“No amount of time will erase the memory of a great dog.” – Internet Meme
Images: Late May to early June, 2018. 4th from top is of an agapanthus bud. 5 and 6 are details from Wing Dress (Velocity) and Spider Lily Red (Flare 1), respectively.
All recent images, photographed as winter turned spring, from top:
Photo 1 – Weeping Peach (Shidare Momo), a bud, blooming in still chilly early April.(… hence the fur cap?)
3 – Camellia, they drop the whole flower, as if letting petals go one by one like most everyone else is too cumbersome.
5 – Gingko leaf, curly dried. I think of details like this one, astronomical many of them, that I don’t get to have a look at, as every leaf dries with different curls, lit by ever-changing light.
6 and 9 – Praying Mantis, also dried, caught my eye while parking my car lightly resting on asphalt as a fine sculpture, because, it simply is.
7 – Cherry Blossom (Somei Yoshino), a sepal. At a park I discovered this year with three impressive cherry trees that attracts so many birds (they all chirp non stop) during 2 weeks of blooming, yet very small number of humans. Many days I solo-nicked*, spent time brings me smile recalling.
11 – Violet, also abundant at the same park as picture 7.
2, 4, 8, 10, 12 – Close details of Spider Lily Red – Flare 1. Drawn with nearly a hair of a brush, filling in bumpy edges to form smooth flowing lines. That’s how I attempt to bring the painting closer to the True Artistry evident in above images, knowing full well I will never surpass, which, defeat as such I mean, somehow makes my heart warm in all the right ways.
*Solo-nic is a made-up word I just came up with, so as to mess with other people’s language. But really, it’s the act of spontaneous lone picnicking I recommend to anyone with ears open, just so long as the land you’re about to occupy is safe and legally permissive.
Thank you for your visit!
Spider Lily Red – Flare 1 (2017) – Acid dye on silk.
Flare, as in, enliven.
You would not find Spider Lilies at florists. They flower in fields in early fall as every other flowering plant withers, giving their distinctive red the perfect stage with no competing colors.
Since fall 2012 I have observed the lilies closely, especially through capturing their petals in macro photographs, as the ideas for this series crystallized.
The petals, about an inch long at most, while remaining nearly motionless – there are some, as they progressively curl – they manage to emanate the inspirative fluidity just as dynamic as that of the Ocean.
This is the first of the two-piece series with one half of a petal painted, on a slip, a type of garment designed to be worn closest to the skin not always intended to be seen by others, to enfold but also to express inwardly, to speak into oneself, in this case the language of the red lilies of the field, and of the universal, inspirative Fluidity.
Making of the series has been documented on this website.
Above: Nightfall (2017, in association with the Ocean)
The Ocean’s been doing its fiery thing since yesterday, attracting a small group of devotees either with photography gears or surf boards. The capture is from today, January 2nd, just after sundown.
Somehow words are failing to express my wishes for the year ahead. The Ocean and my camera kindly bypassed the tongue-tied this evening and spelled them all out on the image above.
The year in review.
August 10, 2017. A day before Mountains Day, a national holiday only a few years old, I hopped on my little scarred Honda and headed out roughly towards west. Compelled by the briefness of summer, I wanted to absorb the scorching of the season as much as humanly possible.
Soon after somehow I took the turn I did not plan. General direction is right I said, my motto for a game I call “intentionally getting lost”. Just so long as I won’t miss out on the precious August sun for too long.
Well the path rode into the forest and quickly narrowed, to a single lane just wide enough for my compact. Winding as a large serpent would, on and on through the thick of woods that blocked even the brightest of the light. “Always a screw up, destined to miss.” An inner dialogue took the passenger’s seat like an inseparable old friend and worse yet at each hairpin, I grew deeper in agreement with her.
Then quite suddenly the serpent spat me out, into the bursting of the summer where I found a community probably the smallest I’ve ever seen. Tacked away in a valley between mountains are just a handful of housing structures, only some inhabited, lives held together with artful display of faded woods and rusted tins. Face to face with the unfolding quiet gem, with midday asphalt beneath my feet, I found myself alone in a place where leaves can be heard, streams carry life, the sun warms your shoulders and butterflies are free.
Thinking of you, California.
Morro Bay, 1995, further north of where the soon-to-be-fully-contained fire is at the moment. Bottom photo was taken by a friend of mine who also did the driving throughout our care-free road trip along the coast line. As you can see, she caught me in the perfect Kodak moment tilting the famous Morro rock.
Images were photographed with a single-use, most probably water resistant camera I used a lot in those days, and casually handed over for processing at local Target. Back then I didn’t think much of my creative inclinations, in fact I thought of them as the source of all my troubles and in most part I treated them accordingly.
Many years later in 2012, I decided to pamper my creativity with a high-end film scanner (rented), and discovered the negatives in progressed decay. Lines, scratches and uneven colors, they hinted at everything that happens only once.
Now, in December 2017, as California finds itself in flames again, I dug up the photos and gave them the suitable “vintage postcard” edit, then messed them up a bit, to near the creative disaster. Why, it’s a play, to be slightly off balance so your foot no choice lands forward. Well I was thinking of California I know, the foreign land always felt like a well worn pair, appreciating every minute I spent, submerged in the air of adventurousness and experimentation the land so eagerly, and effortlessly permits.
Related Posts:
From Top:
Pic#1 – photographed late 2015 and edited and shared on VSCO onDecember 05, 2017.
Pic#2 – photographed late 2015 and uploaded to my personal FB profile on December 18, 2017.
This post is being compiled on March 07, 2022.
How time flies.
Speaking of flying…
The swans fly in each year just as the real winter sets in, around mid to late December. They leave sometime in March, and when they do I will know. How do I know that?
They talk amongst each other as they head north flying right above my room, and perhaps because of their long neck working as a horn, their voice I can hear even with my windows closed, loud like trumpets although they fly quite high above. I find it adorably humorous, and subtly so if I smiled it would be too much.
The thing about the creatures of the wild – their independence – they are not of this society. And having to settle for just observing them from distance makes me feel the particular sense of longing…just like the creative kind of longing, reaching for the almost attainable, the longing, the reaching…
I don’t want to taint this post with the latest in the local swan situation. Briefly though, the recent years’ swan feeding frenzy – with white bread of all things, seemed to have changed the wild creatures into a flock of domesticated animals, numbers doubled, waiting in shallows for next crumbs to fall on them.
(I posted a few more 2015 pics on VSCO also in 2017 – when I could still find humor in the situation. Links to the post 1 and 2.)
On a hopeful note…
While there the last time, I spotted about three swans floating away from the feeders and the flock, poised and elegant like they used to appear short 7yrs prior. White breads are like designer drug, refined, processed, chemical compounds made to lure you back into consuming more of them. Evidently they had enough power to override the natural instinct of the wild and winged, but not all were smitten, at least that afternoon. Us humans are a bit like that too.
So ironic tho, for some say the feeding brings out a sense of competition and aggressivity among swans. Again, a bit like us humans’ been thru… in any case.
Swans would make the perfect catalyst; after all they are the ones who know how to find the way.
Published: March 08, 2022 at 02:08. Better get to bed.
Edited: March 09, 2022 – added a paragraph after “hopeful note” – doubling down on hope.
Related Posts:
Evidently, I do this a lot. The “Operation Guerrilla Cafe” (OGC hereafter).
That is, to bring my beverage to the location of the day, of my choice. Strictly solo.
Why, join me, come along for a virtual tour of Cafe Solitude.
(Beneath each photo is the time photographed / social post details.)
2019.07.31 at 18:55 / VSCO on 2020.04.19. The color of sunset was actually that pink.
2017.10.03 at 15:27 / VSCO on 2017.10.03.
2017.11.11 at 12:16 / VSCO on 2017.11.11.
2017.11.05 at 15:06 / VSCO on 2022.12.06.
2018.07.13 at 19:14 / IG story fall 2022.
Many had asked, “why so solo, lonely lady?”
Well, let me tell you you inquisitive lot. These are one of the most un-lonely times I’ve ever spent in my life.
Ever felt “lonely in a crowd”? On the wrong planet?? Imagine the absolute opposite.
(In facto, the question always made me a little sad; if being alone with yourself means “lonely”…)
During OGC what’s being set aside is “society”. Sitting by the Water, I am in direct contact with the Big Container. Look.
Conception sometime in Oct.-Nov.2022, drawn/photographed on 2022.12.27 / first time posting.
By mid 1990’s, I was at it for several years, digging up piles of debris that were burying alive the creativity I may or may not possess. Operating on blind faith, what guided me was the utter sense of suffocation.
Around that time someone suggested me a work book for (blocked) creatives called “The Artist’s Way”. Although I didn’t quite click with the writing style nor its cult-like status in the city of industry I resided in at that time, with the core concepts I did, so gave a diligent try through early 2000’s.
One of the exercises in the book is called “artist’s date”, as in, you take yourself out on a date, solo. No one gets to come along.
The practice was a familiar one. Since I was a young child I wandered the streets of suburban Tokyo, to be alone with wonder-full and awe-some, and I found them in little patches of untended lands between buildings. But too many others around me framed my such inclination as anti-collective hence negative. I was somehow, instinctively doing the right thing, to cultivate my creativity, to water the seed that was trying to sprout. The suggestion in the book was a validation arrived a little later, that told me I was not the only one. Not “anti-social” but “pro-creativity”- what I always knew in my heart, but doubt snuck in and stole my clarity.
By around 2006, the suffocation subsided. As of late 2022, I no longer care to know how I am doing as a “creative”. One thing I can say for certain: I did all this simply because I could not not to.
The book has a ton of very helpful quotes, and out of the ton the following stuck with me through my trying times, trying – to reclaim my creative freedom.
One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.
– Andre Gide (The Artist’s Way, p.199 Week12. Recovering A Sense Of Faith)
…And please allow me to add:
You are the captain who knows the way.
– me, 2022.
2009.03.10. / on my website around the same time.
Published on December 29, 2022 at 17:39
Related Posts:
My kind of prayers.
The piece in progress: Spider Lily Red. A petal of the said lily (top), the muse, certainly posing like one, from late September this year, and my interpretation of it painted on silk, the reverse side of a dress in formation, pictured on the last day of October.
Stitches are done by hand, my homage to the God of Creativity whose benevolence and artistry I could never outdo.
Related Posts:
