A more professional me

As I am starting to find my path and my own rythm to walk to, I havealso decided to change things aound here. As I said months ago it is now time to take my art seriously. I now call myself an artist. I now have two shops. So it is not my profession. I am in love with my work. I have accepted the fact that I need to create art to survive. It is as necessary as breathing. Without it I feel suffocated.

Interesting enough as I came to this realization, I encountered a similar but vastly different individual that also felt the same impulsive push towards art, Her name is Seraphine Louis. A french woman who lived from 1864 till 1942. For years she hid her art from others. She was a poor woman, from apoor background, who worked in a convent in Clermont. She created her paints from plants, candel wax that were used in the church, and animal´s blood. Her paintings had floral themes, but are far from boring still life´s in my opinion.

Here is an example of her work.

The heat, the heat is rising

I have felt the teasing flicks of the summer heat here in the little village. I am very lucky to have to swift breeze that runs through the fields, as if I were calling it. I enjoy letting my skin recharge during the summer. My pale legs get to see the world and my cheeks get a new spalsh of color. However, the heat makes my mind a bit crazy. I have been having a hard time to understand this life and its mechanics. I have been questioning the finality of finality. As my grandfather lingers within his memory of his youth, his body is begining to surrender to its demise. And I feel so useless. There is nothing we an do, nothing we can prevent, no hope, no future for him, at least in this life, in that form. Is it hard to comprehend because maybe what we see as finality is not actually final, but instead just a change? Like the caterpillar and the butterfly?

As I was trying to understand death, the heat made me take a pause and observe a moth as it was circling a light bulb. It so desperately wanted to be with the light. However, it was not aware that it ould bring upon it death. It kept of flying closer and closer, until its wings zizzled  and fumed. It flew back amazed that the one thing it craved could cause such pain. Nevertheless, it continued. Until the light consumed it, and finally the moth achieved what it wanted, to be one with the light.


It made me ask, is that what death is? The union with all? The union with what we love most... existance, the everlating?

What is in a face? Why are we all so intrigued by a face? is it because it contains all our history, all that we are, all that we will be? When I look at a face I try to see the person´s personality, how they would react to certain events. Have they ever suffered. I look through the ebbs and flows of the skin to read their story. In their already formed wrinkles there are fragments of time that have remained there, always living in the past. It is as if something so meaningful marked them forever. Was it a smile produced by a happy joyous moment. Was it a scream caused by a moment of terror and surpise?

Faces, is that all we are? Is that what we characterize ourselves to be, just faces? If we loose our limbs are we still ourselves? I recall a very heated discussion about Frankenstein in a literature class back in college, and the professor asked us is he still himself even his body is composed of other people? Is he still human? And I said yes, because our true selves lies within our minds or souls, thus even if we have artificial limbs we still remain ourselves. So do we only reain ourselves because of what we remember? Because of our thoughts, ideas, and dreams? A person with amnesia, is he or she still the same? Do their life experiences linger somewhere else? Like a scar? Like wrinkles?

Sorry for the absense

I know it has been a while since the last time I have posted on my beloved blog. I have a reasonable excuse. Ihad a house full of relatives, a wedding, and a walkaholic toddler. But I have been itching to write, and so here I am, finally.

After a month of being with relatives one forgets how life used to be lived without other people around. So we are settling back into to our normal routines and ways, only to be up rooted in a couple of weeks because of the impending move. I am lookingfoward to it and I am also scared about it. Change can always be a scary thing, but I have always welcomed change. It always brings growth.

I am looking foward to furniture shopping, decorating, painting, and creating. I am most definitely looking foward to having my own creative space where I can have a proper desk and good lighting and four walls of my very own where I can hang things on. It is very exciting to be able to portray my likes and personalities in a space. I have always lived in places with white walls that have to stay that way. But now those white walls are canvases waiting to be given a story.

Also with this change I will be more disciplined, or at least I will have to be since the husband will be busy during the week. So I will have to schedule my time and not waste it. I have high hopes and dreams of being an organiyed professional person. I want to finally fulfill my dreams of publishing and releasing my art into the world. I hope it goes well.

On another note, I was un in northern Germany for my husband´s twin´s wedding, in a town called Celle. It was absolutely beautiful. It was full of crooked houses and wonderful shops and cafes, and rivers, and parks. I loved the feeling of it. It felt light and welcoming. I could see myself living there.

The journey continues on...

It appears there is more to this monster and just ugliness. Jude has been asking some very interesting questions. " what if the teeth of this beast were used in some symbolic way?" She asked and I do believe my subconscious came up with this image for a reason. So why not explore the meaning behind it more in depth...


I began to think what do teeth represent. I thought food, chomping, tearing, aggression. Then I remembered that hunters would collect teeth of the hunted as a souvenir. So could it be a symbol for strength, even a beings spirit. If you do not have teeth you can no longer hurt or eat, or show your strength to others.  What if the girl were the monster's hunter? What if she collects his teeth and absorbs his strength? What if she becomes the next monster? Not in a bad way, but instead she becomes the powerful one in the gleaming city of hope. What if then she were able to achieve what she wanted? Would she then become who she has always wanted to be? What if the monster helped her unleash her truth? Her true self?

What if the monster continued to appear during her journey? What if he appeared to give her strength and confidence? As another fellow student suggested maybe the monster is my animal totem.

Now on a more sewing what if..what if I add arrows and a view of the gleaming city of hope around the border or maybe even clues of where the city is?....Wow...I love the journey that I am taking in this soft world of fabric and thread...What else will I encounter?

The monster in my mind

I know the pictures are terrible. I just do not have the right lighting or the right area where I can take pictures at the moments. As I wrote before we will be moving to the city. And also as I said before I have always seen the city as a monster that can eat away your individuality. You become part of a massive crowd and move like one act like one. You begin to see outsiders as odd, when in reality you are the odd one who no longer thinks about your individuality. I am exagerating. It all has to do with the story I am creating for the Spirit Cloth class with the wondrous Jude Hill.

A young girl travels to the city where she believes she will find her purpose and happiness. She is convinced the city is the place to be. All the signs point towards the city. They all anounce how glorious and luxurious life will be once she gets there. It even seems as if the path were leading her straight to her destination.


However, once she gets close she is surrounded by shadows, that usually seems scary and dark, almost impenetrable. But this time she can see their eyes. They look in horror what lies ahead. They begin to whisper  No don,t go. It is a trick. Open your eyes. Look ahead. It is a trick. And so she does. She looks straight ahead and she sees the truth.

What lies ahead is not the gleaming city of hope, but instead a hungry monster staring down at her with hunger. He is angry that she has opened her eyes and seen reality.

the faceless (as of yet) girl.

Moving to the city

I am currently in the search for a new home, that is why I have been very absent here. That and I burnt my hand while cleaning pots and pans. A burner was on the whole time we were enjoying lunch and a pot cover was nicely nestled on the hot burner. Well, I did not realize it was hot until it was stuck to my thumb, index and middle fingers. The glue was boiling and oozing and held on tightly. Maybe it was a plea of "please do not put me back on the burner!" Either way I was in horrible pain, and my mother in law, who is a woman that can withstand any type of pain, was amazed I could be in so much pain.

Either way my hand is back to its regular functionality, thank god! And I have been using it avidly to search through the city for a livable place. I had forgotten what it is like to leave within the beast. It is a hot, sticky creature that swells with aggressive and arrogant tendencies. And to think I used to be one of its followers. People can tell you are not part of their clan and boy... it is not a good feeling to not belong. Either way it was an experience to realize it is difficult if not impossible to find a place with a bit of green in the city. So we are off this Friday to a small town close by where the beast and its clan of followers can be at bay, and only occasionally feel their burning looks. I know I am exaggerating. I met nice people there of course, and saw nice parks and wonderful shops, and cafes...mmm yum!

Here is my newest tale in progress. The blooming Ruler.
Hidden within the woods, surrounded by frost and cloaked by shade
a young servant unwilling to serve the malice that hovers above him commences the shift.
On a cold dewy day the servant digs into the moist soil.
He whispers his desires to the earth.
He wishes for a ruler that will grow and reign the woods fairly, and provide them with what they need.
The Sun looks down mystified by the young servant. He too feels the shift
The earth nourishes the wish.
The sun warms the air and fosters the kingdom.

The ruler and his companion appear sleepy and awaiting.
They wait for the moment when change is most needed.
And as the frost and shade begins to disperse, the servant watches as the Ruler spreads his leaves.
Change has finally come.
And all can feel it in the air.
Long live the earthy king.