<![CDATA[HEARTITUDE=ART+SOUL - SOUL]]>Fri, 23 Jan 2026 04:16:36 -0800Weebly<![CDATA[Marking Time]]>Mon, 08 Jul 2024 07:51:26 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/marking-time
Picture
Mixed media, beaded, embroidered and embellished vintage lace. Embossed metal and found objects.
​The name of this mixed media piece is "Marking Time". The medieval sense of time was the product of a very different way of thinking. The Book of Hours, private devotionals used to prayer the office or hours of the day, were guides to the suggested prayers for each time of day.
This piece is inspired by the Astronomical Clocks found in Europe that depicted the lunar phases, astrological calendars, and "labors of the month"*, or maps of what the agricultural society was doing in a given time of the year. Astrological clocks were meant to map out the solar system and its relationship to time and daily experience according to the way man viewed the cosmos in that time.
Inspired by the highly illumined manuscripts, the background for this time piece is a mixture of hand beaded, embroidered and vintage lace. The four elements, earth, air, wind and fire are expressed in Latin. Each miniature banner at the bottom of the piece contains a embossed metal reference to one of the times of prayer at assigned hours or offices of the day:  Matins (midnight), Lauds (dawn) Prime (6 a.m.), Terce (9 a.m.), Sext (noon), None (3 p.m.), Vespers 6 p.m.), and Compline (9 p.m.).
While the artwork is completely imaginary and not historical, the elements found within this construction all have some acknowledgment of the way medieval people might have thought about marking time.


*"Labors of the Month" were a phenological system of expressing what an agricultural society in Medieval times was doing at any given time of the year. Illuminated manuscripts from the period often illustrated common tasks a farmer would perform at a particular month or season.
]]><![CDATA[The Women at the Tomb]]>Thu, 04 Jul 2024 06:58:00 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-women-at-the-tomb
Picture
"The Women at the Tomb" Hand-dyed and embellished fabric, mixed media. Laurie Kathleen Clark
In a recent "purge" project, where I have been reducing the amount of clutter in my home and studio, I came across this mixed media piece that I created a few years ago.
 It has been taking up residence, along with several other pieces like it, under a bed for quite some time. I decided to bring it out and share it here in hopes that I can then part with it and let it find a new home where it may bring someone else as much joy as its creation has brought me.

The story behind the piece begins below.
"The Women at the Tomb":      Domestic Icons held the most sacred place in the home. A child would be presented with his Patron Saint at birth and given this icon when he left home. Icons were carried on journeys in processions and used for private devotions. Often, their construction included several panels and opened to reveal small shrines. 
This piece was inspired not only by domestic icons but also the Medieval Books of Hours. These highly illuminated and personalized prayer books were often custom made for wealthy medieval women who used them in their private devotions. Illustrations in Books of hours included beautiful paintings of flowers, insects and natural elements. Their pages were filled with imagery elaborating the theme of the prayers. 
Here, I included some of my favorite women of the Bible, Martha, Lydia, and the women at the tomb. Typically, Saint Martha has been maligned for her hyper-concern for order, work and the material world. That concern is represented by her devotion to the sacred ordinary and hospitality represented by the mop bucket she holds.
Saint Lydia was a merchant of purple cloth from Philippi, precious and regal, yet also a symbol of hospitality. Known to have opened her home to the Apostle Paul, Lydia welcomed many early Christians, inviting them to prayer. 
]]><![CDATA[Environmental Autobiography]]>Sat, 27 Apr 2024 04:41:17 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/environmental-autobiographyThat's some title! 
Some years ago, I took a class as part of my studies of the art and architecture of the church that was about Sacred spaces in common places. While that was not the name of the course, and I no longer remember the title of the course, the gist of it was an exploration of what makes a place in a community sacred, or at least elevates it to the level of a sanctuary and still be a public place. We talked about the design of public open spaces and whether the architecture played a role in how that place might be perceived. What were the elements of the environment that caused people to visit it, even seek refuge in it? What I came away from the class with was that a lot of public funds are thrown at a space and the impact may or may not be readily apparent. While I am grateful for projects that have reclaimed areas in cities where buildings harbored dangerous activities or were being threatened with demolition, I contend that it is not the place, but the experiences we have in a place that make it special, memorable and in some cases reverently held in a person's highest esteem. 
We were asked at the end of the class to write about our memories of places and what made those places special. Here is what I wrote.  It is not exactly what the professor was after, but her comments were nice, and I earned a good grade.
It is a long piece. Feel free to download it and read it later if you like read it here: 


An aerial view of Southern California in the mid to late 1950’s would have revealed a sea of concrete peppered with cookie cutter stamped, long and low ramblers indicative of the era carved into bean fields, interrupted only by the rhythmic bobbing of oil derricks. It is in the context of this slice of suburbia that I encountered nature, consisting mostly of a palette of sunbaked clay, sand, and cement. Trees were either things oranges grew on or the source of the heavenly perfume that scented the air Eucalyptus. Some bore leaves shaped like giant fans. From early childhood, most of my memories of places of special attachment were mundane backyard scenes enhanced by my very vivid imagination. I am of an era when toys were mostly everyday things transformed to use within a virtual reality that you created; I was a product of a “let’s pretend” mentality, not fortified by computer animations and preprogrammed scenarios. One feature of the ubiquitous long hallways of the four-bedroom tract homes provided was a rainy-day refuge easily manipulated with a few sheets and blankets into a tunnel of horrors with which to frighten the younger siblings. Throw in an empty cardboard box or two and you have a complete backdrop for the unfolding storyline of that particular day. Perhaps motivated by the desire to regain control over the traffic flow between bedrooms the hallway once provided, my best friends father provided her with the most extravagant playhouse money could buy which boasted real pane windows complete with flower boxes and a locking Dutch door. While this extravagant backyard addition housed many sleepovers, it never compared in my mind to the much less pretentious bamboo lean too that my father ingeniously devised. A mere shell, it provided me with the opportunity to create an interior that matched my current aesthetic. With a few cleverly hung blankets and a couple of borrowed furnishings, my private clubhouse could become a school, a library, or a grocery store. Privacy was easily attained by reconfiguration of a few simple elements within a matter of moments. Whether my father deserves to be credited with having intentionally invested in bamboo screening with the purpose of stimulating my creativity is of less importance than the fact that it was a key element. This brainstorm after all, would have to co-exist in the same mind as the concept of cedar bark below the monkey bars. Many failed aerial stunts ended abruptly and oh so rudely in the splinter hell, only slightly less painful than the occasional fateful landing in the artichokes cruelly planted at the end of the flight path of the swing. For me, the less structure, the better, in fact, I spent countless hours digging deep holes in the backyard with my father’s blessing as I attempted to reach China. My father was a scientist whose intellectual approach to dealing with the issue of gaping chasm his daughter was creating was to explain how many days it would take at the rate I could dig. ​ 
​Only somewhat daunted by this fact, I refocused my energies to digging sideways with the concept of connecting to the underground world I imagined existed under those huge metal manhole covers in the street. If I could somehow tap into them, I reasoned, I would create a new way to travel to and from school each day. This held my interest only until I came up with the far better idea of making a giant fabric covering to gather up enough helium balloons that would allow me to “fly” to school. Once again, my father enlisted the help of an engineer friend of his to explain to me that the number of helium balloons needed to carry my weight was beyond the scope of my fledgling skills. As I assess the places of childhood, the common thread throughout is that they are mostly figments of my mind, having no physical embodiment. I did not need structure as much as I needed fresh air and my imagination.
My claim to fame may not be the thirty plus homes I have lived in, but the number of residences I have had as the daughter of an aerospace engineer/naval serviceman certainly challenges my idea of “place attachment”. As I grew imagination and my reclusive demeanor developed, I realized that the only way I could survive in a household of four siblings and a lot of noise was to find ways to escape where I could remain undiscovered for large periods of time. With so much commotion in the family, this was not terribly difficult to achieve. The most favored of these places was the roof of the first story of a split-level house we moved to in my early teens. The only access to this retreat however was through my infant sister’s bedroom window. I could sit on the roof for hours and if I timed it right, (between feedings) I could perch there in the evening until everyone else had retired, jump off the roof and escape into the night unnoticed. As long as I returned by the feeding time at dawn’s light, no one was the wiser. Once again, the physical characteristics of the actual place are insignificant, it was the fact that it was secret, and up high and no one else showed any interest in this sanctuary.
The idea of escaping remained compelling into early childhood. An early marriage and the arrival of small children of my own forced me into compliance with real world space and practicality. The stress of a difficult marriage brought to life my old need to retreat that found its realization in the beaches I was able to access quickly in my new home in the Pacific Northwest. Perhaps the beach was reminiscent of my Southern California upbringing, but mostly, it allowed me room to breathe. When life became threatening, and self-preservation and the well-being of my children became necessary, I could easily pack them up, head for Kirkland, and anonymously blend into the environment. The ability to disappear into the haven of a crowd my seem contradictory, but the parade of parents with toddles, the landscape of beach towels and scent of sunscreen calmed me and helped me transport to easier times.
Life has blessed me in so many ways, not the least of which is the ability to travel in my mind to dreamscapes of my choosing. As a single parent, I never hoped to have the ability to vacation; I was content with the rewards my children brought. As I watched them grow into adults and dream their own dreams, I hoped they would get to see the places I only visited in books and on television.
My life changed dramatically the day I met my current husband and life partner. I wonder how different things might have been if he had been in my life sooner, but I am truly grateful for his presence in my life today. It is because of him that I have had the great fortune in the last twenty-five years to travel the world and see magnificent sights. In my wildest imagination I could not have known what it would be like to stand in awe at the base of Mount Uluru in Australia’s Red Center, or to dive with sea turtles off the Great Barrier Reef. Vast landscapes of rich warm hues that bake under sweltering skies and are punctuated by prehistoric plants and animals rivaling the bizarre creatures of the Dr. Seuss variety evoke feelings of awe from deep within my soul. The experience of flying into the pristine canyons of the New Zealand highlands by helicopter to fly-fish in one of the most remote areas of this paradise will remain forever etched in my mind. With all its beauty, the appeal of this place as with the Australian outback was its seclusion. My imagination once again intersects reality, and the physical space is not really the locus sancta. My experience in these places, fly-fishing with my husband and seeing the pride registered in his face as I caught the most beautiful trout I have ever seen overshadowed even the call of the Kea in the distance.
The lifelong fantasy of settling foot in the United Kingdom came to being several years ago., I had long since packed away this dream not expecting that it would ever be possible. Of all the places I have had the great honor of experiencing, this has had the most impact. Several places stand out as exemplifying my notion of what it is to stand on holy ground. As a confirmed Anglophile, I have always felt drawn to the home of my ancestors. These far distant lands even beckoned to me in my childhood. It is no wonder then that within minutes of entry into Scotland, driving along the backroads outside Glasgow, I was brought to tears. Small winding roads roller coaster over the hills and dales and provide peek-a-boo views of ancient times. A common theme re-emerges as I transport to another century and smell what if might been like to live in this village. My eyes in soft focus now, I see through the landscape of a concurrent image of life in the 16th century with me at its center. Childhood has provided me with plenty of practice, it seems, for this special technique of living both in the now and in the past or future. My trip to Scotland fueled my imagination with enough visual information to decorate a lifetime of wild imaginings. The crown jewel of this Scottish chapter was the moment of ecstasy experienced in one of the many ruins of the Abbeys we visited. As is now apparent, the Abbey itself was not important, the revelation contained within it was. Descending them remains of a claustrophobic spiral staircase, breathing the dingy damp air and emerging at the bottom in a shell of a room, I looked out metal bars to an ocean view and knew I was finally home. My recurring dream of myself in a monk’s habit had come to fruition. Chills reverberated through every ounce of my being as I hovered once again between centuries and thousands of miles with one foot in each realm. I had glimmers of recollection, desire, or great spiritual connection. This moment will always be with me, yet somehow, just outside my grasp.
A similar moment was experienced while on a cliched journey to discover my Ulster Scotts roots in Donegal. Months of preparation and research at hand, we set out to find the small town and churches once inhabited by my ancestors. The exploration itself was transforming as we found our way to sites that even the locals may have had difficulty uncovering. Standing before altars in one church after another where the names of my dead relatives were etched in marble would send me careening headlong into recreations of a long-ago time. History came to life in countless small chapels, the occasional castle or while standing with the rector’s wife in a village of less than fifty inhabitants, being graciously welcomed into an ancestral home built in the early twelfth century. My soul flushed with the sense of completeness while standing int the diocese of Raphoe on the Banks of Loch Swilly in Donegal, in the very spot that my flax growing family would have called home, I was again able to connect to the past all the while absorbing the present and all its sensations. The dreary gray mists infused with the essence of burning peat, the stone-cold rock walls containing a waterway that has rolled relentlessly by for an eternity seem not to notice that I had returned home. I smiled at the locals hoping to appeal to their recognition of my stake in this place, as they unassumingly allowed my intrusion, if only temporarily, but seemed quizzical of my interest in what must seem so mundane to a modern-day resident.
These places have as their common bond, a sense of autonomy and secretiveness while affording me wonderful opportunities for flights of fantasy. They are not at all unlike the places I have explored time and again in my mind, laying on the edge of a bed looking upside down at the ceiling and reorienting my world to see what if would be like if I lived on the ceiling with light fixtures for chairs, stepping over the threshold of a doorway to enter another world.
More recently I have had the great good fortune to travel with a very generous friend to ancient cities. Travelling through the streets of Turkey, encountering biblical landmarks and holy places. Each day when the call to prayer broadcast through the streets I was overcome by free-flowing tears and chills throughout my body. Even now, as I remember the experience, the reaction is just as powerful. Standing before a Russian Icon that had been a page in textbook moments before resulted in powerful emotion that brought me to my knees, something the tour guide seemed taken by. She thanked me later in a private moment as she revealed having rarely seen as genuine a reaction to the presence of God in a sacred piece of art and was honored to be the one chosen to share that moment with me.
Throughout my life I have been fascinated with exploring places that cannot be traversed in the normal course of things. A partially constructed framework of a home that allows for walking through walls instead of being constrained by them, climbing into a room through a window instead of a door, removing obstacles to an unused door and gaining entry to a room whose existence had not been known for years, hold so much appeal as to entice me beyond reality, abandoning all adult rationale to return to the backyard clubhouse and the digging to China mentality of my childhood.
My husband has generously gifted me with a brand-new vocabulary full of fancy embellishments to use liberally with my special memory enhancement machine in my head. While my curiosity is every bit as insatiable and my imagination is my best travel agent, my heart’s desires have been fulfilled and the memories I am left with will sustain me. I rest secure in the knowledge that place is a state of mind; the special ones are created by the experiences I have pocketed along the way. If you graciously invite me into your garden and allow me to paint my environs as my friend often has, you will not know if I sit behind my canvas brush in hand contemplating the spider’s graceful path weaving in and out of a rose’s petals, or if I have taken leave of your garden and now paint a hummingbird as he hovers nearby while sitting in my carefully chosen position amidst Her Highness’ Royal Gardens at Saville.
]]><![CDATA[Spring Cleaning]]>Mon, 22 Apr 2024 04:19:26 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/spring-cleaningEvery year about this time I feel the "urge to purge", but more so this year than I recall in years past. My husband calls me the most organized hoarder he knows, and he is right, for the most part I can find just about anything I have pack-ratted away. But it has finally come to a level of stuff that even I can no longer tolerate. By the number of friends and family I have that are currently purging right alongside me, I wonder if there is something in the air. 
The most recent area that I have been sorting through is the garage. No one needs three or even two of certain gardening tools, and you can only put so many used and reused plastic pots on one shelf. The vintage airstream has been remodeled for a few years now and if there is a screw or door handle that hasn't been employed by now, it is a good bet it can find a new home. 
I am very proud of the newly organized area that is my dye studio in the garage as well as the house and spray paint cabinet that is now sorted and labeled. But I am not at all proud of the eight Rubbermaid tubs of paper that seems to have reproduced and multiplied. Did I really put all that out there? Or better yet, when did that happen? The first four were household records, which within minutes of a google search I learned that the IRS really doesn't care about seven years of my grocery store receipts. Those first four boxes were pretty easy and with a trip to the shredder has reduced the tubs to one plus a small filing box. 
It is the other four that have caused me so much fretting this week. They house all the evidence that I ever went to school, several times as a matter of fact. There are boxes full of academic articles, flash cards and notes. One entire box was essays and papers written over the years. I am sure, another google search and I'd find that most of the articles are readily available online, at least at various universities or museums. And while flash cards were the only way I could remember all those dates and the minutia about Greek, Hebrew and Gaelic language, they haven't been looked at since 2007. Was it that long ago? 
I have a few degrees, but nothing big and important like some of my siblings or my father and his siblings who held Doctorates achieved. I couldn't pass the GRE which kept me from a master's degree because it meant math skills I never acquired.  I have a double major in Comparative Religion and Art History and degrees in Biblical Studies and Biblical language as well as Fashion Illustration. I say that not as a point of pride but to describe the disparate collection of papers I have amassed. 
My quandary is what to rid the garage of that I won't regret having thrown out in the future. Each night I sort through a box and often revisit it and sort again letting go of a little more each time. I am certain that if I put some time into looking for some of the articles online and created some sort of index and how to find them again, that it would make parting with the articles easier. After all, I haven't read them since graduation. The most difficult papers to part with are the essays. I am trying to understand why. Is it the amount of work that went into them? They represent hours and hours of research. As a perfectionist, who also happens to be dyslexic as well as reading challenged, each assignment was a painful at best. Or is it the accolades my very kind professors gave me and the marks they were so generous with. Is that little ego bump so valuable to me that it causes me to want to hang onto the past this way? 
Whatever it is that is making it so painful to part with paper, I think I have an idea that might make it a little easier. I will try it once and see if it is the way through to the recycle bin. 
Starting this week, I will begin to digitize, either by retyping the essays or scanning them and then posting them here. In the process, they will be able to be archived just in case I decide to hang on to them. Additionally, if there are any art history buffs, religious studies majors or just plain academically curious readers who might find some entertainment from my efforts, I will have done something useful aside from clearing space in the garage for new and different collections of things. 
Stay tuned for the first of potentially many essays from the past. 

]]><![CDATA[A Good Laugh]]>Tue, 27 Jun 2023 03:02:29 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/a-good-laughMy Husband has a great laugh. It's one of those deep down from the belly, uproarious, a wee bit too loud and very contagious laughs. You can't help but giggle, or even join in with gusto if you hear him. In fact, it doesn't even matter if you heard whatever started the outburst. 
I grew up with a family full of comedians. The quick wit of my siblings and father were unmatched, or at least I was no match for them.  My youngest brother never stops. It seems to roll out of his brain effortlessly and continuously and can cause sore stomach muscles by the end of an extended visit. 
I know for certain the healing capacity of laughter, it is as they say, medicine for the soul, and free. While I didn't get the gene that makes me funny, I do like to make people laugh if I can. 
During the seven weeks of radiation therapy, I recently went through, I became close to the other patients in the waiting area each day. They were always so upbeat and cheerful, and while I do my best to be as positive as possible, I am also a shy person. I am more comfortable in the background. To remedy this, I made t-shirts emblazoned with humor, or at least, happy thoughts. You can see some of them in the gallery of photos below. In an almost ritualistic manner, I would walk into the waiting room, ready to reveal my t-shirt to any who might ask. The smiles I received were my pain management for the day, and my hope was always that it was mutual. 
Before I was finished with my treatments, I had also gifted anyone else there each day with a shirt of their own, including all the wonderful staff of Radiation Specialists. 
It is the simple things that we often take for granted, like laughter, that can make even the darker moments bright and shiny, and maybe even a little fun.

My T-Shirt Humor Wardrobe

Gifts for Others

]]><![CDATA[The BIG IDEA is now a reality.]]>Thu, 22 Jun 2023 00:44:09 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-big-idea-is-now-a-realityToday was a momentous day. What started as a little glimmer, blossomed and grew and has become a reality. The once frightening mask that caused some apprehension, has been transformed into something that for me is a symbol of a sort of resurrection. Butterflies are traditional representations of that transformative power of rebirth. 
Picture
"Behold, I make all things new" (Rev. 21:5)
The color green is full of life and growth. Every living creature is symbolic of the wonder of creation for me.
I hope the video below which shows the construction process and a final view of how it all came together will express what I felt as I created this piece.
From the very beginning, when I asked the BIG IDEA why it was here, I was convinced it was because someone needs a little encouragement. My hope is that seeing this video brings joy and light. 


For a closer view, click on the image at left.
]]><![CDATA[Where the BIG IDEA from and Why it is Here.]]>Wed, 21 Jun 2023 03:41:51 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/where-the-big-idea-from-and-why-it-is-hereI love fairy tales. Even though they sometimes have a frightening component to them, usually a dragon is slain, and the story culminates with a happy ending. There is something very compelling about the prospect of living happily ever after, isn't there?

I am about to share a story with you that while it is not a fairy tale, does have a some potentially fearful moments as well as many very happy ones. This story has not been shared with many people until now. It is my hope that in its telling, you will find the same hope and happiness that I have. 
​
I suppose I should start with "Once upon a time", but that would be rather silly, since it was, to be specific, March 12, 2023. 
On that day I received unexpected news, delivered very clinically, I was diagnosed with cancer. A type of cancer that is not particularly rare, that in fact there is a vaccine against, (parents, please be sure your children are vaccinated). In my case the cancer found its way to the soft palette of my mouth and my left tonsil. Because of its location, surgery was not advisable. Treatment took the form of seven weeks of radiation therapy every day. The days following were full of uncertainty and a fair dose of fear, but rather than dwell there, (I did say I like fairy tales, right?) let us get right to the dragon slaying.
Picture
"Even if you don't know what this, you have to admit, it is a little spooky"
Most knights don their armor before going to battle. Here is mine, and even if you have never seen a helmet like this, it looks foreboding, but if you are familiar with it, you likely have experienced radiation or have a loved one who has. 

My mighty radiation therapists and specialist warriors and I prepared for battle each day, snapping the helmet down firmly, strapping me in and using their best magical radiation laser powers, they helped me slay the cancer. We could almost hear it screaming during the battle.  (I told you there would be good parts to the tale.)
​
I was surrounded by an amazing team of Oncologists, Doctors, Nurses and Radiation Specialists, all of whom were not only knowledgeable but also kind, gentle and comforting. 
I am blessed in many ways, one of which is the ability to refocus and visualize my way through fearful moments. During treatments that have potential to cause anything from claustrophobia to anxiety, I recited the Lord's prayer in Gaelic, visualized a magical unicorn in a field of poppies and heather and absorbed myself in gratitude for the many incredible friends and family members who have stood by me with encouragement, prayers and love. 

This is where the BIG IDEA came from. Those moments in treatment where I used whatever tools I had at the ready to remove myself from what was going on around me.​
The mask is far more than something to fear, it is full of hope, magic in the form of science and medicine, and promise, even happy endings, and so it will be.
On May 30, 2023, I donned the armor one last time. When complete, I was privileged to ring the bell, symbolizing the treatment was over. 
While this story has not yet ended, I have no doubt that when it does, it will be like most fairy tales, happily ever after. It will be a few months before I receive the "all clear" the dragon was slain. 
​ Until then, it is my hope that my story, and the one that is still being written, a new and revised version of the mask, will somehow give hope and light to someone else who may have just received or has recently been the recipient of some unexpected news. 
I hope you will stay tuned to see what becomes of the BIG IDEA, the less scary, more beautiful, hope filled mask. In the meantime, here is a little sneak preview of the goings on, behind the scenes. 
Picture
My deepest gratitude to the entire team of Swedish Cancer Institute, Issaquah Campus. 
]]><![CDATA[Really BIG IDEAS Can Unleash Unlimited Creative Posibilities  . . .]]>Mon, 19 Jun 2023 03:55:20 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/really-big-ideas-can-unleash-unlimited-creative-posibilities
The same creative possibilities that widen your visual vocabulary, can also​ overwhelm and stall the creative process. At some point creative play may border on procrastination. When I get a bit lost, I can ask why the BIG IDEA has come, what is its purpose. If I have already been given my marching orders, and have just lost sight of them, moving from gathering and making into action helps me refocus.  It is now time to take the materials and elements which have been created and transform and compose them in a manner that will best honor this BIG IDEAS’ message.  A message of new life, hope and beauty. A visual presence that will quiet fear and shed light even in dark places.

 ​There is more to the story . . . stay tuned.

​
]]><![CDATA[A BIG IDEA will Invite Experimentation]]>Sun, 18 Jun 2023 03:48:07 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/a-big-idea-will-invite-experimentation
Picture
If you entertain a big idea, you must be willing to experiment, it will demand that of you. Give it space, and it will guide you into some of the most unexpected places. 
]]><![CDATA[Where do you start with a BIG IDEA?]]>Sun, 18 Jun 2023 03:25:52 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/where-do-you-start-with-a-big-ideaWhat do you do with that big idea? The one that awakens you in the night, taps you on the shoulder, as if to remind you it needs to be birthed. I begin by gathering, collecting its colors and textures. I ask what it's essence must feel like and what part of the spectrum it wants to land in. 
Sometimes a big idea charges into the room demanding to be created this way, or with that color and that feels like this. At other times the idea enters softly, no less large and every bit as persistent, but less defined, that can be frightening, or it can be an invitation. Listen, let it breathe into your heart, let it blossom, but begin, somewhere. 
I remember its first glimmer, that thing that woke me not so gently in the night and whispered, this is how it shall be. It took the form of butterflies. And now, it grows into so much more. 
Once I have gathered materials and set my sights on a course of action, I begin by creating some of the elements that appear in the vision in my mind.  Here are some of the components created so far, including needle felted wool feathers, bees, a nest and a hummingbird and machine embroidered freestanding butterflies. 
]]><![CDATA[What Do You Do with a Big Idea?]]>Sat, 17 Jun 2023 04:19:04 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/what-do-you-do-with-a-big-ideaThere is a delightful book by Kobi Yamada and illustrated by Mae Besom called "What Do You do with an Idea?"
(check it out HERE). What I love about the book is that the idea is as an egg with legs that can walks around with the main character, nudging him along until he has the confidence to bring the idea into being. 
I have always felt like the really Big Ideas do take on a life of their own. I have learned to pay attention, from their very inception, perhaps just a passing vision, giving the idea space to grow and being careful to listen to its nudges and taps on my shoulder. 
The process is fascinating to me, and most likely different from your process. I think we all find our way with this Big Ideas, sometimes ignoring them completely because we are "too busy". It saddens me to think that as adults, we "grow up" into the notion that entertaining a Big Idea, or submitting to the sheer joy of creative play, is somehow folly and far too frivolous for a normal, responsible, adult to engage in. 
I don't profess to be a normal adult, although I am pretty responsible. Follow me if you dare, and see what can happen if you entertain a Big Idea.
Where do you begin? For me, it usually begins in hunter/gatherer mode. I seek out all potential materials and begin feeling my way toward and overall palette or texture or theme.
]]><![CDATA[The "Saw That, Mixed This" Challenge Day . . . well a new day anyway]]>Mon, 13 Sep 2021 05:43:52 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-saw-that-mixed-this-challenge-day-well-a-new-day-anyway
. Well I didn't plan to break a habit that I enjoy so much for this long, but I had lots of good excuses. I have been working on content for classes I teach. Interestingly enough, some of it includes finding palettes, swatching colors and creating a sense of place or an atmosphere with the choices made while developing these palettes. The pages here represent just one of those exercises.  The desert palette was part of a Nature Sketchbook Club workshop for the month of September where we began with a very basic and limited collection of five colors: Quinacridone Rose, Auerolin (Cobalt) Yellow, Manganese Blue Hue, Burnt Sienna and Indigo, represent the standard CMYK palette often used by artist wishing to carry a very small traveling kit. From that starting point, we added the pigments found in the set of Daniel Smith Hand Poured half pan watercolor set called "Earth to Desert". And finally, taking it one step further, we added, more
Daniel Smith watercolors following artist, Brenda Swenson's suggestions in an article 
Traveling Watercolor CMYK Palette:
Quinacridone Rose, Aureolin (Cobalt Yellow), Manganese Blue Hue, Burnt Sienna, Indigo
After playing a bit with the colors you see here, I have narrowed them done and found what I feel constitutes the Arizona Sonora desert's palette and can no create landscapes, botanical drawings and wildlife sketches with ease. 
Daniel Smith Desert to Mountains Hand Poured Half Pan Set: 
Buff Titanium, Raw Sienna Light, Bronzite Genuine, Venetian Red (I had to use Indian Red), Burnt Sienna light (I used Burnt Sienna) and Lunar Black

Brenda Swenson's suggested add-ins
]]><![CDATA[The "Saw That, Mixed This" Challenge Day 2]]>Sun, 08 Aug 2021 07:30:52 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-saw-that-mixed-this-challenge-day-2
Picture

GERBERA DAISY

Today's subject didn't just catch my eye but grabbed me and stopped me in my tracks on the way to the garage. This stunning daisy is my favorite color, red of course so that may be partly why it spoke so loudly to me today.
To mix this color I began with Daniel Smith Watercolors: Cadmium Red Medium Hue, Quinacridone Rose, with French Ultramarine Blue for shadows and Hansa Yellow Light for the flower center and to mix a leafy green. I warmed my red with the yellow and cooled it with the French Ultramarine blue and created my neutral dark with all the colors in this palette. This was another fun exercise. I do find that the process takes a bit more time than the previous challenge did. This may mean fewer posts but they will continue with as much frequency as I can manage
]]><![CDATA[The "Saw That, Mixed This" Challenge]]>Thu, 05 Aug 2021 05:13:47 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-saw-that-mixed-this-challenge
Picture

Day one of a new challenge

And not completely sure where this one is going . . .but the idea being, a practice that gets me outside before the summer comes to a close and painting what I see in my backyard, either from life or a photo. My "rules" this time are, drawing or painting from life if at all possible, without creating more stress in an already too full schedule. If weather or time makes that impossible, then from a photo, but the photo has to be from something I notice while outside that day. My challenge  will be to look for the predominant color of the subject matter, and then mix that color, rather than using a straight from the tube color. So, lets see how this goes. 
I started by choosing a familiar subject, the frog name Robert, (because he came from a plant, jumped out of the hanging basket I was watering) who lives at the front door. We think he has taken on the roll of the doorbell since he lives where one would be if we had one and his croak is so loud that an approaching visitor would be well announced regardless of our doorbell deficit.
I limited my palette to sap green, yellow ochre and Phthalo Turquoise, mixed all my greens with those three colors I added  burnt sienna, quinacridone purple and indigo to darken shadows. I cooled down my greens and shadows with purple and warmed them up with burnt sienna.
​This is going to be fun. 
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 156]]>Mon, 02 Aug 2021 05:42:24 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-156
Technical Data: 
Color No: 069
Series: B
Colour Index Name : BV11, basic violet, PR122, quinacridone
Transparency: A
Lightfastness:

OPERA RED

Much like Opera Pink by Daniel Smith, this Turner Watercolor Opera Red is a very bold, bright red on the magenta side and a staining pigment. It's wide variety of values allowed me to use it almost exclusively to render all the different stages of this Rhododendron's bloom from completely closed to about to open.

This is the very last of my watercolor paints. I have swatched them all, and some more than once by accident. While that might be a good excuse to stop challenging myself in this way, I am not going to give it up just yet. I will reveal the next challenging idea tomorrow, but for now, it is nice to have met a goal of test driving every single tube of watercolor paint in my studio and in the process, now have a well established daily, (or almost daily) practice of painting in my sketchbook.
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 155]]>Tue, 27 Jul 2021 08:15:50 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-155
Technical Data: 
Opacity Semi-Opaque
Colour Number 190 Light: 191
Series 4 
Pigment Codes: Pigment Codes PB28 • PB36 
Light PG50
Granulating
Permanence: AA
Permanence: Extremely Permanent

COBALT TURQUOISE & COBALT TURQUOISE LIGHT

Winsor Newton's Cobalt Turquoise and Turquoise Light are sister pigments and similar enough I swatched them together. 
Cobalt Turquoise is a blend of blue and green pigments named for the for the semi-precious stone, turquoise. Cobalt Turquoise Light is a paler, slightly greener color than Cobalt Turquoise. My garden boots are the same beautiful greenish blue as Cobalt Turquoise light
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 154]]>Sun, 25 Jul 2021 03:14:08 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-1542984944
Technical Data:
Series: 1
Transparent
Pigment: 15:3
Color number: 326
Lightfastness: III

PHTHALOCYANINE BLUE

 L'Aquarelle by Sennlier makes this sky blue derivation of Phthalo Blue, the organic blue chemists came up with under the name of "monastal" blue. It is a highly complex organic synthesis. Even though Ultramarine Blue is considered the most important blue in a landscape painter's palette, it just cannot produce the blue of Phthalo Blue even mixed with other colors. It certainly nailed the color of the sky over the tulip fields in the Skagit Field on this particularly clear and bright day.
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 153]]>Fri, 23 Jul 2021 05:18:35 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-154
Technical Data:
Color Number 344
Series: 1
Transparency: Opaque
Pigments: PB15:3, Phthalo  Blue PW4, Zinc White
Lightfastness: III
​

CINEREOUS BLUE

Sennlier L'Aquarelle uses a variant of Phthalo Blue that has a bit of a greener shade. Phtahlo Blue was a pigment that chemists developed with the trade name Monstral Blue in 1935 more or less by accident while creating a dyestuff to replace Prussian Blue. This version has zinc white in it and with a honey binder, is more opaque than most Phthalo blues. It is another interesting color
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 152]]>Wed, 21 Jul 2021 04:35:49 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-152
Technical Data:
Color Number: 10
Lightfastness code: 1
Pigment Codes: PB 27
Series: 1
​Staining

ANTWERP BLUE

Winsor Newton Antwerp blue is a transparent blue color. and a softer version of Prussian Blue. It lifts well and would be a nice addition to the palette of a landscape painter for both water and sky.
]]><![CDATA[The "Swatch This" Challenge Day 151]]>Mon, 19 Jul 2021 05:32:10 GMThttps://www.heartitudeartsoul.com/soul/the-swatch-this-challenge-day-151
Technical Data: 
Color Number: 447
Series: 1
Pigment information: PB15:6, Copper Phthalocyanine Blue,  PR101, Transparent Red Oxide, Py65, arylide yellow
Granulation: Staining
Lightfastness: II
Permanence: A

OLIVE GREEN

Olive green is a soft, warm, brownish green from Winsor Newton Watercolors. It is a natural for the leafy greens in landscapes and botanicals. The dragonfly in this quick sketch was so clear and see-through that the greenery around him seemed to camouflage him.
]]>