"Thanksgiving when we need it," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches cold press

 Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving on your journeys.

While the roads are not always smooth and straight, the bumps and curves help us be thankful, for what we've endured, and for what matters most, for the gift and giving of love. 1 Corinthians 13

Journeys--from "dust" to "dust"

"Journeys," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

"From dust to dust," seems mortal to us earthly beings, especially as we age, and when we lose loved ones and friends.

But just maybe, considering science, since our bodies are made from the atoms of the universe, stardust, then was we grow older, thinking about eternity, the phrase takes on a completely different connotation, from stardust to stardust.

And maybe, considering the spiritual, for those who are spiritual and think there is more than earthly dust, as we complete more journeys, the phrase speaks of eternity, from whence we came to which we go.

Thus today's painting, a turquoise ladder,  journeys from "dust"  to "dust."

I've been familiar with the actual and spiritual ladders of New Mexico Native Americans for a long time, in the pueblos and kivas.They are practical, and icons of the Southwest, and much more.  But a special gratitude for some of the inspiration of this painting goes to Steven Charleston.

 A Choctaw elder from Oklahoma and  retired Episcopal bishop, he is the author of "Journey to the Light," adopting the symbols of the kiva and ladders for our spiritual lives in these tumultuous times. I recommend you read it for your journeys, regardless of beliefs. He also posts a brief meditation every day on his Facebook page. It begins my daily journey with wisdom and hope.

The painting will soon be available at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery in The Paseo Arts District.

Season of journeys

"Journey," 5 x 7 watercolor holiday greeting card

"Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go...."

'Tis a season of traditional journeys that will change dramatically for many this year.

But while I can't go visit my children or grandchildren, or they come visit me this year, there are still the memories of journeys past. They mingle with journeys with and to loved ones who have completed life's journey.

I'm more aware of that journey more than ever this year, as I age, and especially as this pandemic makes any sensible person reevaluate and treasure what's important in living.

Thus today's watercolor, a bridge, a destination, and memories like the stars.

When Walt and the open road beckon

"The universe is a road," 8 x 10, 300 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

The journeys of a year near end, and new journeys beckon.
That's when Walt Whitman fits the mood.
"Song of the Open Road" speaks loudly these days, as I ponder not just the journey of a new year, but of actual journeys.
Most familiar are his opening lines:
"Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road...The long brown path before me leading where ever I choose."
But I prefer some lines deeper in the poem, because Walt knew there was more to the open road than just this world, "All parts away for the progress of souls,..."
Today's play-time watercolor inspired by
"To know the universe itself a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls."

Where do we think we're going, anyway?

"Present Tense, " December #watercolor 31 of 31

"Are we there yet?"
"Life is a journey, not a destination," has become a cliche, it seems to me of Western culture, that we have to keep moving, going doing.
It is perhaps better than "We've arrived," meaning there's no place else, life is over.
Life is indeed a journey, almost unnoticed, as we travel through the universe on a planet zooming around a star.
We're more aware of it now, as one of our old calendar  end and a new one begins tomorrow.
But can we not just stand still in present tense and savor "being," a quality of life inherent in many non-Western cultures, as well as Native Americans?

Where do we think we're going anyway?

New Year resolutions? Sure. Plans? Sure. Hopes? Sure. Changes? Sure.
I look back at most of the watercolors I painted a year ago, shudder, and am thankful for the journeys I've had since then.
But  the best of those journeys was simply enjoying present tense, soaking up just "being."
"I am that I am," declared the Old Testament God, to people who were always on the move, worried about the past, unsure of the future. 
This may be the only instance where a "to be" verb is an active verb. Think about that, for a minute. Can our "being" be action, not passive?
We still haven't learned, that eternity is always present tense. That's an ironic statement when we are "looking forward," to tomorrow's "new year," isn't it? Our obsession with moving ahead is so ingrained. As a first born Capricorn approaching another marker on a journey around the sun, I'm very aware.
We're still asking, like we did as kids on a car on a long trip, "Are we there yet?"
Translation to "I am that I am?" "We're here."

Star journey -- 12 days 'til Christmas

"Star journey," today's 5 x 7 #watercolor

Star-dust...humans, and all creation are stardust... composed of the scientific stuff of the universe.
Is it any wonder that we are also composed spiritually of creation, that we gaze at stars, that we are drawn to stars, journeying as they journey?
This season commemorates a star, its journey, and a journey it beckoned humans to follow, 2,000 years ago, and since. We are on a star journey.
"Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at the stars because we are human?" 
--Neil Gaiman, Stardust
"The cosmos is within us. We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself."
--Carl Sagan

Season of journeys

"Journeys," 5 x 7 #watercolor

Why are we more aware of life's journeys during this season than at other times?
Maybe because  we see a years passing, and the days get shorter, as do ours.
Maybe because of the memories of past journeys and people are heightened because of the season of emotions.
But we do, and that is good, because we realize our lives are like footprints in the sand and snow that will soon drift away. That alone should help us enjoy each new footprint we make, along this journey.
"The Moving Finger writes, and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears was out a Word of it."
  --Omar Khayyam 

Celestial journeys--Autumn Meadows

Autumn Meadows, 8 by 10 watercolor, 140 lb. Fabriano Artistico

Autumn meadows are journeys that awaken me, reminding me of more than just  a peaceful view tucked in between trees and hills. 
They are not just earthly, but testaments to the wheeling cosmos of the universe. Life and death and eternity churn together in a celestial mix of lives, souls and creation. 
Take a walk or drive the back roads, and every meadow tells a story of another year--Seed time and harvest, shorter days and years and lives, falling leaves and brilliant colors.
That's why a lane winding through an autumn meadow always beckons me to follow it, bringing to mind the people and places I've journeyed with this year, as I wonder what's around the next bend.
Today's watercolor, a meadow, a lane, a cabin, a journey.

Journeys of books, " today's watercolor, 5" by 5" 140 lb. d'Arches

Books, like loves and friends and memories, stack up in blurred journeys, oozing into each other and us with every page and step in indistinct edges of color and life.

"All aboard" for the journeys

All aboard, 5 by 7 card

Trains have captivated me since I was a little boy. This card, from a previous year for dear friends who are also train loves, captures my desire to go.
The composition isn't original, but based on my Dad's drawing and scratchboard that became our Christmas card almost 60 years ago. 
I was a little boy with Dad when we visited the turntable at Fort Worth long ago, when he did the original drawing (it wasn't winter), and still have it, along with the winter scene (scratchboard is when the artist covers a white board with black and "scratches" out the image--I can't imagine the talent and patience that takes).
I've written about it before on this blog. See the story from last year, also titled "Journeys", the same as today before I even looked back to find it. 
Apparently I'm not the only one who loves trains, because every time I put "All aboard" in a headline, my page hits go way up--notice the list of favorite posts in the sidebar.
The mystery of heading out, traveling, journeying must be the allure of trains.

Fort Worth turntable, 11 by 13  scratchboard, Terrence Miller Clark

Framed, on our wall

Journeys resume

Journeys, 5 by 7 watercolor

Every day, every year, is a journey. This card was by request two years ago for two very special friends in Santa Fe.
After pausing for Christmas, we head out again, down paths we know not what nor where.
It's taken me too long to realize that life is about  journey, not the destination.
To me,  "journey" is a verb--that way destination does not loom so large.
I don't want to "arrive," but to live each step.

Coincidence of "Journeys"

On a whim, I looked back one year today on the blog, and found a coincidence that confirms today's watercolor title, "Journeys."
Here's what I posted then then...indeed a journey of years, and more.

Journeys, 2015

Rainy day solitude--my cabin

Rainy day solitude, 10 by 12 watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches--First full size painting in months

Creativity comes
when least expected
Rainy day moods
dreams of mountains
and remote cabins
Forests and quiet
Books and thoughts
Journeys only dreamed
Where next?

Seven days 'till Christmas--journeys

Christmas journeys, 5 x 7 watercolor, card

"I'll be home for Christmas" is more than a romantic song.
During any war, the desire for peace and home is more intense this season.
But for loved ones far away, in any time, the yearning to see parents, children, grandchildren and other family means journeys, or wished for journeys especially at Christmas.
We remember those, traveling home from college, or waiting for children to arrive, or missing them so much because you know they won't come up the front drive after months, or years away.
Today most travel is by plane or cars, but there was a time when long distance travel was by train ... and those memories and more are the most romantic, the most compelling if you ever experienced them.
I love all trains, and especially steam trains, and when you find people who also love them, there is a bond that goes deeper.
This watercolor of a locomotive taking on water in snowfall catches my traveling mood for the holidays. Can you hear the whistle? Can you imagine the gentle swaying of the train through the night? Consider the anticipation of arriving at some far off place and loved ones waiting for you?
Wish I could catch a train to anywhere, but especially this season, with someone waiting ....
I borrowed my idea from my Dad, Terrence Miller Clark, who did this scratch board (an ink-covered white board with the image painstakingly scratched out with a sharp knife) of a locomotive in Fort Worth years ago. I was a child and with him when he drew it in the summer, and have the sketch. Then a few years later he turned it into a family Christmas card.  The original hangs in our house--memories of journeys and miles and who I am.
My watercolor, not as good, but still from the heart, went as a card to dear friends who also love trains.
Holidays--a time of journeys for people and souls--over the miles and over the years.

Scratch board, 11 x 13, Fort Worth roundtable in snow, Terrence Miller Clark

Compost and watercolor journeys--part III

Alone

These are the most irregularly sized paintings. I notice that they're all about journeys alone or with partners, telling stories with unfinished conclusions, something increasingly on my mind, growing out of the compost of years and experiments in painting. 
The top one, painted a year ago,  is the largest, and wouldn't fit on the scanner at almost 6" by 14", so a little of the left side is cropped off.

Autumn of the years

The man with the dog is the largest and  close to standard size, a little bigger than 5" by 7". Notice a similar one at 5" by 5", both inspired by a man with a cane I saw walking in Hafer Park last year, once with a dog. 
Partners in travel become increasingly more important and "Sunday Communion" at about 5" by 7" and "Down the Beach" at 4" by 4 1/2" reflect that mood. 
Finally, the blurry background  of "Soul Mates"  is another experiment in impressionism about 5" by 8", and  the blurred foreground of "Homestead" at about 4" by 7"but then, the entire future is blurry
Irregular sizes and subjects that I all hope to get framed if I can find approximate sizes. An artists' journey. 

Alone

Sunday Communion

Down the Beach

Soul Mates

Homestead

A year of journeys

I'm trying to plan a trip to Alaska for us in May, and it's not easy, unless you go to a travel agent and get stuck on one of those gargantuan cattle trucks called cruise ships, and I don't want that.

So planning the trip will be an adventure too, and as I pour over brochures, scan books, contact friends and scour the Internet, I'm aware of the journeys, planned and unplanned, to places know and unknown, that have made this year memorable.

First was a trip to Chennai, India, in February to SRM University for a conference. It was a trip of utterly new sensations, experiences and people.

Then in March, I spent a week aboard the nuclear carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, in the Pacific, thanks to a former student, the Public Affairs officer aboard one of the largest ships in the world, Lt. Cdr. Steve Curry. Much more first time living.

In April I drove to the third Culp cousin reunion at my cousin Sarah Beth Foote's house in East Texas. Ten of us were there--only one barely known was missing--the children of my Mom and her three sisters and two brothers. A journey of mixed emotions of laughter and stories and good times, mixed with the awareness of passing time, and wondering if we'd ever do it again.

May was packed. On Mother's Day, I met my brother Jerry of Lubbock, to spend a boring evening in Wichita Falls before visiting our Mom's grave in Waurika, for an emotional trip into memories. In mid-May, Susan and I went to Florida and Savannah and soaked up southern food and comfort and history.

On Memorial Day, I visited grandkids Erin, Abby and Max and daughter Dallas and son-in-law Todd  in Amarillo and then on to Walsenburg to  my last uncle, Mike, in the veterans home. A happy,  and sobering trip, where the adventures are mental and emotional.

On the Fourth of July, I flew to California to spend time with my son Vance, his wife Kerin, and granddaughters Katherine, Sarah, and to see the new baby, Neysa, for the first time. Emotional for sure, but also the adventures of touring Vandenburg AFB where they launch satellites.

There were summer  trips on Oklahoma's back roads, including US 66, taking photos, exploring, and visiting friends at newspapers, and to Guthrie to show artwork there. There was a whirlwind trip to Vales Grande in New Mexico on roads I hadn't driven  before in early August--not much, but it helped satisfy a New Mexico attack.

In October, we celebrated anniversary in Kansas City, and spent full days in Columbia, Mo., with son Derrick, daughter-in-law Naomi, and granddaughter Liberty Faye.

Then in late October, a different journey began, when I received a phone call at night about the death of my uncle Mike. That journey isn't over yet for me, even though a resulting journey was burying him in the National Cemetery at Santa Fe, across from where he lived for-30 plus years. It was only my second trip to beloved New Mexico since a year ago when I had to move him out of that apartment that had become a second home to me in the last 10 years. I've traveled many places and miles in my mind as a result.

Those are the out-of-town trips, not counting getting artwork in Adelante Gallery in Paseo and multiple trips to the frame shop and studio. Nor around town to visit in-laws, go out to eat, visit many museums, attend the press convention, go "boothing" with friends and colleagues,  attend parties, travel over chess boards,  move brushes over blank paper and words on blank computer screens, and at Thanksgiving, tour the city with myAmarillo grandkids.

Then two days ago, my oldest cousin, Charles Rogers Lutrick, died in Beaumont, beginning a new journey for him and for those who love him. His funeral is tomorrow, and while Jerry and I are too far away to make it, his passing sets us off on another mental and somber journey contemplating passing life, a passing year and passing time.

It's been a good year--I've seen all my children and grandchildren, spent time with cousins and friends and colleagues, and faced mortality.

Although I'm trying to plan the Alaska trip, and also renewed my passport last month, I'm very aware that I really have no idea what the journeys will be this coming year, nor what kind of journeys they might be. I do know that Charles and Mike make me focus on my own journey, every day.

Charles Rogers Lutrick

Aug. 29, 1930

Dec. 10, 2011

Terry M. Clark

Jan. 5, 1944