Writing Up A Storm

Spark 7 Old Woman, Old Woman

"Old Woman, Old Woman," illustrated by Blanche Fisher Wright

The Real Mother Goose, 1916.

Another nursery rhyme today in lieu of Thursday's children's picture book:

There was an old woman tossed in a basket,
Seventeen times as high as the moon;
But where she was going no mortal could tell,
For under her arm she carried a broom.

"Old woman, old woman, old woman," said I,
"Whither, oh whither, oh whither so high?"
"To sweep the cobwebs from the sky;
And I'll be with you by-and-by."

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Spring Break Progress Report: This is what comes of cleaning ceiling fans, for the next thing you know you are on the roof, and the roof is way too close to the sky. And I will be with you by-and-by!

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Spark 6 The Blue Cup

"The Blue Cup," Joseph de Camp (1858–1923)

Spring Break Progress Report: I am in the kitchen today, holding things up to the light, and looking. I really should start cleaning . . .

And I really do hope to be back with a regular post next week.  I want to write about what it means to go on a journey without stepping one footstep out of your very own house. The kind of journey that takes you into a blue cup and miles and miles beyond . . .

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Spark 5 "O Waken, Waken, Burd Isbel"

"O Waken, Waken, Burd Isbel," 1919, illustrated by Arthur Rackham

This is Child Ballad 53, from The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, which were collected by Francis James Child in the late nineteenth century, and are now called the Child Ballads.

Spring Break Progress Report: All four ceiling fans have been dusted in between much dreaming. But I wonder if I really should get up today if a little man all dressed in red with two little horns comes to summon me like this?? Maybe not. Not quite yet.

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Spark 4 Nancy Dawson

"Nancy Dawson," illustrated by Blanche Fisher Wright
The Real Mother Goose, 1916.

I am "sparking" for a couple of weeks, so I will give you a nursery rhyme today, in lieu of a children's picture book.

Nancy Dawson was so fine
She wouldn't get up to serve the swine;
She lies in bed till eight or nine . . .

Spring Break Progress Report: As you can see I have moved from the armchair to the bed, so there's been a significant decrease in the spring-cleaning going on, but a wonderful increase in the spring-dreaming . . .

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Spark 3 Fond Memories

"Fond Memories" by Raimundo Madrazo (1841–1920)

This might be the place to start my spring break, remembering, in my armchair. Here is a poem by Eliza Cook (1818-1889) to go with this painting:

I love it, I love it,
And who shall dare
To chide me for loving
That old armchair?

I'm quite sure this lovely lady is just about to jump up and begin her spring cleaning, which, of course, is exactly what I plan on doing (ahem!) in just a moment, too. I won't be posting or visiting blogs for a week, or two, but I will be sparking from time to time, just to let you know how the spring cleaning is coming along, or if I am camping out in my very own backyard instead, or if, perhaps, I am still sitting in my old armchair, revisiting fond memories . . .

I hope you are spring-breaking, too!!

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Spark 2 Looking in a Cabinet

"Interieur mit geöffneter Vitrine," by Paul Barthel (1862–1933)

The translation is "Interior with an Open Glass Cabinet."  Additional information reads: "Hausfrau bzw. Dienstmädchen sucht nach einer Tischdecke," which (I think) translates to: "Housewife or maid is looking for a Tablecloth."

Maybe she is looking for memories.

I will have to revisit this painting, for I find I want to talk about it, but for today, I will offer it as a silent contemplation only.

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Spark 1

 "Boreas," 1903, by John William Waterhouse (1849-1917)

If these boughs above were weighed down with snow, then this painting would almost illustrate this poem below, "Spellbound" by Emily Brontë:

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing dear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

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Sparks

"Sunset in the Forest," 1878, by Sophus Jacobsen (1833–1912)

I had to steal winter from a painting, for I wanted to illustrate a little poem that I found about winter. This is the painting above, and this is the poem below, by John Updike.

The days are short,
    The sun a spark
Hung thin between
    The dark and dark.

I put this painting and this poem here because, as February dwindles away, I am clinging to every snippet of winter that I can get. I hate to lose the colder days we have been having.

But, also, I put these here because I am going to add something called "Sparks" to my blog.

And by "spark" I mean that tiny little spark of light that brightens up our way as we walk between the dark and the dark of any given hour. A spark of sun, or moon, or star, or any candle in the dark. A word, a look, a flash of paint, a plash of music, or just the rustle of skirts, the muffle of bare feet.

"Flight Into Egypt," 1609, Adam Elsheimer (1578–1610)

As I have searched for paintings to illustrate my posts, I find so many that I love that don't quite fit my needs at the time, but that I would like to share. Here is one above. I love Elsheimer's painting for all its tiny vignettes of light in the middle of the dark, its little flares of firelight and moonlight. I found this painting last fall when I was looking for gypsies.

I thought I would put some of these paintings on as mini-posts, and call each one a Spark, a little spark to light up your day. I'd call them Sparklrs, but someone else is already using this term for something else. So, I have added a new category to my sidebar: Sparks. As I fill this up with Sparks, I foresee that it will be a kind of mini-tumblr, a category you can scroll through with paintings and poems in it, and only a sentence or two from me. I will turn off the "Comments" section on these posts, as they will be for pure contemplation.

Or perhaps they will be something more.

Perhaps they will be "love made visible" as bee creative talks about in her post here about "nana's blanket." These Sparks will be my way of saying "I love you" during times when I am not quite up to posting, especially for the next few weeks when I need to continue to spring-clean plus work on the dreaded taxes. I fear I will be buried in paperclutter and paperwork.

"The Starry Night," 1889, Vincent van Gogh (1853–1890)

Here are sparks in all their glory. I've been trying to find my own sparks. I have been studying my greeting cards, my children's picture book stories, my little sketches and musings, trying to find clues to where I am going next, for, as I have said before, I am not quite sure.

Quilt Architect has a very thought-provoking post about "Symbols" here, and she has made me realize that I tend to use, not so much symbols, as whole phrases in my art. Although stars are definitely a recurring motif of mine, I do seem to want to illustrate a whole entire nursery rhyme or idiom or proverb or story, or even just one part of a story. The pumpkin carriage from Cinderella, or Little Red Riding Hood all alone in the woods . . .

Perhaps this is the clue to where I am going.

And perhaps I need to think about what "slow story" might be all about.

If I pair this tendency of mine to illustrate a phrase or a story with "slow cloth" philosophy, I may find that I might want to take one of my own children's stories and do the illustrations for it, slowly, week by week, until I have a whole picture book of illustrations completed.

This might ground me a little, give me a focus, or a starting point. I have a story that I might start with first, for it is all about second-hand clothing. I do seem to be circling and circling around it in my mind.

I don't know for the life of me why I am not alighting upon it.

This rabbit and these stars are from my very first post on this blog, and so you see I have indeed circled myself right back around to the beginning.

Spirit Cloth has a very powerful post here about boxes that we box ourselves into. So while I am spring-cleaning and doing my taxes, I might take my little hatchet and chop down a box wall or two. See what is on the other side. Or, barring that, just move some boxes out of the way.

I have had the experience of "break-through" in my writing before, and nothing is more wonderful than to suddenly find yourself in that clearing in the middle of the deep dark forest. I am very much this little rabbit right now, holding out my handful of stars, trying to find my way through the dark, trying to break through the darkness.

Every life has many turning points, I believe. Is this why it is called "the dance of life," I wonder. We turn around ourselves in pirouettes of hopes and fears and thoughts and prayers, spinning past the sun and the moon in our journey toward the stars.

Well, this is a very slow and very long way of telling you to look for Sparks to come your way from time to time!

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