WINTER'S CRAYON BOX...

The color of springtime is in the flowers, the color of winter is in the imagination.  

-Terri Guillemets-

 We spent a glorious weekend at the farm. 

The weather was unseasonably warm with brilliant clear blue skies...

As soon as we were settled in I did what I always do, headed outside for a look around.  Not the kind of look around to see if things are as they should be but the kind of looking around that quenches the thirst of the eye from a sight not seen in far too many sun settings and moon risings.  A tour of the farm yard is always first.  A sweet companion perched in the peach tree pointing out the fine workmanship of he and his fellow feathered friends...

A brilliantly built nest in the top of the apple tree...

A woven wonder nestled in the center of the lilac bush...

And a sweet swirl of grasses gathered under the rose bush...

He pointed out pine cones...

Fuzzy soft weeds gone to seed...

And perfect places to perch...

All  manner of things of interest to him.  As I lifted the latch on the old garden gate he gave a quick chirp while spreading his wings and lifting himself high up into the sky.  His sudden departure startled my little sidekick, Sophie, causing her to ruffled her fur...

I sat obscured in the golden hay field silently observing the world around me...

 

 Sophie snuffling around beside me...

I noticed  how winter's crayon box had tipped itself over spilling out a limited palette of sky blue, buttery goldenrod, timberwolf grey, and bittersweet rust brilliantly coloring the landscape before me...
 
Both pond and sky had received firm pressure when filled in to achieve that deep rich vibrancy of blue...

The goldenrod was stroked on with a wispy light hand fanning and feathering the waving windswept grasses...

The rusty bittersweet was sketched in as rusted roof tin and strings of barbed wire on aged cedar fence posts...

And used in the detail designs of rusty nails...

Time worn latches, hinges, and bent wiggly wire...

 
Timberwolf grey was liberally used to texture the trunks of the Silver Leaf Maples...  
 
To swirl in the rings of the old hand hewn log barn...
 
And to give depth and character to bent old barn wood...
 

 I lingered looking long looks at winter's amazing color palette...

Quietly sitting in awe of the hand that wrought it all, bird, nest, pine cone, and tree... a sea of golden hay, an azure sky, the weathered grey of wood, and speckle spotted rust.  I took in the intricate detail of the hand of the ultimate artist and sighed a deep sigh of gratitude and appreciation.
 The shadows began to grow long...
 
And while my little sidekick Sophie and I had enjoyed our time in the sun...

It was time to point ourselves toward the farmhouse...
 
We strolled side by side while casting last admiring glances at winter's crayon box.

What colors in winter's crayon box are shading your world?

CARVING OUT TIME...

Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let the other person spend it for you.

-Carl Sandburg-
I finally sat down with my new calendar the other day and transferred all the important dates, appointments, and reminders. I was feeling really bummed that it was already mid-month of January, a brand new year, and I had logged very little time in the studio. Snippets of promises I had made to myself were sifting away like the grains of sand in an hour glass. There are only so many hours in a day and time and attention have been needed elsewhere lately. I felt my creative spirit fizzle and shrivel just a little.Tapping the end of my pen ticking off days all boxed out in little white blocks, some with scribbles and some blank, I knew I needed to schedule and guard some creative time or it was going to be stolen away from me if I allowed. I decided that at least one full day a week would be doable but I might have to be flexible. I have penned myself in for Tuesday and we will see how that goes. Sometimes creativity for me is a mood thing, I have to work in fury when the mood or idea comes to me, I can't force it.I was just about to swipe the large colorful envelope the calendar came in off the table and into the trash when an idea came to me in a flash. I trotted down the hall to the studio and began slicing, dicing, embossing, inking, punching, and snipping with fervor. I now have a brilliant boat load of supplies to create some wonderful tags. I felt my flagging creative spirit lift a little at the pile of pretties spread out before me. With my momentum up I began putting together pretty paper and fabric posies, attacking tags, and embossing a variety of papers to play with on my next studio date.I started feeling better about all those blocked out days and the lack of blank ones knowing that I had kept some of them for myself. I am kind of at a cross roads of sorts with my art and I am not sure what, if anything, is next. I feel myself wanting to step up, over, and beyond the experimental stage I have been in for the last couple of years and get serious about developing a signature style.I am going back over all those blanks and blocks of time. I am identifying time wasters and stealers, trying to eliminate them, evaluating what is important and what can be put aside. I probably won't be too productive in studio this first month of the new year because I recognize the need to get a few things in order so I can have the focused time I need in there. A couple of major projects need to be finished up, the dining nook remodel being at the top of the list. I hope you will bear with me if I am not posting as much or as many artful pretties for the next couple of weeks but I need to set my sights on discipline and dedication to mundane tasks at the moment.
I am keeping my eye on the prize of making those artful dreams happen! I want to thank you for all the support and encouragement you all offer. You really are an amazing bunch!
I hope time is being kind to you and that you are carving out little slices for yourself to do whatever it is that you enjoy. Have a blissful Monday!

Blessings,
Sandy

P.S. Isn't it a little ironic that the front of my calendar says, " Gentler Thyme" ?