With the holidays over and some perspective gained here are a few pictures of our pre-show preparations….and come see the actually pieces at Fosters in Durham if you are around for the next few weeks.

My functional work space…messy and comfy.

The icon that I chose to work with is a Ethiopian Madonna and Child brought to the west by Constantine in 1046. According to church tradition she was painted by the Evangelist Luke. My first step was to apply general color on a 8by10 clay board using a encaustic iron and a selection of waxes.

Once the wax is cooled I use a sharp metal rod to draw an outline of the icon into the wax. This can be one of the most difficult step for mistakes are hard to undo.

Now that I have the figures in place I go back with the iron and redo the background and any additional areas that do not match up with the drawing.

Once this step is competed and I am happy with the result, I heat up the encaustic stylus and start creating a general color outline.

As the icons starts taking form I add and remove layers of wax to create color, form and texture. If I get stuck I usually take a break for several hours or work on something else to give myself a fresh perspective. Sometimes asking my 8 and 5 year old boys what they think can be productive and at times humorous! Over the course of several days the icon takes shape.

Once the icon representation is what I have envisioned  I add the highlights and shadows. The last step it to take a soft cloth and polish the wax into a shine.

This icon was followed by several others. There is something beautiful and serene  about recreating icons. These images were a bridge for the common man to experience the divine. I feel connected to the images and hope that I in some way can bring across just a glimpse of the original intent.

1. A series of oil paintings

2. A dvd for childbirth educators of birth photography

3. A etsy store with jewelry

4. Expand my knowledge of Pottery making

5. Create a children book of art

The last year ended with a dozen or so new encaustic paintings.

Knowing what the right choice is and actually following through with it are two totally different things. I have never felt so scared yet brave at the same time.

Danette says it all so amazingly well in her latest blog,

http://www.danetterelic.com/drawingboard/2009/11/breaking-up-rituals-of-change.html

“And so, the dreams I had been building are becoming sand.  This sand will turn to pixie dust which will turn into new dreams, perhaps dreams that have been there all along, like tiny seeds of my heart’s desire.  In the meantime, many things are coming to a close and making way for new beginnings.

But before all the pixie dust and new beginnings, there is loss.

Loss to be noticed, acknowledged, felt and honoured.”

Grieving the loss of my love has been a growing experience unlike any other. It created a ripple effect that I had not expected, bringing out the best and the worst in those around me. In the end I can only make choices for myself. I feel the impact of the choice and it makes me weep. Ultimately all right choices in life are beneficial but it can take a journey of self discovery to get there.

I want to honour what I had with my partner, not sweep it away, hidden from the world and forgotten.

I bless you, father of my two wonderful boys.

Knowing you created magic and that will for

eternity be part of who I am. The fruits of our love are

the most amazing gifts the universe has ever given me.

We have changed, yet what we had will never change.

I will honor you and care for you as long as I live.

A copy of the journal can be ordered a:

http://www.yorku.ca/arm/vol11no1.html

To order a copy of the book click here

“There’s no retirement for an artist, it’s your way of living so there’s no end to it.”

Henry Moore

Originally posted on Motherverse Blog

As I drive our ancient Volvo out of the drive way barely missing the mail box. I start to panic.

“Oh shit, what if I’m wrong? What if following my instinct is a mistake?  What if everyone else is right?” Struggling with my demons, we ride down the highway. I have been given specific instructions as to what time and where to meet. I do not know who I am meeting, what kind of car they will be driving. “How will I recognize them? What if I approach the wrong car? Double shit, I should have asked more questions.”

“Where are we going, Mama?” my five year old asks from the back seat.

“Out for a ride, my love.”  I respond cheerfully.

The Volvo’s oil lamp starts to flicker. “Not now!” I beg silently, “Please don’t let the car die on me”. It is at least 100 degrees out there and I am in no mood to see the AAA people again.

At last we drive into the parking lot of our local health food super market. I look at my watch, “Yep, we are right on time.” I park the car and wait. Five minutes pass, I start getting nervous again. I see several cars riding up and down seemingly looking for something. “Are they here for the same reason I am? How many of us are there?”  I have no idea. Okay, I am just being silly; they are probably just looking for parking.

Another five minutes pass. I see a van pull into the parking lot and park at the far end of the lot. No one gets out. I wait, still no one. “That must be them,” I tell myself. I pull out and slowly start driving towards the van, my heart pounding.

I envision myself as a bear mother, a mom on a mission. No matter what it takes, I am doing this for the welfare of my children, especially my youngest, who is Autistic.

“What are we doing!” whines the five year from the back seat. They are getting bored. The two year old starts fussing. “Damn it, this better be them.” I mutter under my breath.

As we pull up next to the van I notice that the windows are rolled down. I park the car and slowly start getting out. “This is it”, I tell myself. Just at that moment a man gets out

of the drivers seat throwing away a cigarette stub in the process. I stare; he gives me a startled look.  I can hear the five-year-old yelling, “Eweeeeeee, that man is smoking a cigarette. Doesn’t he know it’s bad for his teeth?”

Quickly I get back into the car. My little activist continues,   “He just threw the cigarette on the ground. Littering is bad for the earth!” he yells out the window.

As quick as I can, I pull out of the parking space and drive to the opposite end of the parking lot. “I am not doing this”, I decide, “We are going home.”

With a sigh of relief I drive towards the exit. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see them. I start to grin. I see two mamas in hippy skirts getting out of a beat up old mini-van. A half naked child climbs out of the back seat.

I roll down my window. “Hi, I’m Judith. I am on the list.” I say.

One of the mamas gives me a tired but happy smile. “We got it! Come around to the back and I will give it to you.”

I get out of my car and join them as they open the back of their mini van. I see that they have lined the back with large coolers. One of the coolers is opened and out comes what I have been anticipating for the past two weeks. They hand me my illegal gallon of raw cow milk and a half gallon of cream.  I am elated as I get back into the car.

“We did it boys!” I yell pulling out of the parking lot with my precious raw milk and cream safely sitting in the seat next to me. “We are going home!”

The selling and buying of grass fed raw cow milk is illegal in many States including North Carolina.

Originally posted my Motherverse Blog