The sun may have thought about setting the clouds on fire but it was enjoying a moment similar to mine. Languid. Soft. Pastel. I was soaking at the Boiling River yesterday when the sky murmured a lazy pink seductive whisper to a lone white proud-as-a-peacock peak which had managed to catch the last blaze of bright light. Elk kept their heads down - dinnertime. I slurped up the last of my “Moscow Mule” and crab-crawled my way backwards up river to my clothes.
mindfulness meditation retreat
A glimpse into my mind would be an amusement park ride gone a muck. If a switch exists to trip the breaker then I haven’t found it. Attempts at meditation in the traditional sense, elude me. Period.
Sometimes I find a type of meditation during focused creation, climbing and yoga but whenever I try to sit and simply still my mind – I flail. I see myself as a meditation-type of person. I admire people who meditate regularly. Just even five minutes a day but despite New Year’s Resolutions and mini-breakthroughs- I have never acquired the habit.
ENTER THE MEDITATION RETREAT IDEA:
Actually it was never my idea to go to a multi-day silent retreat. Well - a romantic whiff of the idea did cross my mind when I read “Eat. Pray. Love.” I could certainly put India on my Bucket List as a destination. But when I think of India my mind goes first to images of delicious erotic relief sculptures and the Kama Sutra. The idea of sitting on my butt in the same position without moving or talking for hours sounds about as appealing as a glop of overcooked canned spinach.
Yuck.
I am curious though. Curious enough that somehow the idea of attending a multi-day meditation retreat pecks away like an incessant woodpecker whenever I add something to my Bucket List. My girlfriend Amy feeds the woodpecker with her enthusiasm. I admire how much she has grown spiritually. Strongly committed to practice, growth, acceptance and compassion – she has wowed me with her insight and lack of judgment. Amy continues to send me invitations to retreats. Presented by Amy, the retreat takes on the wholesome compelling beauty of a plate of freshly picked crispy clean organic spinach.
Good food.
So I filled out an application today. Psyched and scared. Excited and intimidated. I just may be attending a five day Insight Meditation Retreat this spring…
drawing from life
Fingertips blackened, eyes sharpened, a soul-settling satisfaction and post-meditative state of mind result when I draw from life. I had almost forgotten…
But lucky for me, the desire to draw from a model is strong enough to create a weekly 3 hour session open to any of the many artists who live here (and come from neighboring towns) to scratch, dab and color their way in a fleeting attempt to capture life, light and flesh. Well over a decade ago I actually hosted such sessions in the studio I temporarily inherited from Freeman Butts - a fitting tribute to the artist for whom I was lucky enough to pose. For fourteen years I happily played muse for his big bold brush strokes along with a gaggle of local gals, many of whom I found for him and coaxed to his model stand.
I remember now – the pull of a pose. The work. The play. I am rusty. Unpracticed but no-less-enthusiastic and infinitely grateful that despite a decade and half of lapsed attendance, the invitation to join the sessions and draw never ceased. But it took the enthusiasm of a life-drawing newbie to rekindle my own. Thanks Audrey!
transitions
So here I am on the other side of my mother’s estate sale: plumb tuckered, wrung out and emotional. Stress, grief and responsibility tromped on my soul with muddy boots. Emotional housekeeping can wear out a person. Tidy up I must. Oddly enough, making a mess in the studio is one way to clean up the muck and mud left by the physical and emotional chore of settling my mother into a new home and bringing an end to the chapter she shared with my father at the “Huffine House.” She is sad. We both grieve. My father’s beloved shop and ashtray collection exist no more. People walked away from my parents’ home with their arms full. The place is picked clean. Life cycles and circles – my own father was one of those bargain seeking auction goers. He would brag for weeks about deals snatched at estate sales. Understandably, it is a different perspective as a seller rather than a buyer. Mom and I have to shake it off and count our blessings.
I can finally return to the sawdust making part of my life for the first time in a month. The monumental task of preparing my mother’s house for an estate sale and auction slurped up my time. Here is a confession: My father’s presence has shifted somehow. I realize now that Dad existed largely at the old place. As the reality of the auction settles in, I find myself disoriented by the feeling that his spirit is unsettled. Dad is looming. Unblinking. I am not used to him here on my mountain or in my studio. I am a bit at a loss…
hooked on ice!
Austin is a delightful bright sparkle of a young being and the daughter of a dear friend of mine. Last summer she discovered rock climbing. I enjoyed the pleasure of taking her out for an evening on rock – and while teaching, talking and climbing – I mentioned ICE. She was intrigued, joined the rock climbing team at Yale and recently while home for Christmas break she desperately wanted to try ice climbing. We spent an afternoon up Hyalite Canyon where Austin learned the basics until the sun set soft and pink. After driving down the canyon in the dark we stopped at a local bookstore so that she could pick up the latest issue of the Alpinist magazine where a large multi-feature spread was focused on Hyalite Canyon –truly a special mecca for the sport right here in our own “backyard” (near Bozeman).
Austin caught the ice climbing bug and wanted more. We decided to get out again closer to home in what is truly our “own backyard” and I promised Austin an adventure so we climbed up Pine Creek Canyon in Paradise Valley a few days into the New Year. Austin spent quite a bit of her holiday break chasing mountain lions with her father so she was totally up for the hike and the climb up the steep slope to Green Gully – a 180’ hunk of frozen ice sandwiched between beautiful cathedral looking purplish and green rock. Now I only got out ice climbing a handful of times last winter and the season before that I was recuperating from major surgery and couldn’t climb at all. I stood at the base of the falls geared up for my first lead in several years – psyched and nervous. Sixty feet off the ground connected to ice by two points on my crampons and two axes is when the panic began its insidious (but life preserving) clutch on my innards and the noisy monkeys in my mind chattered more boisterously. “What made you think you could lead something this big after a long hiatus from ice?!” “Did you see how far it is to the ground?! Did you see how much further you have to go to the top??!!”
Deep breath. Focus. Climb. Quiet the monkeys…
I decided to quit looking down. I kept climbing. Placing ice screws for protection every 25 feet or so, I ran out of screws a ways from the top -thus increased focus and determination to “top out” without any mishaps. The ice was a bit thin up there. I placed my ax points carefully. I climbed over the top without feeling wiped out or plumb tuckered. I clipped into the anchor and set up the belay for Austin, mindful of the mechanics and safety. Now it was Austin’s turn to follow me up the ice – the 60 meter rope between us was stretched the full length – somehow looking up at the falls is quite misleading on how tall they actually are.Austin was far below where I couldn’t see her but luckily she could hear me shout encouragement. I watched the sky with a bit of apprehension knowing it would be dark soon. Austin took longer than I expected but then – she was a total newbie. Her progress was slow but steady, I began to feel the cold seep in and Austin kept whacking away at the ice with her tools and crampons.
Tuckered but BEAMING – she joined me at the top of the falls, eager to snap pictures, full of exclamations at the view and pumped from the rush of her first full-on adventure on ice. While she took in the scenery, I prepared the rappel…anxious to beat the waning light. A big BOLD beautiful nearly full moon instantly lit our way as we slid and scrambled down the steep gully to the creek where we found a log to scooch across – chattering in the dark.
Austin is back at Yale but emailed recently exclaiming our day climbing Green Gully was the highlight of her Christmas vacation. She is psyched and empowered by her climb. I feel the same about my own bold lead after a long hiatus from my favorite sport. I have launched into 2012 feeling more fit, focused and stronger than I have in years! WAHOO!!!
sunday soak
Sami , Jake, Ali, Cliff and I celebrated the bright winter moon by hiking to Leroy’s Lookout Saturday night. Moon shadows danced on the ice and frozen dirt beneath our feet – a remarkable contrast to the deep snow this time last year. We chattered all the way up the mountain happy and psyched the steep hike no longer seemed challenging to the kids – who no longer have to stop for breaks. Cliff had the wee little o’l cabin toasty warm when we got there. The place is literally cabled to the rocks on a peak above the Yellowstone River – which glittered in the moon lit valley below us while the Crazy Mountains glowed on the horizon.
The warm inviting pink sunrise inspired us to pack towels and hot pastry turnovers before zipping up Paradise Valley for a soak in the Boiling River. Just inside the boundary of Yellowstone National Park, the hot springs always deliver soothing healing doses of goodness for the heart, soul and body. We drove back down the valley in a post soak bliss – grinning at the elk, deer and mountain goats as they puttered about lazily enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The late night hike and the early morning soak certainly fueled our appetites so we scooped up my mom and took her to lunch in Bozeman upon our return to civilization - burgers and waffle fries! Satiated.
Click here to view a short video: Boiling River
woodchips, sawdust and a boo boo
One morning last week I had just begun to work in the studio - about 40 seconds of grinding wood with a tungsten carbide wheel on an angle grinder when the one second it takes to injure oneself happened. Ear protection, a dust mask (purple), anti-vibration gloves to protect against carpal tunnel, my hair pulled back in a ponytail and tucked under a cap... I really was wearing eye protection too but the boo boo happened. Ok. So I could have been wearing goggles instead of protective eye glasses but the goggles had gotten scratchy and hard to see through.
OUCH!
Wood found its way into my left eye. I rinsed it out with water since I hadn’t remembered to replace the eye wash in my studio first aid kit. When it became evident that I couldn’t keep the eye open and work, I duct taped some wadded tissue over the eye, put on goggles along with the rest of my safety gear and tried to get back to work. Both eyes were watering enough to quench the thirst of a potted plant. I tried rinsing again, repatched the eye, called Cliff who was returning from town and asked him to bring me some soothing eye drops. Then I tried to grind again but I couldn’t see through the non-stop tears. I lay down for an hour in my studio nap room with the soothing drops in my eyes but as the pain and symptoms persisted it became apparent that I would have to see a doctor.
“You really did a number on your eye!” she said from the other side of the magnifying eye apparatus. “Looks like a bear clawed your cornea in a crosshatch pattern.” She flipped my eyelid inside out and removed a piece of wood stuck there before putting a patch on my eyeball. Yup. You read that correctly. My eyeball was “bandaged” with a large clear contact lens looking thing. I left her office with blurry vision, minus a $120 doctor bill, a $100.00 bottle of antibiotic eye drops and relief. Phew!! Luckily eyes heal rather quickly. The pain persisted for a few days and one week later the vision is slightly more blurry than the right eye. So the injury happened at the tail of 2011. I have begun 2012 with a NEW pair of unscratched goggles, a fresh bottle of eye wash is in my first aid cabinet and my safety awareness kindly rekindled.
polar plunged into the new year!
What better way to bring in the New Year than a vigorous life-affirming dive past the ice into a COLD Montana mountain lake?! The heart leaps with a powerful punch – jump starts underwater followed by a mad dash and splash through the water back to the snowy shoreline where the dogs are excitedly barking (perhaps cheering me on or shouting orders to get back to shore and safety?!) Dry towel, flannel pants, socks, slippers, hat and coat...
Everything zings and tingles! Yes…it kind of hurts…mostly my fingers and toes when the feeling comes back but luckily my buddy Yogi’s sauna was waiting for us. He lives right near the lake. The “Polar Plunge” is an annual New Year’s Day ritual for many zany people and cultures. An invigorating purge and launch into 2012!!!
jake's reliquary
“I’m going to make a series!” Jake announced shortly after he finished creating this fabulous reliquary sculpture. He found the log months ago while helping us clean up from the studio building project. Jake began the process of burning the piece after he acquired my permission to use the torch. Just last Saturday Jake and I spent a dedicated morning together in the studio working on his sculpture. The rattlesnake tail came from a very unlucky reptile that ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time last summer. Jake and I dug around Cliff’s freezer to find the tail (along with the whole snake skin) where Cliff had been saving it for Jake (and for this project specifically). Jake is still trying to decide what to name his sculpture but “flames” and “rattle” are two words that keep getting tossed around. He is plotting his series telling me about other objects which carry special meaning for him. Jake just turned 11 last week.
I don’t know who is more proud – Jake or me…?
a"buffed-a-lo"
Projects abound. Duties never cease. Inspiration overflows. Momma Nature beckons. I simply need more time each day!
Just when and where do I fit in good “blog time" to share with you?!! I have begun work on a brand new small sculpture series. Challenging good stuff (well …we have yet to see if the “stuff” is actually any good but I can tell you that it feels good to finally be settled into my space; hunkered down making marks on wood and flinging sawdust into the air.
Ahhhhh…..!!!
“Sojourn” the bronze bison bench visited my new studio last week. The sculpture spent a portion of the year at the Bozeman Jet Center. I brought him home to clean and polish. Plenty of wax and a good buff’n have the life size buffalo looking sharp and ready to participate in the Livingston outdoor sculpture project. He will “keep court” in front of the local post office once I have the bolts welded to steel mounting plates. 
Quite a few years have passed since the long days spent carving this bugger in Black Walnut. Lordy I put a “hurt down upon my body" during that creative carving marathon which included a five gallon bucket of ice to plunge my hands and forearms into so that I could continue carving night and day. The original carving is in a private collection in New Mexico. The limited edition bronzes have found homes in one museum and a few private collections from Arizona to Ohio. The "buffed-a-lo" will soon be installed in front of the Post Office but he is still up for adoption!!!
zaydee, me and paddleboard make three!
Synchronicity and a bit of manifesting teamed up to give me the opportunity to try the latest outdoor adventure toy – Stand Up Paddleboarding.
Fun Stuff!!!
An impromptu Labor Day plan to float the river in a raft with friends led to more of an adventure when we bumped into a friend who was getting off the river right when we were getting on – she was kind enough to let me try her board. I hopped on and headed downriver but Zaydee wasn’t too psyched to be left on the raft - relegated to simply watching. She insisted on joining me on the board. We managed pretty well together though I admit it was more challenging whenever she decided to leap for a flying bug. We only fell once while floating for a few hours– but that fall was a warning slice of the seriousness of the sport and the power of the river. We had managed plenty of 2 foot waves but this little bend in the river was a sneak channel behind an island with some large trees blocking the flow. We got sucked under near a bank. Zaydee simply could not surface on her own so I had to pull her up with my feet and finally a good grip on her collar. I would definitely get her a doggie life jacket next time!! A few photos just arrived from Stacey Herries so I thought I would share a peek at our fine floating day.
bridger traverse
About a week ago I enjoyed a perfect autumn day tramping along the top of the Bridger Mountains with my girlfriend Amy. The two of us had some girl chat to catch up on and I needed some “mountain time” before the emotional project of packing my mother’s things and moving her from the home she shared for decades with my father into the cozy sweet new condo she purchased this summer.
Amy and I quickly zipped up the switchbacks to Sacagawea Peak, spotted a goat family during their morning breakfast and then skirted along the ridge to the rocky Ross Peak (the grey/white rocky multi-summit peak just left of center in the photo). We mis-navigated the summit approach to Ross Peak which added a challenging bit of rocky traversing. Essentially we climbed up the side of Ross Peak visible in the photo and then scrambled our way around the steep rocky mountain to the opposite side just below the summit. I called it a “circle the summit” day. 
Amy is a brand new mother and we had a commitment to watch her son that evening – thus we skipped tagging the summit of Ross Peak after spending a few hours climbing around the mountain since we still had to descend to Ross Pass and then hike up and down a few more peak places along the ridge before walking down to Bridger Bowl where I had left my truck earlier that morning. Splendid day!! The blisters weren’t bad at all and the day energized me for the large focused six-day task of moving my mother into her “new digs.”
hefty hoist-love
Gone are the days in town when I would stop my work to blow the sawdust off my Carhartt’s, then walk from my studio to the gas station to buy a six pack of beer, walk with the beer to Livingston Meats to coerce the big-armed butcher into helping me lift or turn a sculpture. I hated to bug him but that was simplest. Sometimes I would time moving heavy stuff with lunch and invite one of my strong fellow friends to the studio to eat and lift. But what does a gal who lives at the end of the road near the top of a mountain in Montana do when she has to lift BIG stuff?! Paul thought of everything. He integrated an ingenious sweet smooth strong hoist system and steel I Beams into my new studio. I can lift ANYTHING. All I need are straps and the touch of a a bright cheery yellow button. Check out this 2400 pound hunk of mesquite just waiting for me to sink my teeth into!!!
mt holmes
Good energy churns and chimes on this post-summit happy-heart morning. I woke with the sun after a FULL night’s rest – a rare yummy feast for this chronic insomniac. Yesterday was a whole different beginning to a day which none-the-less turned splendid. After 4 hours of sleep and 3 hours of flipping around in my head and bed, I rose in the dark before the alarm to pack for a summit day. Zaydee was psyched to see me pack but bummed when I asked her to “STAY” in the dark on my deck. I have never done a summit in Yellowstone Park for just that reason – dogs are not allowed. But Felicia had this summit on her “tick list” and I was happy to join her for an adventure.
The classic sign that you’re “in the park” is the token monolithic slow rambling buffalo in the middle of the road. The frost clinging to the buffalo’s hide and head added the classic touch signaling the time of year – autumn in the park is chilly - 22 degrees at 7:30 a.m. at the trailhead. Brrrr! Beautiful crystal frost sparkles gleamed while we zipped up our coats; tucked our hands in our pockets and took off at a snappy speed.
Just over 3 hours and 9 miles later we were plenty warm as we navigated the scree trail up the flanks of big bald Mt Holmes. Our zipped off pant legs and coats were scrunched in our packs. The sun warmed into the 80’s. We lounged like lizards for an hour on the rocky summit. Smoke from forest fires obscured our view of distant peaks but we were able to pick out a number of peaks near the park which we’ve tagged - a perfect sunny summit place to celebrate the season.
bee three
First bee bombed. The wee bee was just too clunky. Bee #2 seemed more wasp-like than bee-like. The folks at Boyer Bronze found a dead bee and kindly saved it for me. But when I used the real bee as a reference for Bee #3 – the shape still wasn’t quite right for the project. So the head of Bee #3 ended up on Bee #2. I adjusted the body and….viola!! Finally a bee I can live with. The critter will be legless, wingless, and antennae-less until the next stage of casting. I put the wax bee in a cup and bounced it down the mountain with the bronze dog to the foundry. The bee is part of the bronze dog commission (it will perch on the dog's nose.)
Then I went “shopping” for wood - which means I wove between stacks of logs, beams and boards at Matt Ridgeway’s sawmill yard until an Ash log presented itself as a good possibility to experiment with. Matt will saw it up for me tomorrow - just another step in the “toe-kicking” and “brain-picking” stage of launching a new series of small-ish sculptures. Can't wait!
autumn in the air
Yesterday evening Zaydee and I ran up a trail through the woods along Suce Creek. The trail felt almost damp and cool – certainly a subtle change from dry summer dusty trails. I watched a singular large yellow leaf fall quickly to the ground. Nothing poetic or romantic about the swift no-frills fall – no spinning or floating – just a quick silent exit from the tree to the ground marked the change of seasons. The leaf fall left a pang and a bit of panic in my chest; I am not ready for summer to be over. But this morning rose deliciously crisp and cool. The sky hung low. Something about the change of seasons clicks a renewed sense of purpose in my soul. “Pay attention” Momma Nature whispered in the charged air.
I left my cabin in striped flannel pants, herded by sky as if tucked beneath the soft protective wing of a mother bird and pushed toward my studio nest. Even my morning cup of tea brimmed with purpose (and tasted better) as the smell of autumn lingered. Time to get to work!
studio open house and the park county studio tour
I could ramble on about the joyful GRAND open house and the Park County Studio Tour which took place last weekend but I am feeling plumb tuckered in the “ramble” part of my life after a full weekend of guests and entertaining.
We started with a kick-off party and art opening Friday night at the Danforth Gallery which featured all 40 artists in the Park County Studio Tour and ended with an artist’s gathering Sunday night after two full days of Open House visitors. I would be more inclined to rave about the celebratory weekend if I had a pictures to post. But Stacey and I were so busy entertaining the endless stream of happy awestruck well-wishers that we never took photos. Some of the guests took photos which I will post when I get them. Stacey showed (and sold) some of her vivid encaustic paintings and was a huge help during the whole Open House. I am tickled that so many people made the trek up the mountain to the end of the road to share and celebrate my dreamie new studio.
scratching my way…
More-often-than-not…I haven’t a clue how to begin a new piece.
Big blank piece of paper + huge hunk of wood + journal page + computer screen = scary shit.
I don't have a starting gate with a gun or the intro notes of a song. I rarely have the grace of simply knowing. Sometimes I have a vision – which is more often a gut feeling than a crystal clear path. I never have step-by-step instructions. BUT begin I must.
Maybe I’ll begin more than once – which is better than not beginning at all. I just have to make a mark, or a cut, or a sentence. Gather a bit of gumption and scratch my way…
special #19
WAHOO!!
More-than-excited and oozing with inspiration I can happily report that a grand mesquite log has entered my brand spanking NEW studio to be transformed by wee little me!!! The log has “#19” inscribed on the bottom – which just happens to be a favorite number of mine.
I’m feeling LUCKY! The log was patiently waiting outside all winter for the studio to be completed. I am itching and the clock is ticking…
seven days in the wilderness
After seven days floating through the wilderness on the Salmon River in Idaho, the kids didn’t want to return to civilization. Our friends drew a permit and invited us along with a few other families. Ten adults and 8 children floated 80 miles of the Main Salmon River through Idaho. We camped on sandy beaches, visited petro glyphs, fished, rafted, star gazed, sun-soaked, swam and played for a blissful week. Well – mostly blissful. I could certainly have done without the zillion bug bites I got our first night after we launched – but it was totally my fault. Enthusiastically we decided to skip pitching our tents to sleep under the stars. Everyone crashed snug in their sleeping bags on a tarp on the beach. Everyone except me. Insomnia kept me up wandering around and tossing outside my over-heated sleeping bag – which would not have been a big deal except for the no-seeums which came out after dark in an invisible but persistent and hungry frenzy. While everyone sported a dozen bites or so from that night, I collected more than 100 bites on each leg with a zillion more on my back, arms, face and head. DAMN itchy!!! BUT – luckily the rest of our trip was bug-free. We saw one bear, one rattlesnake, dozens of goats and eagles, a deranged overly friendly deer and lots of fish. We had a blast. Unplugged from civilization; recharged by Momma Nature. (just click the photos if you want to view them larger)
