Ideas Become Real at the Point of Action...

New Website Re-design with emphasis on my Artist's Life....sharing...sending out the Ripple....

www.wordsbysusie.com

namaste

Sacred in the Ordinary, Installation #8: Tommy Turkey Trotting and Tree Sittin'

The past week has been amazing.  Warmer weather arrived in Western New York, the sunshine has smiled upon us day after day, and nature has begun to celebrate.  Not only are we starting to see signs of leaves budding out on some of the trees and shrubs...but, oh, my...our little feathered friends are doing their own style of "budding out."  Romance is in the air.  Nests are being cozied up for the arrival of new babies.  AND ... one big Tom Turkey has been strutting his stuff.

While working in our home office several days ago, a sudden movement outside the window caught my eye...I glanced right...and there HE was...Tom, Tom the Turkey Tom...just strolling across our back lawn.  

Then days later, while sipping on a morning cup of coffee and chatting over the phone with my brother, Gary, another sudden movement outside the dining room window caught my eye.  In the far distance, downhill from where our home sits, two giant birds were lumbering through the air toward a copse of tall pine trees.  I hopped up and exclaimed to Gary--"oh, my gosh, wait...what is that?  what are those birds?"  

As I took a closer look -- I realized I was watching two large turkeys flying to roost atop the pine trees.  I told Gary I'd have to talk with him later.  I grabbed my camera and darted out the front door 

to try to capture this moment. 

Here is the little story as it unfolded.

One of the turkeys took his (or was it a "her"?) place 

atop a 30' pine tree...there he was...just sitting...

and gazing to the east...

and then he began to cluck-cluck (or however you'd describe that sound turkeys make) and look around...

slowly he craned his long neck and looked west...

and then he cluck-clucked some more, and turned his gaze 

straight at me...

uh-oh...I had been spotted!

There we were...the two of us, locked in a gaze...

neither daring to move...both just gazing, gazing. 

Then...with a thwump-thwump-thwump...

up he rose off the peak of that pine tree. 

Into the air he flew, following a half-circle arc.  

With wings spread, he flew in my direction. 

In my excitement, I snapped only the onset of his flight...

but the joy is that he flew directly overhead--

only about 15 feet above me...

and I swear, I could hear the 

th-wump th-wump th-wump of air being forced outward 

in doppler ripples by his wings as he flew out of sight... JOY!

Fly, Tommy Turkey, Fly!

Art Installation #1: Cardinal in Flight

I am pleased to announce that my art work has been selected
for inclusion in the Ashwood Artisans Gallery 

(www.ashwoodartisansgallery.com) 

in East Aurora, New York, and in

the West Seneca Art Society Spring 2012 Fine Art Show 

at the Burchfield Nature & Art Center
(www.burchfieldnac.org) in West Seneca, New York.  

Connected with each of my paintings there is an "aha" moment, 

a snippet of a story, or perhaps one single word
that sets the painting in motion.  

The story behind this first art installation arose from a recent morning as I watched ten cardinals--five males, five females--play outside the sunroom window.  It was a rare sunny winter's morning for us in Western New York.  And just as the surprise of sunshine on that particular morning lit my soul on fire, so it must have done the same for these cardinals.  

They played.  They chattered.  They hopped and flitted.  And they skimmed the rolling landscape like ruby-red bottle rockets.  They made me happy.  They gave me energy that morning, 

and I wanted to capture what I saw in my mind's eye.  

The final creation:

"Cardinal in Flight"

30" x 40" 

acrylics on stretched canvas

Soul Food: Gathering of Dear Friends at Jo Ann's

This morning I woke to thoughts that were circling around the very idea of "Soul".  How do we define soul?  Why do we have a soul?  What happens in our daily lives to remind us about the essence of soul?  Don't ask me why those were the first thoughts that washed like waves upon my waking thoughts, but they were, and I let them ripple about a bit before tossing back the comforter.

And then...after getting out of bed, I stood for a long moment at the open bedroom window.  I stood there, gazing out at the thicket of bramble bushes that obscure our clear and direct line of vision into the woods--woods that invite our new adventures.  Strange though, instead of seeing thorns and briars and the menacing arching branches of the invasive Multiflora Rose that have rum rampant over the many years before we became the new stewards of this land--well, instead of seeing these prickly invaders as blemishes, this morning, they remind me that I believe everything on the planet has a soul.

I will skip the teeny details of the next 20 minutes--coffee with Jack, putting away last night's dinner dishes, feeding Galaia, opening the windows--and dance on over to my NOW.  Now I sit at the computer thinking about what I wish to write about today.  Now I smile at the sound of the geese who are honking their way across the sky.  Now I listen to the woodpecker who is ham-ham-hammering a tree in distress.  Now I watch the curtain that is billowing in the cool breeze that filters through the open transom window.

And in that ballet of small Now-Occurrences, my soul inhales and opens up, and I see the faces of some of the most beautiful women and men who are part of my Soul-Story. Who long ago took up residence in my soul and set up their own little home in my heart.  Who still, to this day, appear in my Soul-Story without as much as a little notice--yes, every so softly and silently they simply appear, floating in as if to say, "I'm here...just dropping by for a little visit."

And so it is that I wish to see their eyes again, shining and happy.
And so it is that I wish to send out my love
in a whsiper to each one of these beautiful souls.

Namaste.

Sacred in the Ordinary, Installation #7: Beauty in a Seed Pod

Sometimes, words simply cannot describe a moment 

when pure magic meets the morning.  

Such was the case during my walk-about this past Saturday morning.  The temperature was in the 40s, the sky was blue, the sun was shining.  Many times I have strolled alongside the front edge of the brush-line on my way to get the morning paper.  Many times I have scanned the multiflora rose that invades the hillside.  Many times I have marveled at the lines created by the various wild grasses.

And during each of those strolls where I surveyed the natural landscape,
I have passed a cluster of tall stalks, each sporting large seed pods that have the texture of aged and ancient driftwood.

I have stopped to study their curious textures.  I have stopped and taken in the interesting vignettes they create with their empty husks.


Yes, countless times I have glanced at those tall stalks crowned with those ancient looking seed pods, and each time I simply continued on my way to the mailbox.









But not this past Saturday morning.  On this morning, Mother Nature had woven her magic.  On this morning, sun-reflecting, cotton-candy white floss-like fibers were spun like pure angel's hair from the seed pods that had opened.

Pure magic. Pure wonder. 

So pure, that I will not attempt to describe the experience with words...but rather, 

will bow to their wondrous beauty by sharing these photographs that I snapped 

on this magical Saturday morning of Milkweed** seed pods 

that had burst open in all their glory.  

**Asclepias L. (1753), the milkweeds, is a genus of herbaceous perennial, dicotyledonous plants that contains over 140 known species. It previously belonged to the family Asclepiadaceae, 

but this is now classified as the subfamily Asclepiadoideae of the dogbane family Apocynaceae.

Milkweed is named for its milky juice, which contains alkaloids, latex, and several other complex compounds including cardenolides. Some species are known to be toxic.

Carl Linnaeus named the genus after Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, because of the many folk-medicinal uses for the milkweed plants.

Pollination in this genus is accomplished in an unusual manner. Pollen is grouped into complex structures called pollinia (or "pollen sacs"), rather than being individual grains or tetrads, as is typical for most plants. The feet or mouthparts of flower visiting insects such as bees, wasps and butterflies, slip into one of the five slits in each flower formed by adjacent anthers. The bases of the pollinia then mechanically attach to the insect, pulling a pair of pollen sacs free when the pollinator flies off. Pollination is effected by the reverse procedure in which one of the pollinia becomes trapped within the anther slit.

Asclepias species produce their seeds in follicles. The seeds, which are arranged in overlapping rows, have white silky filament-like hairs known as pappus, silk, or floss. The follicles ripen and split open and the seeds, each carried by several dried pappus, are blown by the wind. They have many different flower colorations.

Sacred in the Ordinary, Installation #6: Music of the Soul

Alas for those that never sing,


But die with all their music in them!


~Oliver Wendell Holmes

This daily inspiration (thank you, Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes!!!) arrived by e-mail this morning.  I read it over at least three times before I sat back and let the words take hold inside my head.  Once they took hold, I sat here and thought about how many times I have "turned off"--or maybe I haven't allowed myself to "turn on"--the music in my spirit.  Why?  Usually it is because I have allowed the clutter of the days to push the songs away.  Now, I have enough where-with-all to know that when I invite music into my day, I sing.  So why do I ever push the songs away? 

Why?  While I'm questioning things, a one-liner quotation that I keep on a shelf in my studio sneaks into my thoughts--"Ideas become real at the point of action."  OK.  That does it.  This morning I choose to accept the invitation to let my thoughts sing, to let my ideas sing, to let my hands sing through creating.  And so, here is one of the word-songs for today.

It is the first day of February, and the weather here in Western New York continues to write its own musical score of surprises.

Yep - just yesterday, I awoke to a chilled breeze rushing in through my bedroom window (I keep that window rolled open ever so slightly to allow in nighttime breezes) and our landscape covered in snow--snow that  looked like beautiful, creamy shaving cream.  The song for yesterday was slow, comprised of deeper notes, calmer notes.  

That was yesterday, when the temperatures were in the lower 30s in the morning, but by the end of the day, had risen into the 40s...and were predicted to rise even higher by today...go figure.

This morning...I awoke to a new song, a song of soft breezes, warmer breezes playing through that same window next to my side of the bed.   Hmmmm...."A sure indicator of the promise of a good day," I think to myself before throwing back the comforter and greeting the day...and it doesn't look like I will be disappointed.

When I walk into the dining room, I stand at the front windows and take in the landscape.  While grey rain clouds stretch from east to west across the upper skyline, green grass stretches in rolling waves across the lawn below.  Sure, here and there, little blobs of shaving cream snow appear...but, mostly it is green lawn and trees and brush without a speck of snow lying on branches.  The overnight rains have performed their magic, erasing the snow.  This morning's song begins with a lightness, comprised of brisker notes, lilting notes.

Hang in there with me, I'm getting to the part where Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes' words arrived with a purpose for me today.

It is during these winter-going-into-the-promise-of-spring mornings that I find myself mesmerized by the birds that return to the brush line at the far end of our front lawn.  I am mesmerized by all of the birds, but I am in love with the cardinals.  The male and female cardinals return in force.  They find their separate perches and sit, doing their bird yoga-zen thing for scores of minutes.  Stately.  Regal.  Brilliant.  They sit as if knowing they are performing for an audience.

If the temperature is just right, they leave their brush-line perches and fly like little bottle rockets to the garden beds surrounding the two berry-laden shrubs that stand on either side of the front sidewalk.  There, they begin an operatic performance.  They dance alone or in pairs, they pick and pick at the mulched bed--finding precious berries that have dropped from the shrubs.  They hop about, drunk with happiness. They fly from shrub to shrub to shrub, sometimes clutching branches that hang at an awkward angle, sometimes clutching branches that literally hang perpendicular to the ground.  And they sing--beautifully they sing.  No, it does not matter to them, the angle of the branch; they celebrate the day and they sing. 

As their celebrations fill the air, their songs fill my soul.  And so, I believe that today I choose to be like a cardinal celebrating the promise of Spring...I choose not to let the music die inside of me today.  No, today, I sing.  

Sacred in the Ordinary, Installation #5: Ripples of the Universe

  

Do you believe in the concept of a "universal ripple"? 

I think about that concept almost every single day...and have come to believe that we are merely players in the ripple story of the universe.  Let me share with you yet another example of why I have come to believe in this idea.  

Last night and this morning, a very interesting sequence of events occurred…(1) last night--a total blackout due to high winds off of Lake Erie; (2) this morning--3 quotations--eerily connected to the tale from the night before--appear in my e-mail inbox via the daily inspirational thoughts shared by Jonathan Lockwood ... 

"Universal ripple?" I ask myself..."I think so", I nod.  Here's how my little ripple story unfolded.

Last night, I experienced my first "black-out" at our new Hilltop Casa.  Yep, there I was, semi-alone at home with just me, myself and I and my sweetie pie and shadow-pal, Galaia, (our 18-year-old cat).  Jack was out for the evening--playing at a private gig with The Boys of Summer, a WNY band for which he is the new bassist.

So there I was, in the studio space in our sunroom, music by Eilen Jewel filling the nooks and crannies of the entire house, a blank canvas covered in gesso waiting for its new face, and me attempting to envision and create another new painting.  Frustration was running a little edgy since what I was seeing in my mind and what my energy was generating on canvas were ending up in quite a disconnect.  I just couldn't "see the light" (sorry, couldn't resist that play on words!).

But, I deviate from the ripple story.  Anyway, I had just squeezed acrylic paints onto the palette--dark violet, Payne's gray, and Titaniaum White--had just stirred them into an acrylic, somewhat psychedelic glob, and was beginning to let the rhythm of the music guide brushstrokes onto canvas.  When...in a nano-second...deafening silence and blinding darkness. For whatever reason, my intelligent self responded calmly.  In that immediate darkness, my mind pieced together a couple of relative facts.  Fact 1: there were 50+ mph gusting winds and blankets of snow and ice crystal blowing across Lake Erie, which lies due west of our home; Fact 2 our new "Casa" sits open to the world--atop a hill, in that direct easterly path from Lake Erie; and, Fact 3: the gas stove heater in the sunroom was still burning so I wouldn't freeze.  

Was I surprised?  Yes.  Did I panic?  No.  Did I act out of calmness and resourcefulness? Yes.

With a combination of reasoning and forethought, I had placed flashlights in every room after we moved to our new home at the beginning of this winter season.  But you know what I'm thinking?  I'm thinking that it wasn't necessarily my reasoning or forethought that brought about that action...no, I'm thinking that it was that after about the 30th person, upon hearing where our new home is located, had said to me, "Good luck with the winds and snow.  You do have a generator don't you? My thanks go out to all of those friends!  Immediately  I grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen cabinet and checked on Galaia.  Silly me.  She's a cat...she can see in the darkness...and so, with her amber-gold eyes, she slowly stared into my eyes as if to say, "Mom, I'm trying to get some rest here."  I love that little girl.  

Well, then...I heard the universal ripple whisper a message-- to light some CANDLES!  Without missing a beat, I went to the candle drawers (yes, there are two drawers in the built-in buffet that I keep filled with all sizes of candles!) and gathered up an armload of those little waxy wonders.  I went to the china cabinet and took out the candelabras.  I went to the china cabinets and took out crystal bowls and platters.  

And then I set about creating candle vignettes throughout the entire front portion of our home--candles in the living room, 

candles in the dining room, candles in the kitchen, candles in the sunroom (errrr...guess for the moment, it was the dark-room). 

Once all of the votives and tapers were lit, I stood there, amid the flickering and rippling glow of candle flames.  

No panic.  No disappointment.  

No irritation.  

Just calmness and serenity.  

For 3 hours Galaia and I enjoyed the glow of candle light.  

For 3 hours there was no sound but the gusting wind outdoors.  

For 3 hours, there was nothing electronic to break into our solace.  

For 3 hours, it felt as though time stood still.  

And now, in the spirit of going full circle, I return to my initial question about the existence of a universal ripple.  

Is there a "universal ripple" in the universe that often times we miss or are too busy to note?  

I do believe that ripple is never-ending, forever-moving.  And it was just this belief that came front and center for me again this morning when I opened my e-mails to read the daily inspirational thoughts sent to me by Jonathan Lockwood.  

Read them and see if you find the synchronous rippling of the universe in last night's candlelight adventure and this morning's inspirational thoughts about--you guessed it--how it is better to light candles than curse the darkness!

At times our own light goes out
and is rekindled by a spark from another person.


Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude


of those who have lighted the flame within us.


- Albert Schweitzer



It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.


- Chinese proverb often quoted by Eleanor Roosevelt



Darkness cannot drive out darkness;
only light can do that.


Hate cannot drive out hate;
only love can do that.


- Martin Luther King, Jr.

(Reprinted from "Daily Inspiration-Daily Quote" by Jonathan Lockwood Huie, 1.29.12)