I-magic-nation

"Magic Forest," 12 x 12 acrylic on gallery wrapped canvas

The world, creation, humanity, burdened down with the "reality" of  technology, science, cultures and "logic" spirals out of control with war, inhumanity, pandemics, with so-called "sapiens" living unintelligently, committing eco-suicide by killing the planet.

Most seem to have forgotten, or lost, or squandered or negated another reality--that of imagination, of the spirit, of magic.

Yet there are still places of magic, of the super-natural, of health and happiness in the crevices of our minds that we never touch or have drugged with everyday existence. You find them in all the arts, in nature itself, if you look, if you imagine.

We desperately need magic more than ever, to rescue us from our depressing "reality" that is not working intelligently for us. 

Amid this latest carnage, I began thinking of physical places that are magic to me, where I am closest to creation and the creator. Only then does creativity take place, from close contact, in my imagination.

A few of those are deep forests, in fact, or in fiction, like Tolkien's Mirkwood,  or Robin Hood's Sherwood, or the Pacific Northwest's rainforests, or ... 

Thus this painting.

Moon magic

"Moon magic," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

On our anniversary this week, we sat on the back porch and watched the full moon rise.

We both told stories of years past when the full moon captivated us, fired inspiration and more.

The moon is indeed magic, pulling tides of memories and emotions as well as affecting the tides of the oceans.

You can read of one of my memories below, in a chapter in an unfinished novel

With that in mind, here's today's 5 x 5 acrylic painting. You can also search "moon" on this blog, and see the many times I've tried to paint the subject. It's no accident.

Time for the Moon 

“Time for the moon.” He rose, poured a last cup of coffee, grabbed his binoculars off the kitchen cabinet, and opened the back door.

The swollen moon inched above the silhouetted house-tops and trees, as he walked out on the wooden deck with the coffee and binoculars.

“The first time I remember seeing Aunt Sissie was when she showed me the moon,” he thought, putting the coffee down on a table, and lifting the 7 x 50 binoculars to his eyes as he twisted the focus ring.

At least, he thought he remembered the dark shadows of summer-thick bushes and trees rising above him on the sidewalk,  the black bulk of nearby buildings framing a few yellow-lit apartment windows, the huge round silver-white face in the dark Dallas sky reflecting its light off her equally round, kind face.

“Maybe it’s just that I heard Mom and Dad tell me about it; how Sissie would take me for a night-time walk and show me the moon; how I’d reach my little hands and stubby fingers for it; and how she’d tell Mom, ‘Well, Faye, get it for him.’”

The full moon always made him talk to himself, he thought.  “I know they told me Aunt Sissie would take me out in a baby carried during that summer of 1944, but seeing the moon seems fresher somehow. Mom and Dad might have told me about it, but they wouldn’t add the details about the shawls and lights.

“But when someone pays you a lot of attention at that age, and in later years you hear your folks talk about it, and then, decades later, when you go back to view the old black and white snapshots crowding family albums, what you remember and what you’ve heard sort of melt together, like the moonlight reflecting on her face that night in Dallas.”

Aunt Sissie was his favorite aunt, and even now, years after she died of cancer, when the moon jogged his memory, his throat thickened, and his eyes would water.

“Let him reach for it, Miss Vera,” was his mother’s reply to the quip about getting the moon for him. That’s what Sissie told him years later.

“Seems like you’ve been reaching every since,” she chuckled. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse, or both. Maybe that was the key. Always reaching, challenged by some remote destination; yet, once attained, never satisfied. Easily bored when the newness wore off and routine set in. A journalist’s life was at once a sop and a sentence.

He treasured the full moon and moonlight, especially shining through the edges of swiftly moving clouds, or circled through the haze of thin high ice-clouds. The Apollo missions years ago had captivated him. Now he rarely let a month go by without viewing the acne-scarred face through his binoculars. The full moon provoked his imagination, his memories, his fantasies, helping him write.

The moon seemed to transform everything with a magic glow--landscapes, buildings, plants, smooth human skin--things he could never quite get enough of--things he couldn’t seem to quite reach and possess, any more than he could reach the moon. But he kept reaching like the little boy who had vainly reached to touch the strange light in the sky.

“It pulls me like the tide.” His tight spinal muscles relaxed as he lowered the binoculars and sipped the coffee. “People would think I’m crazy if they knew how I anticipate the full moon. I deserve the moon.”

He heard the phone ringing inside the house, interrupting his thoughts, demanding his attention and time and no telling what else. Resentfully, turning to go in, he glanced at the sky once more. “C’mon, babe, I want you.”

The Season of Magic

"Season of Magic," 5 x 7 watercolor greeting card

The world needs 

some magic these days. 

Even Halloween, the day of fun for all ages, is falling victim to the pandemic. Next will be  the holiday season when a traditional time of togetherness will not be the same.

In America we're also under attack by blatant racism and violence, threats to our voting, and a political chaos that has everyone on edge, to say the least.

I can't help but yearn for the years as a youngster when it was a season of magic, of fun, of discovery, of family and love and peace and good will toward all people.

Today's watercolor is just that, a reaction to the insanity, some magic while playing with color, to lift my and your spirits in our journeys.

Organic magic

"Organic Magic," 5 x 7 watercolor, 140 lb Fabriano Artistico extra white cold press paper

"Organic" was the #WorldWatercolorMonth prompt today, and multiple thoughts came to mind, all of which seemed impossible, or not desirable...from compost heaps to delicate greenery in hanging plants.
Then I thought of mushrooms, toadstools, organic live arising from organic death.  And that's sort of bland, until you decide to have fun, remembering imaginations of enchanted fairies dwelling in and around enchanted mushrooms. 
Organic magic sprouting new imagination, with some fairy dust sprinkled in.
So here you have today's watercolor, "Organic Magic," and from Shakespeare, Titania, queen of the fairies. 

Story of a magic tree

"Wiz, the magic tree of Hafer," 8 x 11 1/2  cold press paper 

What makes magic? Believing. Especially if you share.
I've told you about my friend, my fav tree in Hafer Park, an old, gnarled Post Oak I've named "Wiz," short for Wizard."
I always stop and chat with him on my walks, briefly, making sure nobody is around who will think I'm dangerous, as we share many traits of aging, and I've wanted to try to paint him, but never figured out how.
Early this morning, it happened, because of people I met.
I passed a  young mother who had taken her two children, a little girl, and her younger brother, on a "looking for magic" walk in the "Enchanted Forest" of Hafer. They both had bags and were stopping to look at leaves, twigs and what not.
I stopped to talk to Wiz, and decided to wait for them.
Here they came, skipping up the walk, full of wonder and excitement, and, keeping my social distance,  I told them a brief story.
"Did you know there's magic, kind wizard that lives here," I asked.
Their eyes got big, looking around. Their mother smiled.

"He's right here," I said, pointing to Wiz. "His name is Wiz, the Wizard. Long ago he was a famous wizard but he got old and decided to settle down. So he became this tree."
"See all those bumps on him," I asked, referring to his numerous gargoyle like bumps. "That's where his magic is." 
They stood there, in awe, because they believed in magic and were having fun.
As I turned to go, I heard the mother tell them, "Look, at all those magic places."
They made my day.
And when I got home I knew how to paint Wiz, a magic tree.
Here he is, plus two photographs, one from this morning, and one earlier.  

On the magic of mountain rivers

"River Magic," no-brush watercolor, 9 x 9 140 lb cold press paper

"....peace like a river..." --Isaiah 66:12

How long since you've come upon  a clear Rocky Mountain stream or river gurgling over colorful rounded rocks?
Too long, for me, but you remember  the sounds, the smells, the cool air,  as snow-fed water flows by, and human time seems to slow down. 
You are first attracted to the sound of the water, the small waterfalls,  and then the cooler air, in the forest, the greener grass, a source of life for the fluttering birds and buzzing insects. Instead of everyday life, places like that bring calmness, peace.
We need more such rivers in our lives, especially now in these days of pandemic pandemonium where we're battered by continual bad news, worries and human stupidity.
I'm reminded of the Gospel song, "When peace like a river...."

Where are the rivers of your life? 

I'm reminded of the headwaters of the Pecos River in the northern New Mexico wilderness, after a long hike in the high country. Peace indeed
They're magic, and it's no wonder rivers have been symbols of peace, of life for troubled people for so long.
Thus today's no-brush watercolor series, "River Magic."
"The the angel showed me the river of the water of life, clear as crystal..." --Rev. 22:1

Magic in the skies

"Windy Oklahoma Skies," 8 x 10 no-brush watercolor, 300 lb. d''Arches cold press

Need some magic? Cooped up, depressed and stressed by this pandemic pandemonium? 

One of the salves for my souls, medicine for my moods, is right outside the door.

When you grow up on the Great Plains, and live most of your life in Oklahoma, the ever-changing colors  of the skies are full of magic. 

No wonder as kids we'd look up at the clouds and see what shapes we could find. The wind, the  clouds, the light, the shadows--a continual drama for the imagination and mood.

Thus today's no-brush watercolor, part of a series on magic in the pandemic.

Magic Metro

"Magic Metro," 7 x 10 watercolor, 300 lb d'Arches cold press paper

We need more color in our lives, especially these days of being cooped up in pandemic prisons.
You'd think it was drab winter times by the moods infecting our morale. Yet bright colors always improve moods.
Yesterday's "Magic Forest" painting was a start, inspired by fairy tales and the colors of walking in Hafer Park, looking at the skies and clouds. 
I got out today to drive around a little and amid the traffic and concrete, I noticed little color. Wasn't watching.
Today's fantasy is the result in this watercolor, something different again...no brushes.

When we need some magic, and color

"Unicornacopia," 5 x 7 watercolor card

We all need some magic in these somber days, and mine arrived this morning.
I'm blessed to be able to paint watercolor birthday cards for my children and grandchildren, though through the years the requests tend to become more specific, and  demanding of my imagination and ability. 
The main challenge however is remembering all the dates. Yes, I have them written down, and check them from time to time, but with eight grandchildren, they slip up on my aging memory. That's why I get gentle reminders, like phone calls or Facebook messages, which happened yesterday.
So today's first watercolor, is a card for a nine year old, with a request for unicorns.
I've painted them before, and they're fun to paint...magic creatures that bring magic to imagination and painting because they're colorful, and there are no rules, except they have to have a horn. 
The magic of unicorns and color!

Cold Moon moods, and planets

"Cold Full Moon," 5 x 7 watercolor card

The full moon brings moods and magic  and memories to me, and its gravity has always pulled me, like tides. Tonight two planets, Venus and Saturn, will add to the magic.

Here's a link to a chapter from my unfinished novel: "Time for the Moon."

The Old Farmers' Almanac says tonight's December full moon is sometimes called the Full Cold Moon, though it is a moon of many names, depending on geography or Native American tribes.
My favorite would be the Cree name, translated as the "Hoar Frost Moon" or the Hopi, whose ceremonies honored lunar and solar cycles,  "Sparrow-Halk Moon." China's ancients termed it the "Winter Month" moon, because it is so close to winter solstice.
In my imagination,  and thus the watercolor, on the Great Plains, or in the West, I'd just step outside to view the magic.
Here, I'll have to leave our neighborhood because of the trees to see it rise, and on the opposite horizon, in the southwest, shortly after sunset, Venus and Saturn will be almost touching, but they won't be up long before they set, as the "Full Cold Moon" rises shortly after sunset.

The color of magic

"Magic," 5 1/2" x 8 1/2' watercolor

What color is magic?
Perhaps it would be on a sandy beach in the South Pacific, at the end of the day, a cool evening breeze, and the colors of paradise...without crowds, phones, noise...only with your thoughts, the beauty of the day, savoring the moments with a loved one.
Today's World Watercolor Month daily challenge prompt, "Beach fun," 140 lb. d'Arches cold press paper.

Adobe and turquoise--magic

Taos Magic, No. 1, 8 x 10, watercolor, 140 lb. d'Arches cold press paper

Taos Pueblo...Centuries of spirits under a sacred mountain in Northern New Mexico, even before it was Mexico or New Spain. 
It draws you like a magnet of magic--loved by artists and photographers who sense it not as a curiosity, but as a place of power, of creativity. Power--Always the light, always the colors, always the people, always....
Adobe and turquoise, magic always changing colors of the earth, reflecting the ever-changing light of the sky and the landscape and people.

Red head Magic of mermaids

Red headed magic, 5 x 7 140 lb. Farbriano Artistico cold press paper

Magic? Of course. If you can imagine it, who can say it's not real? One of Neptune's twin daughters, #watercolor, but she needs a name.

Weekend watercolor magic

Golden Dreams

Neptune's Daughter

Believe in magic? I do, and that includes magical creatures of our imaginations...otherwise why would they exist?
So yesterday and today's watercolors, 5 x 7s, in reaction to the #worldwatercolorprompts "Glorious Golds," and "Under the Sea."
Unicorns? Why not? Mermaids, especially redheaded ones? Of course.

St. Pat's Unicorn watercolor

St, Pat's Unicorn, 5 x 7 140 lb. Farbriano Artistico cole press paper

Unicorns. What is it about unicorns? Don't know, but surely St. Pat must have had one as a guide, an inspiration.
And Ireland is surely a land and culture of magic. Even the stars and moon are green.
Some of the magic still exists, based on the response to my earlier unicorn paintings, which are selling.  Thus here is today's watercolor.
Matted and for sale of course.

The four horses of the apocalypse . and magic!

Peace, 5 by 7 watercolor

Color, 5 by 7 watercolor

Hope, 5 by 7 watercolor

Magic, 5 by 7 watercolor

Unicorn! Reaction to yesterday's unicorn painting and believing in magic tells me there is a crying need for magic in this state and country and world right now. People are tired of the overwhelming materialism and corruption.
We need some unicorns. Not death, famine, war and conquest, from Rev. 6:1. 
So here are the four horses of the apocalypse, three joining yesterday's, full of magic for people and judgment for those who believe only in themselves (the legislature, and congress and the president, and certain other dictators. 
Reminding us there is vibrant color and magic and peace and hope.

Magic

"Magic," watercolor birthday card, 5 x 7

There's still magic in the world, especially if you're a child.
What I love about watercolor is when magic happens  in a painting--something not expected nor planned. It reminds me, as an adult,  that in color and life and love there is still magic.
And what symbolizes magic better than a unicorn...how can you not believe in magic?

Magic door to who you are

The door I enter to a magic garden...8 by 9 watercolor, handmade Indian paper

Yesterday's door was the exit from the garden. I've been wondering what the other side of that door looks like, the one I see when I go in. 
While visiting there today, I heard,

             "Paint who you are, not what you see."

I've preached a version of this to students for years, write what you know, but I never took it to the obvious connection. What you know, in your mind, is who you are, your imagination.
And somewhere this evening, this came to me...mountains, a cabin, and the mysteries of travel and discovery. No wonder I like going through that door.

A garden door to magic, in watercolor

Garden door...11 by 14 watercolor, 140 pound d'Arches

Do you have a magic garden?
A place in your memory or heart where only you can go?
A  refuge where you steal away from the worries and troubles  and noise of everyday life?
A location where you find beauty and comfort, where you're always welcome?
A source of solitude where you can talk and be listened to?
A garden where you come away with answers and insights?
The yearning for such a garden is old, and perhaps universal, and has lead to many myths and stories and religions of alternative universes.
I'm reminded of two songs --the old Gospel song, "There's a garden where Jesus is waiting," and "Camelot."
The door to my garden is between two Ponderosa pine trees, in a mountain meadow, barely visible.  This is what it looks like, when I prepare to leave my garden and return to present tense.
In fact, the idea for this painting came when I was about to reach for the door knob. Magic.

A magic walk of Thanksgiving

Walking to the magic garden in November.

I went for a walk in a magic garden today, with a friend from long ago who lives there.
Every time I go there, I find him healthy and happy, and we have long talks.
Even though it seems I do most, if not all of the talking, he always seems to give me new perspectives and ideas and inspiration.
Today, I found him cooking breakfast on a Coleman stove, bacon sizzling in an iron skillet, coffee perking away, hot oatmeal ready to serve. 
Nearby a brook gurgled and I could see the movement of trout in the shadows. 
Ponderosa pine, fir and blackjack bordered most of the garden, which was alive with sunflowers, bumblebees buzzing, hummingbirds  and meadowlarks.
In the distance, blue mountains, dusted with snow, rose in the crisp autumn air, but the morning sun warmed the garden where we sat down to chat.
Hawks soared overhead, as grey clouds began changing the blue sky.
We sat on camp stools by the little morning campfire, savoring the smell of woodsmoke, bacon and coffee.
Sipping that coffee, I told him that tomorrow was Thanskgiving Day, and while it is a family day, it is also a day of memories for many, and of loneliness for others. The "holidays" are like that--a two sided coin...one side warm with comfort and joy, and the other cold to the touch.
Then he just looked around his magic garden, and I followed his gaze, drinking it in like another sip of coffee.
He didn't utter a word, but I know what he said.
Every day is a day of thanksgiving.