Stain-glass Eyes

There is only one admirable form of the imagination:  the imagination that is so intense that it creates a new reality, that it makes things happen. Sean O'Faolain Painting I Found in a Church in Ireland. The Artist's Vision of Saint Mary (When she received the news she was with child) I love to write.  I feel myself tightening up and less able to focus, when I don't.  I get the same feeling of tranquility and focus when I paint.  I already have my two small journals ready for my trip to Germany this month.  I put stickers and other things on the journal pages.  They're just inexpensive notebooks.  I spruce them up and it motivates me to write something every day. Heidi at Detroit Metro Airport With All Her Belongings, Moving to Berlin  When I write while traveling,  I include people I'm watching, unique things I see, and brief notes on what happened to me during the day.  I jot down lists o...

Childhood Visual I faced one of my fears this week.  The fear of going into Downtown Detroit, alone.  This fear developed over the years.  My dad wasn't fond of cities and made sure to put the terror in me, whenever I headed for a city.  He even tried to convince me to go CMU instead of MSU, because CMU was a smaller city.   I think he feared cities and transferred his fear to me (and possibly, to some of my siblings).  The "Be Careful" was common, and still is, in our family.   Being raised in the Upper Peninsula didn't help any, either.  Everything below the bridge was "Down Below".  Detroit was another country, as far as I was concerned, growing up in St. Ignace. "Be Careful" I did end up going to MSU. Dad was right, it was a big city for someone from St. Ignace.  We didn't even have a stop light, anywhere in St. Ignace!  I was literally lost at MSU for the first two weeks. I adjusted in spite of ...

When I wake up in the morning, I don't fret as much as I use to in the past.  It has been a big challenge for me, but I'm improving.  Not improving my fretting (which I think I'm already The Master of All ), but cultivating a mind-set that's okay with the present.    I confess, I still have a well, worn-in grove, in my brain, for fretting.  My thoughts follow its smooth, predictable path when I let down my guard and slip into its rut.  Once my mind hits the edge and slides into this track, I might as well close my eyes, because I can't see through the fog.  I glide along and let the leader take over, weakening under her power. Coach the Perfect is in charge.  She's complete with a clipboard, endless blue ink in her pen and a memory that makes the FBI interrogators look like wimps. Oh, and I forgot to mention, she has a cheer-leading squad.  They stand behind her.  They're like the echo in a nightmare, repeating everything ...

Woods at the Landslide, Alba, Michigan When true autumn hits, it's smelled as well as felt. I've always picked fall as my favorite season.  I love cool air.  I don't miss the allergies, bugs or heat of summer.   I've always felt an increasing amount of melancholy, during the change of season, but I just took it for the process of "Hunkering Down" for the winter to come. Our Woods on Schuss Lane, Gaylord The Cronan Family, when I was growing up,  were a family of water people.  As a rule, we didn't hunt or fish. We rarely took to the woods, unless it was to cut wood for the winter (out by Cheeseman Road), take a short-cut through the small woods, (to the Convent on the hill, to walk to school), or skiing at Bryce's Hill (I preferred the woods there, so I could grab a tree if I was going to topple over).  We swam, snorkeled, scuba-dived, sailed, rowed or just gravitated to the water to be close to it.  We even camped on the beach i...

Waking up to the sun this morning, was wonderful. My stain glass window captured this natural beauty, through my big, living room, window.  Terry Deselms, my brother-in-law, helped me design, plan and put together this piece of art. Truthfully, he let me help.  His experience in creating art, lead the way.  Every day I look at this art, it's beauty gives me peace and it surprises me that it can.  How is it possible for something to give me a feeling of peace when I look at it?  I know it brings out a healthy emotion, a reaction to its beauty.  (The colors mixed with natural light is remarkable). But, they can't talk, hold my hand, respond to me, and still they invoke something in me that gives me pleasure.  A tone, an emotion.  Art is powerful medicine. This made me think about other art pieces, I keep around.  What binds me to them?  I'm not sure why, but I do know they move ...