rustic life

sketch of life, 4 (the meadow)

Most mornings, for hours, now, I spend running or walking our new dog. No headphones. Clean air. Purity of moments. I suppose 2015 goals should be coming along in my head....have a few for life, training, creativity, and work. For now, each day, I look forward to finding this light and hearing the wind, as it always has an answer for something.


Morning run in the winter light: the landscape became a black and white version of itself. As a devotee of studying and admiring documentary photography greats--Frank, Friendlander, Mark, Winogrand, Brandt, Bresson, Sander, Salgado, Evans, White--it's a rarity now when the color drains from the world and I get to see again in light/dark tones...I forget to "look" like this as I did so many years ago, when I shot film. It's an Instagram world now...can't stop progress, but I can get nostalgic about film days when I run and see light like this....

wild skyscrapers

Hiking and ambling. Hunting for the unknown or little surprises. I happened across this behemoth during an excursion. Needed multi-frames to even get a shot of it. Welcome to a nature-made skyscraper in the wilderness; no valet parking required beside this beast or waiting for your floor to exit, like high-rises in New York and Los Angeles. 

What does this have to do with writing and art? Everything. I take it with me as inspiration and a source of awareness. May you find your skyscraper in unlikely places? Let goodness fly out into the world….

Watch, rise, mega majestic tree! 




facing west

A spot where imagination does the work. And stacking wood helps, too.Happy New Year. This morning I decided to go through old drafts of stories I had written and then let them die a slow death, until now.

I happened across one from over a year ago. Part of it I like. Part of it I deleted. The give-and-take of the creative process is an interesting intersection of will and collapse. But as I start 2014 with more stories collected and finished, I think of little spots I adore and keep safe in my arsenal of architecture of storymaking.

Let the muse infuse new hues. May you find your inner beast of creativity....and run a mile or two for good measure.

For now I am reading and enjoying Paul Harding's Enon and Paul Auster's Oracle Nights. Both Pauls again on the nightstand.

the wild: two instances of a light study

hiking among snow patches and soggy forest. cashews and raw vegetables for fuel. a good time.

I realize this has become an Instagram world. But these images are not fuzzy or filtered with technology other than me learning how to push and pull the Smart phone aperture (I remember such experiments from the darkroom days of mine).

Light does its own job. Consider these images as selfies in a James Franco world. Doesn't Mr. Franco know every image you take is a selfie--"person" present in the frame or not. Each frame is a reflection of the maker. 

red light/no vacancy. loved the light post training session as seen from the driver's seat. another, yes, good time, but sweaty smelly.

tis tree hunting: (rustic chronicles continue)

Five dollars for a forestry permit and an off-roading truck equate an afternoon of good finds. Attached are a few exhibits. May you feel merry and wise, or just one, I guess.

Figure A. Bones and more wildlife bones. An intact skull found while trolling the forest for the perfect Christmas tree. We followed all guidelines.

Figure B. Ta-da: the prized and freshly cut ponderosa pine.

Figure C. Heading home. Lunch! Handmade bling, including the decorated sugar cookie ornaments adorn the tree, which are also the ones the dog eats off the tree when he thinks the coast is clear. Oops. It’s pretty darn cute.Happy holidays to you and yours.....

the morning mantra

I'm caught in a good inner calm of focused energy, which flourishes with hungry reading spells, so all social media and networking slide away.  A morning mantra is granted as well. Here's to your inner harmony maker.

Self-portrait: morning life ritual to writing and drinking hot tea to the sound of pin-drop silence. (Slackline box on floor. Should put that away.)

one headlight


There is no sound of one headlight. You might not notice it in the city. Until you get way outside the county lines. Then, your headlights shine on an old abandoned ski resort, even the little rental cabins left astray, and then you know something is up. Something is up with winter places in the summer, with rusted out ski lifts and creaky doors where you know rats have danced since the days people left. At the threshold of such a place and in the dying light of day, do you enter?

I have found such a place on the way back to the cabin. And it is an imagination goldmine. I hope you have places like this, too....

the rustic chronicles

Thirty-five degrees upon waking. Welcome summer morning in the mountains. I continue to sketch and work on a larger piece of work, somewhat formulated in my head somewhat not. Creativity is a fluid companion who rearranges herself in dreams and takes the form of animals or light in the day. Today, with my bike, I shall find more pieces of the puzzle to where the story needs to go. Until then, meditate on this moments of quiet from a rustic life.

inkblot friday: no 2. seeing what you don't see

 I remember standing in R Lounge, Studio City, one night with my friends. One was getting lit and talking about her cheating husband and how it was okay to cheat back to get back. The energy of the conversation, the loud music, my aching feet—dammit high heels are not comfortable—was getting to my head. In and out of the night, my mind kept going to a different place, Moab (and the world's largest rope swing), a place I wanted to return.  There I was bantering about relationships, while thinking of red rock in a dark bar in a bullshit dress. So goes the idea that what you see is NOT what you get. Happy Inkblot Friday, people of the world.

P.S. I don't own this dress. Olivia Newton John might have though.