Painting and Music

Music has always been part of my life, in one way or another. I never considered it as a calling, or as something I could ever stand out in, because as children we are measured and compared to others and labeled, and internalize those labels as our self image. This, I believe, is one of the greatest inhibitions to creativity.

No, I don’t mean we’re all really geniuses at things we thought we weren’t good at. The word genius is so over used these days, it’s just become another brick in the wall. I mean that it is inspiring and enriching to one’s life to practice creative self expression through a variety of different means, completely irregardless of skill or talent. This is something I am re-discovering.

“It’s Elemental” monoprint in acrylic on paper © Mary Dolman 2013

I was labeled at a young age as having ability in painting and drawing, and these are things in my adult life that I work very hard at. Why should a non-painting person listen to me if I tell them they should paint for fun, regardless of ability? I was also the kid who wasn’t allowed to be part of the choir in grade three. Our school had a choir that won provincial competitions, so you had to be able to sing in key.

Nonetheless, by my teens, I had a strong interest in music- because it was important to me, not because I was good at it. I took classical piano lessons, then switched to popular music and drove my family crazy by banging out “Eye of the Tiger”, over and over. Then I switched to guitar . I never got particularly good at guitar, because it wasn’t something that came easily to me, so I got easily discouraged.

Besides, by my mid twenties, I was an extremely serious person who didn’t believe in hobbies. I had to fixate on becoming the best possible artist while studying or working full time, or at least improving myself in some way, so when I had any spare time, I read a lot of nineteenth century novels to improve my mind.

Besides that, I hated drugs. Which should be completely beside the point, but at the time, I was burdened with stereotypes. It’s not that I look down on that kind of thing, but I believe it’s because of a bad reaction when I was sick as a child that drugs actually scare the crap out of me. Because my interest in music had led me for a time through that shadowy place with the kind of crowd where I didn’t belong, I didn’t want to go back there.

However by the time I was thirty years old, the guitar came back into my life. I started writing and singing my own songs, although only about three people have heard them, ever. Then in time, other stuff, as in people, took over my life. I hardly picked up the guitar for at least four years, which didn’t bother me much, because I figured so many other people are so much better at it.

I didn’t think about the fact that it can be simply part of a happy, well rounded life to play a musical instrument, or how healing it can be.

Recently I started to become interested in traditional wind instruments, and now, because they are so intuitive to play, it has opened up a whole world for me. Half a year ago, I went to Ireland, and acquired a penny whistle or tin whistle as a souvenir. It sat in the unopened package for a very long time. I though I might give it to someone. Then, I got an inspiration to give it to me, and opened up that bubble pack. Soon I ordered a First Nations (aka, American Indian) flute as well.

Both, although the tuning has been modernized and standardized to fit Western musical notation, and make it possible to change keys, are basically designed to follow a very ancient, five note pentatonic scale. The two instruments have very different sounds because besides the different size and resonance of the materials and design, the tin whistle is tuned be most easily played in the key of D, and the cedar flute in the key of F sharp. F sharp is like playing all the black notes on the piano, which was one of my favourite things to do as a kid.

As I understand it, in First Nations culture, the practice of any traditional art form, including music, is considered spiritually healing. As opposed to being a license for self abuse and nihilism, as the arts are sometimes viewed in Western culture (although they haven’t always been). As a Metis person, I can choose to embrace the healing point of view. No, I put that the wrong way. As a human person, I can choose to embrace the healing point of view.

“Change of State” mono print in acrylic on paper © Mary Dolman 2013

A couple of days ago, I was playing my cedar flute when I looked out the window and noticed a lot of people were standing on the river dyke. I knew that meant the ice on the Yukon River was finally starting to break up. I went out to watch the powerful ice flows in action, and borrowed a different kind of First Nations flute, which looks like three flutes joined together, from a white guy who walks around playing it; but I had trouble playing it because it was so different from mine and not in the same key. I decided to go get my own; he encourage me to “play it while you watch the river and let what you feel come out in the music”.

That’s what I did because I knew it would be good for me, even though I sometimes suffer from terrible self consciousness. People didn’t exactly swoon and beg for my autograph, but no one threw rocks at me, either. While I was out there, I was talking to a local native guy, a person who would probably prefer to have his identity remain mysterious. He told me that his people make flutes from a certain bone of the eagle that would be equivalent to the shoulder bone- (sort of, if eagles had shoulders). He told me that a person would be given such a flute by someone spontaneously when it was the right time, to mark an important transition in his or her life. I was a bit disappointed to hear this, because the truth of the matter is, I got my cedar flute off of eBay!

Then I realized that in fact the cedar flute was given to me- not by a person in the present time, but given to me from the past. It was recalling a happy but long forgotten time of my childhood that inspired me to try this. Originally I was looking for an ocarina, which is an extremely ancient, gourd like wind instrument from Asia and Mesoamerica; I wanted it particularly for the purpose of imitating a First Nations flute. When I realized I couldn’t decide on the right ocarina, I had one of my duh-oh flashes of insight.

I would like to be able to post videos to my blog of me playing my flute and tin whistle. However it would cost me a lot extra to be able to do that. Here is a link to my Facebook art page that has my “music videos” on it.

Yesterday I took my cedar flute down by the river again, where I also did this simple sketch in coloured pencils- my first outdoor sketch of 2013. We had a very late, very cold spring up north here. In fact, there is practically a snowstorm outside the window right now- on May 17! Gah! Yesterday was a much nicer day, thank goodness.

untitled sketch- coloured pencil on paper © Mary Dolman 2013

Like other kinds of crystals, and like water- but, I believe, combining the static and flowing, energetic traits of the two, there is an energy, like a vibration in the air, that comes from melting ice, especially large blocks of ice on a powerful river.

This is not something I talk about lightly, because I just don’t usually talk about that kind of thing. I don’t think of myself as that kind of person who believes in things I associate with a strong interest in crystals, like my past life as a wizard of Atlantis, or channeling aliens, or anything like that. That would freak me out.

I am, according to my own understanding, very much a religious person. I believe in the God of Science and Nature, who created our first ancestors, the bacteria, the three eyed fish, and the first amphibian with legs. I believe that life evolved by intelligent design; not by chance, any more than beavers started building dams by accident. The universe is not some giant gambling hall, where protons crash around drunkenly, colliding in random combinations to create the miracle of our existence. People do that sometimes, but protons don’t.

Now that you know where I’m coming from, I can state freely that I believe crystals, and ice crystals in particular, or ice flows, as they are melting in flowing water and changing state, release a strong healing energy. I know this because I can feel it, and playing a mysterious wind instrument, in a key that connects to the music of my ancestors going back to ancient times, while experiencing that release of energy creates more openness to that experience. This will naturally be translated somehow in my future paintings.

Even if I played the flute badly. Personally I think I played it well for a beginner, but that could be just my own opinion, and it’s beside the point. The point is, I believe, that creative self expression through a variety of channels- perhaps, particularly the ones in which you were not told as a child you had talent in, and therefore you do not take yourself seriously- opens up spontaneous opportunities for new insight and inspiration.

It is also, simply, a means to enjoy life.

Fitness for Bohemians

In 2006, I tried scuba diving off the coast of Belize. I loved practicing ten feet under water. It was so relaxing, watching the pretty yellow and blue fish, and blowing bubbles in the flickering sunlight. Then, buried under thirty feet of water, the light was murky and I didn’t see colours, or hear anything but my own breath sucking precious air through a tube from a can. The instructor swam so slowly I was acutely claustrophobic, as other participants swam over and below me. I just wanted to move through that experience and get the heck out of there.

To get a certificate, we had to dive sixty feet under. I quit before I got my certificate.

Since then, I wondered why I had such vivid dreams about diving and how wonderful it was, if I wasn’t going to take them literally. Now I remember how beautiful, and what a relief it was, to see the light of the sun dancing on the surface of the water from below, as I finally followed the instructor at a slow angle back up to the elements I need to survive. Now that I’m focused on painting water, that memory comes back to me as inspiration.

“Chum Salmon” © Mary Dolman 2013 acrylic on canvas 9″ x12″

I believe it’s important for artists to expose ourselves to a lot of different experiences for inspiration. I mean, to my mind anyway, the experience of smoking crack in front of the T.V. while eating potato chips probably wouldn’t translate into inspired paintings. I mean to refer to the kind of experiences that resonate spiritually. For example, I am inspired by mountains, so I gravitate to them when travelling, and plan to do so more. I will never forget the four day hike to Machu Picchu, or finding hidden waterfalls and abandoned villages of stone high in the Catalonian Pyrenees. The opportunity to get out hiking in the landscape makes my connection to it stronger, and leads to new discoveries.

It may be stating the obvious to say that to keep doing this kind of thing, especially with the passage of time, one needs to take care of one’s health. I feel a need to state the obvious, because society teaches artists lies about ourselves.

We hear stereotypes repeated so often that it’s easy to forget that’s all they are. We’re told that Van Gogh used absinthe, a toxic hallucinogen, to focus and be able to paint in such vivid colours. This is the truth; it’s well known. We forget that Van Gogh lived in an era when bathing was considered bad for health, when women crushed their internal organs with corsets, when industrialization was uprooting people from the countryside, forcing the masses into factory labour, and even those who could afford nutritious food didn’t eat much of it. They didn’t know very much about what nutrition was, and it wasn’t fashionable.

“Peppers at the Farmer’s Market, Figures, Catalonia” © Mary Dolman 2009 -acrylic on canvas 11″ x 14″ collection of the artist.

Few people in those times could afford to eat much meat; while meat may not be the best thing to eat a lot of, at least it has nutrients to make up for a lack of vegetables, and total absence of whole grains. Someone like Van Gogh probably subsisted on white bread, cheese, and wine- like the equivalent of a modern single guy who eats almost nothing but Kraft dinner or instant noodles. It made sense back then for an artist to turn to a chemical boost.

I have never been an athletic person, in the sense of being co-ordinated. Although my endurance is quite good, so I tend to overdo things too soon, and end up all achey the next day, as I am right now from cross country skiing for the first time in about ten years- for about sixteen kilometers. I’m fortunate enough to have a lot of basic sports related skills, even if I haven’t always used them consistently. As a kid, I was raised to participate in a variety of outdoor activities, because they’re fun, as well as healthful.

In other words I was raised to enjoy life. Now I am starting to question why adult life is supposed to be so different from a child’s life. We hear messages, like that you can maintain your weight and muscle tone with just ten minutes of such and such widget routine a day.

Really? Why even bother, if you hate it so much, you’re glad it’s over in ten minutes, before you jump in your car for your long commute to your cubicle? That is the kind of model that modern culture holds up of conventional life. Another alternative is the sporting life, with the emphasis on team sports and competition. That’s only good for the people who are motivated by those things to get out moving. Some of us need a different motivation- doing what we find fun and inspiring.

In my adult life, I’ve gone through phases of being active and interested in health, and phases of having not great habits. I wouldn’t really say I ever suffered from addictions, but seemed to be heading that way with everyone else on the same alcohol fueled bus in college; then I quit drinking abruptly at age twenty three, and figured that was good enough for someone who was, after all, supposed to be a bohemian artist, and dissipated in some way.

The conflict isn’t entirely about the culture of the art world and stereotypes about artists, but that is part of it. Sometimes, I may have asked myself, “am I wearing enough black? Do I have enough existentialist angst? Do I know enough about Fastbinder films? Gee, I don’t seem to be able to cope with drugs, but I am after all an artist. At least I should be eating a daily jelly donut with a coffee in a jumbo sized styrofoam cup”. Then, one day I make a disheartening discovery; I have bought a jelly donut with no jelly in it. I thought maybe the hidden pocket of jelly was just off to the side, so I kept eating, and now the whole thing is gone. It’s too late to even ask for my money back. The donut is bankrupt.

The artist’s life doesn’t need to be this way. After all, creativity comes from the brain; well, I believe creativity comes from the spirit, but the spirit needs to operate through that spongy thing, the brain, in this world; the brain is part of the body, and the body needs fuel to function well- good nutrition, water, sunshine, the lungs breathing fresh air, and the heart pumping oxygen.

A Love Poem for the Earth

My blood is mixed, like an ancient tree
with roots that reach to the centre of the earth
drawing energy from the flow of lava
a tree with branches like arms
that catch the clouds in their outstretched fingers

There are so many languages, voices of my ancestors
not lost to the Earth, but lost to me, for I speak one only;
when I meet them again, I hear the voice of my homeland calling
more than the voice of the mountains, the hills, the forests,
the plains, the rivers like veins,
or the great rolling waves of the ocean-

I hear the voice of my true homeland, the Earth;
The Earth is my mother; the drum is the beat of her heart.

“Love Planet Earth” digital art ©Mary Dolman 2013

She gives us pure water, from deep within her veins
water that flows to her oceans, and rises to the clouds
that falls in rainstorms, and flows through all life
through spiders and flowers, birds and human beings
it flows through friends and enemies alike
the same water that flows
through streams and rivers and lakes
and the caverns underground

She gives us oxygen; we breath in life
and what we breath out, we give to the forest
to return to us replenished with the gift
of our mutual dependance in this dance of being;

deep among the roots of the forest
are creatures that scurry and crawl in the darkness
the millipedes, the ants and the earthworms
never so famous among our species
as the eagle and the bear
yet the life of the forest depends on them
and so does ours

inside our bodies are many one celled animals
like our most ancient ancestors of all
still here with us now, helping us to digest
the gift of food that our mother provides for us

her adornment is the green
of the plants that create
the nutrients sustaining all beings
by drawing energy from the sun
from the pure water that flows through her veins
that flows through all of us
and from the soil that is the gift of life
returned by all life that came before

deep in the intestines of the earth
are the remains of dinosaurs
and the life that fed them

when human beings have acquired
the mind to transform energy from
the wind, from the light of the sun
surely the time has come
to let the dinosaurs rest

yet some would take from our mother
our homeland, to poison her
to pump toxins deep into her veins
to fracture her bones
to rip black ooze from her bowels
to spill onto her heart
only for the purpose of hoarding
what no one can ever leave with…

when I’m walking in a city
through a maze of asphalt and concrete
strangers often ask me
where I come from

I would like to tell them
this is where I come from.

The same homeland
that you come from also
the place where we belong-

This is our planet, this living being
this mother who we cannot live without.

It’s All About Connections

My Maternal Grandpa, Alain Boucher, was the inspiration for this painting, where he appears remembered in a flash of light, as I am trying to imagine what sunlight looks like during the winter solstice, up north close to the arctic circle where I am now.

I tried to capture the expression often on his face, when he would frown just before laughing at one of his own jokes.

“Mon grandpere a la lumiere rappeler au solstice d’hiver” acrylic on canvas © Mary Dolman 2013 (collection of the artist).

Born in 1905, Grandpa– like my Grandma, who died before I was born– was Red River Metis, descended from a long line of was mixed blood people. He didn’t have an easy life, but at least nobody in our family was ever taken away to residential school, owing I suppose to being settled as farmers, on the land granted in Northern Saskatchewan after the Riel Rebellion.

Grandpa was conservative, a staunch Roman Catholic who’s first language was prairie French. He was a cattle rancher- a real indian cowboy, one who’s only embellishment to his plain, brown clothes was the belt buckle with the stout hereford bull on it. Yet he didn’t have to explain what it meant to look at the world through the eyes of a native person, through the trappings of an imported culture. It was just the way he was. Even his jokes, his stories, were all about connections.

I learned about being Metis from my mother too, but I didn’t know at the time what I was learning from her, either. I don’t recall my mother ever saying “everything is related in a web of being”. She just didn’t say stuff like that. She often spoke about cousins, really distant cousins. While traveling from the coast back across the country, she would meet a person who, in conversation it was revealed, had relatives in Prince Albert, and then they would not only discover that they were distant cousins, but my mother would later remember and explain to us in detail the chain of fourteen people through whom they were related.

What I learned, or perhaps was born naturally to share in understanding, is a way of being. A way of seeing the world, that is not about categories and dualities, but about connections. Connections of blood and kinship, of friendship, of community, and most importantly, our deep connection to the land that sustains us, to the water, the changing seasons, the organic interdependence of all life on Earth.

I always have seen the world this way- I didn’t have to think about it, although it might have been temporarily stifled by the demands of education, and trying to fit in with society. Yet I didn’t quite fit in, and I didn’t always know why.

Why? It wasn’t because I didn’t look “white”. When I was young, people were always telling me how white I was- my complexion having started out in life as throwback to my other, British grandfather, who I didn’t know very well. By my early thirties, some latent gene woke up to cause a subtle but distinct shift to more of my father’s Mediterranean type of colouring, from my paternal grandmother, who was born in Switzerland. Ironically, because of that, now I can call myself Metis without inviting awkward arguments from non-native people.

Yet it isn’t co-incidental that I spent much of my early life feeling frustrated and oppressed by the lack of recognition for the way I am, as opposed to the way I look, and that even now, in the twenty first century, First Nations people in Canada are still struggling to have their right to self determination, and to protect their land, water, and way of life, recognized and upheld.

Of course, we Metis people want our rights recognized as well, but the path isn’t the same, so far as my opinion is concerned, because it makes no sense to volunteer to be governed under the Indian Act.

Right now, we- all Canadians, and indeed people all over the world who care- need to be urgently to be concerned about the resurgency of assimilationist policies against First Nations people who live on treaty lands in Canada.

We need to be deeply concerned about the reasons behind this; we need to take part in the movement for real and lasting change, because the future of our ecosystem, and our democracy, is under threat.

In my speech that I made at an Idle No More event in Dawson City, I spoke about spirituality. I am not trying to claim any expertise or guruship. All I’ve done is put in my own words some of the ideas that struck me most from the Idle No More Movement, and the Seven Fires Prophecy, with the intent to encourage and inspire.

(For a more thorough explanation of the political issues involved, I suggest the Idle No More official website. I spoke to a group of local First Nations people and their supporters who are already familiar with the issues).

Here is the transcript of my speech…

*************

I’m Mary Dolman, an artist here in Dawson. My maternal ancestors are the Red River Metis who settled in Northern Saskatchewan. We come from a long line of mixed blood people. My ancestors include Ojibwe people, part of the Anishabe people from the Great Lakes region of eastern Canada, and I’m connected to the people of Attawahpiskat, because my ancestors include Swampy Cree people of James Bay, as well as the French voyageurs and many other nations. I am grateful to be living here in the traditional territory of the T’ronkek Hwetchin people, where I have the opportunity speak out at this crucial time in history.

I read the news on the internet every day, following this Idol no More Movement. Whatever the media and the government throw our way, we must not lose sight of the right of First Nations to be consulted about decisions affecting their land. It’s about respect for the treaties, and this is the best line of defence for all Canadians to counter undemocratic laws sweeping away environmental protection, in the name of dirty tar sands oil and dangerous pipeline projects, that will serve to line the pockets of international corporations. No one should be fooled into thinking it’s about jobs for Canadians. If it were, we wouldn’t be shipping raw crude oil to China to be refined.

But there is so much more to it as well. Any one issue we can name, affecting indigenous people in Canada and the ecosystem, is just the tip of the iceberg.

What’s really behind it all is well over two hundred years of subjugation. What is behind this subjugation is a material world view, that puts things ahead of people, and wealth ahead of justice. It is the view, that has existed since long before Confederation, that the land we now call Canada is a resource colony from which raw materials are extracted and shipped to other parts of the world for profit.

This material view of our essential relationship with the land is sharply in contrast with, and today more than ever, in conflict with, the spiritual world view of indigenous people.

The knowledge gained through indigenous spiritual teachings, that we are deeply connected to the world of Creation, that we owe our health and existence to the health of the land, the water, the air, and all living beings, that all life is interdependent, is very much confirmed by science as well.

This is the time of awakening, foretold in many prophecies, including the seven fires prophecy of the Anishnabe people. This is the time of the seventh fire, the time when the original inhabitants of North America- the land know to the Anishnabe as Turtle Island- must show the light skinned race the way to spiritual awareness; if the people of the light skinned race accept this path, their technology will be combined with the earth based wisdom of the original inhabitants, joined by the other races, to create the greatest civilization yet known to history-

-and if they don’t, it will be the beginning of the end.

This transformation needs the the knowledge of the elders, of life on the land since time immemorial. It needs the arts, cultural traditions, community and prayer. On our side are warriors who fight a necessary battle, in the modern way, in a peaceful way, by legal means and political pressure– and we need them, and I am deeply grateful for them, while it is also my conviction that opening hearts will win the day over fighting fire with fire alone.

The world today needs to be woken up, to understand that we cannot live separately from all living beings, from the land that sustains us, from the forests that are the lungs of the earth, and from the water, our life blood that connects us all.

Masi Cho.

Water Connects Us All

When my last solo exhibition was over in August, I knew, because I was inspired by the beauty of the Yukon River, reflecting brilliant blues and greens as the powerful currents surged almost to the point of flooding, that my next major project would be about water.

Untitled photograph of the Yukon River © Mary Dolman 2012

I took a lot of photographs of the river, of Charcoal Creek and North Fork Creek up the Dempster Highway, of light on the dredge pond just outside of Dawson City.

In autumn, I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to Ireland. I took many more pictures of water, from the waves of the Atlantic ocean crashing over craggy rocks, to the engineered control of canals and sluice gates.

I thought about water, and made notes in my journal about it. I saw the lighter side of our human connection to water; college students in small, brightly coloured kiacs flipping airborne somersaults from the River Corrib in Gallway; or the swans that grace many reflective ponds and canals.

I saw the dark side of our connection to water. In Limerick, my mother and I were shaken to witness a young woman climb over the railing of a bridge, while shouting hysterically into her cell phone, preparing to throw herself into the black waters far below the floodgates of the River Shannon. A large, strong man ran out from a clubhouse and wrestled her to the sidewalk, preventing her from harming herself until the police showed up. That act of compassion, rough but necessarily so, because she was determined, gave me greater faith in humanity.

Untitled photograph © Mary Dolman 2012

Water is part of our common humanity. It forms eighty percent of our bodies. It flows through all forms of life, and is essential to life itself. It is necessary to human endeavours, to sustenance, to cleanliness, to transportation, and to industry. When the water becomes polluted, when it is poisoned, then these needs are in conflict.

Now, in these difficult times we are living through, I have come to see water as intrinsically linked to democracy.

I have an aversion to politics. Sometimes, my aversion is so strong, I can’t be silent about it anymore. In Canada, in December of 2012, without debate in parliament, and without consultation with First Nations who’s long standing treaty rights were undermined, the omnibus bill C-45 was passed. Among many other measures, too long and complex for most of us to begin to understand just what is being done to our nation, it swept away long standing laws that protected the public’s access to, and navigation of, lakes and rivers from disruption by industrial activity.

Protest has been swift and strong. It was not the privileged, the well healed and well educated, mostly white class of the Canadian majority from whom leaders of the protest emerged. It was not the environmental scientists, most of whom had already had their livelihoods gutted by the previous omnibus bill, C-38. The leaders are First Nations women, and the moral convictions born of hundreds of generations on the land since time immemorial, and born of innumerable generations to come, are pushing the Idle no More movement forward, gaining worldwide support.

It started with the hunger strike of Chief Theresa Spence of Attawapiskat, one of Canada’s most isolated and downtrodden First Nations reserves. She states that she is willing to die for her people. There are many issues at stake, issues of self governance for First Nations, of justice and having a place at the table when decisions are made, of fairness and democracy for all Canadians. Water runs through all of these as a commonality, uniting those who care.

“Meditation on Water 1″ mixed media art journal page © Mary Dolman 2012

I am meditating on the water, recalling, from ancient times, the words of the Taoist sage Lao Tzu- “Water is fluid, soft, and yielding. But water will wear away rock, which is rigid and cannot yield”. I listen to the sound of water crunching as frozen white crystals of snow beneath the feet of a stranger passing by outside. Hot water hisses through pipes to a neighbour’s bathtub, while Chief Theresa Spence rests in a snow covered tent on a island on the Ottawa river, consuming only water, medicinal tea, and fish broth…

“Meditation on Water 2″ mixed media art journal page © Mary Dolman 2012

Almost four hundred years ago, the waves of the Atlantic ocean carried, by tall ship, the first among my European ancestors to cross them to New France. (my paternal grandparents would later cross the same water, by steamship). As the seventeenth century unfolded, new generations paddled westward in long canoes, by way of the network of rivers, the veins of the land, forging marriages and trade relations with the natives- their bloodlines mixed with the Swampy Cree, the Ojibway and the Pawnee people, as well as the Scots and English Metis, and possibly with Athapaskan people- with Dene or Chipewyan, with Germans, and with Saami, natives of Scandinavia, who were skilled in building ships.

The joy of living of the Metis people was expressed in the fiddle and the bow. Metis fiddle has it’s roots in celtic music, while the complex rhythms echo the music of rivers flowing. The rivers that cross this vast continent are the spirit and lifeblood of our people. As many streams flow into rivers, so did the generations of my ancestors.

“Meditation on Water 3″ mixed media art journal page © Mary Dolman 2012

I struggle to understand the mentality of those who would not protect the natural beauty and diversity of the land I cherish, the clear bright water and the air that must have been so remarkably pure to the first Europeans to arrive on these shores, many coming from cities already sunk deeply in pollution, with water so foul it was safer to drink wine or gin.

What are they thinking, these politicians who would suddenly sweep away the protection of the water? Perhaps it is something like “nature is only a useless wasteland, unless it’s being productive.” In other words, they love money more than they love nature.

As for myself, I am an artist inspired by nature, not by money. Sure, we all need money, but I don’t particularly love it above other things. That’s me; but if someone would rather drive down the freeway of life in a Mercedes than sit beside a flowing stream, I can’t change the way they are.

Yet, this is not merely a matter of aesthetic preference. It is a matter of life itself.

Water, necessary to all life on earth, flows through all life. It connects all life.

We owe our lives to it.

Haiku to You

It’s the darkest time of year here, not so far from the arctic circle. The sun never actually rises above the hills and won’t until about January 7th or so. We do have a few hours of daylight, unbroken sun rise/set.

I just wrapped up another project and demo- I will post more about my demo some time in the near future. In the days since then I have been spending much of my spare time sleeping, trying to get organized for Christmas- which I’m not quite into the groove of yet, but did get my eggnog today- or reading the news, because, lets just say things are not as they should be in my country right now; but this is not a blog about politics. Thank goodness because if I had to write about that, I would end up pulling all of my hair out. That is unsettling enough, and to hear about another tragic mass shooting, especially of children, really breaks my heart, as it unoubtedly does for many people. It’s not even something I can fully process yet, right now. I’m only here to write about art, and creativity, and related things- freeing your inner artist by making crafty things with wool, writing poetry and all that. Is that trivial? I think it’s human, insofar as it reflects who we really are. Now I am going to write about writing Haikus.

Why write Haikus, in times of darkness?

Because any time you start to feel ungrounded and no longer take pleasure in your immediate surroundings, or even much notice of them… or if you’re a painter and don’t have time to paint right now, but would like to get a bit of that creative focus back… why not write three little lines of poetry, that are inspired by taking a deep breath and just being in the present moment, honouring what it is simply to be exactly where you are, right now.

The only rules are, the first line has five syllables, the second line seven, and the third has five. There is no rhyming, and the words should express your experience of the immediate moment, not your thoughts or generalizations about it.

===============

blue fog grows lighter
a dog wanders in snow
traffic is silent

===============

oatmeal grows colder
elusive haiku tickles
the noisy fridge hums

===============

dark computer screen
reflecting tropical leaves
framed by violet sky

Pretty simple. They don’t always have to be about something dramatic.

================

cat with yellow eyes
snorts with her nose in my ear
lights glow in windows

“Yellow Eyes of Farrera” © Mary Dolman 2010

added December 15: Here is one more bonus Haiku.

canned cherries stirred in
with fiddle from stereo
and low fat yogurt

Beading a Cabochon

Check out my new event poster. I made it myself. For awhile back in Vancouver, I used to be a graphic designer. I love Photoshop and Illustrator, but the urban business world… err it is not so much fun. Especially when you get a bug from the printer that wipes out your entire hard drive, twice. Beads are way more fun then that! Come to my event. Meet the artist. See me bead. There is totally no sales pressure, honestly, I swear. There is lots of really great creative work to see in the gallery.