Sunday, September 14, 2014
I am in a beautiful, spacious gallery. I am working as a staff member that day with two other women. I realize there is someplace else that I urgently need to be. I ask them if they will cover for me. They agree and I leave quickly.
Next I am walking with a young man. He is over 7 feet tall. He has very black hair and white skin. He tells me he is only 20 and that the Guinness Book of Records will not yet give him the tallest man in the world status because he is still growing. There is another man somewhere in the world and they are in competition for the title.
He and I come to a yellow art studio in the woods. It has many open windows and he easily steps in through a window. I am too short to easily lift myself up to get through the window. I think he might lend me a hand and he finally does offer a hand but he is not really any help. I finally am able to get into the studio but with difficulty.
I wonder why I feel so heavy. I look down at the my feet. I am wearing my leather Red Wing work boots. They are covered with screws, nuts, bolts - bits of metal and one of them is sticking me in the foot, hurting me. I think, these are magnetic boots and they are attracting all kinds of heavy shit.
Since I had this dream I have resigned from my gallery and taken a year off from producing retreats. I have completed four paintings so far this month. My two classes are full. Two other classes simply went away. Space in consciousness. I guess I just need a lot of room.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Thousands of people in the streets near the Ping River on this full moon night. Each individual, man, woman and child released a large 2-1/2 foot tall white paper lantern into the moonlit night with little competing light to spoil the effect. Each lantern gently filled with heat as the candle caught the flame. It slowly rises to join myriad of others in the night sky. A soft breeze moved the lights slowly across my line of vision, each rising - a disappearing pinpoint of light.
Not an orchestrated show but joyful event created by everyone, tourists included. I very much felt a part of this awe inspiring Thai festival.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Magic Tree, Watercolor by Cheryl R. Long
In a clearing not far from here,
a tree shimmers and draws
tendrils of thought
into its constant making.
You may braid a world
into being inside its thousand
lights. Find it in the old
growth forest that roots
itself in your ten toes,
explodes stars through fingertips,
eyes, your hair lacing leaves,
little lights to the solstice sky.
Sandy Brown Jensen
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
a mere excuse for cobalt blue bleeding
to green gold,
foiled by white with new gamboge spots.
Yellow spots, outrageous on a cow as any red headed country girl knows.
Is that a sap green sea or is it a ship about to set sail into
a ochre sky?
|Nightfall View From a Kayak, Watercolor by Cheryl R. Long|
Painting en Plein AirMy turquoise tangerine
washes cerise chartreuse
in the frangible
of the pear-shaped afternoon.
--Sandy Brown Jensen
Inspired by +Beth Camp, who is doing the October One Poem a Day
Writing Month, I am teaching a creative writing class in poetry
Winter 2014 for Lane Community College, so I am beginning to blog
more poetry to get back into practice.
I follow a website called The Daily Create, and today the creative
challenge is:"Find a website with descriptive names for colors; write a story
or poem using at least 5 of those names."
favorite painting practice, which is outdoors--a practice
called painting en plein air.
She and I both love a color called New Gamboge, which looks
You can see her effective use of it in the painting above,
"Nightfall View From a Kayak."
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Today's Daily Create
Draw the Internet! 12 Oct 2013
Give us an illustration of what the Internet looks like you.
Created with Flowpaper.
At first I tried a random network scribble drawing, but that didn't express my sense of the Internet with all its major hubs. Flowpaper provides a geat sense of visual complexity.
Sunday, September 22, 2013
I viewed the Tatoosh Range from the hiking trails above Paradise Lodge, Mt. Rainier. WA. Sandy and I watched dense white clouds rolled, in knowing that a massive thunder and lightning storm was predicted. With a careful eye on the sky, we stayed up in the blooming mountain meadows until the last possible minute. As the first rain threatened we scurried on down the trail to the warmth and safety of Paradise lodge, and a before dinner toast to the day.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
|Silver Mist Man|
I stayed recently at the Silver Lake Resort in Washington State at the foot of Mt. St. Helen. The morning lake was misty and glassy, but the anglers were standing around drinking coffee and getting to go out after the big bass anyway.
This lone figure out at the end of the dock seemed to me to be from that liminal space between dream and waking where I feel one foot in each world.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Thursday, February 28, 2013
|Coyote has rose petal eyes|
|My Eyes Shoot Spirit Rays|
Friday, January 11, 2013
In 2004 I still didn't know Wi. I set out from the pathetic little brothel where I was raised thinking Wi couldn't be far off. I limped my little limp down to the scruffy duff where I befriended the King of the Ants. He said that even though he had excellent long antennae perfect for the social media of the day, he didn't know Wi.
I stroked his long, feathery antennae and murmured over and over, "Wi, Wi, Wi." He wiggled and thought and finally sent me down in the dark culvert where he thought it was likely Wi went in wet weather. The culvert was dark and slimy with a special kind of toxic algae. There were a lot of folks down in the ditch coming and going from the river. I stopped rats and raccoons, small children and squirrels and asked if they knew Wi.
They threw me distressed glances, shook their dirty dreads, dribbled ginger crumbs and hurried away.
It was a long drop down to the river, and I was terrified of the way the vines shimmied in the wind. The blue rowboat had an oarsman named Paddy Olson and he said thought he knew Wi as he wended our weary way west. I slept under the gunnel and in my dream Wi came to me and anointed my feet and set my name in the stars.
When I awoke, I had several questions.
How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
Which is worse, failing or never trying?
If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?
Paddy said to use the old laptop tied to the anchor chain; he said to write down The Wi in my dream and I did that and I gave him the old green jump drive with the chipped Betty Boop decal on it and he asked Wi and I said really, I didn't know Wi. That was Nov. 29, 2004. I just got this jump in the mail today. I wonder Wi?
Friday, November 16, 2012
Spontaneous Thought Forms is a warm up game. The rule is you have to draw the very first thing that pops into your head. No editing allowed. I chose colored Pilot pens and Prismacolor pencils. After that each decision had to go down on first impulse. It is harder than it sounds, the urge to edit is so hardwired. No judging the results either.
As far as I can tell this is strictly whimsical. The fantasy landscape reminds me of the recent Alice in Wonderland movie with Johnnie Depp.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Dream Street is really N. Grand in Eugene, my street in the late fall of 2012. It is an everyday street scene made strange through the magic of my i-Pad photo apps, but I don't think the fact that the changes are technological changes the artistic drive. I experience this kind of art the same way I experienced drawing on black paper. I am accessing and expressing dream imagery, source imagery, digging down to the well where the listening gets really good.
This image reminds me that layers of history predate my presence here. Even in my own double decade, so many odd, dreamlike things have happened on this street: the time the car was set on fire in front of our house; the time twelve eagles flew low overhead and lingered to fish before flying on south to the Klamath wintering grounds; the days of snow and ice that transfigure the world; stories of our neighbors; stories of the days when the bottom of the street was in the flood zone and neighbors visited by rowboat.
We all live on an aquifer of stories...
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
It is even more incredible considering that this time is highly charged for our family. Our mother Mickey calls it a pivot point in time. She just underwent hip replacement surgery at age 86. She sees this time of healing as the point in her life where she will divide the time in her awareness. Before hip replacement and a year of suffering, and after hip replacement. She states:" from this point I move forward with the last years of my ministry on earth."
From my perspective, she got a double rainbow thumbs up from the Universe.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Dream HandsMy dream hands do the work
In another world, one I need
A black cat’s eyes to see.I travel the red river of my own sleeping blood
In search of three strings I know
I must find and braid together.Raven’s wings take me up
To that Rainbow Place
Where One Eye sees all.
Friday, January 27, 2012
|Out of the Cave|
I often draw in front of the TV, and this particular evening, I saw an image on TV of white bat shapes coming out of a cave. Then we started watching the Geronimo special, and whenever I glanced up, I'd see a shape of ocotillo cactus or the compelling shape of a desert wind blasted standing stone. I drew whatever shape implanted itself on my retina. I like the results. I see people under the protection of the cave and in the powerful companionship of the Soul Stone.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Fast warm ups often produce fun and energy, on the paper right where you want it. It is a good way to put the muse on alert, solicit the help of your art guides and convince your subconscious and other invisible sources that you are now serious about getting on with painting.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
|July 9, 2011, painting with Cheryl, writing with Peter at Ft. Ebey State Park on Whidby Island|
So many bright stones turn in shoreline surf
that when I close my eyes at night, they still
shift, roll, shine in the water sliding down
the cave wall of my sleep.
In half lit trance I gather again green jasper, slick,
hard as jade. White quartz, rounded into thousands
of small bird eggs, is beach punctuation
in the grammar of the shore.
Once again, in dream I said, “Pile the clearest agates
on my grave when I go, fresh
from the tumbler of the sea.
Find them for me here, on this
sunny, specific strand of gravel beach,
headland to headland, where
even the oldest cliffs dissolve
to polished agates moved by waves."
|The Bluff Trail entices us from headland to headland|
|The wind driven shapes of ancient trees|
|Art lessons on the picnic table; Cheryl's beautiful soft washes|
|my paintbrush overloaded with all the colors of the evening sky|
Photos by Peter Jensen
Art lessons by Cheryl R. Long
Monday, June 27, 2011
in the back yard, traps me there
between the drum of rain
on the plastic roof
and the smoke of charring steaks.
Six minutes per side of beef;
nothing to do but sit
like a neighborhood cat
in the canvas chair, spatula
in one hand; bubbles
in the other. For the first time
I notice how our backyard is like
being inside a green glass jar,
how the wind shakes the pear and
cherry blossoms in wind spirals of petals,
how flocks of kinglets with their high,
distant voices never stop commenting
on their aerial world and the worth
of bud burst.
--Sandy Brown Jensen
Last April 2011 sometime
Notes retrieved from my journal
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
|Heceta Beach Rain Agates|
|When I was a child, the sky was this soft with rain.|
Headlands reared up dark
as horses over rushing creeks
entering the sea
after a long run
through clear cuts
& old growth red cedar.
Pelicans like synchronous
the sanctuary of birds.
Some agates are left for a life of looking
on the rich clam flats and pools
that rise and fall between the tides.
June 12, 2011
Happy birthday to Cheryl and Lisle!