The Monthly Bloom

July

"A garden is never so good as it will be next year." - Thomas Cooper

I like this approach to gardening as my mind is filled with ideas and to-do's for fall in our garden - transplant all the irises, again, transplant the hostas that are getting charred in the July sun, plant more perennials, plant some fruit trees, maybe another crepe myrtle and some dogwoods, redo my containers with cool season flowers, maybe even plant some cool season veggies... it's just too hot to get out and do much right now. 

It is something though to see all of our persistent flowers smiling in the sweltering heat and putting up quite a fight with the obstinate and very sturdy weeds growing next to them. I like their attitude in the midst of difficult circumstances. And you know what, they'll be back and even stronger and heartier next year. I will be too, when the next project comes along. Ah, the lessons learned observing in a garden, and taking on new projects. Hoping to finish one up this week. I know, I keep saying that don't I.

Micanopy's Canopies

In April I got to visit Grandmother down south and accompany my mom on the two day road trip back to Tennessee. We took our time and decided to stop late one afternoon in Micanopy, FL. Ever since I can remember I've heard references to Micanopy and Cross Creek. It's a recurring topic for my mom, grandmother, and aunt, sitting around a kitchen table, somewhere. With eager eyes and animated hands, this old Florida is spoken of with reverence, longing, and an appreciation that must result from something soul-resonating. Cross Creek, "crackers," the orange groves, the cookery, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, the ice cream shop, etc. I've listened to and appreciated their enthusiasm but never been able to fully enter into the transient world they seem so obsessed with. Maybe it's an age thing, maybe I had to see it for myself, but that afternoon the soft light and live oaks draped in spanish moss whispered a knowing welcome to my soul. Maybe it's in our blood. I sure love the women in my family and that this bonding experience in nature is so much more appropriate than a debutante ball, a first roasted chicken, or new home ever could be. 

So, as I approach thirty this year (wow!), having now visited Cross Creek and the home of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, I feel I've made a significant step into adulthood. And, after reading her book, Cross Creek, I know I'll find myself one of the women the next time we're at Grandmother's kitchen table and the conversation inevitably leads to Micanopy. 

I didn't have my camera with me but had fun playing with the settings on our point and shoot. My mom and I took a nice walk around what's now an overgrown orange grove and enjoyed the trail around this picturesque playground, adjacent to Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings' home.

on the summer reading list:

"Who owns Cross Creek? The red-birds, I think, more than I, for they will have their nests even in the face of delinquent mortgages... It seems to me that the earth may be borrowed, but not bought. It may be used, but not owned. It gives itself in response to love and tending, offers its seasonal flowering and fruiting. But we are tenants and not possessors, lovers and not masters. Cross Creek belongs to the wind and the rain, to the sun and the seasons, to the cosmic secrecy of seed, and beyond all, to time..."

- Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek

drawing on

"I believe that we learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same. In each, it is the performance of a dedicated precise set of acts, physical or intellectual, from which comes the shape of an achievement, a sense of one's being, a satisfaction of spirit. One becomes, in some area, an athlete of God. Practice means to perform, over and over again in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired." - Martha Graham

Meet Owen. He was a fellow student in a drawing class I took last month at the Knoxville Art and Crafts Center. As you can see, he much preferred modeling to drawing. He was an interesting fellow, but he is not the point of my drawing on post. The point- practice what you preach! And, practice, practice, practice. I'm a big believer that anyone can learn to draw. Yes, even you who are skeptically shaking your head right now and would likely say something about stick figures if we were having this conversation in person. It's like training for a marathon or taking singing lessons, ANYONE can do it. Sure, maybe there are some more naturally inclined to running, singing, or drawing than others, but it's very much a learned skill, which takes practice. So, there's my preaching on the matter. 

Now on to practicing what I preach. If I know drawing is a learned skill, and that I can only improve with practice, why do I have such a hard time making myself sit down to draw? When I entered the MFA program in illustration at SCAD, I was the only student who didn't have an undergrad degree in art- i.e. four years of intense drawing classes under my belt. It was difficult. I had some one discouraging professor, and I still have to fight my insecurity when it comes to drawing. I took any drawing class I could to improve, even drawing 1 with all the freshmen. I attended workshops and open drawing sessions and continuing education classes at other universities- and boy do I miss all that Atlanta has to offer when it comes to this type of activity. And look how much I improved- even in just four weeks, as you can see from the drawings above. I need to keep practicing! Hopefully I'll post some more sketching on here in the months to come, although posting these drawings is the most vulnerable I've felt blogging. 

You may have heard me talk about my love of color, texture, and design on here. So, why is drawing so important to me? First of all, it's a challenge and something I feel I really need to work at. Secondly, I'm an illustrator. Thirdly, and most importantly, it helps me see. As and artist and a human being, I need to see to understand shape and design and appreciate nuances of color and texture. You do too. If you were to sit for an hour and draw the winkles in your hand or your spouse's profile or a flower you would be amazed at how much is there. Our left brain tells us things just are a certain way because of facts, so most of the time we're too lazy to really even look, but our right brain allows us to see, and therefore appreciate, what's really there. 

Left Brain/ Right Brain is probably for another time, but here's a list of some fun and important right brain activities: loving, dancing, laughing, allowing, being, kissing, driving, showering, accepting, exercising, swimming, listening to music, playing music, smelling cinnamon, cooking, eating, drawing... 

Did you know that people use drugs to get the same effects of tapping into the right brain? How I long for our culture to slow down and breathe, and live life to the full!

Did you also know Van Gogh is well known for struggling, improving, and practicing his drawing:

"In spite of everything I shall rise again: I will take up my pencil, which I have forsaken in my great discouragement, and I will go on with my drawing."

Some of his practicing:

So, whatever it is you'd like to do better... draw on friends!

the power of story... and a garden

"If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden."

- Frances Hodsgon Burnett, The Secret Garden

My senior year in college I was feeling a little adventurous and enrolled in a fiction writing class. Within the English major I could chose to concentrate in literature or creative writing. The first day in my fiction writing class I knew I had chosen the wrong concentration, however, I still had one semester left to cram in as many writing electives as I could. Don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciate all of the long papers, late nights, half read novels (and even that's being optimistic), high brow discussions, and eccentric professors. But, the aloof English literature professors didn't hold a candle to the writing professors. Dr. Troy held class at a local coffee shop where we read our short stories aloud on comfy couches in the bright sunlit room, entertaining numerous eavesdroppers; Dr. Hammersmith, a legend at Auburn, did not own a computer but used a typewriter (year 2004), had a weird aversion to staples, and hadn't bought new clothes since 1973, no doubt one of my best teachers; Dr. Braden introduced us to Moonstruck; Dr. Keirstead insisted we read aloud in our best British accent; Dr. Tong took her copy of Moby Dick with her everywhere; and Dr. Gresham was friends with "Mr. King" (Stephen). He was maybe the least eccentric of the bunch but insisted on "raising the bar" with every story we wrote. It was in his class I discovered fiction writing. 

That's a lot of introduction to tell you about something that sticks with me from that first fiction writing class, but weren't my professors great? I could tell you more, but I guess I should get to the point. Dr. Gresham asked all five of us sitting around a table in the conference room where we met, "What book first introduced you to the power of reading?" I know I'm not phrasing it exactly like he did, but he wanted to know when we were first transported to another world, lost in the pages, and couldn't put the book down, when we first experienced the power of story. My answer- The Secret Garden, somewhere around third grade, curled up on my hot pink bean bag, which was adorned with patches of rad sneakers and funky flowers. I was lost, transported to another world, and I didn't want it to be over. 

The photograph above reminds me of that book. More so, this part of our yard reminds me of it. This is our fourth spring in the house and each year we discover something new popping out of the ground, something planted maybe ninety years ago, maybe seventy or thirty years ago, by someone who dug in the dirt and gently covered bulbs, by someone who invested in the beauty of our yard. We're slowly working on cleaning up the overgrown tangled mess, but isn't there so much beauty in the age that is evident by the vines growing like wrinkles? Laurence insisted that what I kept referring to as some sort of bright green leafy ground cover was in fact the foliage of day lilies. I didn't believe him until last spring, when, after removing overgrown trees and weeds, some of those day lilies came back to life in bright orange and yellows. I'm sure we'll see even more return this year after continuing to clean up the overgrown mess. I can't wait until this patch of our yard returns to it's original intended splendor... just like that garden hidden behind the tall brick ivy covered walls. 

"As she came closer to him she noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of heather and grass and leaves about him, almost as if he were made of them. She liked it very much and when she looked into his funny face with the red cheeks and round blue eyes she forgot that she had felt shy."

- Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

Hmm... I think it's time to read this book again:) What book was it that first introduced you to the power of story?

Just Getting Started

When you're not concerned with succeeding, you can work with complete freedom. 
 - Larry David

I keep thinking about something Larry David shares in the special features of one of the Seinfeld dvds. (It's been a while, but I have watched them all... with the commentary on.) He explains the paralysis he experienced after writing every episode, wondering if he'd be able to do it again, to at least meet the standard set for himself by attaining a certain level if not aspiring to greater achievement. I know, it sounds miserable, and a little bit high strung in typical Larry David fashion. Yet I find myself stuck in a similar mindset more often than I'd like- paralyzed with fear and doubt, questioning my ability, my creativity, even the value of my calling as an artist. It's why the most difficult part of a project for me is getting started, always. I doubt my success before I even begin. I worry I won't be able to do it again, or that I'll experience some sort of regression instead of progression in my work, even though I know there is no such thing as regression in the creative process, that every step, stumbly though it may be, is moving me forward. Is there any redeeming quality in this sort of thinking? Some sort of adrenaline? Maybe. But, I really don't think there's any freedom in this fear, which is problematic because freedom is an essential ingredient in creativity.

So, step one: admission. Now what? How do I control this type of thinking? What am I even trying to prove, and to whom? I know my best work comes from within me, with no ulterior motive of trying to please someone else's aesthetic- I've learned the hard way. And, yes, I truly believe that work, sub par as it may be, has moved me forward in my creative journey. I also know what that moment feels like, when all is right in the world, when I am moving and creating from someplace bigger than myself, that moment that escapes as soon as I try to grab hold of it. I've never experienced that moment when consumed with living up to some standard, even if self imposed. The two cannot coexist. The good news however, if I can just get started, that moment will likely come again. I think that's really what my work is about- not the outcome, certainly not the money, but that elusive beauty of participating in the creative process, which I'm a full believer in. So, struggling with fear and working through doubts, often just stumbling along, I find there is redemption in my work as an artist. If only I could remember this every time I'm coming up with thousands of things to do instead of just getting started.

Happy New Year!

The only type of scrap paper I don't find pretty. Where does it all come from!? On that note, here are a few goals for the New Year:

1. Always put things in their place (and since I now have these nice file boxes, and, a linen closet, I'm off to a good start)

2. Hang some artwork! (I'd rather have nice original art made by other people, which we're working on, but in the mean time- I'm framing up some of my work today)

3. Decorate for Christmas the Sunday after Thanksgiving (tree and all, no exceptions!)

4. Cook with the Barefoot Contessa whenever possible (Ina's never once disappointed me)

And, I'm already off to a good start here too!

Honey Vanilla Pound Cake: from my new cookbook, Back to Basics. It's heavenly, and I'm usually a chocolate girl.

Butternut Squash and Apple Soup: one of their best sellers, from her Parties cookbook. It's so delicious with curry and sweet apples! This recipe makes a lot, and it's very filling.

5. Reformat this Blog (this might take me some time to figure out, but you'll see when it happens!)

6. Practice my downward dog and other yoga poses more (Lu's a natural)

7. Eat lots of sweet-potato pancakes leisurely sipping on coffee in our kitchen nook every free Saturday morning we have

8. Oh, and finish our kitchen nook!

9. Spend as much time as I can with these girls while I have them here in Knoxville:) & :(

10. Write and illustrate the book idea that keeps popping up in my head, paint some colorful paper whenever I get discouraged, and always proclaim I am an artist, boldly and proudly.

I could keep listing for a while, so I'll leave it at ten. I wish you all a year filled with good food, sweet time spent with friends and family, and many steps taken toward achieving goals that are important to you!

Awake My Soul

I saw Mumford and Sons last night at the Valarium. I'm pretty slow keeping up with technology so I don't have a bootlegged video to show you, but trust me, it wouldn't come close to doing it justice. The live show was powerful. I cried a few times and often had the urge to open wide my arms receiving the radiating light and vibration. Inspired by Shakespeare and Steinbeck, Mumford knows how to build up a melody and release it with felt passion, all in a short sequence of a few minutes. Go see them- wherever, whenever, as soon as you can. I don't think tickets will be just $20 next time around.

Why the rant on Mumford and Sons with all the photos from our hike in Hot Springs, NC? Two simple conclusions follow both of these activities: nature and live music feed the soul, my soul specifically, but I'm sure this is a universal thing. During our hike I also had the urge to lift up my eyes and open wide my arms to fully breathe in the beauty surrounding us. In both venues there is beauty and depth, profound stillness and energy, light flickering through shadows, passion and creativity, and life, God-breathed life. Surely once a month is a reasonable goal to set for experiencing nature and live music. After all, we're in Knoxville, where beautiful nature and live music are right at our foothills.

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die

Where you invest your love, you invest your life

- from Awake My Soul, video below

I found some bootlegged videos if you're interested:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktjBXLvhM-A

and fyi, King Charles was pretty amazing with them too:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itO5TW7UGRg

Real Simple Wisdom

Last night I sat down to scan a document and noticed I had a nice selection of quotations right in front of me- my printer is on top of this bookcase. I loved reading the inspiring quotations from my Real Simple spines and don't think I usually even notice these when I pull them out of the mailbox. Maybe a quote of the week would be fun to try out on peppered paper, the blog or the actual paper? Until then, here are a few to share from my bookshelf.

"Dogs' lives are too short. Their only fault, really." Agnes Sligh Turnbull

"A good cook is like a sorceress who dispenses happiness." - Elsa Schiaparelli

"I can live for two months on a good compliment." - Mark Twain

"Nothing is too small to know, and nothing too big to attempt." - Sir William Van Horne

Getting Our Home, and Heart, Appraised

I don't usually get too personal on this completely open to anyone out there journal I've been keeping, but an interesting event took place today... our house was appraised. Turns out that this very ordinary step in the process of refinancing is quite personal. We put off this event for a week in order to finish up a closet that's been in the works for just over two years, that along with our other little in the works project, our entire house. As the week wore on our anxiety escalated. Heart, soul, sweat, tears, bruises, back aches, Saturdays, and way too many buckets of Kilz primer we've invested in our house; how can we possibly begin to convince this stranger of its worth?

The interesting thing happened when Laurence walked back into the kitchen after seeing the stranger off. We smiled at each other, both understanding the immense relief the other felt. The appraiser gave no sign of a great score. He was actually very dull, and as he was leaving just mentioned something about "punching all the numbers in" and 3-5 days. No, our relief and contentment resulted from having to question the worth of our home ourselves.

Nights with friends around a fire pit on an unfinished and awkwardly painted patio can't be put into some kind of algorithm. Observing vegetables thrive with neighbors in what was once an overgrown lot as countless diy stories are told can't be punched in either. Nor can the long sweaty Saturdays, the trips to the Freez-o and Lowe's, the thrill of figuring out how to rewire a light switch or discovering a bed filled with day lilies that hadn't bloomed in years.

No, the value of our home is not measured by its appearance. Our home is just a backdrop, brightly colored with many imperfections, to the countless meals and conversations that take place here. The cracking plaster and unfinished doorways provide such a welcoming and relaxed environment. I hope that quality isn't lost under the layers of spackle and paint.

Our final appraisal: We are extremely grateful to live in a home worth so much.