I like this double page spread in my new art journal. I learned to lay down paint, then to press Saran Wrap on top and let it dry. Organic shapes were left that I could draw, trace, paint and generally have fun with as this combination cave wall and narrative landscape emerged from my meditation.

Interestingly, this painting was followed by the short story currently on my sandybrownjensen blog called “Endangered Species.”

I am starting a new long term art project I’m calling My Tarot. I pull a card from the deck, study it and paint my own understanding of it. This should take about twenty years!

The card for this weekend is the Three of Discs, which is appropriately the card of the writer and artist. That said, it means applying the qualities of pure hard work, discipline and dedication.

When I painted it, I noticed that for me it is a sort of triple mandala. The great sources are the Sea of the Unconscious and the gifts it throws up on the beaches of creativity; the Sun of Insight and Inspiration; and in between, struggling for consciousness, is Craft, the Human as World Tree.

January 10, 2011 Three Self Portraits with Insect, Birds, and Animal Spirits

When we were kids, Mom and Daddy had Mahalia Jackson records. I liked her music and I especially responded to the album cover. This is a warm up scribble drawing. I took a long break from teaching and doing very much art – this is my way back in.

This eucalyptus tree has waited patiently for me to paint it for at least 20 years. Two weeks ago I approached it with a warm “Hello, remember me?” I searched for a safe place to sit and spend some time with colored pencils and sketch book. This was the service road – the road where all the Latinos work endlessly to keep the grounds perfectly beautiful. This is also where a person could encounter a rattler, even on this 88 degree December day.
I chose a rock where I could sit comfortably. The tree and I communed. I chose my pencils but kept adding colors as I saw the subtle variations in the pale bark. It was quiet except for the red headed woodpeckers. They are always there as far as I can tell. I seem to be the only one fascinated by them. The locals see them too often I suppose.
I did have a visitor during my hour perched on the rock. A golf cart strained to make it up the hill and the driver stopped directly in front of me. He respectfully hesitated before he addressed me. “Senora, you draw?” He wanted to see my barely started sketch. “Muy bueno.” Big smile. I asked him what he was working on? He gestured up the hill at the ancient cabins. He said he lived nearby and he was very happy. He could go home to his wife and children every night. Not like other times- at least that is what I think he said. He seemed very sweet – it was so nice to meet someone like that.
I found out later from a handsome and strapping Irishman that they were replacing the 1940’s plumbing in the little cabins. He looked so capable, the Irish guy and I could tell he would have liked to walk and talk. He is new to the United States. But no, I had no extra time to talk. I was missing spa time to get in some art time. Then another attunement session. Seriously, I would like to go to Glen Ivy for a personal art retreat. The place is a visual feast and is loaded with source imagry I probably do not even know is there yet. This is the year of doing things differently.

January 31, 2010 Stoney Way Creek, 5 miles south of Yahats, just south of Bob Creek.
Our new puppy Ryle, a golden streak of baby fur and bursts of energy. He is teething and a stick of driftwood is his teether of choice.
The Pacific Ocean throws small round black rocks skittering all over the beach.This highest tide of the year tumbles them endlessly, a prehistoric sound to my ear. Tom already found a good sized agate- large as a human eye, golden and clear. 10 Mile Creek runs high on this full moon. Recent rains crash with considerable forch against the pushing tide. Salty white foamy spume only makes so much progress against the fast steady stream before the wave subsides.
I identify with the with this brisk stream, collecting from hundreds ecosystems. It delivers them all to the Source. My job as well – deliver them all to the Source. There I can safely deposit it all, and yes, once again, with no concern for results.
Near offshore, 8 brown pelicans undulate in a line. They patrol the backlit waves for little fish. Brilliant blue sky today with only the sheerest glaze of white clouds lifting.
We leave the beach, driving the 10 mile switch back mountain road. We stop at a hunters camp. The aspens hide at least one frog. What a relief, a frog. Too many stories about disappearing amphibians. I am happy to be here with my little golden dog sleeping in the sun. Tom is scouting a dank ravine – lured by crystal cluster agates and hard red jasper. I would not follow him there today but remain in full light. This clearing has every element of my earliest childhood landscape: wet sword ferns, devils club, the smell of forest floor. Birds that never bothered to leave this mild winter. The frog again. Twitchity, twitchity. I will identify that one on my way home.
I wanted to stop a mile or two back down the road. I wanted to be in the green gold moss forest by the river but it was posted, “we shoot trespassers.” We didn’t go in. But I want to look again at the massive old cedar. I looks like a green giant dripping irridescent gold moss – the ancient wise one of the mountain. I should have stopped to get my picture. I will never see it quite that way again. Me dreaming of dripping green goldness; him dreaming of clear yellow agates plucked from dark cold waters in a dank ravine.
I cannot waste precious sun, not even for precious stones. I doze in the warm winter light. Tom returns with a smile and a yellow red carnelian the size of his fist.
I make us go back to search for my shaggy moss giant. The light has changed. I find it, the massive tortured and twisted green cedar. I photograph it and I have the bones, the basic structure that I need for a painting. The light, the impression of a living breathing entity, of ancient years and eons of water and mist and moss are all in my memory. I will have to remember – the camera cannot give it to me.