June Full Moon

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game           

                                    Joni Mitchell

A full year of this blog.  I wasn't sure I'd stick with it, but here I am.  It has given a structure to this year, like a skeleton.  A year seems so short these days.  Looking back I see that the front garden peaked around the time of the summer solstice.  This year it peaked about a month ago--this is more typical I think.  Today, an unusual bit of rain after some beautiful days.

Somehow, the watercolor sketches have turned up in a new form in some little still life collages.  Something fun and playful as a balance to more serious and spare paintings.  This is an effect I definitely was not expecting from this process, but I was hoping for surprises!

Winter Solstice

Among several tribes on the northern plains, the passage of time from one summer to the next was marked by noting a single memorable event. The sequence of such memories, recorded pictographically on a buffalo robe or spoken aloud, was called a winter count. Several winter counts might be in progress at any one time in the same tribe, each differing according to the personality of its keeper.                                                                                                                         Barry Lopez

Cold nights, beautiful clear days.  No rain -- the third-driest December on record.  The lemon and tomato trees are at their peak.

What would I choose for my winter count?  A number of events come to mind.  The death of a good friend stands out.  Other deaths and impending mortality of friends and family have colored this year.  And yet, not a sad year--just a reminder of the transitory nature of our existence.  A call to appreciate the beauty and camaraderie while it lasts.  I often have a vision of my friend up in the sky, smiling and waving to me from the beyond.

The day of solstice feels like a pause, a moment of stillness in the ongoing turning of the year.

October Full Moon

Spider season. Hard to walk anywhere in the yard without getting caught in a web.  Also raccoon season.  Matt chasing them off the deck in the middle of the night and battening down their hoped-for nesting places.  Unusual amount of rain this early in the season but some warm sunny days in between.  Still plenty of tomatoes and apples.  We ate the first winter squash.  Bidens goldilocks and lantana are the main show in the front garden.  Gazania doing a new round.  My favorite sunny sitting place in back is now in shade.

Settled on a painting program.  Making progress in tai chi--started a second class.  Beginning to feel some of the connections between painting and tai chi.

Feeling the fluctuations of dark and light in the weather, in my physiology, working with black and white in the paintings.

Swinging on delicate hinges

 the Autumn leaf

Almost off the stem.

Jack Kerouac

Autumn Equinox

Autumn slanting light and summer weather.  This is our Bay Area climate.  The vegetable garden is winding down.  Time to freeze tomatoes, pesto, applesauce.  Shell the dried beans.  Soon the sad day will come when I have to buy lettuce.  The peppers have been great this year.

Flowers winding down too, things starting to look overgrown.  Trying to keep the new plants going until the rain starts.

A feeling of unsettledness. Uneasy about the national and international news.  Family complications.

Getting back into the painting groove.  Aiming for "lightness".

Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.

Elizabeth Lawrence

September Full Moon

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, 

of gathering together.

For nature, it is a time of sowing, 

of scattering abroad.

Edwin Way Teale

I made the first batch of applesauce.  Tomatoes are starting to pile up and we had pesto for dinner.  In the last month the caterpillars formed cocoons--a green one on a green anise stalk and a dark one on the dark red lettuce.  The bean plants are drying.  Birds in the buckthorn, squirrels wreaking havoc on the apple trees, tasting as many as possible.  The sunflowers are almost finished but the Japanese anenome, lantana and plumbago are blooming.

A feeling of not-knowing. Gratitude for all I have materially and for the relationships I have, even with their difficulties.  Not knowing the direction ahead with family, with art.  A sense of waiting.  The sun is lower in the sky, the light is different, not as clear.

Summer Solstice

The lillies!

The stems, just as they are,

The flowers, just as they are.

  

Basho

Beautiful clear, warm day.  A sudden heat spell yesterday and today.  We were able to eat outside last night. Many birds and bees, the sound of birdsong.

Highlights from Matt's garden: peas, potatoes, boysenberries, beets.

The front garden has peaked: poppies, gazania, geranium, bidens goldilocks, angel's fishing rod, crocosimia, alstroemeria all in bloom.  Roses don't look too good.  Maybe next year I'll know the names of more of the flowers. Oxalis, love-in-a-mist, fuschia in bloom in the side and back gardens.

A feeling of completion: of a series of work  and of outreach efforts.  Finished the first level of tai chi. 

A sense of abundance, effortlessness, ease.

Intention: more focus on the garden