There are some people who understand the symbolic nature of a new month and a new season. My lovely friend Charu helped me shake February's bad energy and series of life's malfunctions by greeting me this morning with a gift to ring in a new month: a candle, incense, an assortment of teas, and a Frieda Kahlo postcard.
The sunny day reminded me of warmer days in the garden, of watching the earth come alive again, of dreams and dreamers, which leads me to share this passage from F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby:
As the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreans; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
After coveting photographer Monica Shulman's fantastic iphone pics on her blog Ciao, Chessa, I waited for my old phone to die. And waited, until last weekend. 
I took Olivia and Jackson exploring this week in search of signs of spring and for new image ideas. What we found: overflowing creeks, circling hawks, and woodpecker holes. Olivia even spotted a rare appellated woodpecker rooting around a felled tree on our property.
Yesterday afternoon I reversed my usual order of doing business. All too often I begin with the list of chores and work my way toward the fun-- studio time, reading, relaxing. And just as often, I never get to the fun because by the time the chores are done, it's time to start them again. So yesterday I ignored the messy garden around me, choosing instead to play with brush and ink. No real ideas yet, just keeping the images loosely framed around the balance of nature and man. I'm thinking of adding some pastel to the last one-- pushing the color into a more abstract field. Clearly, the world didn't fall apart because I did everything a half hour later than usual. That's a life lesson, isn't it?
There are some people who understand the symbolic nature of a new month and a new season. My lovely friend Charu helped me shake February's bad energy and series of life's malfunctions by greeting me this morning with a gift to ring in a new month: a candle, incense, an assortment of teas, and a Frieda Kahlo postcard. 
As a slush storm hurls itself towards the Northeast yet again, I had to share the beauty of Key West's Butterfly and Nature Conservatory as a hopeful sign that spring might actually return again. It was incredibly serene to wander the sunlit paths inside the glass structure, with butterflies and songbirds floating around us, turtles and Chinese button quails underfoot. Jane even found one hitching a ride on her hat. In the hatching center, you can stand and watch a butterfly emerge from his cocoon. When I walked out of there with lower blood pressure and ready for a nap, I couldn't help but think how fantastic it would be to set one of these up at home.
