I Go Among Trees (a poem by Wendell Berry)

The Tree of Life in Autumn (Stacy Wills, 2013)

alcohol inks on yupo + sacred altering

I Go Among  Trees

I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.

Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.

Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.

After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it.  As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.

-Wendell Berry (b. 1934)

While searching out this poem, I came across this video of it set to music by Giselle Wyers and performed by the University of Washington Chamber Singers.  Do you need a Beauty Break in the midst of a busy day?  Treat yourself to five and a half minutes of peace...

Prints of  "The Tree of Life in Autumn" are available here:
The Tree of Life in Autumn

For the Unknown Self - a poem by John O'Donohue

"Origins Unknown" (Stacy Wills, 2013)

alcohol ink on yupo + sacred altering

For the Unknown Self

So much of what delights and troubles you

Happens on a surface

You take for ground.

Your mind thinks your life alone,

Your eyes consider air your nearest neighbor,

Yet it seems that a little below your heart

There houses in you an unknown self

Who prefers the patterns of the dark

And is not persuaded by the eye's affection

Or caught by the flash of thought.

It is a self that enjoys contemplative patience

With all your unfolding expression,

Is never drawn to break into light

Though you entangle yourself in unworthiness

And misjudge what you do and who you are.

It presides within like an evening freedom

That will often see you enchanted by twilight

Without ever recognizing the falling night,

It resembles the under-earth of your visible life:

All you do and say and think is fostered

Deep in its opaque and prevenient clay.

It dwells in a strange, yet rhythmic ease

That is not ruffled by disappointment;

It presides in a deeper current of time

Free from the force of cause and sequence

That otherwise shapes your life.

Were it to break forth into day,

Its dark light might quench your mind,

For it knows how your primeval heart

Sisters every cell of your life

To all your known mind would avoid,

Thus it knows to dwell in you gently,

Offering you only discrete glimpses

Of how you construct your life.

At times, it will lead you strangely,

Magnetized by some resonance

That ambushes your vigilance.

It works most resolutely at night

As the poet who draws your dreams,

Creating for you many secret doors,

Decorated with pictures of your hunger;

It has the dignity of the angelic

That knows you to your roots,

Always awaiting your deeper befriending

To take you beyond the threshold of want,

Where all your diverse strainings

Can come to wholesome ease.

                     -John O'Donohue (1956-2008)

Adventures in Experimental Art

Sacred Altering:  Adventures in Experimental Art

by Stacy Wills

I love experimenting (aka "playing!") with different techniques and methods of creating art.   This has been one of those weeks where I have been "learning by doing."  I hope you will enjoy seeing what emerged as I used some of my existing alcohol ink artwork and a few photographs as source images for my "sacred altering" process.   Sometimes...most times...I get so lost in the process that I have no idea how I arrived at certain images...but that doesn't deter me from trying again and again.   A crop here, a tweak there...a filter...a flip...a blur...polar co-ordinates...the vibrant colors melding...blending...whirling together...like dervishes...discs...orbs...desert suns...butterflies...angel wings...and then, I have to stop awhile and catch my breath...before the next "what if I..." has me off and running again.

Minding My Own Beeswax: Exploring Encaustics

Chloe's Icon (Stacy Wills, 2013)

encaustics on wood, photograph digitally altered

This past weekend, I took a class at The Mary C. O'Keefe Cultural  Center in Ocean Springs, Mississippi during their "Art by the Sea Retreat" taught by the fabulous and wonderful, Kat Fitzpatrick.  

Until recently, I had never heard of "The Mary C" (as it is affectionately known).  But a wise friend had sent me a link to their website.  As I looked over the list of classes to be offered, several piqued my curiosity, but   one definitely stood out - Courting Stillness:  An Icon Workshop for the Harried Pilgrim.  The medium was encaustics, which uses heated beeswax to which colored pigments can be added.  I have been wanting to learn about encaustics for some time now, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity, as another interest of mine is icon writing.

The facility and staff at The Mary C are top notch, and if you ever have a chance to visit or take a class there, I would highly recommend it.  The teacher, Kat Fitzpatrick, was excellent, well-prepared, generous of spirit and very encouraging to everyone.  She opened the class by anointing our palms with lavender scented beeswax, and for the next four hours, our group was a hive of activity...and with some pretty sweet results all around.  At the end, Kat sang over us an Irish blessing in benediction in one of the most beautiful, full voices I've ever heard.  (added bonus:  listen to Kat serenade her bees)

Above is a photo  of the icon I created using a photocopy of a picture of my daughter, Chloe, which I then digitally altered using my sacred altering process.  Other collage elements included a scrap of a wallpaper border along the bottom, and for the rose window, the center from one of my mandalas.

 I will definitely be exploring encaustics more in the future - it's a truly gorgeous, forgiving  and fascinating medium.  

Rest

Recently, I came across this quote from one of my favorite writers, John O'Donohue.  It can be found in,  Anam Cara:  A Book of Celtic Wisdom.  It moved me profoundly and as is my wont, I wanted to link the words with images and create a video so that others might find the same comfort in his words as I have.  

I create videos as a way of offering a small oasis of grace and peace...meditation or reflection...in the midst of our busy lives.  Weary traveler, may you find Rest here.

The world rests in the night.

Trees, mountains, fields and

faces are released from the prison

of shape and the burden of 

exposure.  Each thing creeps back

into its own nature within the shelter

of the dark.  Darkness is the ancient

womb.  Nighttime is womb-time.

Our souls come out to play.

The darkness absolves everything;

the struggle for identity and impression

falls away.  We rest in the night.

-John O'Donohue (1956-2008)

Takin' the Easy Way

I just learned about this new app today - ProShowWeb - and decided to check it out.  Now I'm not the most tech-savvy person on the planet, but this app made creating this little slideshow/video SO EASY! It gives you lots of options as far as themes, special effects, music and the ability to instantly share to YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and more, plus upgrades are available.  I'm sticking with the free version for now, however.     When I find something that works, I like to pass it along.  Hope you enjoy watching!

Summer Story - A poem by Mary Oliver

Hummingbird (Stacy Wills, 2013)

alcohol inks on ceramic tile + sacred altering

Summer Story

by Mary Oliver

When the hummingbird

sinks its face

into the trumpet vine,

and the funnels

of the blossoms

and the tongue

leaps out

and throbs,

I am scorched

to realize once again

how many small, available things

are in the world

that aren't 

pieces of gold

or power---

that nobody owns

or could buy even

for a hillside of money---

that just 

float about  the world,

or drift over the fields,

or into the gardens,

and into the tents of the vines,

and how here I am

spending my time,

as the saying goes,

watching until the watching turns into feeling,

so that I feel I am myself

a small bird 

with a terrible hunger,

with a thin beak probing and dipping

and a heart that races so fast

it is only a heart beat ahead of breaking---

and I am the hunger and assuagement,

and also I am the leaves and the blossoms,

and, like them, I am full of delight and shaking