Finding the Sky

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I distinctly remember the first time I fell for the sky. I’d admired it before ~ you know, its multi-colored sunsets, fun-shaped clouds, and dreaming up into the soft blueness of it all. But some years back on a trip to Kenya, I fell over-the-top crazy in love.

The vastness, the magnificence, the stunning glory! What a sense of freedom, of breath, of grandness and possibility under that enormous African sky. Scrumptious! I fell pretty hard, and never recovered. Then I fell a second time, in Arizona, and there was no turning back.

Living near the ocean most of my life, I’ve had ample opportunity for drinking in “big sky ” ~ but while that too is endless and beguiling, I guess it’s true that there’s nothing like your first love; or the feeling you’ve been kissed by the sky.

When I’m out and about here in my own neck of the woods, I see buildings and lawns and cars and kids and dogs and trees. The sky is almost an afterthought. It’s just “there” ~ like the stars are there ~ up there, out there, steadfast and constant, serving a purpose without asking much in return. No pomp or circumstance, no royal carpet inviting your senses to wander in its wide open spaces, no obvious offering of lofty shelves for stacking your dreams.

But now and then I remember to look up while I’m walking, smile upwards when sun shines, gaze upwards when the moon glows, and then I realize it’s the same sky I fell in love with before.

For sure, East Coast heavens share different colors and express different moods than African ones, but it’s all one sky; it never left ~ I just have to look harder to find it. And when I do, I breathe a little more deeply, I feel a little less encumbered, and remind myself to look up more often.

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{All paintings oil on canvas / Patricia Saxton}

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Something About Flowers

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Aside from their part in the cycle of life, I think flowers are here for 3 main reasons: 1.) to please the senses, 2.) to lift the spirit, and 3.) for artists to paint. They do all three for me, and I guess I’m particularly  guilty of the third.

I was the girl who sat for hours in the garden, sketching the array of flowers my father had lovingly planted and tended. They were there, they were pretty, they posed easily, I had time then, and a talent I liked to use. Not for any other purpose than the joy of seeing something come to life, become 3-dimensional on a flat surface simply by touches of pressure and shadings made with a regular old pencil. I was unintentionally honing a craft I would use my entire life.

I drew other things too – the odd sugar bowl, a barn, a tree, portraits from record albums of my favorite musicians. I’d leaf through National Geographic magazine and inevitably find something draw-worthy; a lot of the time it would be faces from places I’d not yet been, faces with great character and expression, or an interesting animal. I didn’t think I was very creative then ~ whether I naturally saw, or learned to see, my time with paper and pencil was all about shades and tones forming something “real”. I was practicing; perfecting skills, self-teaching. As time passed I’d feel free to venture into more “creative” and conceptual territory ~ but then, it was “how well can I draw this?”

So my first flowers were detailed pencil work. I played with ink and then watercolors, and finally oils. Each medium brought a different feeling, different nuances and different kinds of detail. But then, at some point on the canvas I strayed from detail (I’d always secretly wanted to – but old habits die hard, it was my “comfort zone” and received all kinds of accolades, so why stop a good thing?) and let the brush do more of the talking. I liked what it said.

That’s not to say I don’t, or won’t, do more “detail” (one peek at my dragon drawings and you’ll see that’s not been abandoned!), but I love the progression, the change, the freedom that’s come along at this point in the road that says, “Paint it however you want, Saxton. You’ve nothing to ‘prove’ anymore. You’ve earned your wings, now fly!” (Flying would be easier, of course, without the roof-overhead-syndrome, but it’ll all come, in its due time. )

Which brings me back to flowers. Those intoxicating blessings of beauty. They’ll always bloom on someone’s canvas, somewhere, I imagine, til the end of time, including some of mine. And that picture at the top of the page? ~ that’s one (though not from the garden, it calls my name). And I find myself wondering how I’ll paint it. It’s kind of exciting not knowing – letting go of the outcome. Which muse will take the wheel? We’ll see…!

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A Plethora of P’s: #67 / Pillar

proactively punctuating life with the plausible, powerful possibilities of positive thought presented through a plethora of “P’s”.

– ♥ –

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Where would we be without pillars? A pillar is upright, strong and supportive. Something to lean on. Something to admire. Something that holds up magnificent structures ~ sometimes with great adornment, sometimes with simple, elegant lines, sometimes plain, functional ones, but always sturdy.

And they’ve been around a long time! The first known stone pillars date back to 2600BC in Ancient Egypt, created by the architect Imhotep. A little later on, some of the most elaborate columns were built by the Persians, and later still, (not to be outdone), the Greeks and Romans used them not only for supporting roofs from the inside, but as decoration for the outside of buildings.

Above all, ornate or dull, pillars are practical. And now and then, the human structure also needs a pillar to rest on or look up to, or support us when we reach higher, when our load is heavy. We’ve all known someone who’s served that role well. And then sometimes, you’re that pillar of strength for someone else.

The way I see it is that either way, physically or emotionally, pillars are pretty awesome and well due some praise.

(see our growing, ongoing Plethora of P’s here)

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In Praise of Black and White: Part IV

It’s a black and white world tonight ~ snow is falling against the dark night sky, which seems to take an edge off the bitter of winter’s cold  ~ and I’m reminded how every year at this same time I feel this same compulsion to post some great black & white pieces. (It’s starting to feel a little spooky, how this happens, on cue, every January.) Whatever the reason for the timing, I adore black and white; always have. From my life-long love affair with the #2 pencil, to the magnificent drama of a fine black & white photograph, I’ve been captivated by the beauty and emotional breadth that can be so singularly captured without a spot of color. There’s character and grace and strength and guts and mood that seeps into your skin. I’ve written at length about these moods in the past, so will spare you the repetition and get on with the show!

"Oak Tree, Sunset City" / Ansel Adams

“Oak Tree, Sunset City” / Ansel Adams

Photo by Hegel Jorge

Photo by Hegel Jorge

Tattoo

Tattoo

Marilyn

Marilyn

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Tea Wisdom / Patricia Saxton

Artist: Jose Ernesto Rodriguez

Artist: Jose Ernesto Rodriguez

Boneshaker Zinfandel / Hahn Family Wines

Boneshaker Zinfandel / Hahn Family Wines

Gia Photography

Gia Photography

Lovely

Stair Design at Musee Robert Tatin

Land and Sea Clothing Co.

Land and Sea Clothing Co.

Eagle / @Patricia Saxton

Eagle / @Patricia Saxton

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Black & White Mimi Shoe

Black & White Mimi Shoe

Zentangle

Zentangle

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Book Cover

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Photo by David Mar Quinto

Photo by David Mar Quinto

Photo by Hengki Koentjoro

Photo by Hengki Koentjoro

"Ray" Movie Poster

“Ray” Movie Poster

Vulture / David Lloyd

Vulture / David Lloyd


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Tuesdays with Chris: “Fire”

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In “Fire”, Chris shares insights on fire and life, magic and alchemy, duality and unpredictability, bringing us yet another intriguing, thoughtful and refreshing presentation. Thank you, Chris!

(If you missed my introduction about Chris Staley, master potter, educator and Penn State Laureate 2012-2013, you can read that here.)  Enjoy!

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Tuesdays with Chris: “Liking Mistakes”

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Not surprisingly, Chris’s kids have grown up using handmade pots and cups, and one day Chris asked his youngest daughter what it’s like to use handmade pieces, and she said “Dad, I really like the mistakes”.

It’s that beautiful messiness of fine craftsmanship that creates something that’s one-of-a-kind and gloriously unpredictable. As in life, where we are so much more than a series of precise measurements; we are not exact templates. As in life, each cup holds a story, transferred from the hands that make it and then again transformed by the hands that hold and share it.

Our mistakes add interest, color, and emotion ~ whether in our craft, or in our life. I call them happy accidents, because nine times out of ten they lead to a new idea or thought or road one might not have travelled, and we’re made the richer.

This is one of Chris’s most touching video’s, imperfectly perfect, where his trademark honesty shines through. Enjoy!

(If you missed my introduction about Chris Staley, master potter, educator and Penn State Laureate 2012-2013, you can read that here.) 

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Thank you, Dr. King.

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@ 1964, Norman Rockwell, “The Problem We All Live With”

Thank you for sharing your dream, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  For fighting the good fight. For lifting up the eyes, hearts and minds of millions with hope, peace, perseverance and integrity.

And Norman Rockwell, thank you for your brilliance.

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