March Full Moon

Beautiful,  mild, sunny day. Still very little rain but enough to produce many wonderful flowers--calla lillies, poppies, geranium, tulips, wallflowers, and of course, the perennial african daisies.  To eat, there's lots of arugala, mustard greens, kale and lemons.

A very outward time for me--galleries, celebrations, small commercial ventures.   A time of letting go, taking risks, not clinging, finding that lovely inner stream that flows from one thing to the next.

I have always kept ducks, he said, even as a child, and the colors of the plumage, in particular the dark green and snow white, seemed to me the only possible answers to the questions that are on my mind.               W.G. Sebald

February Full Moon

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills

When all at once I saw a crowd

A host, of golden daffodils . . .

William Wordsworth

Daffodils! Cyclamen! Primroses! Rain! 

New opportunities! 

Spring!

January Full Moon

In January
it's so nice
while slipping
on the sliding ice

to sip hot chicken soup with rice.
Sipping once
Sipping twice

sipping chicken soup with rice.

                      Maurice Sendak

No ice, not even rain, but plenty of soup: cream of broccoli, chickpea and kale, sweet and sour cabbage. Last summer we had no summer, now we have winter without winter. Hard to say what season it is—not warm, not gloomy, just cool, gorgeous, clear weather, chilly at night. Growing anxiety about no rain—such a contrast to last year. Started to water a bit, but soon may have to get serious about it.

I enjoyed the holiday socializing , now enjoying January solitude.  A slow time, working solidly in the studio.  Photographed the last series on mulberry paper—somehow surprised at how well they all came out.  Have three different composition “themes” going--focusing on one for awhile, then returning to another.

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.

December Full Moon

This cold winter night,

that old wooden-head Buddha  

would make a nice fire

                      Buson

 An early morning eclipse!  A small bite at 5am, by 6:00 the moon was a dusty red globe.    

I am often up at that hour but beyond going out for the newspaper, I don't experience outdoors at that hour very often.  From the deck the sound of the freeway is noticeable in our very quiet neighborhood.  I've often thought about how little I experience our yard during the dark hours since it is so rarely warm enough to sit outside comfortably.  I will try to get outside early again to watch the dawn. 

It has been very cold at night but no rain lately, just a hazy sky.  Many of the plants are confused and blooming--some roses this month, California poppies right now.  I don't feel my usual winter inwardness.  Busy with a computer project, paintings coming along.  By 3 o'clock the sun is low in the sky and I feel the evening coming on, and of course the vegetable garden is ragged and brown, otherwise could be almost any time of year.

November Full Moon

Ten thousand flowers in spring, 
the moon in autumn,
a cool breeze in summer, snow in winter.
If your mind isn't clouded by unnecessary things,
this is the best season of your life.

Wu Men 

Cold at night now but clear sunny days. Dampness and dew in the mornings. Daylight savings time has started so the afternoons close in earlier.  The vegetable garden foliage is drying up but lemons are starting to ripen. Succulents still flourishing. Lots of new bamboo in the last month.Trying to keep up with weeds and grass in the front garden. I'm going to plant tulips and iris today.

Flow in the studio.  Moving along from one collage to the next.  Working with limitations of size, color, black and white.  Letting it evolve, studying the details of line, materials, colors, and layering.

A feeling of lightness, of potential for change.  Unusual communications from people--past, distant and unknown.

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