My House Restored

I will protect my soul.

Brave Girls Camp

I am brave.  I can face the unthinkable and come out okay on the other side.  I am loved.  I am special.  I am phenomenal.  I can be told I can't accomplish anything and then I can do it anyway and succeed. I am empowered.  These are some of the lessons I learned this past week at the remarkable retreat I attended called Brave Girls Camp.

The brainchild of artist Melody Ross and her musician sister Kathy Wilkins, Brave Girls is more than a touchy-feely women's retreat.  It is a safe environment where women from every imaginable background come together to love, be loved, and heal themselves through nurture and art.  The retreat starts weeks before you even arrive in lovely McCall, Idaho.  Melody, Kathy and their family and friends who facilitate the retreat spend months of preparation ensuring that every last detail is perfect.  Even the very first contact by email made me feel as if these were 'friends.'

From the amazing food, music, workshops, share time and spirituality all the way down to the aprons and gifts that were lovingly sewn and thoughtfully put together--I felt as if I was joining family for a happy gathering!

I can try and try to describe this retreat, but words will never do it justice and I am quite certain that every individual will have their own unique experience.  We came wounded and battered and we left rejuvenated and empowered.

And yet, I know it is not the end.  I have 25 new best friends and I know we have connected in a special way that will bond us together for the rest of our lives.  The only sad and disappointing part is that it had to end, like all good and wonderful things--we had to go back to our homes and our families and our broken lives, but we somehow now have the tools and support to persevere.  If you are a creative person (and even if you are not) you owe it to yourself to at least browse the website and pray and think about this experience for yourself.

You can access their website with this link:  http://www.bravegirlsclub.com/aboutbravegirlcamp-main.html

It saved my life--not in a literal way, but it saved the quality of how I will spend the rest of it.  So go forth--be brave--and love fiercely and deeply.  You will never regret it!

Vice or Addiction????

Oil painting is officially an addiction for me.  So does that make it one of my vices?  Either way, I don't care and I can't stop!  I sit in my studio and go into a trance-like state, then before I know it, 6 or 8 hours have gone by!  I start painting when my son leaves for school and the next thing I know, he is walking back through the door.  I don't think I have ever been happier.  This is the most therapeutic thing I have ever done!  Now I know why "art therapy" is included in rehabilitation facilities and institutions.  I get it now.

So this lovely little lady was painted by William-Adolphe Bouguereau and I humbly studied it and copied it.  It is entitled Girl With Lemons, however I believe my girl is holding pears!  They started out as lemons, but what the heck, I love how they took shape and I couldn't bear to redo them.  Bouguereau is my favorite artist and I could sit and copy every one of his paintings.  They are so ethereal, so innocent and pure.  Well, he is probably turning over in his grave right now, but I would hope he is flattered that I hold him up as the artist I would most prefer to learn from!

Obsessing Over Oils

I'm obsessed with oil paints!  I've avoided them so many years--always sticking with the safer acrylics--but the moment I squeezed out my first oil palette, I was spellbound by the pigment oozing from the tube and the intensity of the colors.  I instantly loved the smell of the paint and linseed (strange, I know) and how the vibrant color was easily pushed around my canvas.  I couldn't apply it fast enough and was impatient with the drying time because I wanted to keep going and going.  I love the science of blending - how do I manage to get that perfect silky green simply by mixing cerulean blue and burnt sienna?  And how wonderfully eery my portraits look when I lay in the dioxazine purple, viridian hue, sienna and alizarin crimson to create the shadows then bring the faces to life with cadmium red and yellow and a touch of titanium white!  I am enthralled with every stroke and love the transition from week to week on my paintings.  A new obsession . . just what I need!

A Dream Deferred . . .

I came upon the poem by Langston Hughes today. I don't think I have heard it since high school but this evening, I realize what he meant when he describes unfulfilled goals,

"Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?"

We may think our dreams die and just wither away but they don't. They linger out there . . . calling, taunting. Almost within our reach but never quite close enough to take hold of. But I will not be sorrowful over things I never had, I will be grateful that at least I had a dream.

Rocky Mountain Christmas

Cozied up in our Colorado home watching the lights twinkle on the tree with the snow-covered mountains as a backdrop out the window. Yo Yo Ma's haunting yet lovely cello playing and sipping cocoa with a pile of marshmallows. . . and still, no Christmas spirit. Where has it gone? I long for those years when my children were small and the air was charged with excitement over Santa's imminent arrival. I should have done a better job encouraging them to be excited over the arrival of Christ. I guess that is what's missing in our world today. How fortunate we are to have salvation handed to us, yet how sadly we take it for granted. Sadness does not come from Christ, it comes from a lack of Christ. I need Christ in my life.

Starfish

One more star tonight . . . the song has been running through my mind all day--reminding me I'm not alone and my friend is still out there. I found a starfish on the beach last month. I knew it wasn't going to make it because he was so far from the water's edge. Sorry little guy, but I wanted to take him home to remind me of my beautiful week at the shore. I carefully picked him up and walked along the waters edge. Sadly, slowly, his little arms began to curl and turn grayish--the life was leaving him. I just couldn't do it. I laid him gently down but I knew it was too late. I watched until the waves took him back home . . . one less star tonight