience that is over saturated in Art pics already?
Am I giving away too much in an effort to be seen?

I think I am.

I will never be a Master. Those days of Monet and DaVinci are over. There are no more Century apropos Artists that define period work. We are a massive group portraying work for a massive audience. I need to be more specific and intentional with my exposure.
Selective, purposeful and calculated.

This is just one Artists opinion.
Other Artists may feel differently.
And that is okay.
Their purpose may lie in a more public forum and arena.

But I feel that I owe it to my work, not to be so casual about it’s conception. I need to treat it with responsibility and protect its character and value by not exposing it so neat and tidy.

So I came to a conclusion, that for me, my work will be visible “in process” as videos and stills, (which is my favorite exposure) and completed works will be shown slightly off center, angled or reduced so that when they are viewed in person, there is still a mystery that unfolds and discovery.

We can reveal too much about ourselves and our creations sometimes. So much that I believe they can take on the feeling of being ordinary.

And none of us are Ordinary.
We are all walking talking, works in progress.

Hallelujah to the new year revealing to me truths that I need to know about myself and learning that life, is still an adventure in revelation. We all need to fine tune now and then about goals and reset ourselves.

I decided that I am not in a race.
I don’t need to be in competition with millions.
I would lose that race, undoubtedly.
99.9% would.

I just need to be open to the joys of epiphany and reveal my work as it occurs to those that are interested and the rest will unfold as it should and as it was meant to be.

Peace and happy days.
Let’s go outside.

“Resolutuion-Schmezolution”

I’ve never been much on January starts other than the standard, “I want to be healthier” mantra I have repeated year after year.
I started thinking today about what wonderful things Fresh Starts are, and how much we need them.
Not because they make us thinner or smarter or whatever, but because they are tiny promises we offer up to ourselves as hope.
Resolutions, renew us.

Even if they are temporary and wane after a bit, they are integral in keeping us in tune, partially with what our minds and bodies have agreed to as “good ideas” for better versions of ourselves.

So, this year, instead of “I wanna lose 50 pounds” I tried to look beyond my vessel and into my psyche and heart. I can’t change the world, I can’t fix inhumanity. However, I can continue to be a part of helping others. Because that makes me feel good.

Today, we will all mark off one more calendar year on the planet.
What makes us happy?
What makes the world better around us?
What discoveries have we not made yet?

I poured a hefty cup of Port this evening after spending three hours in the kitchen making dinner and realized, THIS is it.

Living, is my resolution.

Taking moments to appreciate time spent in good company, thankful for my marriage, cooking something new that challenges me, gratitude for talents I see in people around me as well as myself.

Enjoying my life.
By the mile, the fork and the glass.
Across tables, in recliners and over forest floors.
Pushing my limits on being healthier when I can and accepting when I stumble as part of being human.

Here’s to 2020,
A toast to Clarity and Discovery and continued Good Will.
Believing is seeing.

 

 

Checking in…

Checking in…

It can be done.
Taking time for yourself, in this crazy world, it can happen.
It doesn’t happen in large blocks of time, it is a little here and a little there, stolen moments dedicated to self.

Maybe it is just a coffee with no sugar, or a salad instead of a sandwich or a mug of broth to start your afternoon instead of a burger…a walk, an extra hour of sleep, a long bath or just sitting for a moment reading in the quiet before anyone else gets up.
Whatever it is that you can do to make time where you are focused health first, do that.

It takes a while for it to become more apparent to you that changes are happening in a positive way, but it happens.
Eventually.
Be vigilant.
Include YOU in your day.
Teach someone else that maybe has forgotten how.

I finally broke through that 20 pound mark to 23.5 this morning. I feel better, stronger, but more peaceful in my day, in my body.

I am not worried about Holidays, or foods or whatever temptations will arise. I figure there are two big challenge meals ahead, Thanksgiving and Christmas but there are many many more in between I can focus on and since I cook both of those meals, I can tailor it to everyone’s needs, a meal here or there where our plates are full of a few no-no’s isn’t the end of the world.
We will overcome that quickly and just pick up where we left off.

Food is a one of my favorite passions, I love cooking.
I haven’t stopped making my family favorites, but I do make more healthy alternatives and changing up my menu now and then by converting old recipes and being more conscious of omitting flour and sugar as much as possible, because that’s not really good for anyone and my goal is to create a better way of life, for everyone here. Not just myself.

I Love my coffee in the morning and I sure do love my tea at night. I have one to two cups of Sleepytime Extra at 9 pm every single night. I love that finish to my day, the closure is good for me.

So, that is kind of where I am in my journey to wellness and better living through a kinder walk in the Grocery store avoiding the center aisles as much as possible.
No fads, no shakes, no pre-made boxes of processed foods.
While that may work for some, and that’s great…
That just isn’t going to make it here.
Our country-fried palates are undergoing enough therapy!

But it is important to treat yourself to a few breaks now and then.
Connect with friends over coffee, tea, set up a nice ritual that marks the end of the day, because it feels really good to know that consistency. I can’t imagine my life without the times dedicated to friendships and learning more about myself through connecting to others through the stories of our lives, the events that made us who we are and how we live out those influences in our daily way of living.

Looking forward.
A must during these gloomier days and hues of gray that seem endless.
I just finished up my first juried in submission for a Horse focused Art Exhibition this week. I have worked hard on my studio set up and my dedication to focusing on not only my health but peace-filled work that is calming and serene and filled with intimate details regarding the soul of the piece, whether it is in the eyes, hands or surrounding habitat.
My current work is a focus of water, wildlife, equine and portrait work of depicted  dreamlike states of recalled memory and tranquility. I think over the Wintering months, this will prove to be a benefit to my mind and my influence on the space my work resides.

We never know how our imprint can affect others, in the present or the future.
My goal is to create an impression of work that will lighten the spirit, allow for respite and the pondering of not only what is or what was, but what can be.
I delight in the joy of possibilities.
I believe in the power of prayer and positivity.
We are all walking, talking miracles.
Share your insights and fine tune your spiritual hearing.
There’s more to the world, than meets the eye.
Rejoice in the listening.
**********
My BP this week, was 109/66 and my heart rate was a low 59 bpm.
Which is nearly a deep meditative state.
So, “calm” is looking pretty good these days, on my Self and hopefully my canvas too.

“Divinity’s Palette”

 

 

 

Art, Beer and Interesting Humans

Oh for the Love of Beer!
If you are in the area, please stop by and see my work for the month of August at Blue Stallion Brewing in Lexington, Kentucky.
I am introducing new work in my sepia series and there is a reception on August 25, from 2-5 pm where I will be featuring select work for the day as well as the installation on exhibit for the month.
There will be light refreshments and a table of new first run card prints.
The reception is located in the upper lounge.
Look for the Easels and Happy Faces.

https://www.facebook.com/events/418780362182069/

 

Oh How my Garden Grows, and Grows and…

“Many things grow in the garden that were never sown there.”
~Thomas Fuller
———————–
Last evening Lydia helped me load the mower into the Prius and we went to the garden.
It was about….600° Fahrenheit. We took off with the rear door open, dust swirling and wrapping itself back into the car. A grass encrusted mower held in place by a white drop cord from Christmas and a dog leash found in the junk drawer rolled slightly to and fro on cardboard.
Proudly, we made our pilgrimage to our green acre.
Nervously, I watched my rear view for cord failure.

I don’t think I’ve ever been that hot internally. By the time I finished I had sweat so much that my face was drenched to the point of not being able to see. I thought I had wandered into a cloud of tear gas but it was simply the ocean brimming from my pores.

I mowed down the longer grasses that had begun to close in around my sweet Grant Co. heirlooms, in order to keep an eye on them and access their little round bodies when they’re ready.  I made my way around 800 square feet of garden with crops that have had their run plus mounds of Butternut squash, a Crookneck Squash harem that refuses to surrender, 30+ tomato plants and varietal peppers, some of which scare me, because I lost their tags to high winds and I know I planted a Ghost Pepper just for fun.

There’s kale in a neat row, but it’s just for show…I have no plans on harvesting because it went in so late, but something will enjoy it. I see a few nibbles now and then and maybe that will satiate any crittery palates that need some homegrown greenery.

I mowed down my green beans, wilted lettuce side kicks and next week my peas are going bye bye after I take down the trellises.

The grass was wet and fragrant with growth so I know it’s helping my vegetables to stay hydrated by keeping the earth from drying out. I had originally worked to keep weeds and grass away, using a Hula Hoe and nearly breaking my back every three days to keep it muddy and brown between…but then I realized, grass is a pretty cool natural carpet and my boots didn’t really need to look like muddy clown shoes if I had a little ground cover.

I have tomatoes nearly ready and I’m really excited to have a tomato sandwich. I have a fresh jar of Mayo just waiting for a big beefsteak or Better Boy slice.  I see beautiful green orbs and I have to resist plucking them and frying them up in my iron skillet every time I visit. I’m hoping they are going to ripen and end up on my kitchen counter soon,  but most likely tomorrow, there will be a green one sacrificing itself to cornmeal and Crisco.

Gardening isn’t easy.
There’s a lot of waiting.
And praying.

And bites.
And the occasional stinger.

There’s swatting and sweating.
And swearing.

There’s a lot of joy and meditation too.
For me, gardening is about the time in…more than the yield out.

I think this year I’ve been outside more than any other time in my life.
My sunspots have sun spots.

I’ve bent and dug.
Pruned and plucked.
Practiced every bee friendly and organic trick I can to keep those veggies healthy.

I’ve buried a Bob White.
I’ve fed a rabbit.
I’ve laughed at a turkey doing the two-step.
I’ve been stung by an angry swarm of mahogany wasps. (R.I.P. you miscreants.)

I’ve sat on my folding chair and considered passing out a few times and climbed into my car covered in grass because it was all I could do to make it back to the seat.

What fun it all is.
Trying.
Struggling.
Waiting…

It really tests your spirit sometimes when you feel as if all your work has been for nothing and nature seems to be taking her own sweet time, and even teasing you as you visit daily to stare at cracked, brown, clay.

But there’s something truly beautiful about seeds.

They just wait for water.
They bloom where they’re planted.
When they’re ready.
Even when you think they are going to fail, they struggle and stretch and poke their tiny green arms out of the Earth.
You treat them well and they give you a wonderful gift…

And vegetables too.
💚

     
   

Hard Work and Happy Tired

There is something very satisfying about difficult work.

I think that we forget sometimes how GOOD hard work feels.

Not the work of paychecks and careers…not the monotony of the day to day. 
But hands in the dirt, sweat on the brow, give it all you got- kinda WORK.

The type of work that surprises you when you’re done.
“I did that all that?”

I find that I come to life in the Spring and Summer.

I am young again behind a tiller or mower; even though I am panting and sweat stings my eyes as it races past my bandanna. To passersby I am a 50 something overweight woman about to have a heart attack. But inside, I am lithe and agile as my pink work boots scoot through dandelions and stain themselves again in fresh chlorophyll green.

I have been so blessed this week with sore knees, dirty boots and tired legs.

It has been such a joy to feel complete exhaustion and using my body to connect with the earth and sun.

God knows how to get me to listen.
He knows how to make me still.

By making me move.

There is an old saying I have heard most of my life,
“A tired dog, is a happy dog.”
I think that pertains to people too.

We need to exhaust ourselves now and then, we need to push ourselves beyond the norm and lose ourselves IN the work. The joy, the fulfillment is actually in the ACT of work. The dirt under your nails, the mower throwing grass onto your boots, the sore muscles in your shoulders, the sun hot on our backs…it forces us into the reality that we are human.

Our fragility, our weakness after hard work, makes us stronger in spirit.

We are the tired dog.
We are the dog that ran until it had to rest.
And in the moment of surrender, that is who we really are.

Those moments when we are too tired to keep up appearances, too focused on water and a seat in the shade to waste time judging anyone else, that is when we have the opportunity to really connect to the world around us.

We are still.
We are open.
We are forgiving.
We are vulnerable.
We are free.

I will be “Miss Behaven” in March!

I am so happy to announce that I am doing some Live In-Progress paintings again!

Please visit Miss Behaven in Downtown Georgetown Kentucky on March 22nd from 5-7 pm. for specials and giveaways along with viewing newly released work from not only from myself,  but two other Artists as well!  
Plus, Miss Behaven’s new Spring inventories will be arriving!
 
I will be there with two wonderful Kentucky Artists.
Trace Deaton of Trace Deaton Artography & Lauren Parker of Backwoods Jewelry. 
We are all so honored to be included in this wonderful evening
in downtown Georgetown celebrating this great shoppe and gallery. 

We will be having giveaways and unveiling some really great pieces so make sure to mark your calendar!

I am giving away a 10 x 20 Giclee’ print of “Bottoms Up!” also known affectionately as The Drinkin’ Ladies to one lucky someone!

I will also have my business card “mini works” free for the first 100 people along with several post cards with three of my favorite Sepia Pub Prints while they last!

My latest completed work “The Reader” is framed and will be on display.

There will be incredibly unique jewelry from Lauren Parker who has a deep love for the region embedded in her Kentucky roots. Her ability to combine a little Bluegrass with her love of Art in each piece of her hand made jewelry is nothing short of  brilliant. You will definitely want to make time to talk with her and hear about her creative process and inspirations! 

Trace Deaton has an eye for everything. Through his lens you will believe you are seeing true Kentucky sunsets for the first time. Trace can take a cornfield and transform it into a work of Art. His combinations of photography and mixed mediums will elevate your Love for the Bluegrass State, even if you thought it wasn’t possible to love Kentucky any more than you already do!  
Don’t miss out on talking and meeting with him,
and hearing about the passion behind his work! 

I will be doing a new Sepia painting that night in the store
that I just started this week. 
I may start a new one, before then, you never know…
So come and see for yourselves!

I like working large, creating people that are life size, because it makes me feel like I am involved in the scene and experiencing the moment… so expect a big canvas!

I hope to see you there!
March 22 5-7 pm
Miss Behaven’ 
130 E. Main St. 
Downtown Georgetown, Kentucky

Change…You Can Count On It

Sharing from my Art Page.
Take a moment and wander around there if you have time.

Secondary Colors ~Acrylics and Artwork by Margie M. Rigney

“The place you are right now
God circled on a map for you.”
~Hāfez

At 55, I have finally learned, until you see it happening, there is still time for things to change. After four years of preparing for Texas, numerous yard sales, downsizing our movable items, closing a business, adapting to the changes that Texas was to afford us…right up to minutes before enrolling our son at a Texas University….at Thanksgiving we were given the news that we were to remain here, in our home state.

After an initial “What in tarnation?” growl session, we all rejoiced.

We can finally LIVE in our home. We don’t have to worry about resale and all that entails…we are officially LIVING here and making our space our own. For the first time, our son Ben actually chose framed art for his room. I just hung 8 pieces in his room…

View original post 824 more words

Why Can’t We be (Un)Friends?

“Don’t compromise yourself. You’re all you’ve got.”
~Janis Joplin

This entire blog post is one of the most difficult to write, mostly out of fear of how it will be received.
The subject is about as popular to discuss as head lice and constipation.
Even harder to confidently present as a query even among the closest of acquaintances.
Because it is a new phenomena.

One Click Social Network Unfriending.
The new break up dilemma.

Everyone is aware of the problem, or the hardship of the online friendship.
Even Facebook has installed new additions and levels to your privacy exposure to “friends” on Facebook. With their new “Take a Break”, “See Less of”,  “Unfollow” and *Custom fields, even each post has a setting. This weaning of friendship, this struggle really is, for lack of a better word… real.

Because this is a new frontier.
In this way of associating, we are truly infants.

Our parents never had to figure this type of relationship out, there are no rules of order for social network friendings, or unfriendings. We accept friends, based on their asking, we initiate friending to others by our own requests sent. We want to know more, understand more, expand our circle… but often, we do so without knowing enough about the people we are associating with and revealing our personal lives to.

What started out as a way to get to know people, network, share pictures and life events, has quickly spiraled into a very personal, heavily opinionated and often heated and angry exchange of political and personal views. It seems that once we collectively started sharing a little, some of us didn’t give a flip if other people out there might be offended or at least hurt by the negativity that spewed forth like an open carotid and some weren’t happy until they exposed the bare nakedness of their unwillingness to care about any of it.

And we need to remember, this is an entirely new animal.

Most of us were raised to be polite, show courtesies and treat one another the way we would want to be treated. In our personal lives, we used to keep mostly to ourselves, sharing with a select few about our lives, life events, politics and schedules.  Now we open ourselves up to so many people that we really are over exposed and under prepared for the wake of all this exposure.  We truly have compromised our circle of trust and sacrificed a lot of our well being in our efforts to be “social”.

A question I posed to a my husband this evening as well as a friend earlier in the day involved the difficulty that exists in “unfriending”.  In the physical social world, we associate with people of our choosing, we expose ourselves and regress or retreat from people that we don’t respect, fear, or otherwise no longer want to associate with, simply by no longer venturing into that company.

Now, where we are virtually in everyone’s living room all the time, there is no curtain to draw, door to close or gate to shut behind us other than clicking the unfriend button. And yet, for some reason it feels more harsh. Even if we have people that have hurt us, damaged our spirit, churn out negativity like it is a livelihood, we still, often hesitate.

I told my husband today, if one of our children, had a friend that created drama, was unhealthy for their spirit,  mocked their religion or exposed them to negativity on a daily basis, we would have no trouble seeing them ushered out of their lives and yet, we can’t seem to do the same for ourselves.

We need to come to terms with the fact that just because we all live in this world, it is okay to limit our exposure to one another. It is also okay to know that for our own health we can just say no to having to exercise our patience and bite our tongues. While I think tolerance is integral in growth, not everyone is good for us. Not everyone is safe, or trustworthy with our personal information and life. We do not need to constantly exist in a state of defense or mindless acceptance.

We need to understand that in this new world of social acquaintances we are going to have to learn to do the hard things, make the difficult and uncomfortable decisions to protect our spirits, our mental health and our Peace.

In the long run, we have to be friends with ourselves, first.

 

Slow Down, You Crazy Child…

“Some of the secret joys of living are not found by rushing from point A to point B, but by inventing some imaginary letters along the way.”
~Douglas Pagels

The older I get the more I realize how important it is to slow my pace.
Not only because I am slower myself, but because the joy is in the process.
The journey we’ve all read the posters about, truly is, its own reward.

I used to be so proud of the things I accomplished in a day…ripping and running from one thing to another and then tallying up all those check marks as if there was a prize for coming in “First and Nearly Dead”.

Now, I am learning the art of the delayed success.

The prep and the plan- well executed, partially or completely, but at a pace that allows for intermissions, wine sipping and the occasional recliner session.
I just wish I had realized it sooner.

Before my knees started to pinch a little, before the need of blood pressure medication and before I raised the bar on my own expectations of myself.
It took a while to realize that non-completion wasn’t failure.
It just meant it hadn’t happened yet, but it will.

So today when I began to start on Christmas decorations, I allowed myself the courtesy of taking it one room at a time and actually one century at a time and decided to do just the right side of the first floor. The Mid Century Modern side…and take a moment to time travel and enjoy it before the hustle and bustle begins.

I think that it just might turn out that my best gift to myself is time.
It is so easy to get bogged down in the superfluous nonsense. There are plenty of opportunities for me to use my manic side of myself, but I think I will tap into that later.
Often it rears it’s head without my summon, so no doubt it will appear this season.
But it comes in handy.

But for now, its 1965.
The house smells of yesterdays homemade cranberry sauce and there’s a hazelnut cocktail with an ice cube resting on my side table.
Three cheers for recliners and a well stocked bar.

Cheers, Good Tidings and Peace.

It is Well, With my Soul…and Serta

If you have the time…

Peace. Love. And Good Grits...

” ‘Tis the great art of life to manage well
The restless mind.”
~John Armstrong (1709–1779)

I don’t know when it started, but at some point around 1991 or so, I started secretly seeing myself negatively. As if I had a “not so good for me friend” I saw in secret and took their advice to heart even against my own spiritual well being.

Then later I just held on to this interpretation of myself.
Hello, my name is Margie. I am fat, frumpy, “less than” I could be.

I think Dave and I had been married about 2 years when I started this self inflicted private dissatisfaction. We had already endured and survived the loss of a child in the beginning of the third trimester, I was working second shift at a local headlamp factory, facing challenges of moving and buying our first house and all the stressors of…

View original post 794 more words

The Big (and More Importantly) the Small of it All

“Leroy bet me I couldn’t find a pot of gold at the end, and I told him that was a stupid bet because the rainbow was enough.”
~Rita Mae Brown

I hear people talk about not bothering with the small things, instead, focus on the big things in life.
But I love the small stuff, to me, that is the GOOD stuff.

Most everything that I find enjoyable is little.
I don’t care about big parties, extravagancies or big vacations. (Been there, done that, 
bought the t shirt.)

I prefer the conversation between Dave and I taking a ride in the country on a Sunday.
A cup of coffee before anyone wakes up, on the porch.
The way my daughter smiles in relief at me when she recognizes my car at school dismissal.
How good it feels to be welcomed home, even if only by the dog.

Those small things, those daily gifts are precious.
To me, the big things, are the unimportant things.
Because they’re fleeting.

My mother used to say, “Big and fast, won’t last.”
She was right.
It applies to just about everything, from snowfall to relationships.

My kids repeat those words to me, whenever there’s a flash thunderstorm or a heavy snow. It calms us, because it’s true.
Her words of wisdom transcend time and her presence.

Those Big plans seem to lose their stamina. While family, coffee and a sunrise seem to hang right in there.

Lately, I feel like I must be the opposite of most people. I think that this summer really changed my perspective about a lot of things. Mostly about how the world sees me and what I’m putting out there to be seen, by the world.

Am I leaving a positive presence? Am I taking care to see that the people I love, know it. Is there enough emphasis on the “now” of it all?

I used to be compelled to get as much done as I could in a day, a week, a year. But now I find that by going slower, by taking a moment in the time I’m being afforded, to appreciate just being present… that, is where peace lives.

Because anxiety, fear and anger like the big stuff. They love the mayhem of it all.

Give me the little.
The seemingly insignificant.
I’ll treasure it.
And I’ll even buy the T-shirt.

 

If I Could Save Time, in a Box

“Instead of deadlines and dread, my home now smells like strawberry-apple bread and joy. I should bake more often.”
~Dr. SunWolf

I love our dining room.
Unfortunately, lately, we haven’t spent enough time here.
Taking time.

While scrolling through my news feed I noticed a lot of online food subscriptions for pre-planned meals. I am sure they are delicious, in fact a friend of mine makes them quite regularly with aplomb and applause.

But it made me wonder why they are so popular and it got me thinking…

I think that home cooked meals, the idea of cooking for your loved one or loved ones, has always been a sign of affection. It means something to make something for someone, even if it is simply a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Over the years, we have tried everything to make our lives more convenient, by adding drive thrus, delivery, cell phones and computers and gadgets to streamline our efficiency.

But somewhere along the way, we lost something.

I think we long for the nostalgia of the dinner table, the carefully prepared roast and potatoes, a house that echoes with the aroma of familiar, hearty, meals. It makes us feel comforted, like a hug from the past.

We started filling in that dinner time prep with scheduled sports, social activities away from the house, online shopping or simply a two income working family that just doesn’t have time to get the food to the table and we have in many ways, forgotten how.

And I think collectively, we realize that we miss it.

We watch series reminiscent of the 1970’s and 80’s because those times were quite simply, simpler times. There was no Facebook, Twitter, Netflix, or Internet. Our social time was friends or family in person, or not at all.

Growing up, dinner was our family board meeting. It was a time when we gathered, passed bowls, talked about our day, shared school troubles, last minute requests for school project supplies (that were due the next day) and we watched as our parents, communicated successfully, across a floral tablecloth and a tub of Country Crock.

Deep down, I think we need that connection and we just can’t master it with a pizza box and a Chick fil a sandwich.

We need ceremony.

Even something as easy as a ceramic plate and a real fork change the conversation, create a mood and remind us of our days when family, was all we knew, and naturally, undervalued.

These past few months I have been trying hard to rekindle that spark of familiarity within my memory and add it to my everyday life.

Because I too, lost it somewhere.

But I am finding it, a little bit more every day thanks to my Express Cooker and shutting down a lot of my social networking online, getting back to meeting friends in person and dedicating more time to meal planning when I can.  I am definitely determined.

We need to recognize the fluff and nonsense in our lives and rid ourselves of it. Practice the art of conversation with friends and family and gather and laugh in the comfort of genuine relationships.
And make food.
Real Food.
Even if it is something as simple as a peanut butter sandwich.

Whatever it takes, to get loved ones gathered around dinner on a semi regular basis, I am going to do that.

Whether it comes to the door in a box or arrives in bags from the grocery, I will take the time to sit and enjoy the food and the conversation.

And I am going to make it last as long as I can.

Happy, healthy, and homemade tastes delicious!

Bon appetit!

Mixed Mayhem July 2018

Ireland: Cliffs, Castles and Casks

“The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.”
~ Oscar Wilde

Twenty Two hours after waking in Dublin Ireland, my sweet husband Dave and I walked back into our home in Kentucky.
Straight into the loving arms of Ben, Lydia and Hazel.

What a tearful and joyous reunion.

Exhausted.
We rolled out small bits in story form, tiny snippets and tales of our adventures.
It’s all we had energy for.

We handed out the gifts we chose for Ben and Lydia, rejoiced surrounded in cool air, because our final flight had issues with their ventilation and there was no airflow until we were 10,000 feet in the air and we were held on the runway in the sun much longer than expected.
This delayed take off created a 90+ degree cracker tin of very sweaty and nauseous passengers strapped in their seat feeling a bit suffocated but it made the trip by car even sweeter on our way home once we landed in Lexington.

After spending the last 13 days in 6 or 7 different beds, I awoke this morning at 4:30 am in the near darkness of our bedroom and hallucinated the texture of ancient Irish cut stone walls in a round room. It was so real, as I was walking to the bathroom I was fully aware of what I was seeing and remarked aloud to myself, “Man, this is cool.”
The Celtic pattern on our bedroom curtains solidified this near religious experience and I struggled only slightly to focus, then surrendered to my trip down the light fantastic;
and fell back to sleep covered in very soft and welcoming, clean sheets, completely content with the illusion.

Why not enjoy one more day of Eiré?
I guess I brought it home with me more than I realized and it bled over into my subconscious.

Being gone so long and surrounded by so much sight seeing and appreciation for the past I know it is going to take a bit for me to re-acclimate to my normal life, and maybe, it has forever changed me internally. My feet were firmly planted in the footsteps of Monks and Vikings. My lungs filled with the smell of peat and bog and fragrant flower gardens, tended with meticulous care over centuries.

When we returned home, I learned my bed is a very special paradise. Four inches of memory foam topper feels like a cloud in comparison to the back sleeper mattresses we encountered. I joked about the “Medieval Mattress Company” that must supply all the beds there with mattresses. From your basic Corn Meal and Husk fill to your Double Husk and Cobblestone side sleeper.

Regardless of your flips and flops at night, your fatigue would fade away once you were privy to the generously prepared breakfasts each morning by our hosts.

Authentic full Irish breakfasts or your choice of eggs and pastries awaited every morning along with coffee or tea.
Without fail.

As much as I love cooking, it was a pleasure eating in Ireland. They didn’t disappoint a single taste bud. They even woke up a few.

We drank too much hops and grain inspired drink, but then just decided to forgive ourselves and dip right into as much trouble as we could.

Admittedly, my calorie count highs were probably in liquid form. But there’s such a distinct difference in ales, lagers, porters, gins and pot stilled whiskeys compared to their imported counterparts that arrive here, we all felt obliged to toast their rich, pride filled, histories in full immersion baptisms nightly. There were a lot of clinked glasses and foamy smiles.

 

 

 

We loved the open markets with fresh vegetables, fruit, breads, cheeses, olives, teas, fish and meats. Lean minced beef, lamb, pork and select cuts of meat along with bins and displays of iced fresh fish were common, even on farmers market days in the town squares.

 

 

I thought I would return home having gained massive weight but after 13 days of 3 full meals of freshly made delicious chowders, soups, sandwiches, seafood specials and fries- “chips”….I weighed in this morning only having gained 1.5 pounds during my 2 weeks of frivolity.

Which goes to show, if you walk 8-10 miles a day you can pretty much eat and drink anything you like!

That brings me to sidewalk talk, why don’t we extend our sidewalks further from our neighborhoods to our downtown streets?

I think we could encourage a great deal of foot traffic if we could walk from further away safely and all be a bit leaner. There is nothing like having a good walk after a great meal.

 

 

I bought Aran Islands Wool scarves, pewter pocket watches for the boys and one for our daughter that is smaller on a necklace, a beautiful enamel pin for her as well, two hats for Dave, one for our oldest son, scarves galore for me and a special color for my daughter in law and a unique hair accessory, a few Celtic reproductions in ore, two bottles of Irish Whiskey from Royal Oak, some locally written used poetry books-one signed by the author, we toured two breweries-Guinness and Smithwicks and two Distilleries- Tullamore D.E.W. and Walsh Distilleries at Royal Oak which makes Writers Tears (our new favorite) and The Irishman Irish Single Malt Whiskey which is also amazing!

 

 

We went to the Cliffs of Moher,  met the Mayor of Waterford, Visited Waterford and Waterford Crystal, spent the morning at Two Monastic Sites, one was from 6 A.D.  and we hiked to the Loch there and went to at least 7 Cathedrals, saw the largest Stained Glass window in Ireland, toured Fort Charles and hiked to Fort James, we saw 5 Abbeys, 6 castles, 7 historic Cemeteries, three Art Galleries, ate and drink at over 26 pubs, heard 8 live bands and Dave even joined in on a bus tour Irish dance demonstration in Agehdoe at the bar and hotel next to our bed and breakfast. Dave enjoyed his dance lesson and we discovered a tower behind the cemetery on our way there and took some fantastic photos.

The sun sets at 10:30 at night, so the days are much longer, which can mess you up just a bit on overindulging because midnight feels like 9 pm.

We stayed in Dublin, Galway, Dingle, Cork, Killarney, Kilkenny and Dublin again. We saw Kinsale, Waterford and tons of tiny towns, We went to amazing gardens, that were acres and acres of lush color, texture and form. We cast our reflections in several ponds and lakes. Strolled St. Stephens on the Green like locals, we took the Kells tour at Trinity College, sipped our way through the Temple Bar District and tipped our hat to several Museums.

 

 

More things that I am sure I forgot and we averaged 8-10 miles on foot per day and 2-3 hours in the car although some of those were much more and others less to compensate.

In short, Ireland was an awe inspiring adventure that forced my mind to reach back and imagine just exactly what life could have been like in those emerald hills during the very distant past.

So much to see.
Imagine taking photos of ruins only to catch the tiny shapes of more ruins in the back residing in cow fields.

History upon history.
Upon history.

So yes, you should go.
Visit that big beautiful place.

It reset me in a way that made me appreciate my own Country even more.

We are such a young Nation in comparison to our world neighbors. We’ve come so far in such a short time. While we are not perfect in the United States and have lived through our own turbulent and disastrous eras, seeing how ancient and deep histories also struggled and prevailed I am strengthened by their tenacity and proud of my own heritage, my life here in Kentucky and this Nation and her people.

I’m so thankful for my passion filled and often challenging role as a citizen here in this very free and open society where people can disagree and it’s okay.

Where my religion, your religion or lack of, can differ. It takes understanding the past, to assure our future. You don’t need DNA tests to tie you to the worlds corners, you just need a desire to appreciate other cultures and less opinion.

Learn. Explore. Accept.
Renew and understand that not everyone thinks like you or lives like you and that’s okay.

Diversity, true diversity, begins with acceptance and respect.
And it’s perfectly okay to return home, happy to be home.

Happy trails.
Hug the World.
Invest in good shoes. Try them all on, even the Ugly Ones.
Especially the Ugly ones.
Have a good, actually GREAT rain coat, that doubles as a windbreaker.
Cheers!

 

 

This man, is my rock. I can’t imagine traveling anywhere without him by my side. As a world traveler himself, he was very patient with me as I made my first journey away from the Country I have always called home. Thank you to my very kind and extremely centered husband Dave for being there for me when at times it was overwhelming to be so far from the familiar echoes of home and those amazing humans I adore. He is, by far, the better half, of us.

Slide movie:
https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOyFmBE-W9rSbgLDxXNslGQ8Ky1xurt2Fg_3SpeydMrih49C10jViL4W-ILtANyMw/photo/AF1QipO7BGrf3_R8fh3hw8jALAEImm4rhUalE4FBVgOh?key=enJPUFBsTF9FNEtwOER5Zl9nTGZUUElQcWRBVUxR