Tag Archives: animals

The Flower Seller and the Angel

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I sent Michelle the half photo of that beautiful man in the background, but it didn’t fit her composition so she sent it back. I really hated to cover any of his face, but sacrificed it for art’s sake.  It represents the face of the omnipotent all-seeing God who originally animates both Floabunda, the flower seller and Phrunel, the angel.  Of course when I started I didn’t have a god or an angel or Floribunda.  I had a man casting his eyes sideways toward someone and holding up an expostulatory hand and I had a woman with an attitude looking back at someone.  I saw immediately that they went together.  Michelle had given me a chair, but it was a little dull.  Chairs and tigers go together so I put the chair on the back of the tiger and voila!  When I used M.’s big basket of tulips to cover up the line of demarcation where the old man ended I realized the woman sold flowers and added a bunch more from my own stock.  I also had a wing like sculpture back from Michele.  I colored it, it turned the old man into Phrunel the angel and there was my story- half unfolded before a single image had been pasted down.  (I admit I wanted a real angel name and so went googling.  Phrunel was obscure and fairly benign – most of the higher orders are quite terrifying.) The pot in Phrunel’s hand had to be added once the story was over.  Originally I wanted something in that hand but nothing fit.  I decided to keep it empty and thought of it as a gesture of speech, which resulted in the necessity for dialog.  The pot arrived as an image at the very end of the composition because now the story demanded it.  It’s so interesting to me how the picture and story play with and against each other creating a virtual picture of right and left brain collaborations.

The Flower Girl & the Angel_NEW

The Flower Seller and the Angel

 There was once a flower seller named Floribunda who dabbled in scents during the winter months. In summertime she gathered and grew, always remembering to thank to each plant and leaving a pinch of sage or a strand of her own hair in return.  As soon as the last bloom was harvested Floribunda dashed for her still room. There she chopped crushed, ground, muddled, mixed and distilled the dried flowers she’d set aside during spring and summer creating potions, balms, perfumes and tinctures to sell at the big Kris Kringle market in December.

You can see by now, Floribunda was an unusual woman.  Her analytical mind and discerning eye had been fine-tuned by years of wild crafting and floriculture. Nature’s innate complexity had tempered her loving heart with wisdom.  Hours of solitude in field, forest, marsh and meadow had complemented long days haggling and gossiping in the market place in honing her intuition.  Integrity was her watchword, Floribunda never answered a question with a question and she never minced words.

Her three constant companions were the serpent Sly, a slender garden snake inadvertently dropped on Floribunda’s toes by the barn cat; Jezebel the rabbit, who’d leapt into her arms from the middle of a flower bed where she’d been busy munching tulip bulbs; and Fredji, a liberated Bengal tiger.  Floribunda had discovered him, skinny, mangy and reeking of dung, huddled in the far corner of a filthy circus wagon.  In her righteous wrath she’d bent the bars apart and pulled him out.  When the ringmaster interfered, she flung a vial of distilled mangrove leaves at his feet.  After the noxious stench had inundated every stitch of canvas in the big top the circus pulled stakes and left, never to return.  It took months to mend Fredji’s wounds and heal his rage, but now he never for a second left her side.

Sly’s talent was to sense falsehood.  He lived in the left pocket of Florabunda’s skirts.  When he sensed dishonesty, pretense or deceitfulness he slithered in and out of her fingers.  Honesty sent him twining rapturously around thumb and wrist.  Jezebel recognized a loving heart, no matter how cleverly disguised.  She was drawn to love like a magnet.   Fredji was simply himself—fierce, loyal, dispassionate—his glacial blue stare warning enough to keep his beloved mistress from any harm..

The angel Phrunel appeared on the first day of the Christmas Fair.  He was a Lesser Angel of Redemption and Hope, who appeared as a benign old man, dressed in green robes.  Jezebel made a giant leap into his arms and snuggled into his chest, ears pressed blissfully against his angel heart.

The huge rainbow wings caused admiration and alarm among the shopkeepers.  Though he folded them carefully, they knocked down a pyramid of tangerines and sent them rolling in ten directions.  While street urchins scrambled for free fruit, their more respectable elders scrabbled after a flurry of  green, gold and blue pin feathers loosed in the elaborate folding of Phrunel’s wings.  He stood twice as wide as Florabunda’s stall and thrice as high.  She reached behind the counter for her chair.  Balancing on patient Fredji’s back she climbed up to where Phrunel could hear her.

“What do you want?” she yelled.  “Have I displeased the Almighty somehow?”

“No, no!” exclaimed Phrunel.  “Quite the opposite. He wants his creatures to amplify their talents.  That’s why he created you. It’s me, I need some help.  There’s a backlog in Heaven and this is so minor, I hesitate to bother Him.

“So you thought you’d bother me!  Well, us actually.”  She pointed at the chaotic mob swirling around them.

“Er, yes.”  The angel nodded.  His eyes filled with tears.  Florabunda gasped and hopped down from her perch to grab an empty green bottle.  She handed it to the angel who carefully guided his huge teardrops into the vial.  Everyone knew how rare and efficacious angel tears were.

“What’s the problem? she asked, climbing back aboard her chair.

He held out a large and shapely hand.  “Wart on my harp finger,” he whispered.  “I can’t play a single note correctly.  I’m so ashamed.”  Tears threatened again, but to Florabunda’s regret he blinked them back.

Once again Florabunda clambered down the makeshift ladder, rummaged in her stores and returned.  She placed a stoppered jar into his outstretched hand.  “Twice a day beginning with the new moon, afterwards bathe the finger in moonlight for three nights running.  The wart will disappear, not a trace left, I promise.”

Phrunel stored the pot in his pocket and carefully plucked a feather out of his wing.  Florabundi gasped with pleasure and hid it under her cloak.

“Time to go,” she said to the animals. “Come on Jez.”

Jezebel simply sighed and snuggled closer to Phrunel.  He smiled and shrugged, unfurled his wings and disappeared.

Sly curled around her left wrist.  Fredji lapped at her right with his sandpiper tongue.  “Tomorrow,  “Florabunda called to the gaping crowd.  “An angel feather!” she thought to herself.  “What will I make with that!”

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Toucan (Two Can!)

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Tocan (Two Can!)

Toucan (Two Can!)

I’ve decided to call this piece “Yes Two Can.” She is looking over “… the cowboy, the main Leo the Lion in her life. The black and white cat is also fondly admiring what she sees. The ballerina leaps through the air while the Motorman stares. He has his arms out directing traffic. The spa like pool in the background has a door and wall that separates the scene from the outside world. On the right side of my main figure (me) I have a frog diving down after a fish and a frog sitting on a rock looking back into the past. A white horse is galloping into the future. There are two fabulous blue and yellow Macaws chatting and looking at the garden woman holding two tiny birds. The trees surround her and the snake is moving forward. Don’t ya just love the garden Woman? I find the figure lovely. On the upper left side is the bather who is toweling off as she also looks at the scene below.

As I put together the collage I thought about the differences between the woman and the cowboy. Her with the emerald and diamond earrings and him with leather work gloves and chaps. Her in the spa, him out doors. Behind him is a black and gray floor. The bright yellow daisy is at the center of the collage. The flower is fully open its petals flung back its center open to the sun.

When I found the image of the Toucan I had to get him in the collage somewhere. He is sitting on the lion’s neck. The yellow petals around him. I heard myself say … Yes! Two can.” As I look around the collage piece I see several two’s … two cats, two Macaws, two frogs, two men, even two thistles. Life is better with two.  I enjoyed creating this collage. It was fun, joyful and informative. I’d be interested in feedback especially if there is anything that jumps out that I missed.

I plan to approach the collage work spontaneously, without a preconceived idea. Once the piece is finished I’d like to ask “What has this collage got to tell me that I don’t already know?” If I asked the question “Can two different personalities be happy together … The collage is saying Yes they can, as shown in the combination of the Toucan and Lion.

Out of the 8 images Chris sent me I used 5 and sent back three. 1 image I cut up and used only parts.  I enlarged a few images and shrink some of the others. My first “Oh  yes image was the yellow daisy. I also loved the frogs and the snake. In the Chinese zodiac I was born in the year of the snake. I also loved the thistle on the boarder of the card which I included. I like the idea of being spontaneous and intuitive. Spontaneity is a perfect word to work with in this new challenge.

For those folks that are interested in making their own Art Journal … There is a You Tube video created by Teesha Moore. It is a wonderful video because Teesha makes it look simple. Her instructions are clear and easy to follow .I like that she also shows you how she used her own art Journals. Go to Youtube and type in …Teesha Moore’s Amazing 16 page Journal part 1 of 2.   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1z6qmXGRrsE

Guest Artist Kathryn Phillips

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Meet Kathryn Phillips who took up our invitation to visit the virtual studio and join the fun.  I hope you enjoy her work as much as we do and that you too will be inspired by one of the stories that inspire us.  Or send us a suggestion for a story and or your own work around it.  We’ll be happy to post it along with your comments.

Following pieces are by Kathryn Phillips.  The comments are hers. Have a question?  We’ll pass it along.

Brementown Musicians 1

This first pair is about the Musicians of Bremerhaven. One shows the idyllic life our elderly “heroes” so justly deserved.

 

Brementown Musicians 2 Fight      Brementown Musicians 3

But wait, they had no more “right” to terrorize and then brutalize the lone robber than the robbers had to the same to  unfortunates who crossed their paths. The musicians INITIATED the the whole action and felt justified in doing so because they had been oppressed by other humans. A slippery slope indeed. This is why the musicians faces are superimposed upon the medieval bandits, and the woman being victimized also shows a two-sided character. One assumes she may be an innocent, but who knows what evil she may have committed?

In the final picture, I found the star wars monster already embedded in the snowy photo, but I added details to make it the monster the robber imagined…

Coyote and Blanket

The first depicts the beauty that is the natural world, with coyote paying homage to Rock and Iktome acting as witness.

Cartoon coyote

The second uses graphic images we see everyday in mass media driven America.

Iktome – Spiderman

Trickster Coyote – Wile E. Coyote

Rock – Rolling Stones

White rancher (gullible buffoon) – Woody Pride

Coincidences based on archetypes or native American symbols co-opted by mainstream culture? Aside from sports team (Braves, Redskins, etc.), what other images do we de-mystify and devalue by making them into caricatures? What subtleties are lost when the inactive message is lost to passive massage (Marshall McLuhan) of prepackaged ideas?

Shape-shifter

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Werewolf RRh-300

I wish I’d originated the idea of Red Riding Hood as a Werewolf, but I came across it watching Once Upon A Time, a TV show about fairy tales. It appealed to my dark sense of humor and spoke to my abiding interest in all things shamanic. Also I love werewolves. Synchronisticaly, I’ve been re-reading Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ s book, Women Who Run With the Wolves (if you’ve never read it run don’t walk to the nearest bookstore or keyboard). So when I found a red cape with an empty cowl all I could think of was a snarling wolf head.

The idea of drastic transformation into another species in order to gain perspective on your own is one of my favorite story motifs. Lots of contemporary fantasy writers of the werewolf and vampire genre use it, but my favorite example is still The Sword in the Stone by T.H. White. In it young Arthur Pendragon (Arthur means “bear”) is changed into a series of animals (fish, hawk, ant, goose, and badger) by Merlin the magician.

This collage shows Little Red Riding Hood turned into a large imposing figure of a snarling wolf draped in a long red cape. By transforming into a wolf, she is claiming her inherent wildness the part of her that cannot be contained by culture. We forget so much of the time that we are animals- the same creatures as the ones we watch in nature documentaries with such avidity, love and longing. Their beauty is our beauty; their cunning our cunning; their endurance our endurance. But we forget.

As a wolf, Red Riding Hood is restored to her senses- nose, ears, eyes, mouth regain their direct access to her brain, their messages undiluted , uncensored by the strictures and caveats of her brain. As a human girl she is terribly vulnerable. Basically blind, deaf and dumb, she goes into the dangerous forest bereft of her natural resources. No one has taught her how to move with caution, hide in plain sight or fight. Naiveté is her only protection.

She wears her cloak to remind her to return to the human world- she cannot be wholly herself as just wolf. Civilization restricts but it also offers freedoms the wolf cannot comprehend. Butterflies flutter around her, symbols of transformation. There is one fly. Flies and butterflies are pollinators and thus symbols of fertility. Sex is the underlying theme of the Red Riding Hood story. The girl stands on the cusp of womanhood wooed by both the wolf and huntsman, stalked by her own burgeoning sexuality. The wolf picks her own mate and explores sexual feelings without shame.

Flies are also psychopomp- they convey souls safely into the afterlife. The fly reminds us that death always lurks nearby; the huntsman still patrols the forest. Transformation is a tricky thing- will Red forget her human self, will she be able to change back? Will she remember and learn or continue to cling to innocence? Lots of questions. No answers except your own.