I see our little planet as our very own precious floating terrarium. It’s too easy sometimes to forget how we are indeed floating.
This one is hand-painted using gouache on cold-press watercolor paper. I can’t remember when it was done so it may have been some years. 2 or more? Time flies especially when making something with our hands. Each mark is a recorded moment in time. Preserved. Saying, “this is how I spent that day” and it was wonderful.
A lucky few have been gifted with effortless talent for their chosen craft or field. There rest of us have had to work tirelessly for decades and that is perfectly beautiful too.
I have been drawing and making pictures since I discovered that pulling a pencil or paintbrush across a surface was calming and kept me out of trouble as a kid. I simply never stopped.
I was terrible at it, making ugly whole-hearted little paintings. I have grown after years of devoted practice not talent and call myself an artist because I see it as a lifestyle. A commitment to live a creative life which in turn becomes a fuller life full of wonder, play, and intellectual curiosity.
Today, I think I am a confident painter rather than a skillful one. Time spent creating something of our own gives confidence to those of us who need it most regardless of what the final piece looks, sounds, or reads like it is never time wasted. It is time spent learning about all the potential burning inside. Or in the least it keeps us out of trouble by engaging restless energy in all of us.
Before he was Rubin the Mango Spirit. He was Rubin, a little one.
Jotting a story down sometimes with pictures first, sometimes with words first. It’s always a different process with each story revealing itself in a different form. Just jot it down, scribble it down, make stick figures, whatever it takes so you don’t let it run away with whatever moments you have. Stories are impatient and temperamental they want to keep moving.
Drawing comes easier to me than writing. Yet I love words because they challenge, teach, inspire and trigger. So to work around my own limitations with writing I have been combining drawing with words. Strengthening a weak muscle with a little help from something I already have confidence in due to years of practice.
Our list of limitations are long but maybe they can be embraced and re-shaped into a new way of doing something we fear. An unexpected new road to walk on.
Art is prayer. The voice of the spirit unveiling the heart. Sometimes prayer is graceful painted with gentle strokes of light. Other days the prayer comes out broken with a sorrow tinted voice; or no prayer comes to mind at all. Each color in the palette plays the murmur of a greater symphony waiting to be heard.
Our Garden Ship is a mysterious miracle. Here we are floating and rotating day after day. The grounds are dressed with more plants than we have explored and studied. When I was a kid nature was my play house. Without tv, books, radio or any other modern technology all I had for entertainment was the trees, the hills and the river.
Botany as a science is intriguing to me and more so because I grew up watching my mom grow 50 foot trees from a tiny seed. It is magic to me. Tending to a garden or simply a couple of plants can be soothing. Plants are living beings healing the very air we breathe. Isn’t that amazing?