home is where one starts from

i could handle a joon life

last night the proclaimers "500 miles" came on car radio. it made me smile and remember and laugh at myself. it was one of my 1st favorite songs. i burned it beyond burning out, playing it on repeat. it took a long time to make myself sick of it. i loved it because i loved the movie benny and joon. as i listened to it, i'd imagine the opening scene of the movie with sam on the train and joon painting. that movie was the 2nd movie that i claimed as my own and watched weekly. the first was 7 brides for 7 brothers, which i adored for the whole idea of being stolen by your perfect match to a far away place. but benny and joon far surpassed that. i loved everything about the movie. i wanted to be joon with her paint-messy hands and strange outfits and odd activities. i didn't care that she was crazy, because she was also brilliant and beautiful. i fell in love with sam's quirkiness and weird talents and heart.
the thing i liked most about the movie was that it made me feel a little more comfortable about life. everything in it was slightly out of place and off the wall. i feel comfortable in the presence of quirkiness. i like people who seem somewhat unaware of social expectations and traditions.
i liked joon drawing sam sleeping upside down on the couch before she had met him. i liked sam standing on the bed vacuuming the covers. i liked that he couldn't read or write well, so she did for him. i liked his jack-in-the-box gift, chaplin impersonations, and obsession with B horror films. i liked that she wore a helmet in the car and scuba mask out in public. i liked that they made grilled cheese with the iron, and mashed potatoes with a tennis racket. they were the most beautifuly odd people i had ever seen.
my greatest fear in those middle school/high school years was becoming an adult. when i'd start to think about it, images of bills, minivans, errands, vacuuming carpets, desk jobs, cooking meals, endless meetings...all flooded my mind and made me feel fluttery and head-achy. how would i ever figure out how to set dentist appointments, cook a chicken, or wear the right things to certain occasions? it freaked me out to think that i would suddenly have to know how to do all this correctly one day.
benny and joon was a relief to watch. at the end of it i would think: i can handle adult life if it means painting and making grilled cheese sandwiches on an ironing board. in that movie everything was all wrong and all okay, and perfectly right to me. i'd have to say it still is.

pure presence

amy recently gave me macrina wiederkehr's "a tree full of angels." i'll thank her for this book a million times because it's changing me. i read this quote today from one of macrina's letters. this is what i want to be like. i'm praying these words all over myself and everyone else. i want to be an exaggerator. i want to radiate His presence...

"chesterton's definition of a saint lies on my heart again. what a challenge! a saint is one who exaggerates what the world neglects. if i could choose one great gift that the world is neglecting i would have to choose feminine energy. it is what we need to save the world. it is what we need to be saints. feminine energy is powerful because it is pure presence--gentle yet firm. it is an energy that gives warmth, comfort, and spirit simply by its presence. it receives rather than takes. it invites rather than demands. it unfolds rather than controls. it empowers rather than overpowers. it finds itself in being rather than in doing. feminine energy shows her best face in leisure. she doesn't take time. she has time. she has time to be. the world is starving for this energy. it is part of the fire Christ came to cast on the earth--a slow flame that burns from within and gradually transforms what it touches, precisely because it touches rather than clutches."

playing m.a.s.h.

i used to play this game all too much with sisters and friends. it was too much fun filling in the categories of my future. i'm a little embarassed to admit the last time i played was in college with my three dearest friends. my favorite category that we added to our never ending list was: what you become famous for.
i had fun listening to my little sisters play m.a.s.h. in the car today. here are the categories from carson's life. in each one she picked the first 3 choices and marley chose the last one for her.

carson's m.a.s.h.

car:
1. truck
2. motorhome
3. van
4. dump truck

number of kids:
1. 1
2. 2
3. 3
4. 20

home made out of:
1. plastic wood
2. bricks
3. wood
4. bubble gum

live:
1. new york city
2. florida
3. texas
4. arabian desert

husband's job:
1. monkey trainer
2. gorilla trainer
3. lawyer
4. fireman

your job:
1. clean houses
2. hotel maid
3. mom
4. walk dogs

husband:
1. lukas
2. avery
3. cody
4. samuel

she ended up marrying samuel who was a lawyer. she was a hotel maid. they drove their 20 kids around in a motorhome, and lived in a bubble gum house in the arabian desert. maybe not the finest combination.

i paint on me

and anyone who will let me paint on them.
some of my favorite things i've made couldn't be kept because they were painted on skin. i always got in trouble for drawing on myself as a kid. it was one thing i couldn't learn to obey on. it's an impulse. i didn't just paint myself in the absence of paper...i'd often choose my hand or arm or leg because i loved the feel of the surface, and the texture of skin. i still do.

the first drawing class i took, i came out with more charcoal on my arms and face than on the paper. there's something nice about being free to make a mess of yourself. once i found a piece of soft charcoal in a fireplace and i covered my arms and neck and face to see what i'd look like as a black person. the grayish color wasn't quite convincing, and besides, my eyes are blue.
i dyed my hair drastically for the first time in my life this past summer. since then i've dyed it about six times. i like painting my hair. art on myself or anyone else is far more enjoyable than working on paper or wood. skin is my favorite canvas. i just wish i was more permanent.
this summer i stayed with my sister amy and her family for a month. it was the last month of her pregnancy, so we celebrated and bought henna to decorate her stomach. we had seen a photograph of a pregnant woman who had it done to her, and her stomach looked like an easter egg. i had lovely fun painting amy's. it turned out looking like a garden erupting.
i used to work at a camp in the summer. one day sitting outside with a group of kids i started drawing a tattoo on someone. from then on i was constantly asked by campers and friends to give them tattoos. it was heaven, hours of drawing on person after person.
sometimes in long chapel services at school my friend beth would notice me fidgeting and offer her hand for me to draw on. i liked that.
friends have told me if all else fails, i could be a tattoo artist. maybe. i did enjoy designing a tattoo for a friend once. it was a tree that had hidden faces in it. i like the idea of getting a tattoo but i've never had a symbol meaningful enough to want it permanently etched on my body. i've tried to come up with one for myself but i think i will just have to wait for it to find me. until then i'll just keep drawing on myself.
the most recent body drawing i've had was actually done by my little sister carson. i asked her to make a tattoo on my foot and she gladly went at it. as she drew she said she was making a jesus sandal. i liked that. as she colored in the entire sole of my foot(which wasn't as attractive as the top), she said it reminded her of the story of the bare feet on holy ground. i liked that even more. maybe i'll have sandals permanently inked on my feet so i can walk around barefoot when ever i want.

i hear a symphony

this is all from yesterday's thinking and experiencing, but our computer was (and is) sick and sleeping

- in my seat under the sun knowing why i'm thankful
- in the mud beneath my feet
- in a hawk soaring above these fields
- in songs i play on repeat
- in allowing myself to remember and even cry a little
- in realizing the words to the stories i draw
- in so many masks
- in news of the boy's tragic death
- in sharing a speck of his parent's gaping ache
- in wind moving tree branches
- in things that break
- in weather that lets me wear tights
- in loving what others have taught me to see
- in witnessing my little sister's imaginations awake
- in the chills given me by the word "place"
- in prayers for us to be whole
- in plans for a reunion
- in this wish to know the feeling of water falling...and who sings this song: "you are not alone...i swear this burden is not your own..."

a gift

i spent the last two days painting and drawing like mad. it really was a gift to have the drive back. this morning i woke up with a cramped hand from drawing. lovely.
here are 2 collages of my drawings-- very much so still in the process.

after rain

we have a little pond i walk to when a specific urge hits me. i never plan to go to the pond, rather the feeling hits, i drop whatever i am doing and walk out the front door towards the water. it calls me and i obey. the pond is the place my restlessness sits. as soon as i arrive and dangle my legs off the dock's wooden planks, i'm ready to stand up and leave. but i force myself to sit for a minute or two or three. that dock is my island. i hear heather nova singing: "i need an island...somewhere to sink a stone." if i could find rocks i'd sit there and drop them into the water.
so i sent myself to the pond a few times this past week. i sat and had some honest conversations with God using very little words. i admitted i felt empty but not hungry. he didn't seem to be bothered by this. he seemed to be saying silently all week: you are more than what you make. a moment is worth more than what you can create out of it. you are whole and complete just by existing in a moment.
my problem these days is that i've forgotten where i put my painting apron. this says everything, because it says i haven't been wearing it. my apron makes me feel inspired. i wear to be productive. i usually have it on for every little thing--painting, reading, writing, thinking, folding clothes. but i lost it this week and i didn't want to find it. i've been a dried up mound of clay.
i like for my mind and fingers to always buzz on too much coffee. i like to have countless projects to rotate in and out of all day. i like my thoughts to be turning, meditating, chewing on life. the past week(and maybe a little bit more) my head has been empty of words. the sight of paint brushes makes my hands feel heavy. i've only wanted to do mindless work and listen to pedro the lion all day. i can chew their melancholy hopefulness. i have a few hymns they sing, and i've been playing them on rotation. hymns have been about all i've been able to use to think about God. i haven't been able to read my bible with quality. i haven't had the desire. it's almost easier to be really depressed than blah. i don't like feeling sleepy inside.
i am a person who thrives off of creativity. i feel productive and alive when i am making things whether it's with pens or paint or words or photographs or just imagining. i feel guilty and incomplete when nothing is flowing from me. in the same way i need to be fed off of other people's creations. i crave those little revelations, meaningful moments, words that will change me. when it comes down to it, i often live to be inspired. i'm addicted to feeling and feeling deeply.
i haven't always had this need for passion. i remember watching a guy in my high school art class paint. he was good. but more than having talent, he had passion. he ate, drank, and breathed art. he was consumed. i didn't understand. i liked art, but i spent little time thinking about it. i never thought i would invest myself in it. i didn't need it.
throughout this last week i've thought a lot about my feelings, and the blessing they are to me. growing up i found the switch to turn my feelings off: forgetting. i kept it off. i didn't like the way they left me out of control--weak. my parents divorced when i was seven or eight. i don't remember much about it...which is the problem. i shut it out.
in high school i took a spiritual gifts test and scored lowest on musical talent and compassion. realizing my lack of compassion for others saddened me. it was a reflection of my over all apathy. i hated it.
i finally learned to feel in college.it's the place i where i woke up. as soon as i let myself feel, it stormed within me. the rain wouldn't stop. i remember often having a deep pang burning in me, and not being unable to tell if it was extreme joy or extreme sadness. i had to get to know my feelings, and learn to identify them.
i like feeling. i like to feel all the time. but now i'm learning that though my feelings are excitingly real, the words my heart connects to them aren't always true. when i'm not being inspired by God or about him, when i don't feel him(or much else), i tend to question his presence in my life. but just because i am empty inside doesn't mean God has ceased to be active in and around me.
when i never listened to my feelings, i was left indifferent. when i started listening to everything they told me, i became consumed and anxious. so i'm starting to welcome them with discernment. i'm beginning to question my heart's honesty.
the other day i was standing in front of the open window washing dishes. it was still and i was feeling something--a little ache. i was singing along with death cab for cutie: "i need you so much closer," over and over again. and as i sang, i wished i could mean words like that in relation to God. i wished i could feel for him, ache for him. i kept singing, and the wind began to blow. my every association with wind, a slight breeze, a tiny breath--is God. i feel him in the movement. i think of him immediately and smile. the ache and the song and the wind all came together for me at the same time. it was a moment of pure glory where my heart and my feelings were in agreement, and i knew the truth of what they were saying.
i don't know if i will be full of inspiration today, but i think i will be okay with some more internal drabness, because i'm learning to love my little existence outside of what i do with it. i'm finding the freedom to not feel deeply all the time. God's giving me what i want the most--the space in which to just be still and know that he is God.

bud

my little brother grant is home on a long-hurricane weekend from college. he's blessed us with his tubs of laundry and beautiful face.
we spent part of yesterday morning in the basement of our house waiting for a tornado to hit. supposedly there were some in our area, but sadly we didn't witness any of those swirling winds. grant wasn't happy when i woke him up and told him to come join us in the basement. actually, i think he laughed at me.
he's an RA this year--following in katie and i's footsteps of taking in the freshmen. and he just declared his major: environmental science with outdoor education. it sounds like a headache to me but i'm glad he enjoys it. i love the great outdoors, but i don't want to do much of anything when i'm in them. grant is into rappelling and rock climbing and skiing and all those sorts of things.
so who knows where he is at this moment. he just finished playing go fish with carson, but has since disappeared to one of the far corners of the house (as he has a way of doing when he comes home). the life of sleep and books and work. i can't say i entirely miss the endless process of school. as soon as you finish one thing and are ready to celebrate the accomplishment, you remember the ten other things waiting to be started.

catching pan's shadow

i'm posting carson's little shadow for katie. it really has the feel of peter pan.

not much in the mood for words

shadows

this is the first time i've had a camera to lug around(on loan from my grandfather). i'm having quite a lot of fun with it. i have to admit i only know one setting: no flash. this little camera is good for me--it can handle my shakiness. i took pictures with michelle's when she was here, and they all turned out blurry because i can't hold still for the shutter speed.
so i'm finding that i get stuck taking most of my pictures of shadows and reflections. i like finding the illusions. so today, here are some of my shadows...since myself always seems to be with me to photograph.

the triplets of hillsville

these are my 3 youngest sisters, the result of 2 families coming together. they're actually not triplets, and we aren't from hillsville. but they do look like triplets, and we do live in the hills.

SWEET BAYE

bailey is the youngest, and she loves being called the baby. she talks--a lot. she gets it from my mom. sometimes she will say my name, and i will say: "what bay?" and she will say: "oh nothing...i just wanted to say something." she is the kind of talker that doesn't require a response to keep at it.

bailey saw this ET doll at a fair in hillsville. she wanted it because it reminded her of the little girl's doll from "in america."

bailey has a talent that i discovered the first time i brought a mountain of paintings home from college. she is an excellent art critic. she see's things: color and shape relationships. she examined and touched and told me what she thought about 20 of my paintings. it was great. maybe she was just overjoyed that there was one thing i would sit and listen to for an extended amount of time. she's good.

TARTY BOO

the other evening carson brought me an old photograph in which she was wearing this red dress and had braids in her hair. at her pleading, we dug the dress out of the closet. it is much too small for her now but she wore it anyway. i put braids in her hair like the photo, and she flitted around the yard like a fairy for hours. she wore the dress to bed that night, then begged to wear it to church the next day.

as far as carson and art go--she's a natural. she's intuitive. she could bounce around the house all day like a tasmanian devil with too much energy, but if you give her markers she'll sit still for hours. she's our illustrator. she struggles a little with reading, but she can draw the stories with amazing skill.

carson has been having tea with mr. bear a lot lately. she promised him a cup of tea everyday.

MARLOW BIRD

marley is the oldest of the three. she's an interesting kid--acts like a teenager, can be bossy, but is very sensitive. she's an avid reader...sucks her thumb and plows through books. she says she is a tomboy, and that she hates dresses and make-up. she takes great pride in playing kickball with the boys on the playground. she was recently invited to join a "girly-girl" club at school and rejected the invitation because you have to wear a dress everyday, and she doesn't like how exclusive the clubs can be.

she got these shoes at the hillsville fair. she hasn't quite mastered rolling around on them.

i've always included marley on art projects. she's good. she tends toward the abstract. i don't know if she is just looking at my work or if it's what comes natural. she loves texture, and collects things for paintings...like pencil shavings from school.

wee folk men and fake plastic deer

there are four things in particular that i love about driving down our country roads:
1. the prospect of seeing lots and lots of rust-colored cows
2. the streets are named after their occupants
3. every truck(or car) that passes waves
4. yard art

and the last is by far my favorite. i don't know what its real name is but i call it yard art. i am Crazy about it. before my family moved to north carolina my junior year of high school, we visited these hills at least twice a year for camp. i grew up driving past farm houses with wee folk in the flower beds, plastic deer standing out in the lawns. we made fun of them for the longest time, but after living here a while--i understand.

we stopped by "poor boys" recently to look at the multitude of ornamental animals and little people. i experienced the same feeling i did as a child at disney world looking up at cinderella's castle.

this last picture is our very own wee folk man that i took great joy in painting. he moves from place to place in our yard. right now he's in the herb garden. if anyone wants a lawn animal, i would be glad to pick it out and paint it and send it...for the small fee of shipping cement.

a lamb and a shark

this was in a book of my drawings from one of those early school ages. i thought the story was interesting. i don't know if i made it up, but i hope so.

from a red day

i found this picture last night. it made me miss being red. it was taken at bailey's kindergarten graduation this past june. they go to a tiny country school up on a tall, tall hill. when you walk out the front door, you feel like your going to fall into the ravine.

3 more

the first 2 are paintings i've had for a while, but only photographed the other day. the 3rd painting is one of those that sat around looking wretched for months. i at least, am fond of it now. my mom said the figures in it looked like 2 spies.

a lesson from some paint

i have a piece a wood that i've dragged through ridiculous stages as a painting. i paint it, paste on it, paint, paste, add, add, add--hoping to find something beautiful to work with. the more i add, the heavier, globbier, uglier it gets.
last week i found some pen and ink drawings of hillsides, water, and trees. i cut them up and added them to the painting. finally something i liked--i could work with it. that same day my nine year old sister was cleaning up my paint mess, and dumped a 32oz. jar of gesso on the painting. tears welled up in her eyes, and she said: "oh kelly, i am so, so, sorry." too many apologies. i assured her a good dousing of white paint was exactly what that painting needed, and thanked her for the accident. but i set it aside to dry thinking: "well, crap."
i went back to the painting later and found to my surprise that she had made a marvelous mess. the white paint looked like an avalanche pouring over all my heavy layers. it cleaned things up. the lines of the drawings showed through the white, their colors blended and melted in ways i couldn't have created. i wouldn't have been brave enough to dump that much paint, sacrificing the few sections i liked.
professors always told us not to get attached to a single section of a painting. if there was one part i liked, they'd urge me not to try and keep it, rather work it along with the entire painting...everything in process at the same time until it's done. when i fall in love with a part of a painting, i can't help but fight to keep it. however, it is always at the expense of the painting as a whole. when i do this things turn out distorted, obviously half-hearted.
so today working on that same old painting, i found myself fighting to keep all that lovely white. but the painting still wasn't quite working. the more i added, the worse it got--again. so i broke down and got my x-acto knife out. i began cutting layers of paint and paper out. now the real miracle is happening--i'm finding beauty i forgot existed under all that mess. who knows how long this painting will take but i'll add and subtract until i find exactly what it is supposed to be.

negative space

self portrait: reflections

last night i began painting a self-portrait. i never choose to paint myself. aside from one other attempt recently, it's always been an assignment. i'm no frida painting myself every other day. i don't like to look at myself so long, so deeply. i don't mind looking in the mirror to notice my disheveled hair while brushing my teeth. normal mirror looking is fine. either i think: "hmm, kind of cute today," or i think: "it's a good thing i won't be seeing anyone today." but looking to See, is painting well. it's always been uncomfortable for me. it involves me interpreting myself, something i haven't been willing to do in the past. i would have much rather looked at myself through someone else's eyes than look on my own.

the first self-portrait i was asked to do was in high school. i sat alone at my work table with a huge mirror reflecting too much of myself. in it i also saw the students sitting behind me as they drew and stared long and hard at themselves. i felt uncomfortable watching them look at themselves. i could hardly look in mine. a glance--fine, but looking long enough to render myself...i felt awkward. it felt vain to draw things i liked, and i didn't want to bring attention to things i didn't like by recording them.

it was during my first year of college i realized in all my previous years of existence i hadn't really stopped to consider myself--know myself. i was the most un-self-aware person imaginable. i quickly became obsessed with personality books, thinking through my past, figuring out my present struggles. i went to counseling and was surprised to hear the things that came out of my mouth. i learned the names for the things that plagued me. i became completely absorbed with myself. i had to get to know myself. it was painful, and after a while delightful.

the first self portrait i was assigned in college was in a painting class my junior year. i didn't enjoy it at all because i consciously painted what i thought other people saw when the looked at me, rather than letting myself see myself. it was tiring trying to render how i thought others saw me. the painting turned out mediocre. fake.

my life right now feels like the painstaking process of a self-portrait...except this time i am trying to See myself. i'm not trying to figure out who i am anymore. i have a good enough idea, and that road goes only so far. this time i'm looking, and i'm finding that i'm not uncomfortable. i'm finally looking to see what i see. i'm trying to look past who i know myself to be, to who i am becoming. through the words of a friend and the wisdom of her books, i am realizing that it is like God i am meant to become. searching for His reflection in me--i look carefully. i am expectant and hopeful.

my last self-portrait from college

i'll take you to the place

this is one road to my terabithia. pictures don't do it justice, but still, here's the hike through woods, tobacco fields, creeks, and up to my pine trees. enjoy.

the place i want to be

we used to go to a chinese restaurant every sunday after church. they had those illuminated pictures where the waterfalls and rivers move. i've always wanted one. i love the moving water. today i saw tons for sale at an outdoor flea market in hillsville. i wanted to be inside those pictures--with the light and water.

a prayer for a sister

i have a colombian sister named lica. she became a part of my family about 7 years ago when she spent some time at the camp we were living at. she has her own family in miami, but she is also devoted to our's as if she'd always been with us. she's there for weddings and graduations. she calls my parents momma and papa, my grandparents--grandma and grandpa. she gives mother's day cards when i forget. she always calls on birthdays. she's also my twin. we're both 22, though i have a few months on her. she's a true sister to me.
so today she's with her family in aventura, fla. in their apartment even though the city has been evacuated for the hurricane. please say a prayer for their safety.

new and old

this painting was hideous for the longest time. hot pinks and yellows and purples. it looked like melted candy. i finally decided to give it another chance and painted over the carnival look. i've been frustrated with painting the last week...i forget that it takes lots and lots of layers to get anywhere worth while.

this is an older painting from my senior thesis. it lives in colorado springs with my sister and her husband. to me it is a city. and i like knowing that there is a little man somewhere under those layers. he is looking up.

a moment

this evening i sat in church beside marley who held my hand up to her face playing with my fingers while sucking her thumb.
michelle also sent this picture tonight of the 2 of us when she was a baby. i had forgotten that she used to suck on my finger.
marley was the first child my mom and step-dad had together and i claimed her as mine. i liked her so much i insisted her crib be put in the room jamie and i shared. sometimes when marley cried in the middle of the night i would get her and let her sleep in my bed. i woke up once after laying her next to me and couldn't find her anywhere. i threw blankets and pillows around in a panic until i finally discovered her asleep underneath the bed. i have no idea how she got there.
i've included some pictures of the lovely way marlow holds a hand. one time i complimented her on her hand holding skills, and in an effort to repay the compliment she said: "and your hands, are well, um...so squishy." hmmm...well, i took it as a compliment. we now tell each other we love the other's squishy hands almost everyday.

dry bones

if i could keep only one page of the bible to walk around with the rest of my life, it would have to be page 1006 in mine: ezekiel's dry bones.
i find it easy to believe God changes lives, heals people of certain things. i've seen it, experienced it. it's another thing to say that He takes death and makes it alive. the passages in the bible about the raising of the dead shock me. they fill me with a joyful hope.
my image of God is a God that delights in making beauty out of dirt, life out of nothing. all i need to know is that He's alive--He is life.
song of solomon says: "love is as strong as death." death is strong--final.
but God is much more than love, everything but death.
i pray to have the same vision over people's lives as "the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were."(romans 4:17)