Delighted to announce a new website which consolidates my art, healing for animals and a new blog.
Besitos and many thanks to Lori, Wendy, Antonio, Dale and my other readers for all your support.
Hope to see you all again at my new cyberspace place.
xox
MaryK

orca DUH

Leave it to a critter to bring me out of blog semi-retirement.

Too many hours spent longing to live in a mansion overrun by wild ones
just like Elly Mae Clampett
no doubt did this to me,
but so it goes.

I don't dare walk near my semi-feral Bear-boy with so much as the tie to my robe hanging loose. No ribbon-dangling for my Boy: no sirree; he immediately goes extreme, from play to prey before i can move away. After hand-raising him from orphanhood, before he was eating solid food, i had great hopes for him becoming the kontented hauskitty of my dreams.




Dream on. Wild roots run deep and it is arrogance or lapse in judgment that denies their existence.
A trifling ignore-ance of .1% is bowing to nature for only 99.9; not enuf in Coconino County where animals rule, or anywhere outside of Disneyland.

Ask any cat owner how it goes. In less than an instant, eyes turn to
saucers and ears pin back like he's facing a half-pipe booter.
Energy of the game shifts and i'm not in charge any more, and this ain't
Kansas. Fun turns to teeth sinking deep into calf muscle real fast.




Admittedly, the Bear-man is like other cats and also not. Extremely instinctual, independent and very easily bored, constantly inventing games to entertain himself. He appears, disappears and reappears as a bridge from the wild to the domesticated and back again about a hundred times a day.

In the case of Tilikum and trainer Dawn, it went in a heartbeat from life to death.
Cat = 17 pounds, whale = 12,000.
The yin and yang, totally tragic.

Watching the swooshing ponytail was extremely distracting to my amygdala,
like a kid swinging their legs as hard as they can in my classroom, as if to launch themselves backwards or even into outerspace if possible.
It made me want to reach out and grab hold.
The reptilian part of my brain doesn't know whether it wants to grab the annoyance in order to shut it down or to join the party. Now that's a frightening instinctual dilemma.

Is redemption of the death possible? Absolutely, if it turns toward the light by making us look hard at the practice of capturing for captivity. Didn't we stop that with the slave trade?

While vibrating at lower levels of consciousness back in the day, i visited Seaworld to be awestruck by the beauty and majesty of the orcas.
Disgusted as far back as i can remember by animals trained to perform tricks, the show sure felt condescending to the performers. The argument is of course, the whales are "happy and eager" to perform.

If i were confined to a series of at best, interconnecting jacuzzis (several analogies of "bathtub" have been cited; i'm giving Seaworld the benefit of the doubt) for most of my life, I sure would jump high if someone came by and threw me a bar of 70% Dagoba chocolate.

Too bad animals continue to lose.
Are purposes of "education" worth what is taken away from these highly attuned powerhouses.
Just watch a video of them really performing in their own space at sea.
The contrast of real vs. fake existence makes me embarrassed to be human.

Keeping them in tubs doesn't seem to make us understand them any better; quite the contrary, even without considering that some of what we see is no doubt aberrant behavior due to captivity.

The impatience with and frustration of not completely comprehending the fourfoots i live with were surrendered to the universe some years ago when I heard someone really brilliant say:
"They exist at a different level of consciousness than we do, that's all."
Higher or lower, no matter; those words don't include the multi-dimensionality of possibilities, anyway. Perceptual differences and energy are what art and culture are all about.


All i know is once i opened my mind to this new reality, i began to see some things as they do. I felt the alignment of all of us with each other and my own internal alignment to my self. I became aware of the gift of allowing nature's consciousness to permeate my truth, and it has been life-alteringly priceless.

Tilikum gives notice: as diverse as the sea that birthed him, he's no one trick pony.

As I write the last sentence, Bear-boy enters the room with great stealth as usual. For the first time in his life, he crosses the room to jump up on the couch and lies down next to me. We are 1/2 inch apart. He maintains stillness, staying for several minutes; a new world's record. Then he jumps down, runs off like a flash to flee to freedom through his cat door, as if it were all a ruse.

For me, it is a miracle to witness the wildness subside even temporarily, and to watch as he slides back into his bigger world of rhythm and instinct as quickly as he chose contact with mine.

Thanks, boy. Duh.

away

with waning blogging energy,
i have reached the inevitable and
painful crossroads
of taking an indefinite hiatus from
love letters to ignatz.

i am so grateful to those who have
followed my writing and pics for
the past 4 years under 2 consecutive
blog sites.

with no definite return date in sight,
i leave with a link to the latest show i am in,
The Sketchbook Project.
organized by Art House Co-op out of Atlanta,
soon to be located in Brooklyn, it is a huge undertaking,
with 3,000+ artists from all over the place participating.

this exhibit features sketchbooks which are checked out, library-style,
to provide a tactile and personal experience for the viewer.
the topic “How to Save the World” was randomly assigned me,
then i had to work like mad to fill a Moleskine sketchbook
in the approx 3 1/2 weeks i had to complete it
by the time i found out about the show, entered, and paced at the mailbox daily
for the blank book to arrive.

the eventual goal of the project is to house the sketchbooks in a permanent collection library
in Brooklyn in 2010. the show opens in Atlanta and travels to Brooklyn, Los Angeles, Saint Louis and Chicago.

a little gallery of images from my sketchbook submission are posted
online, as well as a portfolio of about 60 of my works.

blessings to you all. and to all the chupacabras, seers, visionaries, imaginers and dreammakers out there,
i know you're real.

blues

thanks to Iryna on etsy for including my moon in man painting in her gorgeous blue treasury; it will be active till late on Tuesday, the 29th.
merci!

happy

happy holidays

11 11 + 2009 = 11

salem:
perhaps best put by a thoughtful visitor
2 'weens ago.
"Touristy, tacky, sophisticated, historic, beautiful, shabby quaint."

'nuf said,
ditto for me.
but being there
in the afterthroes of the ween,
on Nov 1st which happens to be
mi cumpleaños
was still a thrill.

despite the
colorful real witches,
little costumed
dogs in the streets,
and flores at
the witch memorial,







Día de Muertos
'twas not.
unfair to
compare:
undoubtedly.

repelled
as if by unseen
force at the entrance
to the psychic fair
in the downtown mall,
i couldn't book a reading
if my life depended on it.
the rank air of
commercialism had
curdled all enthusiasm.

so i began a meander,
taking
wrongturns
feeling lost
until i found
the perfect sinner's
café selling slices of
7-layer chocolate cake so
decadent,
it took 3 days to eat.




the majikal scent
of torte must
have reawakened
canid instinct
b/c i made a beeline
to the burying place w/out knowing how.

feeling at home
finally
seeing the tacky blue
flashing neon
ferris-type-wheel
foiling graves
in grim foreground
to its
frivolity
with no apology



particularly given
the puritanical bent of the 'yard,
i wished hard
these stones could
pulse warmth
on this cold cold day
spared for a moment
from majorculture
judgment.






blessed bea.

life in the moment

shout it out

when things began to darken,
sudden recall of the invisible army standing in support did wonders
to bring the light back,
just like this double rainbow perfectly bridging the pond which my two adjunct rainbows walked beside.

in the midst of fantasy 1,023: "Surrounded by the Buffalo Stampede" my attention was drawn upward, to the real 180 deal.

a man partially shrouded by his hoodie passed so i asked maybe a bit too energetically, "Did you see it?" He kept saying "Yeah, it's ridiculous" and walked away shaking his head.

a woman ran along the upper path some time later.
i had moved below, transfixed like it was summer and i was watching the great Karl and the other Flying Walendas on the trapeze at The Enchanted Forest again.
another inspiring, gravity-defying act that would be over soon too.
the suspense was killing me.

opening my mouth to shout "Look!" at the lady, the emerging sound came to a sudden halt. faint white lines snaking from her T-shirt up to her ears became clear.




when rainbows leave, where do they go?

its spirit was palpable long after the demise.
in the final moments, most of the arc gone, a sharp blade of spectrum thrust behind trees focused on their own passage remained.

the wooden tomahawk bought with saved allowance take away 45 years (or was it a few Sundays ago) at the Indian Village of the New York State Fair, in the booth next to the dancers' Turtle Mound, sits on top of books piled on the dresser.
always keep it close during sleep.

two blades: in shiatsu "setsu-shin", the cutting through of hands like knives to essence.

one life: same play; another act bridges back to the starting line. curtain rises
curtain falls. tomorrow we open again after taking it on the road.
it's been a hell of a run.

with shout-outs of gratitude today and über-saturated bouquets to members of my
invisible army; make that tribe.




among the many, to:

Denise for rescuing American Eskimo Dogs and for bringing the effervescent Mahriah to me and Bea.




and to Lori and Antonio, devoted followers of my blog...thank you both!!!

Check out one of Antonio's paintings, the wood series is among my faves:




all the connections
simply gorgeous.

healing touch

Back from Philadelphia, and into the whirlwind of an elementary school art room, yowza...
and most happy to have completed Level I training in Healing Touch for Animals as a result of the jaunt.

Blessings and gratitude to Carol Komitor, founder of HTA and my initial teacher; to Mary Beth, workshop coordinator par excellence and HTA practitioner; and to Kim, horsewoman with a way with equines without compare. Also to Carol, Dave, Eric, Taline, Sniffer and Sparkle for babysitting Bea for a couple of overnights and putting up with her "i can beat up my dog bed and i ain't even in the circus, yet, antics" and to Aunt Teresa/Aunt Tree, madcap cartoonist and songstress, who cared for the effervescent at times katz.




The result of HTA experiences, which include the small animal component completed last spring, has been among many things a deepening of relationship to the four-leggeds with whom i co-habitate. It has taken months to even mention it; its force has taken me beyond words.




warp speed ahead...... the show must go on
back in the art room, in full fall splendor and bloom with an energetic kick-off: game on.
As we closed last year, we were told to "take anything personal" off the premises, due to massive remodeling of the building over the summer.

(Imagining) i was fleeing (diva deportation fantasy #316) and could take only a few important pictures from the hundreds (actually probably way more than that) of visuals stored in my files,
herewith the collection i grabbed the last day, fearing destruction of them all otherwise:




Funny, what you touch
and vice versa.

color suite

like standing in front of the candy counter
while my neighborhood gang(sters) robbed
the owner blind of pixie stix
as i paid for mine,
just can't get enough of
that sweet color.

Photoshop i have,
i never get to it b/c
iPhoto is enough to
fry my circuits. i can
play for hours like this
even w/o my pixie stix.





















and sometimes,
the real thing is
just enough.

gotta have it....burning man

The vicarious view from here is admittedly comfortable, albeit humid and stormy in the Northeast.




It's not just me; seems everyone wants in on the act: even etsy is running a Burning Man Packing List featuring essential fashion and gear and most, well some, of this stuff is to die for, inspiring me to mark many more "favorites".
Trouble is, most of it is either for the 'man, clubs, or major faerie festivals, not quite apropos for the public school classroom. *sigh*


No matter; i'll figure a way to work it into the wardrobe...no one will notice.
Feast your eyes on the goodies, and by the way, one of my faves and previously mentioned, Lana Guerra, is part of the etsy spread. She has published her work recently in a book of this fruity-licious fashion. ya gotta love the spirit; raise it!

hanging

the glories of summer,
hanging,
creating,
refilling water buckets for
the furkids 22 times a day;
they like it cold.

it all drove me to make
poetic hangers,
a working girl's answer to
magnetic poetry, for which
you need time.

everytime you move your clothes,
you compose.
voilá.





sea-deep dusk
night snow

sea
deep dusk night
snow



(Click the pic to see this one on etsy.)




pearl bird
moon blue
traveler

pearl
bird
moon blue traveler

making marks

"Dear Dan,
I'm not sure if
you know me
but I love you."

Like lines of Nazca, marks continued to appear overnight
on a U. Albany campus walkway, next to the newly dredged
pond teeming with wildlife.

Recently spotted: calculus equations, love&hate notes
between couples, wannabe couples and messages by shy yet
obviously continental types partial to making their marks in
German.

Could this mark the beginnings of a new texting technology,
virtually free, save the cost of chalk?
One hitch: involuntary deletion due to: acts of nature,
scuffling pedestrians and golfcarts encircling Giants camp
like covered wagons containing natives.

After an initial abundance, there is suddenly a dearth of words
on the path. Maybe the markers will return again soon.
I've learned to stop and look long at these embellishments on the
way to the water each day, just to feel
the weight they carry.