Piny Mountain Shower

cut out

2011-12-20T10:53:00.001-06:00

Woven Together

2011-12-20T10:11:00.001-06:00

Woven Together

Collaborative Canvas, Spring 2011

This project took place at a World Christian Fellowship event at Wheaton College. The attendees enjoyed music, and coffee followed by worship and a message. These canvases were available to them at the back of the room.

The participants were given no prompt other than the lines pre-painted on the canvas. Each participant ended up choosing a segment to make their own.

The canvases we then displayed in the Beamer Center on the Art Wall.

sparkles on spiderwebs

2011-09-25T09:42:00.000-05:00

freesia

2011-04-10T09:58:00.006-05:00

I got to go to Trader Joes yesterday (!!!). I picked out goat cheese, gouda and green tea and I guess I was feeling so luxurious (must have been the 70 degree weather or something...) I couldn't resist a bundle of freesia blooms. So... I splurged.

But wait, I can justify them!

They smell like my backyard in the summertime. And they were my grandma's favorite. And they send shivers of happiness up my fingers and down my spine.

2011-04-08T09:29:00.001-05:00

This is a cd case for a friend of mine!

Scenic World

2011-03-25T21:27:00.002-05:00

leaflight

2011-02-27T17:42:00.001-06:00

Music:

"This is the Song (Good Luck)"

by the Punch Brothers

anticipation

2011-02-19T09:57:00.003-06:00

The Sun is coming back. Feel it in your bones.

On the green of the hill

We will drink our fill

Of golden sunshine,

Till our brains intertwine

With the glory and grace of Apollo!

-Keats

Song

2010-10-30T14:00:00.003-05:00

She sat and sang alway

By the green margin of a stream,

Watching the fishes leap and play

Beneath the glad sunbeam.

I sat and wept alway,

Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam,

Watching the blossoms of the May

Weep leaved into the stream.

I wept for memory;

She sang for hope that is so fair:

My tears were swallowed by the sea;

Her songs died on the air.

-Christina Rosetti

A Valediction

2010-09-02T22:34:00.005-05:00

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;

'Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;

Men reckon what it did, and meant ;

But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit

Of absence, 'cause it doth remove

The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,

That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assurèd of the mind,

Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two ;

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

Yet, when the other far doth roam,

It leans, and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

-John Donne, "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning" 1896

Quaking Aspen

2010-07-20T16:22:00.002-05:00

A grove rooted and grounded in love.

Paper Cranes

2010-05-07T15:43:00.005-05:00

Many paper cranes are the product of a winter so long. They keep my hands busy and my spirits high.

In Japanese folklore, there is the story of the Crane Wife [it is nice to make a crane while listening to the Crane Wife] - here it is as told by Colin Meloy.

"It's a story about a peasant in rural Japan who finds a wounded crane on an evening walk; there's an arrow in its wing. He revives the crane and the crane flies away. A couple days later, a mysterious woman shows up at his door and he takes her in. Eventually they fall in love and get married. But they're very poor, so she suggests that she start weaving this cloth which he can in turn sell at the market—the condition being that when she's weaving it, she has to do it behind closed doors and he can't look in. So this goes on for a while and they actually become kind of wealthy. But eventually, his curiosity gets the best of him and he looks in at her while she's weaving and it turns out that she's a crane and she's been pulling feathers from her wings and putting it into the cloth, which is what makes it so beautiful. But him having seen her breaks the spell, and she turns back into a crane and flies away. That's the end."

- NPR's Fresh Air: Interview with Colin Meloy of the Decemberists

Noble and fragile. Cranes are wonderful things.

Kodon

2010-03-28T16:56:00.007-05:00

I just found out that this photo of mine is going to be published in the student literature and art publication on campus called Kodon!

This is just a picture of my cousin's son, Emerson, that I snapped one July evening in the backyard of my aunt's house. Good gracious, this made my weekend.

Wovenland

2010-01-25T19:41:00.005-06:00

Just look at this tapestry created by Gunta Stölzl circa 1931. It's practically a landscape! Ah it just blows my mind. If I were lucky enough to have it hanging on my very own wall I would waste entire evenings just sitting and staring into it. So in that case it's probably good that I don't have it... I would fall grievously behind here in school. Well, here's to wistfulness. Found via Folk Object.

Clinging

2009-08-10T23:10:00.000-05:00

I happened to look up and discover just in time, as today the whole structure is being sanded down for a fresh coat of paint.

The Possibilities Are Endless

2009-07-17T18:58:00.000-05:00

How beautiful is youth! How bright it gleams,

With it's illusions, aspirations, dreams!

Book of Beginnings, Story without End,

Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Writhing Light

2009-07-06T23:59:00.000-05:00

Lone Pine

2009-05-26T18:10:00.000-05:00

We spent Memorial Day Weekend in Lone Pine, as per tradition. It was so nice to get away for a few days; even in the midst of the craziest time of my life thus far. I felt like I couldn't possibly leave, but it was so good.

Here's the highlight reel.

Settling down in front of a campfire after a long drive and a long set-up.

Waking up from the heat and the light in my east-facing wing of the tent trailer.

Spying a the British Isles in the sky.

Tooling around Mammoth in the wet while my dad and brother mountain bike.

A glistening fruit tart from the bakkery.

High and low pressures in the valley make for stunning skies.

Being driven in-tent by wild winds. Apparently the air's energy was contagious...

Matching :)

Living with the song of bubbling water always tickling your ears.

The sky blushes as it watches the pursuit of Sun by Moon.

Wild fires invite us all to gather 'round.

The scents of smoke and Pantene mingle in my hair.

Big, bright birds launch into the sky. They leap, we hold our breath, then the glide into solitude and space. Best not fly too near the sun.

Horseshoe Meadow: a piece of the Scottish highlands nestled in the austere Sierras. I think this is my happy place.

The dogs are in they're element. It's a joy to watch.

My sweet kitty welcoming me back home with purring and snuggling and one jagged scratch on my hand that I don't mind because I know she was just too excited to be careful. :)

Yeats and Thile

2009-05-17T19:11:00.000-05:00

I just came across this evocative poem by Yeats:

Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

- W.B. Yeats

As soon as I read it I realized it must have been the inspiration behind this, one of my favourites of Chris Thile's songs:

How to Grow a Woman from the Ground - Chris Thile and the How to Grow a Band*

And here be the lyrics:

I caught a string full of fish
down at the dam
and I'll drag them to the field
they should be dead by then
wipe the sweat from my neck
and tally ho the plow
I'm gonna grow a woman from the ground

the night was a chalkboard with a fingernail moon
if the fish ain't dead yet
they will be pretty soon
kind of like the feeling in an old folks home
even though you love them you cant wait for them to go

I'll call her Angelina she's a teacher I once had

a halo of honey wrapped around her head

and she always used to give me some when I was a kid

I told her that I loved her and then I went and hid

I'll take you into town and I will show you off
theres room on your dress for a corsage
and I'll open every door for you

I opened up my almanac and in my head I read

cut you wrist on the fins of the fish and drain all you can

so I rolled up my sleeves and then began to draw

lines just as deep as days are long

I sewed up my wrists and sowed the ground with my blood

stained up my clothes pretty good

turned that dirt to mud

could not help but close my eyes and lay my body down

'cause I heard it takes forever to grow a woman from the ground

I bleed for you and now I'm skinny as a rail
and I'll be so obliged to keep you nice and warm and safe
and won't you be so proud of me

- Tom Anderson Brosseau

I was so thrilled to discover this. Oh I love little surprises such as these!

*Later known as the much beloved Punch Brothers :)

Windows

2009-04-21T14:14:00.000-05:00

Lately I've been noticing how subtly different each of our faiths are as believers. Hearing from friends what is most important to them about their faith, what they love most about it, what is so beautiful in it, I've noticed the delicate inflections each of us cast on it. Some love the freedom we have in Christ, some love that everything is so fearfully and wonderfully made, some love how we are all called to love on others, I love how beautiful God's love is.

Think of it like this. The Truth of God's love is like light, and we are like windows.

Just as windows vary in shape, in colour, in depth, in finish, so do our perspectives.

The Light appears differently through every window.

But it is still the true light.

Just perhaps with a slightly different tone or feel.

Each window accentuates a different facet of the Light.

Each shows the radiant Truth from a unique perspective.

The trouble comes only when you start trying to shine the Light through a door, or a wall...

I was thinking that maybe differences like these account for the existence of denominations within the Body. The Baptists all have a similar shape to them, as do the Presbyterians. But still, the Truth of God's Love is flowing uniquely through all of us. It's beautiful.

Punch

2009-04-15T19:23:00.000-05:00

So I thought I'd share some delightful tunes from my favourite band, the Punch Brothers. These guys rock my socks. They invoke the magical mix of guitar, banjo, mandolin, violin and bass. Scoff not! Just give it a listen. Their lyrics and licks get tangled up in my mind for days. In fact, whenever I whistle (I'm terrible at it really...) I always start whistling this one song of theirs. I just love them. Also, you might recognise the mandolinist, Chris Thile, from the lovely and dearly missed Nickel Creek. That man is incredible, a virtuoso. I never tire of listening to their mystical melodies. Hope you enjoy. :)