Today is the Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year; when ancient peoples waited for the sun in trepidation - fearful that it would never rise again. Although the sun never failed to rise, the long wait for daylight generated doubt. Human ability to trust is very fragile.
I muse this evening on the similarities of the above experience with being an artist. Art making is a satisfying blend of memorized principles and thoughtful, deliberate application. If I learn why a focal point works, and how asymmetrical balance is achieved, then I can apply what I've learned. If I work with intention, there is always some experimentation and guessing involved, but I trust the principles to guide me. And they usually do.
How many times have I commiserated with an artist friend who's hit a low point - sure that inspiration or direction would never return? The long, dark night when we don't trust the sun will ever rise on our creativity again is painful, terrible. We stop working. We get mad or resentful. Sometimes we even give up.
But consider that trust is in itself an intentional choice. A choice we make in our lives as artists. When my artistic well is dry, and my creative night is long, I have two choices. I can fret and disengage, or I can show up. Showing up means I go to the studio anyway. Maybe I'll dye cloth. Maybe I'll clean up. But either way, I'm going. I want to be present when inspiration returns. And I choose to believe it will return. I trust that the creative energy fueling me is still in there, even when it is at a low ebb. And as with all cyclical things, if I keep showing up, I do find my creative way again.
And since I am more than just an artist, the winter solstice also speaks of the symbolic dark night currently being experienced around the globe. Even a cockeyed optimist would be pensive, were she to contemplate the state of world affairs. But remember, trust is in itself an intentional choice. I still have two choices. I can fret and disengage, or I can show up. Showing up means I keep doing what I believe is important. I treat others as I want to be treated. I choose to respond to rudeness with kindness. Not always, but as often as I can. I refuse to criticize presidential appointees who haven't even started their jobs. I want to give them a chance. I eagerly anticipate programs that put people to work cleaning and fixing and thinking. I want to be present as we continue the gradual humankind shift to balance - socially, politically and environmentally. Because as with all cyclical things, if we keep showing up, we'll find our creative way again.
Mine is a fragile trust, but one strengthened by choosing intentionally. I support my intention by attending a small, contemplative service on Sunday mornings. This morning there was no room in the inn, oops, I mean the sanctuary, because a pageant was scheduled for 11:00 am. We gathered in the more intimate parlor, which was perfect for our rather informal group. After our shared singing, and the reading of a scripture passage, we settled into silent meditation.
There was the bang of a door in the outer hallway. Cheerfully loud voices greeted each other in the vestibule. Oh no! How dare they interrupt our quiet contemplations? I felt my pulse quicken.
But you know, meditation is easy when no one is around. Much harder when real life inserts itself into the equation. Being present means being present - no matter what.
So the voices in the hall? Just a little reminder that Life is coursing uninvited, all around me. What are my options? Fret and disengage, or show up. On this long day leading into the longest night of the year, I choose trust. And sometimes a leap of faith.
It's all about composition. Where the door into the picture world is placed. Whether color dominates. Whether the human eye projects a story onto the composition, or it remains abstract. The joyful choices afforded those who commit to an art practice.
On December 20th I published this photo of a gate. Somehow, when I was writing the post for the next day, I accidentally deleted it. I am still challenged by this process! In any event, it was such a favorite photo of mine I decided to add it to today's post, so it could still be enjoyed.
Today is the Winter Solstice. The longest night of the year; when ancient peoples waited for the sun in trepidation - fearful that it would never rise again. Although the sun never failed to rise, the long wait for daylight generated doubt. Human ability to trust is very fragile.
The traditional green and red colors we associate with the Christmas holiday season are my least favorite colors. Having written this, I wonder how can anyone dislike a color? Colors, like flowers, just are. Does anyone ever think I don't like the sun or The moon really bothers me.? How peculiar we are, to form preferences for colors and flowers and other elements of the natural world. Human beings love to form opinions.
San Antonio's Riverwalk is transformed into a glittering, magical fairyland in December. Thousands of twinkling lights transform the huge trees along the river into cascades of colorful light. 
I went to the post office and the grocery store yesterday, and everyone seemed to be in a bad mood. It was unnerving to push a cart through the aisles, listening to endless holiday carols, while people around me grumbled. I've always wished I had the nerve to break into song, or do a funny dance in the aisle, and invite everyone to join in with a hearty "Sing along with me!" I imagine laughter and loud outbursts of singing - just like in a movie. Perhaps I'll have the courage to try it some day. What would it take to be that confident and daring?
Last night Earth witnessed a full moon that appeared 14% larger and 30% brighter than the usual full moon. This is because the moon was actually closer to the Earth than it usually is. It's all about the path and rotation and referred to as the perigee moon, which means "closer."
This is the final image in my quartet of human being photographs. The young woman is the door into the picture world. Her white coat and purple leggings stand out against the neutral lines in the bench - lines which are repeated in the shadow on the pavement - building
This photo features a human being as the focal point again, but several things about the composition are different from the photos offered yesterday and the day before. Here's what the picture reveals through use of intentional composition and cropping:
This picture is similar to the one I posted yesterday. A human being is once again the door into the picture world, or focal point. Strong diagonals - the stair railing, wall along the steps and the boy's own knees - lead the viewer's eye directly to the boy's face. 
In a recent design class we talked about the focal point as the door into the picture world. Figuring out where the focal point is, is actually easy. It's the place your eye goes first. That's why we think of it as a door. In this picture, the man is the focal point because he is the largest element, but also because his orange sweater is bright and attracts our eyes immediately. The fact that there is a human being in the picture adds to the importance of the design element, because humans can't help but look at other humans first.
The morning light on Jean's kitchen counter bathes tomatoes, rescued from Austin's first frost. The complementary red-orange and yellow green, ripe and unripe tomatoes, glow - enveloped in the striking reflection cast on Jean's marble countertop by a stained glass window. I recall stained glass windows in another post, and those of the churches of my childhood. The interplay of light and color is classic inspiration to artists and spiritual practitioners alike.
Thousands of breath-taking butterflies. Each carefully pinned to the mat and labeled with its identifying number. The width and breadth of their differences - the colors, the patterns and the sizes - boggles my mind in wonder. There is enough design and color information in this collection to inspire a lifetime of creative study. 
This photo has been on my mind ever since I took it in Perth, at the Natural History Museum there. The stuffed wild animals fascinate and horrify simultaneously. Proof of terrible liberties we've taken with the natural world...
The variations of curve and roundness build relationship, while the contrasts of bone, horn and metal horn pique the interest of the viewer. In addition to analyzing form and color - the toned gray and beige of the instrument, the skull and the additional supporting visual characters - I found myself wondering whether music trumps composition. 
Less than a month into this practice, and I am challenged. There are mornings when a photo doesn't appeal to me. Or I don't know what I think about it yet. Why it draws me, or doesn't. As with any practice, I recognize the importance of just doing it, as cliche'd as that phrase has become. Anything worth doing is worth sticking with? So sometimes there is a photo, but no text. No thought yet. The image needs thinking.
Studying the paintings of Georgia O'Keefe inspires careful inspection of the forms around me. This close-up of cacti is protective and threatening simultaneously. Would I rather be on the inside looking out? Or on the outside, looking in?
On this Thanksgiving morning, a different sort of bounty - seed pods from Australia continue to fascinate with their charismatic strangeness. The natural world is a mysterious and wonderful place. Today I am grateful to be an observer in it.
Without actually planning it, I've accumulated a small collection of handmade objects. A carved stone bust from Ghana, a bone spoon from Germany, an antique table broom from England, three Native American spirit totems from New Mexico - each imbued with a quality worth cultivating. These beautiful objects remind me not only of time and place - where each was acquired, what I saw, who was accompanying me - but also remind me of life lessons, some of which were not easy. 
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