. . . for sweet sunny summer days . . . for crisp cool evenings by the fire . . . for long lazy hours listening to the sea . . . with good food and good friends all around . . .
The wonderful folks who host the Seaview Manor Bazaar asked me to paint the poster for their event this year. Every fall they invite a small number of talented artists and craftspeople to sell their wares at a beautiful beachside home in Seaside, Oregon. A generous percentage of profits are donated to the local Women's Resource Center. In October, I will make my way to Seaside to be a part of this event for a third time.
Some time ago I made some ink from walnuts and painted a picture with it. You can read about how I did it here. Both of the miniature paintings above have been made exclusively from this beautiful ink.
My dear grandmother once lived on a beautiful farm. I stayed there with her for a time in my youth. I found it to be a wondrous place, filled with innumerable birds, a gloriously productive garden, wide blue sky, and flowing fields of alfalfa.
She lives now in what they call an Assisted Living facility. Until recently her room had no windows and the plant-filled courtyard of the home is far away and difficult for her to get to.
So I have painted her a window. She can once again look upon a gently flowing stream . . . yellow flowers in the grass . . . a hill nearby with a grand old tree . . . and a cheerful visitor in the branches above.
I began with a bit of cotton muslin about the size of a door and a basket full of acrylic paints.
And with a little help from my friend . . .
It wasn't long before we had this.
Soon after I sent this mural to my grandmother, she was moved into a new room - one with a view onto the courtyard filled with a myriad of plants, with birds busily fluttering about. But even at night, when all the other birds have settled in for the evening, she will always have her Cedar Waxwing there, keeping watch in the branches above.
deep within the world we know - beneath the seeds we all have sown - beyond the corner of the eyes - of those that always ask us why - in the place from whence you feel - there behind the turning wheel - lies a world of things we've all half-seen
the way is hidden yet plain to see - ready for those who long to be - in the Land of Folklings here with me.
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