Artemis

When artist and writer Nancy Blair was writing Goddesses for Every Season, she invited me to contribute three illustrations. The book came out in 1995, published by Element Books in Rockport, Maine. I was experimenting with a carving medium called Quick Cut, and the goddesses were all created in the space of a few days.

papier-mache mermaid

E and I created this little ocean-girl together while waiting for the permit to begin building our earthship. You can tell, because we each made one of her arms and they're different from each other. She stands about three feet tall and is mostly papier-mache, finished with metal paints. She's got a PVC core filled halfway up with cement, to lend her ballast on the open sea. The rock was shaped out of wire and stuffed with newspaper, then layered with paper.

pears downstairs

While E and our friend Jonathan were recording tracks upstairs in the earthship, I was overcome with appreciation for these curvaceous beauties sitting on the kitchen counter, just minding their own beeswax. Are pears a reason to believe in a higher power? I think so.

Kundalini rising

Another experiment in printmaking. This was featured in Women's Way magazine, a regional publication by Dakini Lynn Marlowe in Boulder. Drawing the woman's figure, I was thinking about kundalini energy rising up like a serpent, from where it lies coiled and latent, at the base of the spine. When this print was complete, I recognized that it had an ambiguous posture. You can view the woman as sheltering herself from some source of light above her head, or she can be perceived as rising up and breaking out of imprisonment. During that block-printing period, these ubiquitous birds appeared on everything I made. They represent freedom, movement, thought and imagination.

Tree Shrine

Softer than wood and way easier to carve, this medium served me well for this series of goddesses. I didn't think of it at the time, but looking at this now, the Tree Shrine seems to present a portrait of innate, natural feminine awareness. Trees are patient beings, from a human perspective. From the viewpoint of a rock, trees may only be passing by.

Alchemy

Day and night. The bird can be seen as connecting twilight to the dawn, a constant companion of change.

Disaster envy

I moved away from Northridge, California, 14 months before it the Big One hit in 1994. I was already jumbled and at odds with my new life, and now my old life had been shaken to the core. Buildings on the Cal State University campus where I had spent many years studying and teaching were destroyed. I lived in Boulder at the time, and none of my new acquaintances could care less about what, to them, was just another California quake.

I suffered from disaster envy, wanting to share in the spontaneous community rebuilding efforts. Friends from back home assured me I was nuts, and that being caught in a major quake was not something to envy. The editor of Sage Woman magazine was familiar with my prints and requested an illustration to go with this essay. I dived into the assignment. Digesting the experience helped make it slightly less abstract, but I've never been good at illustrating fierceness. I was trained in animation drawing by Kenneth Walker, a key Disney animator. As you can see, even my portrait of the dark and terrifying Mother is suffering from terminal cuteness.

The Dreaming Priestess

One of three block prints included in Goddesses For Every Season, by Nancy Blair. This goddess from ancient Malta is depicted lying in a dish, but as I took on the assignment of expressing her, it became clear that she wanted to float in a boat. Who am I to resist the force of the Dreaming Priestess? Immediately a school of fish and a flock of birds appeared to join her for the ride.

artemis walks on the wild side

Here's Artemis and her bear-pal Ursula, from Goddesses for Every Season. A series of block prints I created while living in Boulder in the mid-90s were published in several different magazines. Three were included in this lovely little book, from Element Book Co in the UK.

a bird on the head

I was dreaming of making an art car out of my gold 1984 Mercedes Benz. But I wanted to practice first, on something a bit more bite-size. My boyfriend had been riding without a helmet for weeks, successfully ignoring my plea that he get one soon. He's an Aries, which rules the head, and as is typical for his sign he can be stubborn, but also smart and inventive. So he came home one day and set a plain white helmet down in front of me. I'll wear it if you paint it, he said. White is boring. Now he wears it all them time, and I think he likes it. Girls have leaned out of their cars to shout compliments, Nice helmet!