Drifting

Mary Oliver always stirs something in me that wants to be said…

Reading this poem speaks to my sense of drifting relative to transitions between seasons. Autumn, with its sense of abundance, is coming to an end but winter has not yet appeared.

This ‘space between’ is like dream time. Drifting within the ebb and flow of life floating in the nothingness of aridness I long for the sea where the sound of waves and currents gives me a sense of belonging, a place that is familiar. And yet, this place between Mountain and Rio is alive with it’s own sounds of movement. Raptors are here now…my favorite is the Red Tailed Hawk. I love her sound as she gracefully dances through the air like a piece of paper caught in the updraft.

AH, Autumn, with her golden light filling the sun-let leaves between almost empty limbs. I will miss you too, but for now, I will open my heart to receive your beauty reminding me about the preciousness of life and gratitude for being here in my tree house nested in a cottonwood forest.

I recently discovered juniper bark makes a beautiful ink/stain. The color is very similar to madrone leaf ink, a deep maroon brown kind of like the color of chestnuts. While foraging with a student who attended my recent four-day immersive workshop asked if juniper bark would be a good inclusion for abaca papermaking. To my surprise the cooked bark produced a beautiful color, and it now holds a place of distinction with my other favorite art materials.

Each time working with a new material, or exploring a new way of working with an ‘old friend’ is like a continuation of self-discovery. The material changes my perspective and way of seeing. Drifting through spaces between the old and new, seasonal changes and digesting exterior experiences become ways of transforming what wants to be seen.

perceiving is the act of becoming
it is expansion
not contraction
~ann o’hanlon