Peace

"The Peace of Wild Things" – Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief.
I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.
For a time, I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Lover of the Light

At the beginning of July 2016 I first went up a trail above the old Miller Rellim site, wherein lies "the ridge" featured a few times in The From Here series.  Within a mile of the trailhead I stopped short as a towering Roosevelt elk bull stepped out from the ferns into the trail 25 yards ahead. He stood bearing his 6 point crowns staring me down, and I beseeched him to remain confident in his threat assessment.  We calmly waited while his herd came through, grazing down the ravine.

At the base of this ridge, where the cliffs crumble into dunes, and the dunes into the ocean, I ran along the beach just a few days later.  Again, my breath caught and my legs halted as my eyes distinguished two young elk romping in the surf.   Sensing my presence they galloped back into the dunes. 

Such is the music of the spheres, that I would also during the same month stumble across this music video by Mumford and Sons. How I relate to a humanly-blind, stumbling faith leading to the ecstatic.   

Secret O'Life

"The secret of love is in opening up your heart.
It's okay to feel afraid, but don't let that stand in your way.
Cause anyone knows that love is the only road."

~James Taylor

a daily invocation

Each morning I stop at my turn around point on whatever trail I'm on, always trees in sight.

Orienting myself to face southward, I feel through my body a rooting through my feet.  I lift from Mountain to stand in Volcano, easy to do among towering redwoods or supple alders or leaning cedars. I inhale the strength of these persevering giants; I exhale my grief, entrusting it into their transformative capacity.  

Then, breathing and flowing though a variety of Warrior and Triangle poses, I turn to face each of the cardinal directions, and invite these things into my life: 

from the south, winds of change, forward progress;

from the north, a sense of direction, focus;

from the west, hope, inspiration;

from the east peace, acceptance.

As I flow from east to west, from south to the north I think about the relationships between experiencing change and having a sense of direction, and between the states of hope and a peace. Sometimes this means stretching between with Warrior III or finding a binding pose. Resting my weight on my hands as they touch the ground is a vital part of this moving prayer, as I ground myself and connect with all the other life rooted in this earth.  

detail from "Ridge, Sun From Here"

Diving In, the Show Goes On Afterall

What is your reaction to an opportunity?  Have you watched these divers?

Stacked and Framed

Stacked and framed- all without hitting the prison's weight room. Thanks to Shawn Eckart, a master craftsman, artist of woods and waves and whiskeys. Should you purchase a painting from the From Here series, you'll also be taking home a highly-crafted poplar and redwood joined frame made in his shop, under an apple tree where the elk shed their antlers.

Tree

Tree, by Florence Grossman

One night in winter

after the tree had begged for many nights

to come in

I gave permission.

It was not an easy arrangement

the problem of blankets

a place to sleep

the branches curious to touch everything.

Eventually it could compose itself

by the fire. 

I would read aloud. 

It would listen and nod.

I am sorry it is not spring. 

Sap is dripping on the rug. 

The branches are feeling their way toward the door.

The Light that Fights

My latest Position Paper, by Bob Hicok

A little bit of hammering
goes a long way toward making
the kind of noise I want my heart
to look up to—or have you ever
gone into a woods and applauded the light
that fights its way to the ground,
and the shadows, and the explosions
of feathers where blue jays
have been ripped into the bright
and hungry future of hawks—
and there’s this—writing an etude
by pushing pianos off a cliff
until one of them howls or whispers
just so—like a vagrant
slipping into a clean bed
or a man lifting a dying child
toward the sun and begging help, 
rescue—if my eyes could speak,
they’d be mouths—the tongues
of my fingers ask to be words
against your skin—and when I
was a librarian, I lost my job
for exhorting patrons to sing
“Bye Bye Miss American Pie”—
it’s not what we do here, I was told—
yet I know this is a world
made by volcanoes, and don’t want
to keep this awareness of kaboom
to myself—so have picked up
my zither and begun walking
and strumming like an idiot
who thinks music is all
a body needs to feed itself—
and though I haven’t eaten
in years, I have been fed.

Pushing Air/Rise

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detail from "Birds, Shore From Here"

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detail of "Birds, Crows From Here"

Invitation to "From Here"

Dear Friends and Family, 

Where do we go from here? Are you from here? From here on out, things will be... From here on, I will... 

The phrase "from here" implies being in a place with some perspective, perhaps with some elevation having been gained, yet one in which we don't stay long, only to catch our breath, anticipate the next steps, and charge back in.  "From here" also may imply a place of origin and a different, desirable destination.  

My latest series of work has been done in such figurative and literal places. The series "From Here" will be hung at the Natsoulas gallery from March 15th to April 2nd. In the work you might recognize the physical places I've lived this year, along with some gained consideration and hope.

We'll have a reception on the evening of Saturday, March 25th from 7-9pm, and I would love to see you all THERE!  

I invite you to preview the work here at juliebsmiley.com. Over the coming days I'll be adding photos of these works in progress to <THIS> Notes section of the site. 

With love from here to eternity, 

Julie

PS.  How can I not leave you with some music?!  Here's one that fits. 

Orchard, Driving Rain

Winter Birds

In the Storm

Behind the Thunder,  by Mark Nepo

I keep looking for one more teacher,
only to find that fish learn from water
and birds learn from sky.

If you want to learn about the sea,
it helps to be at sea.
If you want to learn about compassion,
it helps to be in love.
If you want to learn about healing,
it helps to know of suffering.

The strong live in the storm
without worshipping the storm.

The Yolk's on Me

It's the classic "Chicken or Egg" conundrum, but one I thoroughly enjoy participating in:  do I use the paint or does it use me?

Wear Your Heart on Your Knee

if your heart is open, your eyes stay open too. They'll be more likely to recognize love all around.

What's true of oceans is true, of course, of ... paintings

Any fool can get into an ocean . . .

by Jack Spicer

Any fool can get into an ocean   
But it takes a Goddess   
To get out of one. 
What’s true of oceans is true, of course, 
Of labyrinths and poems. When you start swimming   
Through riptide of rhythms and the metaphor’s seaweed
You need to be a good swimmer or a born Goddess
To get back out of them
Look at the sea otters bobbing wildly
Out in the middle of the poem
They look so eager and peaceful playing out there where the water hardly moves
You might get out through all the waves and rocks
Into the middle of the poem to touch them
But when you’ve tried the blessed water long
Enough to want to start backward
That’s when the fun starts
Unless you’re a poet or an otter or something supernatural
You’ll drown, dear. You’ll drown
Any Greek can get you into a labyrinth
But it takes a hero to get out of one
What’s true of labyrinths is true of course
Of love and memory. When you start remembering.

I'm learning that it's a one thing to start painting, but an altogether separate process to finish it. How do I jump in with such joy and crawl out with equally joyful abandonment? 

Things coming together

Returning to a childhood home, I find my old work, finished and abandoned in progress. While there are many lessons in such a survey, I recently decided to repurpose many of my old panels. The <windfall> of such work for me is in having once pursued their making and now having considered them again. To work again atop, seems like the higher purpose for me and the wood and the paint. So... these apples from nearly 20 years ago have been officially sauced! 

detail from "Apples, Wilted Sunflowers". 2000. Oil on Panel. 36 x 24 inches.

Windfalls, by Florence Grossman

Windfalls, we called them, the apples
we gathered, my grandmother and I.
Sharp or sweet from tree to tree, apple to apple,

we cooked them with their jackets on for color,
filled jars of them
seasoned with cinnamon and sugar, the gift

from the side of the road.
You could hope for it
the rest of your life, things

coming together out of the blue,
like apples and wind, like words.
You could mistake it

for water, the wind building in the trees,
gathering the way a wave gathers
until it passes over your head.

Be Here Now

The Girl's Got Rhythm

Tiger Stripes, Lion Heart

detail of "Orchard, Stripe"