Creative Play

2012-01-08T11:49:00.000-08:00

CATCH UP TIME and CERAMIC MASKS

Happy New Year 2012. For about the last couple of weeks I have felt something lift in the air. A hopeful sense has filled the void. One war ended as far as our troops are concerned. Still other wars to remove ourselves from, but experience has taught me to take joy in small increments of change, and then fuss about all that is still to be done. Lasting change usually happens in small steps. There are so many messes in the world I know, but here and there in our country I see progress moving in the right direction. Good change is in the air. Crazy to say that during an election year but I think a majority of our country wants this new atmosphere to continue and if President Obama and Mrs. Obama stay in the White House another four years I believe progress will continue. He isn't perfect, but who is. And he is a far cry better than the last administration, and I don't want more of that point of view. "Hope springs eternal," as someone said.

Bruce has retired from teaching and discovering, yes teaching was the center of his life, but it was not who he is as a person. Seems harder for men to get this message, than women. Our jobs are only one part of us, since we mother, wife, befriend, and are workers: roles changing many times in each and every day, so we are not stuck with one picture of ourselves! It is wonderful to watch Bruce come into his own. He has discovered a talent: just look around our home and meditation garden to see his creativity. We now call our place Spirit Hill Meditation Garden and Art Studio.

My total knee replacement was a success! I can walk without limping. Stairs are sometimes a challenge still, but with continued exercise, and stationary biking I am sure that will be remedied in no time. Scheduling the next knee in April, at least that is the plan. Want to go to Delia's graduation from San Francisco State in May with two good legs!

1st Saturday in Three Rivers was yesterday. More visitors than we've had in awhile dropped by. Bruce and I decided to invite people into the house first, offer refreshments, and then they look out the window to see our garden. He takes them on a tour, we return around the kitchen counter, nibbling on snacks, talking, getting to know one another. When I feel the time is right I invite them to see my studio. When they finally left, I watched them carry my art away. Wonderful day of getting to know neighbors, old friends who dropped by, and new people from all around Tulare County. This is our 3rd year of putting on 1st Saturday in Three Rivers.

CERAMIC MASKS

My sister wants to see some of the latest masks. My first time back to clay was this past week since surgery and holidays. I haven't made any masks in months but I can show her what was done before surgery. The masks are hanging on my shed here on Spirit Hill, some in the studio too, and two art galleries in Three Rivers: Colors and The Art Co-Op.

This first series of 7 masks were inspired by a video I saw on the internet about children from the Omo Valley in Ethiopia. They go to the river, dig up clay, add water, crush flowers for the different dyes, mix with the slip (liquid clay) and paint their faces and bodies. The gentleman who did the video took one picture after another, dozens of kids, each one more elaborate than the next. Not only did they paint, but they embellished, a vine twisted around the neck and body, a flower stuck in the hair. Some painted their whole bodies and face white and then painted on color. Some looked very serious, others laughed through the whole shooting of themselves. I drew many of them and then started playing with images in clay. I thought I'd do one or two, but I have done dozens and dozens of them, each one as different as the children who inspired them.

Omo Child 1: "Smiley"

Black Mountain Clay, glaze, ceramic buttons $50

SOLD Omo Child 2: "Flowers"

Black Mountain Clay, Glaze, Beads $50

Omo Child 3: "Dottie"

Coronado Clay, Glaze, Ceramic Buttons $50

SOLD Omo Child 4: "Vine"

Black Mountain Clay, Glaze, Ceramic Buttons $50

SOLD Omo Child 5: "Red Flowers"

Long Beach Clay, Glaze, Ceramic Buttons $50

Omo Child 6: "Strips"

Long Beach Clay, Glaze $50

SOLD Omo Child 7: "Curls"

Long Beach Clay, Glaze $50

My love of birds inspired this mask. I participate in Project Feeder Watch, Cornell University, counting the birds that come to my property November through April. They find themselves in much of my artwork.

"Owl Mask"

Black Mountain Clay, Glaze, Beads $50

Gabby Gifford was shot. The next Monday I had a ball of clay in my hands. Worry about her recovery, and the others who were wounded that day, filled me. This mask emerged that night. But very soon after my husband Bruce had a serious bicycle accident. There was much in the news about Gabby's recovery, brain trauma, not an easy injury to recover from. There was my husband, also recovering from brain trauma, not nearly as serious, but still, a process had to be gone through and both patients seemed to have the same determination, with lots of work ahead for them both. By the time I returned to clay and finished the mask, glazing and then bisque firing, reglazing and final firing, both were in my thoughts.

SOLD "Gabby with Bruce in Mind"

Coronado Clay, Glaze, Scarabs $50

Mr. Burns Gift By Shirley A. Blair Keller ©2011

2011-09-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

Kaweah River Road walk was beautiful that morning. It wasJuly and the mornings are barely cool, enough to get out early before thesummer heat hits. The river was flowing quietly, river rocks glistening underthe cover of water.

I see Mr. Burns old VW bus coming up the road. I alsonoticed a couple walking a big dog toward me. Both vehicle and the couple reachme at the same time.

“Get in the car, Shirley,” Mr. Burns commands. “Scottie andEddie, you too. I have something wonderful to show all of you.” There is a backand forth about the dog fitting in such a small space with all of us, but Mr.Burns exuberance overcame all objections and we piled in the back of thevehicle. Eddie, Scottie and I made introductions. They are new in town, built ahouse not far up the road from me, and have been walking the dog daily. That ishow they met Mr. Burns. Turns out they are birdwatchers, too.

Mr. Burns drives over the bumpy dirt road to the CatfishFarm and parks. He wants the dog left in the car because he will chase thewonderful surprise away. We walk quickly behind Mr. Burns into the CatfishFarm, past one pond after another. He points out birds along the way, but doesnot stop. That’s unusual for him. He is so full of information that every stephe has knowledge to pass, and as Eddie, Scottie and I have been doing sincemeeting him on the road, was to listen, to watch, to learn. He barely knows us,but we feel like best friends and it amazes us.

We get to the last pond on the left. He puts his fingers tohis lips to tell us to be quiet. He whispers, “I sure hope it’s still here,after dragging you all this way.” Then his face lights up. He points.

A White-faced Ibis is hunting in the pond. Mr. Burns assuresus this is a very unusual event. The bird is not known for coming this farinland. Why is it alone? They usually are in flocks.

“I didn’t want you to miss this,” Mr. Burns smiled.

My legs began to give me trouble, thus my walking had tostop. Diagnosed with warn out knees I am in line to have them replaced. In thefew months that I didn’t walk daily on Kaweah River Drive, Mr. Burn’s age beganto catch up with him. And finally, he died a couple of months ago. He is missedevery day.

When I think of next year at this time, both knees fixed,and I will resume my daily walks, checking out the birds, critters and plants,all learned about from Mr. Burns, it is hard to imagine he won’t meet me on theroad, to share one adventure or another with. And no longer is the Catfish Farma place with ponds filled with water that attracted different birds everyseason. The owners have been trying to sell to a developer and let the pondsdry up. So all we have left are the photos that captured the wonders.

In memory of Mr. Burns I will walk, listen, look, to witnessthe changes as they emerge, and if I am lucky capture them on camera.Hopefully, the critters and birds will figure out a way to continue to livehere in Three Rivers, while we humans change the environment, sometimes forgood, and sometimes not.

Another Memory of Richard Burns

2011-08-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

"Return" Clay Mono Print by Shirley A. Blair Keller

I didn't start out with Mr. Burns in mind as I painted on the layers of colored slip onto to the clay slab. But once I picked up the swallow stencil the memory of him floated up and he was with me the rest of the afternoon.

Each year, on our walk along Kaweah River Drive, we'd get to a certain string of telephone poles. He'd point up and say, "Well, any day they might appear." "Who," I asked. "The swallows," he'd say. It was September, if my memory serves correct, or maybe even October. Summer was slipping away, and some days felt like Fall. He told me the swallows that we have been enjoying since Spring will be gathering soon to make their trek south for the winter, flying maybe up to 1,000 miles in some cases. His admiration of this species of bird very obvious. He'd been teaching me about them from the moment they showed up, gathering mud from the river, and building mud nests under the bridges. Barn swallows, Tree swallows, Violet-green swallows (his favorite), and Cliff swallows, all looking the same to me, as they flew past so fast I could only see the pointed tips of wings, and notched tails. Over time I began to see the colors and differences as I learned to use the binoculars. And on the bridges, I could get close views of the Barn swallows at least, because they were still, on or by, the nests.

He was right. A couple of days later when we arrived at the telephone poles with two or three lines hanging from them, a handful of swallows were sitting on the wires. The next day twice or more of them lined up from pole to pole. And with in days, hundreds swung on the wire in the breeze. I counted up to 500, give or take a few, by the end of the week. "Soon they will take off. No one really knows how they know the right time to go. But we will come one morning and they will be gone," said Mr. Burns.

One morning we met on the road as usual, but we both were wearing jackets. The weather had taken a much colder turn, the first thoughts of winter brought to mind. And when we walked to the place of the poles, the wires were empty. Some time between our walk the day before, and this moment 24 hours later, the swallows made their decision, and off they flew, all 500 or more, south for the winter.

Did they wait until the last swallow showed up? How did they know it was the last one, if that is true? Was it the cold chill in the air? Mr. Burns said that some say it is the bend of the light from the sun that triggers an internal clock. Who knows. They were gone. We stood and looked at the wire. I felt the loss. I suspect he did too. We both wished the swallows safe journey and he said, "They will return in Spring. Something to look forward to," and he smiled contentedly, as he did when talking about birds. We continued toward the Catfish Farm, but we knew there'd be no swallows this day. But some other special bird would show up. That was certain. Our steps sped up to see what wonders would show themselves to us this day.

Three Rivers Rocks

2011-07-22T11:50:00.000-07:00

http://www.threeriversrocks.com/2011/07/slicky.html

Nature Impinges: Surprise ©2011

2011-07-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

In Memory of Mr. Richard Burns, Extraordinary Mentor

I grab the new digital camera and head off on the walk. Mr. Burns, retired Forest Service Ranger, usually walks with me to the Catfish Farm, a private estate, to share the varied bird life and his knowledge of plants and other critters that live around Three Rivers. This day, though, I start out alone, to play with my new toy.

I follow a Domesticated Duck as it waddles toward a pond, taking pictures as we move along. Digital is so forgiving. If you do not like a shot the delete gets rid of it and you move on to the next one. It is great fun to experiment and since Mr. DD is so cooperative and used to having people close, I am able to learn about the camera.

I feel movement cross over my head and to the left. Since I have the camera up to my eye I turn and follow the sound. A Great Blue Heron lands into the pond. Click. Click. Click. No thought. I record the Heron’s movements as it hunts the fish in the pond.

Mr. Burns appears quietly behind me. I show him the new camera. He was a published photographer. Over the years he worked for the Forest Service in many places across the country, a camera always at hand. National Forest and wildlife magazines used his images. He is amazed at the idea of digital. Shoot, delete, shoot. After a while he reminds me I will run out of film if I am not careful and I remind him, there is no film. No stacks of unwanted prints to cull through and store. As much as he likes the idea of digital, there is no way he'd go out and by one of those things. He still carries the binoculars he has owned maybe 30 years. He even tried out the binoculars I bought at his insistence if I was serious about learning to identify birds, realizing how much binoculars have improved, but he wore his old pair until he died.

At home I put the series on the computer. One image jumps out at me, the very first one.

When others see the image I am told it is a winner. I feel embarrassed. After all, it was the first shot, in a new camera, done with no real knowledge, just point and shoot. But after some pushing, especially from Mr. Burns, I enter the image in the Tulare County Fair.

I am surprised twice: once when the Heron appeared, and again, when I win the red ribbon.

(When Mr. Burns saw the ribbon he beamed, and bragged about me to anyone who would listen on our walks together. Mr. Burns lead me on a discovery of an appreciation of how nature impinges on our lives here in Three Rivers. He is missed every day.)

A surprise captured

Reflection, an elegant

Morning at the pond.

Nature Impinges: Predator Preys ©2011

2011-07-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

Noise outside the studio attracts my attention. I grab the camera. On the back hillside, behind the buildings, are seven deer grazing on the slips of new grasses. Males, just 1 year old, lock their new horns with spring fuzz on them. The two tussle back and forth, play and practice for the serious future when it is time to fight over the females. The three eat, and enjoy the sunny day.

Something is caught in my peripheral vision. A Great Blue Heron lands on the hillside, not ten yards from the deer. It is not concerned that I am below, clicking away with camera.

Heron is stalking across the hillside, away from the deer, moving in slow motion. Suddenly, it stops, head bent low, waiting. Pounce. Up, the head lifts. Dangling from the beak, a gopher. The Heron throws the critter up into the air and it falls into the open beak below. One swallow and it is gone.

The stalking begins again, this time the bird returns across the hill toward the deer, who by now settle at the edge of my property for what looks like a late afternoon nap. Five young deer, heads down, eyes closed, snuggle closely to one another. One female adult at the top of the crowd, head up, ears alert, but eyes closed. The male, a 4 pointer, on the ground, but eyes open, head up, alert, watching over his charges.

The Heron continues its slow motion stalk across the hill, and a sudden stop. The neck leans forward, so slowly it is hard to detect motion, and then, with lightening speed, lunges. Up comes the beak with a mouse hanging by the tale. The predator swings its prey into the air by the tale, opens the beak and he crunches down. Blood squirts out of the beak, spraying the feathers on its face and on the leg feathers below. The mouse disappears down his throat.

The bird walks above the herd of deer, lifts one of its legs in repose, closes its eyes, and naps. The male deer, now watches over not only his own charges, but the Great Blue Heron, too.

Predator Preys, blood

A sign of sacrifice

Satiated fluff

Nature Impinges: Egret Flying ©2011

2011-07-22T09:57:00.000-07:00

We park the vehicle at the entrance to the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) at the end of Skyline Drive, Three Rivers. 8 year-old Drake, and 6 year-old Annie, run through the gate, taking only a minute to figure out the tricky latch system.

“Whoa,” says Mother. “If you find a gate closed, what are you supposed to do?”
“Close it,” says Annie.
“But Mama, you and Dad and Granny have to come through,” says Drake.
True. And we do.

We used to take the main trail, more like a road a jeep might use. The BLM folks maintain it and display signs that we are really walking through private property on our way to BLM land. This is an access road and we are warned to stay on it. But as you walk along you see side trails, made by cattle, then warn by dirt bicycles, deer, horses, other wild critters and hikers, with and without dogs. The main road takes 30 or more minutes to wind up and over, around and down, to the ponds. A metal plank, balanced between granite, secure enough for bikes, crosses the creek. Today, though, we discover a side trail, told to us by a friend, and within 10 minutes we are unloading fishing gear.

As a young woman I fished many a pier, pond, river, and the sea. But now, I prefer to watch the birds, people and fish, through my binoculars, and the catches are with the camera.

As we approach the ponds I teach the grand kids to walk silently up over the bank. They are excited and find the discipline difficult. “Keep your eyes open and your ears alert. You never know what you will see and hear around these ponds.” They try.

Across the pond, perches a Great Egret a top an Oak on the cliff. As we move to the picnic table, the bird takes flight. We are too close for comfort.

I follow the white bird with my camera. Click, click and click again.

“Good,” my son says. “The competition is gone.” I laugh. Today an Egret, other days the Great Blue Heron is fishing along the edges of the pond. Sometimes the Black-belted Kingfisher squawks noisily at us. I imagine he is yelling, “What are you doing here? I’m not done eating yet?” Or the Green-backed Heron that is barely seen unless you know to look carefully in the backdrop of the dirt, algae, and rocks, a perfect blend at the edge of the pond. It stays longer than the other birds, a little braver because camouflage is safety, as long as we are on this side of the pond. He waits for fish or frog.

“Catch and release” is the standard my son teaches his children. “The fish will be here when we return kids,” he explains. I admit to feeling queasy. It must hurt to be hooked, then hung in the air while photos are being taken to prove prowess, then finally, a toss and you are surrounded by blessed water, reprieve. You are not lunch, this time. Unless Great Blue Heron captures you and with one gulp you are gone. My son and GBH, competitors: one for fun, the other for survival. Do the fish have consciousness? No way to know. Deep in my heart I feel they do. I say nothing. Just snap my pictures while I enjoy the beauty of old oaks, wildlife, the land and my family.

Azure deep sky

Treetops bereft of leaves

Wings a flurry

National Geographic Geotourism Website

2011-06-19T04:19:00.000-07:00

http://www.sierranevadageotourism.org/content_detail.php?uid=sie2E6D5F6020DD8F152

National Geographic and the National Parks Service joined together to set up a website for tourists. They call it Geotourism, a way to find not only places of interest, but to add information as you travel to and from your destinations. For instance, on the way to Sequoia National Parks you have to pass through the town of Three Rivers, a true Gateway to the National Park. This has been an artist colony almost since the beginning and yet, how does one find the artists if you wish too? Each studio, or gallery have sites now, easily accessible to tourists. Restaurants, motels, and more are clearly available, photographs to entice visitors. Quite exciting. A very fancy "business card" to pass out for all of us!

If you go to the site, please feel free to check out the LIKE button, and even make a comment. It adds energy to the experience and we appreciate your efforts.

National Geographic Geotourism Site

2011-06-19T04:01:00.001-07:00

Spirit Hill Studio is now displayed on this website along with the rest of Three Rivers. This is a project in conjunction with the National Parks Services and National Geographic to promote tourism throughout the United States. They began with the Sierra Mountains, dividing into four sections. We are the Southern Sierras.

1/11/11

2010-12-22T13:57:00.000-08:00

2010 is almost ended. The pace in which it past is breathtaking! Bruce is off from school and we are taking this holiday time to stay home and enjoy Spirit Hill. The non-stop storms that have washed over us this past week, and continue as I write, are making our Oaks and other plant life very happy. The wild life manages to find ways to protect themselves. A Scrub Jay, and an Acorn Woodpecker, jumped in our pond and took a full on bath, while it was raining, to my great surprise. I put out seed and it is gone in short order. The birds need a lot more food to stay warm these days. They are all so fluffed up, sometimes I cannot identify them. A Northern Flicker, the Scrub Jay and the California Quail are eating the berries off the bushes and leaving the limbs bare. Robins were here last week gobbling up the berries, too.

On January 1st we will host our regular 1st Saturday. We expect fewer guests because it is a holiday, but some said they plan to use that day as a chance to visit the artists who are opened, and maybe get a little more attention since there won't be as many people around. Nikki Crain reminded us that it is 1/1/11 on 1st Saturday so we decided to have an 11% sale on everything, because it made us smile!

Here on Spirit Hill we have invited family and close friends for an Open House. I'll have a pot of beans (sprinkled with black eyed peas for New Year's good luck), and more. I look forward to hosting my loved ones, and any 1st Saturday visitors who venture out. It should be an exciting day. I look forward to it.

Pat O'Connell Images

2010-10-03T11:38:00.000-07:00

This is Pat's latest Tow Truck, the one he was using when he retired. Pat went up north to buy the truck and was told it was his to take, but the man wouldn't take his money. People in Three Rivers had already paid for the truck, surprising Pat with this gift of thanks for all his generosity over his many years of service to the town and visitors who have passed through Three Rivers.

This could be the tow truck Pat used to pick up my nephew and his cousin in the story written early this morning.

A Pat O'Connell Story

2010-10-03T11:00:00.000-07:00

The car broke down at Stoney Point Campground. My nephew was told my the Ranger that the closest Tow Truck was Pat O'Connell of Three Rivers. So they called him. Pat arrived, attached the vehicle and it was decided my nephew and his cousin would accompany the vehicle. The rest of the family would continue the vacation and return in the other vehicles.

It was obvious that this group of people were Muslim. The women dressed covered head to foot, the men bearded, and most looked like they came from Pakistan or India. Pat must have been interested because he asked questions about who they were and where they came from. These two were students, working themselves through college.

When they arrived at Three Rivers Pat suggested he take them to Visalia. He told them the auto shops, restaurents, motels if they end up needing one, would all be cheaper and they'd have easier access. So the young men told him they would pay for the extra mileage. Pat shrugged and drove on to Visalia, Pat asking more and more questions. My nephew found Pat refreshing, a very open man willing to learn something about their religion without judgement, very unusual.

As they passed through Visalia Pat said, "I have nothing else to do today. How about I drive you to LA?" They were stunned and of course said, no. It was too much trouble, too far, and it was nice of him, but... Pat insisted. So they said they'd pay him, not really knowing how much it would truly cost, but my nephew said he'd give Pat whatever was in his wallet, plus the cousins wallet.

They had a very chatty nice trip and when they arrived at my nephew's home, Pat unhooked the vehicle. The young men took out wallets, and handed Pat whatever was in them. Pat refused. They were flabbergasted and insisted. He told them to finish school, take good care of their families, and have a good life. That was payment enough. He got in his truck and returned to Three Rivers.

My nephew said he thinks of Pat a lot these days when the airways are filled with hatred toward Islam. He uses Pat as an example of how simple acts of kindness truly matter, bridge divides and it has effected his decisions about how he treats people.

Alice Walker & Family

2010-10-03T10:01:00.000-07:00

I read an interview of Alice Walker in this months Writer's Digest. Then I went to her blog. I loved her writing. I responded in her comment section to thoughts she kicked up. As usual I write too much, so I had to edit, edit and edit some more to get it down to the number of words they insist upon. She'll never read it so I am not sure why I spent so much time. I guess it has to do with knowing the writing is really for the writer. I love reading others. And then I love responding. That's enough.

As I read I could hear my Uncle Joe spouting his opinion of Alice Walker. He was angry at her Color Purple, the book and movie. Being a black man he felt she dishonored black men in the movie. They were the enemy. He called her a Lesbian, as if it was a bad word. I had no idea whether she was or wasn't at the time. I said, "Uncle Joe, what difference does that make? It's a book. A movie. A point of view. And so few people of color get the attention she is getting, especially women. There are very few black women published. Isn't that wonderful in of itself?" He shook his head and was silent. My Aunt Lalla eyed me and I got her message, to shut up.

Days later Aunt Lalla told me I came close to being banished from the house by Uncle Joe. He was a tyrant in his home, of the school that men rule the roost. "Don't argue with him if you want to visit. I love you and need your company so keep your mouth shut." Lalla explained how she lived with his overbearing self. "I told him early on, I will nod my head. I will smile as you wish. But I want you to know you cannot rule my mind." She did not agree with his point of view about Alice Walker but her marriage of 40 years survived because of her cunning. Aunt Lalla did not care if Alice Walker is Lesbian or not. She was thrilled to see a woman say her mind and rewarded for it.

Then the forbidden subject some how was brought up. Aunt Lala's #1 son was, and is, Gay. Supposedly, Uncle Joe did not know it, which I found absurd. Every one knew it. All the cousins, kids like me and my sister who were nieces-of-the-heart knew it. His two brothers knew it. None of us kids cared. And now I discovered his mother knew, and did not care either. But Uncle Joe refused to acknowledge it and so Aunt Lalla kept her mouth closed. It was the ridiculous family secret, kept from one person!

Memory is such a gift. I have spent the morning with Aunt Lalla and Uncle Joe, people I loved and who loved me. Such a surprising side effect to reading a magazine article that sent me on this path.

1st Saturday August, 2010

2010-08-01T12:57:00.001-07:00

Today is the Sunday before 1st Saturday. I am spending it clearing the clutter in my studio in preparation. I've done the bulletin board already, with photos that have a golden color to go with the theme of "Golden Hills."

Jeri Burzin, Photographer, will share space in our living room to display her wonderful work. We just spent 3 days in Yosemite, with a third friend, Deby Cook. We lucked out at the peak of flowering season in the meadows. Oh my, was it glorious. I'll post some of the pictures. And we hiked to the Chilualna Falls, a little known wonder, as beautiful as any of the water falls in Yosemite. The trail starts at a village called Redwood Village.

Statue of Liberty

2010-06-23T08:12:00.000-07:00

From the Circle Line Tour Boat

A breathtaking sight, a first for me: Ms. Statue of Liberty.
I do not know if my grandparents were greeted by her when they came from Russia before the turn of the century. Some went to Canada so may have skipped this step. But I felt as if I'd been here before. Maybe its all the movies I have watched, books I have read, about the immigrant story. Such bravery to cross an ocean in the way they had to, steerage, to suffer all they did for hope of a better life for their children. From every corner of our globe people have come. Such bravery. I cannot imagine being able to do the same. I was born here have had the kind of life those ancestor's had hoped for their children. And I thank them in my heart daily.

Setting up the bulletin board in my studio to celebrate Independence weekend, starting with 1st Saturday Three Rivers, has kicked off all this above the line thinking. Fun! Nadi is the one who inspired me to change the environment of the studio each month for no other reason than to evoke a change of view. She is so right!

1st Saturday Three Rivers - July 3rd, 2010

2010-06-23T06:39:00.000-07:00

Steve and Kathy Diamant accepted my invitation to show their stained glass art here on Spirit Hill 1st Saturday, July 3rd, 10-5. They will set up in our living room/dining room area. I will show my stuff in the studio and carport.

As you walk into our house the first thing you see is Bruce's bike hanging on the wall, a centerpiece to his life on Spirit Hill. Steve is bringing the bicycle stained glass piece that he designed and made at Bruce's request a couple of years ago. They will install it in its permanent spot, above Bruce's bicycle. The bicycle stained glass piece has been traveling from one art show to the next over the last couple of months so we have been looking forward to seeing it placed in its permanent spot.

The theme for July 1st Saturday is Independence. For me the word LIBERTY keeps cropping up so I have designed the bulletin board with the word at the center. Various images of the Statue of Liberty that I took on my New York adventure are added. I repainted the sculpture that Marn Reich made of the Statue of Liberty with a tear flowing down her cheek. At the time Marn made the tear because we had a President that didn't think we counted as part of his country. We are not rich. We are not conservative. We are not white. Nor our we men. I wanted to paint the tear away once we had a new President, but I never got around to it. But the tear must stay. We are still in two wars. The Gulf of Mexico is being ruined as I write by an oil spill that cannot be stopped. Our financial situation in the country, although not as bad as it was, is still a worry. Too many people are out of work. Our youth, even if educated might have no place to work when they get out of school. The immigration situation isn't solved. We need their labor but many want them to work and then disappear, where I am not sure. Drugs are purchased by enough American's to make criminals kill to keep control of the market. And yet American's act like they have nothing at all to do with supporting the drug cartels. So the tear has stayed, even through the repainting.

Annie Mae was making a Father's Day card for her Dad. She asked me for a picture of him. As she was cutting and pasting it, she noticed I had a few postcards, and other pictures of Obama pinned to a board. She asked if she could have one. As she looked at the back of the card she noticed his signature. "Oh no, he signed it for you! I cannot cut it." Why do you want to have his picture Annie? "It makes Dad so happy to see him as President I just thought he'd like to see his face." So I assured her that was far more important than me keeping the card. She cut the President's face and glued it next to her father's picture, and then smiled. I could hear Martin Luther King Jr.'s voice ringing, "...my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." I saw before me the truth of his words made real. The face of my brown son, and our brown President, and my grand daughters proud smile.

1st Saturday Three Rivers - June 5th

2010-05-10T09:47:00.000-07:00

Would love to entice another artist or two to display their wares here on Spirit Hill with me. Bruce has enhanced our garden with river rock, our path to the garden has been improved beautifully by Isaul, who laid old bricks in a design and width that makes entering the pond/deck area safe and comfortable. The chimes lull everyone who comes here, the bubbling pond, too. I would be in my studio and they could set up on deck or in the living room, depending on the weather. So I put this thought out into the universe and see where it goes.

Lavendar is our theme for June. We picked it because Barbara Lahmann, grower of lavendar, harvests first week in June every year, and she will join 1st Saturday this time. She makes lavendar drinks, food, and bouquets, I hear. So the rest of us will come up with ways to use the color, too. I've put up a bulletin board with the color lavendar, purple flowers, like Iris' and Lupins, and more.

Lavendar with sunflower

Three Rivers Art Studio Tour 9

2010-03-18T17:34:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow the tour begins. This is the first time we open on Friday so it is a mystery how many people will come out. I know some friends who said they might start the tour on Friday, continue Saturday. Delia arrives Friday night to be a helpful spirit for the weekend. Almost ready. A few details to do in the morning and then may the crowds come!!!

1st Saturday Three Rivers

2010-02-16T17:09:00.000-08:00

If you are a writer and/or illustrator of children's books, live in or around Tulare County, you are invited to join a critique group on 3/6/10, 10 a.m. - noon, 43641 Skyline Drive, Three Rivers. 559-561-3463 to RSVP. Refreshments will be served.

Background: Members of the Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) began a critique group in December for people in and around Tulare County. They met at Border's Books, Visalia and began a process of sharing writings, critiquing and meeting once a month in various homes. The group is large enough that we think it is time for a second group to form, thus the meeting on Spirit Hill. If you are curious about SCBWI, or have that manuscript sitting in a drawer, come and see what we are about.

After the meeting you will have plenty of time to take part in Three Rivers 1st Saturday event. My studio will be open Noon-2 p.m. for public viewing. Artists and vendors are out in force. See www.1stsaturdayTR.com for where to get maps, details of what artists and merchants are offering March 1st Saturday, Three Rivers.

Tiki Missing

2010-02-13T10:22:00.000-08:00

Last night someone took Tiki from his home on the rock. Last time someone did this he was gone for three days. He was okay with a little vacation away from me. But lucky for the people who took him, they returned him before he missed me and became angry. Tiki's anger is huge. What he will do when angry I do not know but it won't be pretty. I only hope for the sake of the people who have him that they put him back on his rock, and soon.

To Display at Kaweah Oak Preserve, 11/06/09

2009-10-31T10:24:00.000-07:00

"Kaweah River" from a series "On The Walk...", Three Rivers, Winter 2009.

The daily walk along Kaweah River Road is full of adventure if you keep your eyes open. Critters and birds attracted to the water's edge, the seasons change the landscape and the way the rivers runs through it. A new home was built and I realized before long all the wild beauty will disappear, even the local Hawk was so disturbed by the loss of some of his territory he knocked the hats off a few walkers, even hurting a couple. I feel empathy for his rage, even as I understand how lucky the people who moved in are. I take my camera each season, hoping to capture this lovely place, just in case my fear is realized and the wild disappears.

"Truck Garden," Three Rivers, 2009

Pat O'connell's Petrol Station is a familiar landmark for those of us who live in Three Rivers, and many tourists who pass through, especially those who find themselves in difficulty and Pat has been called to rescue them with tow trucks. The line up of rusty ancient vehicles creates conversations of how ugly, and as my image shows, how beautiful and interesting, the O'Connell property is, depending on how you see the world. Since his wife, who passed away before I moved to Three Rivers, and I share our first name, I felt attracted to the stories of rescues the two of them participated in over the years. He towed in the broken vehicles, and she fed the waiting people. Mother Nature obviously loves the rusty stuff of what she finds on the O'Connell property because blackberry bushes fill in the landscape with lush berries that critters and birds must appreciate, enveloping the old truck in a wonderful garden.

Tulare County: Varied Impressions Art Show

2009-10-31T10:01:00.001-07:00

Thursday, November 5th, 2009, at the Tulare Historical Society and Museum, the Annual Tulare Impressions Art Show will host the Artists Reception, 5:30 P.M. - 7:00 P. M. I have entered "Badger Barn," a 16x20 print, matted and framed in barn wood. The show will run through January.

Kaweah Land & Arts Festival

2009-10-31T09:33:00.000-07:00

This coming weekend, November 6-8, 2009, is the Kaweah Land and Arts Festival sponsored by the Sequoia Riverlands Trust. Friday is the kick off at Arts Visalia Gallery with showings from Matthew Rangel, artist, printmaker and John Spivey, author, photographer.

Saturday at the Kaweah Oaks Preserve, artists, storytellers, muscians and natural history talks will take place 11:00 A.M. to 4:00 P.M.

I will have a set up to display photo images of Kaweah Oaks Preserve, Yokohl Valley and Three Rivers enlarged, framed, matted, and as gift cards. Ceramic masks that were inspired by the natural beauty we are surrounded by. I will include the recycled objects I have lately been working on, thrown away rusted piles of trash turned into a new use: art.

Matthew had contacted me because he saw my Yokohl Valley photographs at Arts Visalia and wanted me to be apart of this weekend celebrating the land and history of the Kaweah watershed, where nature impinges on us daily. I am honored to be included.

On Sunday, there will be individual artist/author presentations in various venues around the area. You can go to www.sequoiariverlands.org to find out more detail.

May the days be crisp and sunny for this interesting and fun weekend ahead.

Concert on the Grass

2009-09-27T07:49:00.000-07:00

The afternoon at the Haxton's home was hot, fun, entertaining, and carried on the tradition of the Concert on the Grass in great form.

Music by way of instruments and voices, poetry, dance and art shared by all. Colorful costumes from Scotland to Mexico to South America filled the stage.

I stopped counting at 175 people, who braved 101 degree heat, covering the grassy knoll of the Haxton's yard, picnic baskets, bottles of wine, snacks of every kind, blankets and picnic chairs spread out, young children swaying and dancing to the music.

One the amazing details is the parking arrangement with the Walker's, neighbors. You park on their property and then a shuttle van drives you to the Concert site. It is one of the small details that makes this event so successful, every detail worked out to look so simple, and yet, we all know isn't.

Thanks to Sara Shena, Ken Elias, Ann Haxton and Bill Haxton, along with the entertainers and artists from the Arts Alliance of Three Rivers, and all who come to enjoy the afternoon, we have celebrated the 29th Annual Concert on the Grass in fine style.

Concert on the Grass

2009-09-26T06:08:00.000-07:00

Today is the Concert on the Grass. My first guest from Shell Beach arrived yesterday. The art work is on display, set up yesterday. The Haxton's, Ken and Sarah are set to host another wonderful afternoon. It will be hot, but under the trees, on the grassy knoll, a breeze usually washes over the crowd as we listen to the wonderful entertainment, a day I look forward to, and hope we have a large crowd. A new pond was built this past year and if we are lucky the breezes will be cooled by the water.

This propellor will be on display. It won a Blue Ribbon in this years Tulare County Fair. I call it Starry Night. Bill Haxton told me he thought it might be from a wooden small boat from the 1950's. It is part of the recycled art collection I have been making of late. I'll also have displayed Clay Mono-prints, a 16x20 framed photograph, matted photos and gift cards.

More guests from Fresno, and Visalia will meet us at the Concert. Dinner at my house for some of them this evening. Others will go to parties in other parts of the Valley. And tomorrow we converge for Sunday Brunch. Great weekend!

A Book's Impact

2009-09-07T07:56:00.000-07:00

"Run" by Ann Patchett is a treat to read. About the mixing and matching of race and class in Boston. It so reminded me of my family, not in the details of the book, but in the essence.

My Stepfather introduced a view to family in a new way to me. Family is blood, but it can be more. What does blood have to do with love? Not much. Actions say loudly what love really is, day by day, filling in details, so that at the end of his life I had no doubts that my Stepfather loved me and my siblings deeply (whole, stepped, and adopted), and in a way that meant there is always room for one more. Love has no boundaries. It framed the life I was to choose, two sons I birthed (brown skins), a daughter of the heart, white, looks more like me than my birth sons, and a stepdaughter, Mayan ancestry who was adopted into my present husbands life and lucky me, I received her into mine. Like my Pop I have four children who came to me in different ways, and are so different from one another, and yet, each have a deep, lasting, fulfilling, place in my mother's heart.

There are other children who I hold dear, but for one reason or another I wasn't able to keep them close to me. Sam, Simone, and Andrea, children of the heart, who I helped raise in their young lives, fell deeply in love with, and had to let them go. Luckily I have contact with the adults they have turned into, so even though I doubt they realize how truly loved they are by me, they allow me in enough to keep contact so I enjoy what fine adults they have turned into. Pop also gave me this gift, since he too worked with children in a boarding type school, and I watched the relationships he developed. Some of his charges returned to see him all through the years, letting it be known how important he was to them. He always had room at his table for one more, no matter whether we were poor, or during the later years when things leveled out economically. I loved that about him, and hope to carry on the tradition until my time is done.

I wrote to Ann, thanking her for "Run." I wonder if she too came from a mixed and matched family, like mine? She has a white husband and a white dog shown on the websites about her. Not that it matters. Imagination can carry a person to that which they haven't experienced themselves. It as so true to my own experience that it just made me wonder.

Bruce said, "In 10 or 20 years stories of mixed families will seem so boring. Everyone will be mixing or already mixed. It is happening faster now." Maybe. By 2050 they say whites will be a minority in this country. Once again I feel the urge to push publishing "But What About The Children?". How do I get it from my computer to make real the dream of a hardback on the shelf, by Shirley A. Blair Keller? I tried for a while but no open doors. Maybe its time to try again.

I so appreciate Ann's inspiring me to think about my children in such detailed ways this morning. I wrote about them for two hours, trying to describe how deeply they are in my heart, and when it happened. It makes me think of Natalie Goldberg, once again, in gratitude. "Keep the pen moving. That is the only rule." Thus I scratched black ink on white paper, drawing in words the four who I call children. And now three of the four have provided grandchildren, another kind of love, free and flowing. But we will save another morning to delve into that pool.

Concert on the Grass

2009-08-31T06:56:00.000-07:00

Samples of art to be shared at Concert on the Grass:

Photography: Inspiration, Spirit Hill, 2009

Bruce Keller, husband

Photography: Ami, 2 days old, 2009

Recycled Art: Flywheel in Dots, 2009

Recycled Art: Damper, 2009

Clay Monoprint: Attraction, 2009

Ceramics: Giraffe, Long Beach Blend Clay, Glaze, 2009

Photography: Kaweah River, 2009

Photography: Buckeye View, 2009

Pendant: 1/2 & 1/2 Clay, Glaze, Schwartski Crystal, 2009

Concert on the Grass

2009-08-31T05:39:00.000-07:00

September 26, 2009 Concert on the Grass will take place once again. It is a lovely afternoon of music, poetry, drama, and art, along the Kaweah River. It takes place at Bill and Ann Haxton's on their large lawn. You can see more detail at their website: http://www.concertonthegrass.org/ if you are interested in joining us.

Last year they invited artists to display art to add another quality to the event. I loved the whole atmosphere, creativity of people, and the beauty of the setting. Hawks soaring above, sounds of the river nearby, and music floating in the air. I am even more excited about this year. A couple of friends will come to stay at our place, and nearby others will stay. We will probably have a dinner party here at Spirit Hill afterward. Lot's to do to prepare between now and then. I cannot wait!

Racism

2009-07-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

It reared it's ugly head once again to the unsuspecting.

Mr. Gates returned from China to find his key wouldn't work. He and his driver broke into the house. The driver left. A neighbor observed them and called the police. Officer Crowley arrived with another officer. They went into the house, I guess by Gates invitation, and tried to assess was Gates trying to rob the place. Gate showed the officer his driver's license and his Harvard Professor ID card. The policeman called someone to verify that Gates' card was real, at which point Gates became angry. He felt he was being racially profiled. Here he was in his own house, with ID to prove it, and the policeman wouldn't let it go. So Gates told him to leave, I would guess in a rage, but Gates doesn't have a raging reputation, so I don't know. But I am sure he was loud and direct. The policeman asked him to step outside, and Gates told him something to do with his (the policeman's) mother. Since Gates was loud it drew more attention I would guess from neighbors since by now they are on the porch, so the police officer considers him disrespected, which in some police circles is worse than braking the law, thus he arrests Gates, handcuffing him and takes him away.

Up until now I can image this escalated as it did. Gate having just returned from China he was probably exhausted. I've taken that trip back from China. I have never been as tired before or since. Had he been rested he would have probably said, "Thank you officer for protecting my home." But he picked up something else that a lot of white people put off, even if they don't mean too. Or he was tired and thought he did.

Anyway, they get to the station and Gates is formally arrested, and kept in a cell for four hours. This is where I am amazed. Where was management in all of this? Where do policemen go for cooler heads to make sure an arrest is warranted? Why didn't someone at the station say, "Whoa, this guy wasn't robbing his own house?" By then Gates had been yelling, "Racial profiling," loud and long enough that the policeman certainly to save face couldn't back down. But where were his partners?

The President was asked at the end of a health care press briefing, what he thought of the above. He said that Skip Gates was his friend. He said he didn't really know the details, but it sounds to him like the police acted stupidly.

Oops! Or some say. I don't. I felt, Oh my how refreshing. A politician who says what he thinks and feels. As a man of color he is very aware of racial profiling. He responded honestly. But the right wing of our country goes mad. The conversation escalates.

Michelle, and probably Jarrett, talk with Obama. He appears again a day or so later. He called Crowley and apologized for the word "stupidly." It only hurt the situation. He invites Crowley to come to the White House for a beer, with Gates. He invites Gates in a later call. Will they both go at the same time? I hope so.

I wrote in Comments of the NYT, as soon as I heard about this, and again in Twitter, that this is a Teachable Moment. Being a mother of two brown sons I fear "driving while being brown," every day for my sons. People who hate do some pretty awful things. I have been at the end of some of them in my life. People have died because of overt racism. Because of our history of slavery, and the centuries it has taken us to finally have a President of color, most of us have in us some form of prejudice about the other. Most of us have come a long way. My granny took my mother out of a cooking class because her class mate was "Negro," as said then. Granny's great grandchildren have African, Indian (American), Scottish, English, Irish, Russian and Portuguese blood running through their veins. Times change.

I do not think Crowley went into that house to be a racist. I do not think Gates intended once the policeman entered his house to get loud on the man and disrespect him, and end up arrested. Both men are teachers. Teachers sometimes end up in ego battles with their students. It's not professional, but being human, it happens. I believe that is what happened here. But as the rest of us learned the story, the surface was scratched, and out came the worst racial conversation I have heard in a while.

I think its great. The police organizations of Cambridge lined up in front of the cameras professed undying support to Crowley and stated over and over there is no racism in the Cambridge police department. At first I was on their side, listening with an open mind. But after a few of the white males spoke I realized these people are being ridiculous. If there was no bigotry in their department why did they hire Crowley to teach how not to racial profile when policing? Why did they feel compelled to be so defensive? Why are all the heads of their organizations white males? Why were the people of color and women in the back ground?

My hope is Crowley and Gates meet one another in a cooler atmosphere. If they put their egos aside and put the country first, all they have to do is look at the reaction of people taking sides, to know we have a lot to address in the area of race. We've taken so many steps. Having President Obama in the White House is a step in the right direction. We have many steps to go to fix what we have allowed to exist in this country for hundreds of years. That people still have such hurt in them, like Charles Blow wrote about in the NYT's today, means we need more sensitivity toward one another. It's not simple. A lot of today's racism is hidden. We work together, then go home to segregated neighborhoods in many places and mostly segregated churches. Since I was a child I thought if people lived in integrated neighborhoods they would have had the same experience I had, some good people and some bad people in the world, and color has nothing to do with it.

Sometimes fear is the scratch that brings to the surface racism one doesn't even know is there. Again, that is what I think is part of what happened here. Okay, the situation happened. Now what?

Many say this is a distraction to the President. I don't. I believe having him as President is one of the most wonderful things that has happened to my country in a long time. His response is one a white person couldn't begin to have given. His understanding of why Gates became so upset, and yet, Obama has an instinct that most people in power haven't shown us, one of a mediator. He is a person that had to embrace diversity from inside out. His instinct is usually to rise above, see both sides, and then work for common ground. Who else is better to jump into this conversation and move us along? Congress is doing fine messing up the health bills as they should. They'd better get it right or they will be gone this next election. We the people meant our votes for change. So the President doesn't have to babysit them. Looking at the mental health of his country is also our President's work. Racism acted out isn't healthy and anything he can do to put light on the subject is great in my opinion.

Bruce announced to me that he thinks someone in the White House read my posts on NYT or Twitter, since the language they are using is what I used: Gates and Crowley meeting, teachable moment. I smiled at his compliment, which is what he was trying to do, say something nice because he loves me. I enjoyed it for that. But I think woman like Michelle Obama and Miss Jarrett have the same instincts I do, which is part of why I voted for Obama. He had women I admire around him, like his mother in law. Family oriented women with big brains, who would come up with this kind of idea: teachable moment. And what better way to de-escalate than invite people to your table. So I do not take credit. I take pleasure in thinking others are having the same reaction, and maybe great good will come from this whole incident. That is my hope.

Clock

2009-07-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

Seeing this clock for the first time after years of walking down Main Street, Visalia, CA Sent this image to be judged by Photo Shoot Day Contest

Reflection

2009-07-26T08:41:00.000-07:00

Absorbed photographer on Main Street, Visalia, CA

Stained Glass

2009-07-26T08:35:00.000-07:00

Ben Maddox Bed & Breakfast, Visalia, CA 7/18/2009

Photo Shoot Day - Visalia, CA

2009-07-26T08:17:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful day with photographer's in Visalia, California. This was a day shared across the country in many cities. 50 of us met at the Fox Theater. We walked around 2 miles, stopping at other historical sites: The Ben Maddox Bed and Breakfast, St. Mary's Catholic Church, Arts Visalia, and past the oldest building in Visalia, now a church, down Main Street, to end at Vintage Press Restaurant for those who were still with the gang to share photos on computers. Ron Holman graciously hosted us. Meeting so many people with interest in photography was thrilling. We sent in two photos each to compete in a contest that will be judge in August. I'll post some of the images I took, that I liked best.

Not long ago I went to Manhattan, camera in hand, and spent three days capturing the excitement of the big city. As I walked through the streets of Visalia, I decided this day to really "see" what was in front of me. I hope you enjoy the results.

Wild Flowers

2009-05-08T07:02:00.000-07:00

Trip up Mineral King Road with Deby Cook on Wednesday morning captured many wild flowers.

Tincture Plant (Far left)

2) Slender Larkspur (near left)

3) Queen Anne's Lace (Below)

Daughter of the Heart

2009-05-08T06:36:00.000-07:00

Today we celebrate Maria. Kay, step-mother-in-law, Lavonne, mother-in-law, and I, mother of the heart, will take her to lunch at Vintage Press, a nice restaurant in Visalia. Her mom is ill and lives too far away, so we stand in her stead. Alex, the son, will appear for a few minutes, flowers in hand to surprise her. We are bringing individual gifts we each made, and some crisp bills to add up to her 50 years of life, but our main goal is to surround her in motherlyness. Does she need this? Probably not. But we do.

It is shocking to have your children reach half a century. Time moves so fast. It seems only yesterday the 14 year old tiny girl showed up at my side to apprentice me in the infant program. By 16 she called me "Mom," and has ever since. Her son I consider the first grandson. My eldest son is moving toward fifty, his brother 3 years behind. Delia, my step-daughter, is 18 and in college. Decades have past. Six grandchildren call me Granny. I look back and feel so lucky. Ups and downs to be sure, but in general it has mostly been joyful. And the most blessed moments are the young people I call my children, to see them as parents being far better at it than I was, and yet, I see my values were passed along.

So this day is a celebration of Maria and the kind of adult she has grown into. A strong willed, capable, loving, and pretty woman who makes a difference starting with her own family, and working her way out into the community. We are proud and love her and hope today conveys the depth of our love.

Jury Duty Continues...

2009-05-06T21:15:00.001-07:00

Jury Duty lasted ten minutes. The Judge walked in wearing his robe exactly at 12:30 when we were all signed in. He announced the case was settled. He thanked us for our service, explaining without the knowledge that a jury is in waiting, sometimes people settle last minute, like doing a term paper at the last minute. He didn't want us to feel we wasted our time. Some people had driven as far away as 250 miles since this was District Court.

Personally I had to contain myself from showing too much glee. The whole drive I sang "Please settle. Please settle. Please settle." Over and over I sang my mantra. I almost danced down the street to the parking garage. To serve, and yet, not serve, that is a pleasure. Onward.

Jury Duty

2009-04-27T06:06:00.000-07:00

Heading for possible jury duty today. The creative will be limited to knitting the scarf I have been working on for months! I have never served on a jury. The closest I came was to be questioned for the 13th seat, alternative. But having lived in Synanon, believing in rehab, not in favor of death penalties, loosing two family members to murder, knowing people who died because of drunk drivers, some where along the line I wasn't considered to be objective s0 I have been excused. But I have never been asked to U.S. District Court before so this is a new adventure.

My house is the yellow one.

2009-04-22T06:38:00.000-07:00

Morning after, fireman keeping contained as fire burns itself out.

2009-04-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

Fire

2009-04-22T06:19:00.000-07:00

More on fire.

2009-04-22T06:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday in setting up the swamp cooler we found a burned hole in the cover. One more sign of how we lucked out the night of the fire. Those who watered our roof probably put out a fire they didn't even know had started.

We heard the insurance company is holding off cleaning up the mess next door until the investigation is complete. Once in a while I can smell the ashes.

A Book and Murder

2009-04-18T09:55:00.000-07:00

I am reading the book "In My Fathers House," by Mark Arax. When Mark was 15 his father was murdered by two hit men in the bar that was the dad's business. The murder was never solved. Over the years Mark's need to find the murderer's grew until finally he took leave of his reporter job at the LA Times, and moved back to Fresno with wife and two year old child.

Reading the book is interesting, just Mark's story alone, keeps me turning pages. But there is so much that taps into my life experience that I am totally captivated.

Many years back when I lived in Badger, Synanon, we took in a bunch of teenage boys from Fresno. The courts sent them to us. These boys were the most damaged children I had ever worked with. I had in the past worked at a home for delinquent teens in San Diego. They were mild compared to this crew.

These boys had no sense of morality. They had almost no emotional affect, except rage which took very little to provoke. I remember daily feeling astonished, trying to figure out how kids turned into these robots? Did who ever have them decide, I am going to ruin a human life and then proceed to spend all their energy hurting these kids physically and emotionally? I have worked with many kids over the years who were abused and had very bad situations, but even then they had a survival instinct that carried their humanity forward until a better opportunity appeared, which they took full advantage of. These boys didn't seem to have the capability of pulling themselves out of the stone walls they put themselves behind. Prison was the only future I could see for them, and it depressed me to no end.

After reading Mark's take on Fresno during those years, being run by a bunch of crooks, I could see a connection between the "lost" boys as I thought of them, and the environment they grew up in. The drug trade ruled and if you lived in poverty forget it. From the top officials, including police, to many Ag giants who used their air fields for crop dusting planes as a way to import drugs, to more than likely their parents on the bottom of the rung, these kids saw nothing but hypocrisy and grew into cynical excuses for human beings. I haven't finished the book so I don't know where all of this leads, but an ah-ha moment occurred, a possible answer came to me about how these youngsters were so ruined. Sad.

Another connection that disturbs me is that we have had two family members murdered. My husband's brother was shot and killed on the streets of Philadelphia. We never knew why, except he was a drug user and lived mostly on the streets, so probably was drug related.

My nephew was shot and killed on the street where I lived as a pre-teen. The family lore is that a policeman was behind the killing, although a 16 year old actually pulled the trigger and was jailed.

My nephew was in gangs during his teen years. He went to jail and was released at age 21. I had worked with him a few days on my parents house, a first where he and I spent time alone. He told me that in prison he had time to read. He began to realize he had choices even back then. He didn't have to choose gangs. He had always had choices.

And now he was deciding what to do with the rest of his life. He sees his gang friends with gold dripping off them, girls on each arm, pockets thick with cash, and fancy cars.

He was on parole, many limit's to his life. He could drive to his $5.00 hour job helping at-risk kids at a center, and drive straight home, no stops in-between. He wasn't allowed in the old neighborhood. And many other rules. He didn't make enough to pay rent so he had to live with his friend, a girl he was dating, but if he had a choice would not be living with her. He didn't tell me she was pregnant. That we didn't find out until he died. A month later his son was born, and has been a blessing ever since.

A story he told me was about two policemen: one who stops him regularly to see how he is, to ask if he needs anything, and who warned him to stay clean, especially since there was another policeman who was out to get him, and for my nephew to watch his step. The good policeman encouraged his working at the center.

The second policeman also stopped him, roughed him up, pushed him against the car, searched him, threatened him, and in general abused his power. Why this was happening I wasn't told. He just hinted that the cop was dirty, and was trying to keep my nephew in line, under his control, not to help my nephew.

When it came out that the Los Angeles Ramparts Police station was investigated and found to have abusive, dirty, dishonest cops who had gotten away with murder even, it became the opinion of many in my family that the abusive cop had something to do with my nephew's murder. Because my sister did not want to sit in court to watch the shooter's trial, nor did she want to pursue anything about her son's murder we all backed off in attempts to push the idea that we find justice for our nephew. I believed we were helping my sister in her efforts to move on in her life. Loosing her son caused a damage she has never overcome, and I doubt ever will, but she was able to marry a wonderful man, and have some semblance of sanity most of the time, and a good life with her grandson.

In reading Mark's story though, it occurs to me that maybe we were mistaken and that had we pursued the truth, maybe her life wouldn't be as hard as it is to keep balanced. Every now and again I feel a knot in my stomach when I think of that policeman getting a way with murder, if he in fact had anything to do with it. I read the reports of the investigation of Ramparts and it seems many policemen were held accountable to wrong actions, and I hoped he was amongst them. I felt satisfied that it didn't have to be our exact detail. They did so much harm that if any of it was brought to light, I felt satisfied justice was done.

But as I read about Mark's compulsion to find answers I question why we had none. Why I am so willing to let it go since we cannot change the outcome even if the guilty party is found. I do believe that on some level. And yet, there is a nagging doubt that makes me feel like a coward. A lot to think about.

Twitter, Photoshop, Clay and Fire

2009-04-16T05:04:00.000-07:00

Learning technology is a challenge. The latest is Photoshop and Twitter. The amazing part of the process is how long it takes, how many failures I must experience before that ah-ha moment when I realize how easy the procedure truly is.

Elsah Cort, the organizer of the Three Rivers Artist's Studio Tour, wants the artists to join Twitter. Being that Twitter is the latest rage in communication, or so the NYT's said, she thought it might help us do a little marketing for the upcoming tour March 19, 20, 21, 2010. So far a handful of the artists have jumped on board. How it will play out is hard to tell. But for me, it has pushed using this blog since there is a way to link from Twitter to here.

I had started with Facebook since a few friends included me, and especially when I realized our daughter Delia using it, I jumped at the chance. Uploading images is easy and the way Facebook is organized captured me. Twitter, 140 words an entry, whereas Facebook you can write more. But Twitter has a link capability that I haven't figured out on Facebook, yet.

The photographs now have the Haiku on them. I will mat them today, wrap them in protective sleeves and put on the bulletin board. It will give a chance to look at them for a while, to see if I like the result.

Last Monday I glazed the two masks and one coil pot that is in this batch of firing. All three survived bisque firing. The only crack was a very slight one on one of the masks.

There is a rule we joke about at the workshop, "Don't fall in love with a piece until it makes it through the final firing. Anything can happen." Well, I do love the two masks I made this time. One is porcelain with colored slip that I put transparent glaze on the colored part, and the half that had the sliver of a crack. The other is more plaque than a mask, a sun/moon combination out of black mountain clay with colored slips that also have transparent glaze applied only on the slips. Both are beautiful pieces. It is a joke in the workshop that I do ugly really well, because many of the masks I do are primitive. I still sell them to my amazement, but every now and again I do a mask that is really beautiful, and both these masks fit the bill. They have one more firing to get through.

What could happen? The glaze instead of being clear like I want could be tainted with chemicals from other colored glazes on other pieces in the firing. Someone's could blow up, or mine could, if an air bubble is in the clay. They could stretch in the firing because it is so hot, and crack in ways that ruin it. Sometimes the cracks are a blessing. I sold one that the woman said, "It gives the face character." So to fall in love with your piece before it is done sets you up for huge disappointment! But I cannot help it this time. I really love these two masks and I hope they do fine in the firing.

Marn was over yesterday to see the mural Nadi Spencer finished for us the day before. The shed wall is empty of masks. "Where are they all?" Marn asked. "I sold them. That's all that's left," I said. "You'd better get busy and do more than one mask a week!" She's right. I look at the schedule of shows coming up, and the studio tour, in the next 6 months and I need more masks to sell. This is a great problem to think about. Do I bring clay home to work? Or go to the workshop an extra day?

The stars are back and so is good sleep. Both Bruce and I slept the whole night in peace, a first since the fire. The trauma of opening eyes in the dark to find a raging fire next door that threatened lives and property shook us to our very souls. But as the week progressed the reality that no one was hurt, that no homes were burned, that because of firemen and neighbors and spring green of grass, trees and bushes it wasn't as devastating as it could have been. The neighbors did loose the tools of their trades, he construction, she a gourd artist, which is bad enough.

The barn that burnt down blocked the stars from our bedroom window. Now I can see the hillside covered in oak trees. And since the neighbors were moving shortly anyway, I am not sorry the barn is gone. The moon has been with us this week, and when it disappears the stars will fill the window like they did when we first moved in.

Change is in the Wind

2009-04-11T06:30:00.000-07:00

For years, I have awakened before dawn to write. I scratch black ink on white paper with a special fountain pen. The only rule, keep pen moving. In a half dream state I write, starting with the mundane of yesterday. Layers unfold. I find my own mind. I started this after 20 years of living in Synanon, as a wife, to living alone in one room. It was an avenue to explore where I had been, where I was now, and what kind of future to design. It served me well.

Change is in the wind. I am now an artist. I work in clay, creating masks. Not sure why I obsess with faces, but I don't question, just make them. I do less writing than I used to. The first draft of the memoir has been waiting to be attended to. Does it need a rewrite or is it ready to be sent out? I do not know. But it calls me. And the Ink Quilts, an art form I invented, one for every chapter of the memoir, to be completed. They illustrate in collages of images, drawings, and "ink" quilting, instead of cloth and threads.

Digital photography is my new play, learning how to take pictures, how to use photoshop, iPhoto, etc. Almost immediately I won awards for images. My husband pointed out that maybe I have found the art form, the awards an indication, when in writing rejection letters fill the files. Maybe he is right, maybe, not. I follow my heart, and it is taking me back to the memoir. Not enough time in each day to explore all that draws me.

I have had this blog for a while, only occasionally writing in it. Added photographs to it, but really hadn't figured out how to incorporate it in my day. Then along came Twitter. The Three Rivers Artist Studio Tour #9, 2010, had begun the preparation process. It was suggested we Twitter our art process. In learning how to get onto Twitter I discovered it could be connected to this blog site. The 140 words are not enough for me. Some of what I read on the site is a little self absorbed, at least the first impression, more like teens using cell phones to touch base. But I noticed fellow artist, Jana Botkins trail from Twitter to her blog, journaling about a mural project she is in the middle of , an Ah-ha, moment.

So, I decided to start in my journaling on paper to get the boring stuff moving, but once I tap into what really matters I will move to this blog and finish the journaling process here. In Twitter I'll write the topic and tie it to the blog, to see where it all leads. Every time I take on a new learning process the excitement builds.

Today I will finish framing the Yokohl Valley Rock Art images. Then I will notify Dick Burns, the photographer, to show him the five images. He wants to approve the quality and to be assured that they came from Yokohl Valley. Then once he approves, I will call Ken Woodward, the representative of the local Indian Tribes, to tell him Dick approved, and to make sure Ken makes clear to the Elders that I have no intention of selling the pieces in The Yokohl Valley Art Show in July, at Arts Visalia. The Indians are tired of everyone making a profit off their contributions except them, which I appreciate.

I want to donate the pictures to La Sierra High School in Porterville, and I think Ken and the Elders will like this idea. Some of the students who flow through the school come from the reservation nearby and I think it is an appropriate place for these beautiful images to hang. Other kids come from South, Central America and Mexico, have Indian heritage, too, and might find them interesting.

These photographs will be added to the many original art pieces we, and our artist friends, have donated to make the environment beautiful for the students attending the school. It looks more like an art gallery, than a school, something Bruce and I are really proud of.

The show in July is part of a process to stop Yokohl Valley from being developed as planned by the Boswell Corporation. The valley is over the hill from where I live, maybe ten miles as the crow flies. Mostly cattle ranchers own the land, except that which Boswell bought up over the years. He, too, used it for cattle grazing, but is in the process of turning his property into another Sun City, or Chula Vista, wall to wall suburbs, shopping area, gas station, golf course, etc. Housing for 10,000, and a vacation spot for up to 29,000 in total. Since no affordable housing will be available for lower income people, all who do the landscape work, housekeepers, gas station attendants, etc, will have to drive from quite a long ways from their homes to work there, thus more traffic on the roads, etc. And the most serious issue, water, is barely addressed when you ask questions of the planning commission who is giving permission for this endeavor. There are questions as to how the water will last for the existing people in our county since the water table lowers every year. We use more than Mother Nature can replenish and have for years. It is catching up with us.

The Boswell project, I suspect, is on hold because the economy has tanked and who would be able to buy houses right now? Mr. Boswell died last week, so that might slow things down. His son is running the company, and I don't know how in control he has been with this whole idea.

There is a push to try to get the Planning Commission to set a standard to build within, and around the existing cities in Tulare County and to leave the open spaces alone as much as possible. We certainly have enough small cities. But how to deal with the Private Property issue, "It's mine to do what I want," which is the majority view in this county. We haven't been known for looking at the whole of the county and planning ahead for growth in sustainable ways. It's mostly been who has the most money to influence that determines where we go. Boswell is a perfect example. He figured out ways to influence state and government to allow him to get as large as he wanted, even though the law of the land was to help keep farms in our country 160 acres at the largest, starting back with President Lincoln, who thought if we kept farming in smaller increments it would always be an avenue for poorer people to make a living, to feed their families and live on the land. The law was never really enforced thus Boswell, and many others, were able to grow enormous. I do admire the creative ways in which his workers improved and invented. But they also created situations that worsen our lot. Poisoned waters, interruption to wildlife, hampering diversity of people and agriculture (per "King of California," the book about Boswell's empire), and many other problems. Do I think we will stop the Boswell's? Not really. But I never thought a man who looks like my sons would be President of the United States in my lifetime, so "hope springs eternal," as Emerson said.

Cloudy, gray, and cold day. More rain? Hope so.

Fire

2009-04-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday I was in bed before 9, reading with husband, friend in guest room, her door closed. Bruce turned out his light but I continued to read for a few minutes. Then I turned out the lights. I closed my eyes and for some reason opened them again in the darkened room. The color orange filled the picture frame on the wall opposite. I thought, "Natasha must be doing something with lights?" But her door was closed. Then fear seared through me and I turned to the window behind. The barn was filled with fire.

"Bruce and Natasha, up. There is a fire," I yelled. I jumped out of bed and headed to the phone in the living room and called 911. She transferred me to the Fire Dept. I rushed outside to find Bruce and Natasha grabbing hoses to wet down the fence, bushes and the edge of our house. We are about 20 yards from the two story barn, a container, a wooden fence and plants between us. The fire was three stories high, reaching out of the skylights that had burst. Explosions filled the air, pop, pop, like gun shots. That's when I insisted we move the cars. Bruce grabbed his beloved bike, I grabbed the metal box with our legal papers, Natasha had her backpack, grabbed my camera and insisted I take more. I looked at her and realized I really didn't care about anything but Bruce's safety and hers. The rest could be replaced over time, but my friends could not. So we drove the cars down to a neighbors.

It took the fire department 20 minutes for the first truck to arrive. We live in the boonies, and many small town fire departments must respond from long distances, and mostly volunteers fight our fires, so I was later told by a retired fireman, in the country 20 minutes is good timing. If you want faster, move to the city. A water loaded fire truck cannot go faster than 40 mph up a hill, something I never thought of before. Once they arrived they obviously knew what they were doing, making up for lost time, protecting the closest house, the barn owners and mine, and the above hillsides of grass that would lead to more homes, and contained the fire. Some where in that 20 minutes the roof caved in, the noise terrifying, sparks flying, threatening the houses below. When I next looked at a clock it was 9:42 and seven fire trucks (2 small, 5 bigger) were every where, on the upper road, two or three on the property, and the rest on the road, lining up to bring in more water, then spraying their load, then heading back down to fill up at the hydrant about a block away, returning to line up.

I heard the firemen discuss water, a very big issue for our foothills community. Those of us using water hoses to spray nearby buildings had less pressure because we were all using the water at the same time. They used water to keep the fire in the center of the cement platform the barn was built on, and decided to let it burn out on its own. Someone watched all night, and into the next day to make sure it was truly out.

When night descends fear returns. When the sun appears the fear disappears. I guess that will go away with time. I am so grateful to the folks who appeared to help us all. I've never met some of the people before. I said out loud I need to call my son and a cell phone was put in my hand. I was too shaky to dial so she dialed as I said his number. Who was she? The man appeared and watered down our house. Thank you.

I am not sure, but I think I was the first to see the fire and call 911, close to 9. I had already called when the owners screamed behind a wall of bamboo, "Bruce and Shirley, fire." Bruce said, "Yes, we know and we called 911 already." Had we waited ten more minutes I'd be writing this from my sons house, probably living in a camping trailer, if we were lucky enough to wake up before our house went up totally in flames. The barn didn't take but minutes to fall down, so I suspect our small wooden house would take less. When others told me they called 911, it was busy, so many called at once, I figure around 9:20.

When the barn was built it stole our view of the hillsides filled with oaks, and the stars that filled the night skies. We were so disappointed since it was the stars that pulled us into Three Rivers. That is all back now. I am filled with joy at this view from my window, and sad that such beauty came at such a dangerous price. So many helped to save our community because so much was at risk. As Natasha said, "It was a good fire drill. The grass is still green. We were lucky."

I do plan to make discs of my favorite photos, and writings and stick them in the metal box. It was foolish to think I wouldn't care down the road for the creative work I have done over the years. My neighbor is a gourd artist. She lost it all in the fire. I put myself in her place and know I must prepare better if there is a next time. Emergencies happen. And its silly to pretend they don't.

Twitter and Art

2009-04-10T08:16:00.001-07:00

We are beginning the process to prepare for the Three Rivers Artist's Studio Tour #9, March of 2010. One of the suggestions is to Twitter, logging your artistic process along the way, thought to be another way to market our event. So I am in the learning process of how this blog and twitter connects. Will I have time to do both? I write every morning in a journal, scratching black ink on white paper, the old slow, messy way of putting thoughts to paper, searching to find my own mind on the life that unfolds each day, pen in hand, moving constantly the only rule. I cannot imagine a day without this pleasure. The brain and hand keep moving across the page, pulling out the mundane to find the important below it. When I take the writing to the computer, typing on a keyboard, it is different. It is work. It is editing to make it perfect, something others will see.

La Sierra High School Mural Project

2009-01-12T06:24:00.000-08:00

Nadi Spencer and I were admiring her piece of art during an artist's reception at the Tulare Historical Society. It was a rendering of a finished mural done at the Three Rivers Elementary School. I had watched the students work on the mural each time I drove by and wished the students at my husband's school, La Sierra Charter High School, could have such an experience. Nadi told me what she charged and when she was free.

Less than a year later, after receiving a donation from the Phylon Foundation, and a Grant from the Board of Supervisors of Tulare County, we completed two murals. The students worked along side this Master Artist, producing something beautiful for their school, learning to complete a complicated project, working together as a team, "Even with people you don't like," as one student wrote in a paper about the project.

These students are at risk of drugs, gangs, and poverty. Horizons were broadened, 51 students hands made the murals, and had fun doing it.

Two classes were held to plan the subject matter of the murals. Nadi put out a stack of images on a table and asked the students to walk around the table and pick out what they liked. As each student touched a picture, she'd ask them what they liked about it. Color, or shape, or style were the answers. There were three magazine pictures of masks on walls that the students picked up the most. They decided they'd like the idea of a wall of masks. Nadi asked what they thought if their faces were supper-imposed on the masks. We had our cameras and could take their pictures. They loved it. At least, most of them did. One boy refused to participate until we started taking pictures. He asked Nadi, "What if my hand hid half my face?" Her face lit up, "What a great idea. I was looking for another element to flush out the picture. Hands." So instead of being a resister, his idea enhanced the art. Notice the hands in the finished mural.

As we took their images, they said they wanted the staff/teachers on the wall, too. So we took pictures of the staff, who started out a little resistent, much like the students, but soon were caught up in the spirit. Nadi then used photoshop to design Mural #1.

The second mural is the school mascot, the falcon. It was suggested by a student in the beginning of the session. Two hours later an idea emerged. After much discussion about the safety net the students felt at school, since they live in the center of gang territory, fear is something they live with all the time, except at school, they said. A student at the end of the two hours suggested that the falcon's wings open, and under the wings animals curl up in safety. Each student could pick an animal to represent them. Again, Nadi took the ideas to photoshop and designed Mural #2.

The Principal, Jan Mekeel, planned to kick off a new art curriculum, a first for the school. The English teacher, Stephanie Sapien, was giving up a prep time to teach the art class, five days a week. They needed supplies. When the Grant was written I added money to supply the new classroom with art supplies. We also provided funds to hold an Artist's Reception, hosted by the Leadership Group of students who helped run the project and did most of the work. Parents, Board of Supervisor representatives, Artists from around Tulare County, and the general community came to celebrate the new murals and the work the students accomplished. It was a special evening.

Election is over...

2009-01-10T06:04:00.000-08:00

...And a New Year begun. It's hard to wish everyone happy new year with two wars that we are engaged in, and one in Gaza, the economy tanking, and so forth. But hope springs eternal, and with the new administration maybe some of the negative will move in more positive directions over this new year.

I have gone back to my regular middle names A. Blair and will leave Hussein to those whose mothers gave them that name, first, middle or last. We voted in the President I so wanted and soon he will be official the one and only. Right now the old is still there, and things feel headless, and worrisome. He keeps adding as many devastations as possible, and then throws in something good here and there. It will be a relief when the old guard goes.

New Middle Name for Now

2008-06-29T11:13:00.000-07:00

From this day forth, until the election is over, I have added a middle name: Hussein. I am sick to death of the racism, sexism, and religious bigotry, all of which is coming to the surface in this election. I think the fact that true feelings are being expressed is good. We don't change until we face what needs to be changed. But I must weigh in, along with the bigots.

Barack Hussein Obama looks like my sons. That is the first reason I decided to vote for him. But being a thinking person, I knew I must read and look into who he is. There are plenty of bad people in the world that look like my sons! I read both his books. I searched the internet for articles about him from the right and the left points of view. I do not discount people from the right, even though I mostly view the world from the left. I read about his mother, a woman who had her mixed son around the same time I had my mixed sons, when segregation was still the law of the land.

More than just a gut feeling that I am looking at my son emerged. Senator Obama is intelligent, well read, well spoken, a person who believes in mediation. He doesn't discount people just because they don't agree with him. I was horrified when Bush won the second term and he said, "Now I have a mandate. I don't have to listen to anyone." That meant I don't count in his world, since I disagree with him on many things. I wrote him a letter a day for a year expressing the point that I, too, am American and it is his job to listen to all of us, not just those who agree. This President in the White House refused to represent any part of me. That isn't the ideal of America I grew up to love.

So I feel it is time we have someone in the White House who understands compromise, that all must be included in some way or another, who is a learning, curious and questioning type of person. He understands that no one point of view always wins. We must give and take to accommodate the differences that make up our country. I know first hand from my family. It is a lot of work to understand our difference.

The group of folks who make fun of Senator Obama's name gleaned from his father, who insist on spreading lies about what religion he practices, who insist on demonizing Islam in general, and who confuse the people who are terrorists, who happen to be Muslim, as all of the Islamic community. There are fanatics who call themselves Christian, who in the name of religion thought it was okay to shoot a doctor because he provided abortions for women who needed them. Whether you agree with abortion or not, "Thou shalt not kill," is written in every religion. But fanatics find excuses to do all manner of immoral things to justify their behavior. I have a branch of my family that is Muslim, another branch is Christian, another branch is Jewish, another branch is Buddhist, and some declare no religion. No one in my family are terrorists, but our diversity is American.

So, I declare a middle name Hussein. I like that Barrack Obama has running through his veins blood from many continents. Like my family, it is hard to go to war some where without discovering a relative. It changes ones perspective if you think about the world in that way. Some times bad guys force you to act, but we've all had a relation who was out of control and the family had to take a stand. The twin towers was one of those times. But we were side tracked. Maybe with a Barrack Hussein Obama in the White House we can hold the real culprits accountable. At least, that is my bet, and thus my vote. So call me Shirley Hussein A. Blair Keller.

Arenas Gallery: Artist's Reception

2008-03-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

This evening is the Artist's Reception at the Arenas Gallery in Visalia. Kathy and Steve Diamant, Kay Gaston, Jeri Burzin and I will be showing our arts and crafts. We mailed postcards and fliers to friends and art patrons. And we each have been told by many there will be a good response this evening. The Arenas' usually provide a very good spread. Laurel and Jay Bergman from Redwood City are coming specifically for this event, staying over night in our home. We will have a brunch for friends tomorrow and they return to the Bay Area in the afternoon. So all indications this will be a "party."

I cannot shake a negative cloud around my head. Only nine days ago my sister died. She was my younger sister so her going before me is out of turn. With she and our parents gone, too, I am the only person living who grew up in our small family. I do have an adopted brother and step sisters and a half sister, whom I love, but I didn't live with them growing up. Of course, I feel attached to them, but it feels weird that every person who lived in my childhood home are gone. I left home before my brother was adopted so he was my younger sister's sibling, not mine, in reality. So I suspect the cloud is all to do with this loss and hindering the joy and excitement of doing a body of work and having it enjoyed by many this evening.

Because I was so caught up in going back and forth to Los Angeles to spend time with my sister, the preparation for this show was limited. My focus was south, not here. I also have the studio tour at the end of month and didn't want to deplete that event. So I picked three masks, two photographs (1st and 2nd place winners at the Tulare Co. Fair the last couple of years), and gift cards of my photos. My friends have so much more in the show. My stuff is displayed in the back of the gallery in a small cubie type section, not open for all to see like the rest of the art. I was disappointed when I went to preview, knowing we will be too busy to enjoy the show itself tonight. I grasp at positivity and know that grief sometimes over shadows our daily existence, which is for me, lucky and happy and there is no real cloud, just a perceived one. So I will spend today in preparation, finishing a knitted sweater in bamboo yarn that I hope to wear tonight, and take photos of wildflowers that grow through our hills, and enjoy this day, with my sisters memory sitting on my forehead, taking a ride. And the big question, "Will I sell?" left for the future to answer.

Learning Continues...

2008-03-14T11:03:00.000-07:00

A friend spent time showing me a little about the Internet this morning. She has a website, and a bloggers site and is further along than I am in understanding how all the parts fit together. So here I am trying out what she taught me. Adding images, and journaling and playing. It is a puzzle to me how all of this will evolve but I am excited about following this path to see where it leads.

March 29-30th we will host a Three Rivers Artists Studio Tour. It is the 8th in the last sixteen, held every other year. Last time I was invited as a writer. When we held the artist's pre-tour, and visited one another's studios, the artists filled my studio, and were less interested in my writing, and more in the Ink Quilts lining my walls. To my surprise they considered them art. I hadn't really thought about. I made collages that were inspired by a dream.

I had written a story about my ex-husband's grandmother. When I went to meet her, the first things she said to me was, "I remember the day slavery ended. I was five years old." The shock to my 18 year old white gut stayed with me. The idea that this little wizened old woman was someone's property repelled me. When I wrote the story 50 years later I had a dream. On a museum wall was what looked like a quilt. But when I approached and touched it, it was white wooden frames that enclosed "patches," each a collage of the chapters of the memoir I had been writing about my inter-cultural, inter-religious, inter-racial family. The next morning I began to make the Ink Quilts that the artists now were admiring.

Now I consider myself an artist. I play with clay (masks a passion), write (freelance for a local magazine company, Direct Media Inc. out of Visalia, CA, and still hope to publish my creative writings), and continue making Ink Quilts. I've gone from illustrating my memoir, to doing pieces that share how nature impinges on our lives in Sequoia country. And have added photography to the mix, trying to capture the beauty all around us that seems to be disappearing as fast as I take pictures. The human need to use every inch available seems insatiable. So I record it so we will have memory of something other than buildings.

I look forward to this tour. Last time I met some wonderful people from as far north as Oregon, and far south as San Diego. So who knows what this tour will bring. I sent postcard invites to locals, too, this time. We didn't think it was necessary last time since there are posters every where and the local paper advertises the event. But to my surprise, few locals came through. And since receiving the cards I have had locals call and thank me for including them and thus they are coming. I guess people feel like I do, they want to be included!!!! :)

2008-02-27T06:51:00.000-08:00

Vietnamese Children - 1975

2007-11-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I found a website about a group of orphans who were spirited out of Vietnam just before the U.S. got out of the war. There were people who had been working in the orphanages that feared for the children's lives. A network of people who wanted to adopt, were either all ready in place, or set in motion.

I was thrilled to find this site. I read the entries from many thirty-something adults, who were the children that came through the Presidio, San Francisco, on their way to homes all across the country. For all these years I have wondered what happened to the chldren. Once or twice over the years the headlines would tell of an abusive adopted parent of this group of children. It left me with the impression that maybe the kids would have been better off left in Vietnam. Reading the stories of the young men and women about their adopted parents who loved and cared for them was such a relief to know that dozens and dozens of them found good homes.

It sounds like many didn't have an easy time of it, even with good parents. Our society is very racist at times. I come from an nterracial family and know that first hand. But like my family, these young people's family found ways around the walls that are presented some times. They surrounded the kids with good people, and there are plenty of them, just like my folks did for us, they made good lives.

Many seemed to need to go back to Vietnam and find family if it was possible. Others, having been dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage in Vietnam, had no way to trace where they came from and struggle with accepting that reality.

I was one of many who took care of the babies and children who arrived at the Presidio San Francisco. I worked in an infant program in Synanon, Marin County, at that time. We worked 7 days on and 7 days off. As luck would have it, I was off when the call came for help. We arrived to find cribs lining the walls, cots for older children in separate rooms, unless the kids were siblings and the older child made it clear she/he would not leave the baby. Then the cot was next to the crib. All the flourescent lights were on. It was night. All the babies were crying, the older kids staring off into space, as if in shock.

The first things we did was find someone in charge and suggest to turn off the lights, leaving one lamp on each floor. How would the children know it was night if there was no dark? Then we moved from child to child, calming, holdng, singing, changing diapers, feeding if hungry, etc. The crying stopped when all needs were met. Back into bed, room mostly dark except one small bulb at the end of the room, shaded. Sleep took over the children. They were exhausted. So many sick. Some looked very cared for and healthy, and one wondered how they got into this mix of children who mostly looked neglected.

I worked two shifts (16 hours). Then I went to Oakland to stay in our facility there. I slept 6 hours, took shower and sauna, to sooth the weary bones, ate a good hot meal, and was back at the Presidio for another 16 hours. We did that for days. Holding, rocking, feeding, changing, cooing, playing, pulling in the older children to help if they began to show interest in moving about, and soon the place sounded like a normal school, laughter, games, and fun.

Children began to disappear, as transportation to the various parts of the country emerged. I fought the saddness as I gave up the care of the babies I'd been tending to, not sure how long I'd been there, all sense of time gone. I said goodbyes to the kids old enough to have a conversation with (no I don't speak Vietnamese, but children don't care if they know you like them). I knew I'd never see them again. I sent all the love I could muster with each child as I said good bye and hoped for a wonderful future for each and every one. I've missed them over the years.

Lana, her last name escapes me, put together the web site and now I know many of the children grew into fine young adults, and did have a wonderful life with their new families. I am relieved to know that. There are also organizations that helped them reconnect with their Vietnam roots if they needed that. Lana adopted three children. Two from Vietnam. One, a small baby died a shortly after coming to Lana. The baby was too sick to survive. It's been years, and yet still, I cry for the little girl. Her sister, Jen, it seems grew strong and is one of the stories I read. Jen's adopted brother is from Korea. This Lana is someone I'd love to meet some day. What an angel she is!!!

I will never forget the soldiers and nurses I worked with that week. To my surprise they respected our expertise with infants and let us set up the floors in a way that was children centered, the lights being only one detail in hundreds.

I am now at the phase of life where one begins to realize time is finite for us mortals. So many unanswered questions pop up as one remembers the past. This one, how did the children fair after leaving the Presidio, is answered. Thank you!

Learning

2007-11-05T07:25:00.000-08:00

This is the beginning of learning how to use websites, blogger sites, and creative play on the Internet.

Creative Play

Mr. Burns Gift By Shirley A. Blair Keller ©2011

Another Memory of Richard Burns

Three Rivers Rocks

Nature Impinges: Surprise ©2011

In Memory of Mr. Richard Burns, Extraordinary Mentor

Nature Impinges: Predator Preys ©2011

Nature Impinges: Egret Flying ©2011

National Geographic Geotourism Website

National Geographic Geotourism Site

1/11/11

Pat O'Connell Images

A Pat O'Connell Story

Alice Walker & Family

1st Saturday August, 2010

Statue of Liberty

1st Saturday Three Rivers - July 3rd, 2010

1st Saturday Three Rivers - June 5th

Three Rivers Art Studio Tour 9

1st Saturday Three Rivers

Tiki Missing

To Display at Kaweah Oak Preserve, 11/06/09

Tulare County: Varied Impressions Art Show

Kaweah Land & Arts Festival

Concert on the Grass

Concert on the Grass

A Book's Impact

Concert on the Grass

Concert on the Grass

Racism

Clock

Reflection

Stained Glass

Photo Shoot Day - Visalia, CA

Wild Flowers

Daughter of the Heart

Jury Duty Continues...

Jury Duty

My house is the yellow one.

Morning after, fireman keeping contained as fire burns itself out.

Fire

More on fire.

A Book and Murder

Twitter, Photoshop, Clay and Fire

Change is in the Wind

Fire

Twitter and Art

La Sierra High School Mural Project

Election is over...

New Middle Name for Now

Arenas Gallery: Artist's Reception

Learning Continues...

Dogwoods Hug Giant ©2006

Vietnamese Children - 1975

Learning