Going Home

Lithograph 14 1/4 x 17 1/2

Tulku

Bronze relief, 9 x 9 x 1"

My sculpture professor, Robert C. Thomas, spent a year studying with Ossip Zadkine in his studio in Paris after World War II. I can see Zadkine's influence in Bob's work. Bob liked this relief I did after I moved to Virginia. Whenever I see it, I am reminded of a relief portrait of Bob's that was part of a faculty exhibit at the UCSB Art Museum when I first arrived as an art student the year before I signed up for Bob's sculpture class. I thought about his relief when I was working on this one. Not sure if Bob made the connection. Maybe he did.

A Green Breath for Robin (from the journal)

Carolina wren made a home in the wreath—
mosses, leaves, a cupped space
that moves with our comings and goings,
a space for eggs, for sitting, for waiting,
a front door home. 3-31-12



Bladdernut’s pale yellow bells
add weight
to the sunny morning. 4-2-12



Little green wings on the
upbeat, hickory leaves
aflight in spring. 4-2-12



Pink cherry
bursting with its own edibility,
flowers on the tongue. 4-3-12



The birds don’t mind the gray sky.
From all sides they speak
liquid colors. 4-4-12



Pale clusters of new maple seeds
shimmer against the pale gray sky,
The ivory light stays to play. 4-8-12



Here and there crab apple’s
last rose blossoms color
the rusty tree. 4-14-12



The widened portal,
the eggs gone, left untended,
a snack for mockingbird, blue jay, crow? 4-15-12



Here they are
moving across my morning table—
leaf shadows. 4-24-12



Eye level with honeysuckle’s rows of flowers,
meeting at nose level hummingbird moth,
a pair, looking for just the right one. 4-30-12



The wild geraniums
found their way back this year—
fragile, pink, determined. 4-30-12



Up and out—the springs woods,
over thought and hope,
a green breath for robin. 4-30-12

It Was All For Light (from the journal)

Seeking shelter
in words
in the pauses between
and in the long rain
dropping now in softness. 2-29-12


Wood poppy’s first
leaves say it all—
winter is over. 3-3-12


The eye follows growth,
even the sideways
broken growth.
It was all for light,
all the wide open faces
needing light
for breath. 3-4-12


Fuzzy yellow bumblebee
lopes across bare twigs.
It’s warm enough,
but not warm enough. 3-8-12


Nothing to puddle on
but sunlight—lavender butterfly
on last year’s maroon bitterwort
waving its wings. 3-8-12


Spring is about the sun
marching up. Honeysuckle’s
little green chins tilt up to watch. 3-11-12


My spot, under crab apple buds,
next to cardinal’s call,
breathing bloodroot’s light, here,
on the tilted flagstone,
in the thin woods,
waiting. 3-14-12


Two deer in the yard.
The black and white tails
point down to spring breakfast—
partridge berry. 3-14-12


Bitterwort is breathing
sweet yellow flowers
on the exhale. 3-20-12


To the brown woods
honeysuckles bring green,
a leafed relief. 3-10-12


How did we get through winter
without wood poppy’s
sweet breath? 3-20-12


With insistence, redbird
stokes spring, one call
upon another. 3-20-12


Carolina wren made a home
in the wreath—mosses, leaves,
a cupped space
that moves with our comings and goings,
a space for eggs, for sitting,
for waiting,
a front door home. 3-29-12

Susan Rachael

Bronze relief, 9 x 9 x 1"

The Untroubled Fox (from the journal)

The golden sun guides
our way home now as
we roll forward into spring. 2-1-12


White cloud,
blue sky,
brown oak leaves,
green hollies,
all quiver with sparkles,
with the light wind,
with squirrel’s twitching tail,
and with the trot of the black-footed fox. 2-1-12


Sitting here with bladdernut
waiting for warmth,
for leaves,
for flowers
and shady days. 2-6-12


Again the red fox,
his black feet making paths now
to places his wet nose leads him. 2-9-12


The great oak
bears the light snow
lightly. 2-11-12


In the beginning it was a passion for things seen—
the pink cherries on a green hill,
the blue chicory,
the curl of torquada’s leaves.

Then it was for things heard—
the water flowing in Sespe Creek,
the two-note call of mourning dove,
the sea moving across damp sand.

And then it was for light—
the setting orange sun on the face,
the blue and pink clouds in the eyes,
the winter light that barely warms the hands.

Now it’s waiting, waiting for breath
to round out all the moments and all the memories,
even this memory, colorless, without passion,
as deep and as wide as winter’s moving light. 2-11-12


Dull winter light
spills down maple’s downward branches,
pools at honeysuckle’s roots,
a dry light without weight. 2-14-12


Clearly blue,
blue jay’s one note
knocks across the blue morning. 2-15-12


Imprisoned here
behind glass,
the wind moves,
the sparkles move.
I do not move.
There is no breath. 2-20-12


I stop
for the untroubled fox
running on three legs. 2-21-12


Here next to holly
little green leaves
pivot in the sun--
early spring dance. 2-26-12


Honeysuckle considers bringing
green order to its messy brown twigs—
an ordered march toward March. 2-28-12

Below the Barberry

Lithograph, 14 x 11 inches

The Undercurrents of Life Are What Keep Us Afloat

Lithograph on gampi, 10 x 15 inches.

Holding on to Breathing Color (from the journal)

The first day is like the last day.
The inkberry is full of moving suns
moving on a field of moving holly. 1-1-12



Sitting in the shade of jade
thinking about opening a space,
a space for time and long thoughts
that could run colored on a page,
or a block, the thin cuts holding the lakes,
the rivers, the seas of settling colors
making the dream, the air dream. 1-1-12



Harlan Hubbard

Somewhere an old man cuts a block
on his workbench. It’s an image of him
and his dog coming into the barn from the snow,
the punctuated light not punctuating his life,
his quiet footsteps in the winter woods
transferred to paper with shades of gray.
His hands hold the block, the fresh cuts
smelling like a spring day, a day with its own light
in shades of gray. 1-3-12



Last night’s snow
comes down silver in the golden sun—
a jeweled, blue rain falling from the trees. 1-10-12



Climbing along the curled waves
of white oak’s brown leaf,
the January ant suns herself
in the winter jade. 1-14-12



Rose and red
bitterwort holds on to
breathing color. 1-15-12



Was it yellow that flash of feathers?
A woodpecker. And then the wild robins
fly in just to see. 1-21-12



Vulture silhouettes in the winter sky—
a gathering of peace, slowness,
gray on palest gray. 1-22-12



In winter’s pause
green moss
greening. 1-24-12



Sometimes there is work.
Sometimes there is waiting,
for work,
for words,
for the touching line
that holds the perimeter. 1-29-12

Woodland Garden Dedication

Bronze relief for Woodland Garden Dedication to honor the years of service of Nature Nancy Herwig to Reston Association, 8 x 10". Poem written by Katie Shaw. Walker Nature Education Center, Reston, Virginia, 2008.