I'm excited to announce that I will be teaching at The Art Nest in Park City, Utah this summer along with two other amazing artists (Carla Sonheim and Alma Stoller)! I've heard that classes fill VERY quickly for this great event so I recommend checking it out ahead of time and having your fingers ready come the time that "Registration will open Friday, February 8th at 12 noon mountain standard time".
We're off to the coast early in the morning for a weekend of hanging out with Vince's brothers and their families as well as other family members. There will be about 35 of us, give or take, holed up in a lodge visiting, eating, laughing, playing, and, of course, bundling up for romps on the beach. It's a good time to go - the winter weather stirring up all those positive ions or whatever it is that makes me feel invigorated and inspired. Maybe, just maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to steal away a little here and there to connect with myself without the distractions of homesweethome.
I'll leave you with a quote from one of my favorites....
"When the ocean comes to you as a lover,
marry, at once, quickly,
for God's sake?
Don't postpone it!
Existence has no better gift.
No amount of searchin
will find this.
A perfect falcom, for no reason,
has landed on you shoulder,
and become yours."
"Do you hear that winter's over?
The basil and the carnations
cannot control their laughter.
The nigthingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over
all the birds. The trees reach out
their congratulations. The soul
goes dancing through the king's doorway.
Anemones blush because they have seen
the rose naked. Spring, the only fair
judge, walks in the courtroom, and
several December thieves steal away.
Last year's miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in
from nonexistence, galaxies scattered
around their feet. Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning
in th cradle? A single narcissus
flower has been appointed Inspector
of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen.
The wind is pouring wine! Love
used to hid inside images. No more!
The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, "End this poem here and
wait for what's next." I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are."
What is your song?