Picnic at Sandgate

The Redcliffe Peninsula has been a glorious place to live for the past few months … clear blue days, gentle breezes, sparkling tranquil sea. On just such an idyllic day, in early August, we met with friends for a picnic at nearby Sandgate. These are friends we’ve known for 30-plus years, since our children were babies. Life is so busy nowadays that we rarely see them, so the occasion itself was bound to be memorable.

And so it was.

It was also, if I remember rightly, my first hatless/scarfless/beanieless outing with my post-radiation hair. I don’t think it’s ever going to grow any longer. Some people say they like it (people are polite), but I hate it. Just look at that receding hairline! It looks worse from the front—the high forehead is too much contrast to a now-narrow jaw. For most of my life I’ve worn a fringe, which looks like it will never be possible again. If the hair were on someone else I probably would think it’s alright, but it’s just not me! I suppose I should consider this the least of my problems … at least it will save me money on haircare.Image

We whiled away several hours chatting about nothing in particular and fondly watching the ‘young ones’ enjoying themselves on the beach.ImageImage

Adding to the magic, a surprise visitor arrived in the form of a butterfly (I think it was an angel), which hovered with apparent curiosity around just one person then settled in front of her. We suggested she extend her finger to see if it would land on it. Instead, it did this …Image

It stayed on her sunglasses for a couple of minutes, then fluttered to a nearby wine glass and sipped on the rim.

We felt blessed.

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Palm fronds continued

There’s not much point taking a hundred photos of a palm frond if you don’t do something with them. The easiest option was to make cards and bookmarks. One day I might even try to sell them, though I daresay I’d have more success with cute cats. 

Oh well, I enjoyed experimenting with different combinations of photos:

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A little Photoshop manipulation.

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The first cards were done in landscape format, with 3 images on each as shown. I then tried a portrait format, with a palm tree silhouetted behind, but I wasn’t too sure if I liked those. The image below shows the full card, which would then be folded in two. A bookmark is pictured on the right.
ImageI have so many cards now … I’ll never have to buy one again!

 

God is in the details

In the absence of any new work, I decided to look back over past stuff and see what I could find (and perhaps learn). When we lived in Brisbane, we were blessed with a sheltered verandah which was a constant source of inspiration because of the surrounding foliage, animal visitors, and the continually changing light and shade. In our present house, unfortunately, the surroundings are not nearly so conducive to creativity. So, when The CAN Company decided to do a photographic exercise which entailed taking 100 shots of just one item, I was at first completely bereft of ideas.

Then, as so often happens, a subject presented itself—on this occasion by making itself impossible to be overlooked.

We have several tall palm trees in our yard, and quite often the dead fronds fall off. My husband always thinks they’re going to fall on someone, but I think they purposely fall when they can’t hurt anyone. I’ve often thought it a shame I couldn’t think of anything to do with the sturdy sheaths which held the fronds to the palm’s trunk (I’ve just learned that these ‘sheaths’ are actually part of the ‘leaves’). I suppose, if you were staging a banquet, you could use them to hold a splendid array of fruits and flowers and stuff. But staging banquets is not one of my activities.

One day, when we returned home from a shopping trip, we came across a frond which had fallen across the path near our entrance door. We were both astonished by the colours on the sheath, especially a most unusual mauve … unusual because we’d never seen such a colour on a palm before.

“Ah,” thought I, “here’s my 100-shots subject.”

The mauve hue didn’t show up very well in my first shots, so I had to move in closer:

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Then I started noticing other wonders—textures and patterns and a huge variety of colours and shapes that you can’t see when the frond is attached to the palm’s stem.

Soon I was totally absorbed by the frond and could probably have taken another hundred shots. I moved the frond around onto different backgrounds, and into different lighting conditions, and then became entranced by the shadows it cast.

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I haven’t yet tried taking a hundred shots of something more challengingly ‘mundane’  (and maybe never will).

The arrival of the Healing Doll

Some days are just magic. 24th June was such a day.

In the morning post a package arrived. I knew it was no ordinary package because—how shall I say—my name was ‘emblazoned’ on the front. A little scrutiny revealed that it came from Barb Kobe, artist doll maker specialising in Healing Dolls. If you haven’t encountered Barb’s work, check out her website immediately.

Some years ago I took part in one of Barb’s online Healing Doll courses. It was quite wonderful, but (as is my usual habit) I didn’t complete all the assignments, making only 2 out of the 4 dolls required. Though we didn’t communicate a lot during the intervening years, there was  an affinity established between the two of us and I knew I had made a friend. 

Earlier this year Barb invited me to join her new 12-month Healing Doll course.I told her what had happened since I last wrote to her … Ie the saga of the brain tumour. I was afraid I wouldn’t have time to do the course justice, but allowed myself to be persuaded. Clearly, the timing was perfect. It was agreed that I would send Barb a number of my ebooks (which are mostly digital versions of artist books) and she said she’d make me a paper Healing Doll.

I sent the ebooks straight away, and waited eagerly for the doll.

I knew it would be lovely, because all of her work is, but I was totally unprepared  for how lovely it would be. 

 I opened the package and inside was another package, beautifully wrapped in hand-painted paper.

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I opened it carefully so as not to disturb anything.

Inside was a truly beautiful folder, collaged with contrasting papers, some glossy, some matt, some textured.

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 For some moments I was unable to speak and felt close to tears. I called my husband and son, who were both amazed at what they saw. I told them I was quite overwhelmed that someone I barely know would go to this much trouble for me. What you can’t see in the photos is that everything is hand-painted and lettered, and the finish is exquisite. It’s not just beautiful to look at either. Barb had given me a list of searching questions to answer, and she has been able to incorporate so much of what I told her into the doll. 

There I was, thinking “I don’t deserve this”, when my son said, “She must really appreciate your work”. (In fact, Barb had told me so … she was lavish with praise for my ebooks).

It started me thinking. Maybe all the wonderful people I know, who give me so much, do so because they think I’m wonderful too. I’m not quite ready to say “I’m wonderful”, but I guess I must be OK.

The doll had begun her healing work.

 

The missing cello

The seach for the missing ingredient

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Following is a summary of a story from the Introduction to Arjua Ardagh’s book, Leap before you Look.

Fred had always felt something was missing in his life. After years of research he came to the conclusion that he had lost his cello. From then on Fred became a dedicated cello seeker. He travelled the world, sought out teachers, and attended countless cello music concerts. He even joined support groups of people who were, like him, trying to rediscover their inner cellos. Fred became a professional cello seeker, subordinating everything else in life to the quest.

One day, when he was rushing to yet another support group, he ran into an old friend. Fred said he couldn’t stop to talk because he was on his way to his cello finders’ support group. But the friend brought him to a halt and said, “What’s that thing on your back?”

Well, you’ve guessed it, haven’t you? The thing on his back was a cello. Fred was amazed and overjoyed … he had at long last found what he’d been looking for.

There was a corollary to the story … having found his cello, Fred then had to play it, and practise so that he would get better and better and bring his gift to others.

(If you’re interested in reading the full story, which is beautifully told, go to the Sounds True website  where you can purchase the softcover book, ebook or audio download.)

The lesson to be learned, of course, is that many of us already have what we’ve been looking for. But while we can’t see it, others often can. With this in mind, I asked several insightful friends what they thought my missing cello could be. I’d rather hoped they’d all come up with the same thing, and that my path would then be clear. No such luck. It seemed I had a whole orchestra hanging around my neck.

One said I often needed the affirmation of others, because I couldn’t find it in myself. He pointed out that I already had the affirmation of others … and I had to admit he was right. People frequently praise me and my work, but a critical inner voice says they don’t know what good is. This is really stupid, because many of these people are very accomplished themselves.

Another said it was my ‘artist’. She said everyone else considered me an artist, though I didn’t accept it myself. I protested against this because, though I acknowledge that I have the potential to be an artist, I so rarely practise. You can’t call yourself an artist if you hardly ever create art.

Yet another, the amazing dream coach Jane Teresa Anderson , asked me what I yearned for in childhood. The reply came spontaneously, “excitement and adventure”. “That’s what my life lacks,” I continued, “excitement and adventure.” Jane began to laugh. “I’m sitting with a woman wearing a pirate scarf and an outrageous eyepatch, who’s lived in a very challenging situation for many years, and she tells me her life has no excitement and adventure.” I saw her point, and giggled. I thought about it a little, but then realised it wasn’t the same thing at all. What I had experienced was not excitement and adventure, but danger and insecurity. They can all go together, but they don’t have to. One could discuss this at length, but at another time perhaps.

I certainly don’t yearn for danger. I want the sort of excitement that makes me eager to leap out of bed in the morning.

It doesn’t have to be something ‘big’. Small stones will do.

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Maybe finding your true self IS the life purpose?

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For some time I’ve had the suspicion that, once you find your ‘true self’ (whatever that may be) it’s probably time to leave this world. Perhaps that thought has been holding me back. After all, I don’t want to leave this world just yet … because there are still lots of things I want to do, and there’s that life purpose. Now we’re in a circular argument. So for the moment, I’ll assume that life purpose involves doing something you love and are especially good at.

I mentioned earlier that I’ve long been bothered by the feeling that there’s something missing in my life. Something special that I’m supposed to do. As a result of feedback from friends, and several comments on this blog, along with some recent events in my life, I’ve been slowly coming to the realisation that what we think is ‘missing’ is something we already have.

Three things in particular have led me to this realisation.

  • The reading of a book called Leap before you Look by Arjuna Ardagh
  • The arrival of a wonderful Healing Doll from dollmaker extraordinaire, Barb Kobe
  • An exercise in the first session of a workshop series, Stepping Outside the Circle, presented by Amanda Moffatt of Bowerbird Creative Programs.

I’ll be talking about each of these in more detail in the next week or so.

Inner wonders

Yesterday Colleen (from The CAN Company) and I spent a lovely day photographing cross-sections of fruit and vegetables (for a calendar we’re producing).

Often we gasped with delight … slice open a tamarillo or guava or kiwi fruit and you’ll see what I mean.

Later, when we loaded the images on Colleen’s laptop, there were even more gasps of delight when we magnified details …Image
I wonder if there’s a way of taking a metaphorical  cross-section of me 🙂