Salt water lions

Until this morning, I'd not heard about Lion's Mane jellyfish.

Have you?

I was visiting Rebecca Loudon's blog where she makes regular and tender mention of jellies. Yesterday she wrote about the little 'hot-cross bun jellies' and Lion's Manes she'd seen down at the docks in Seattle. Being a Leo, my ears immediately pricked and off I went to Google to see what I could find. As I said to Rebecca, I love the idea of there being waterborne lions in addition to those that roam the savannah grasslands. It'd be wise to be a little guarded around them, yes, but there are cats who need to live beside salt water. . .

Anyway, my birds are calling for their breakfast and it's time for me to pull my apron on and get busy in the studio. But first, here are a few of the people and places I visited on the web (the amazing web) this morning...

Arline Fisch, a San Diego-base artist who crocheted these glorious jellies (and makes many other marine forms, besides: how could she not, I wonder, with a name like 'Fisch''?)

If you're curious about the connection between new and novel foods, jelly tofu, collagen, the Yangtze River, phosphorous and over-fished waters, this is the place to go - Nomura and Lion's mane jellyfish.

I hadn't realized that jellyfish have been around for almost 700 million years, making them older than dinosaurs. They are 95% water and possess no bones or cartilage, no blood, heart or brain. And yet, here they are, capable of ballet, food capture, the elegant delivery of a thousand lethal stings...

Did you know that in 1870, off the shores of Massachusetts Bay, a Lion's Mane jelly with a 2.3 meter diameter and tentacles 36.5 metres long washed up onto the beach? That's a jelly larger than a blue whale - with one hell-of-a mane!

Amazing jellyfish pics

I was excited to happen upon The Artful Amoeba - a blog about the weird wonderfulness of life on Earth - eloquently hosted by Boulder-based biologist Jennifer Frazer (and yes, I delighted in the whimsical connection between Boulder, Colorado & the M. boulders I visited recently!). She's written a sobering jelly-related article titled 50 Toddlers + One Dead Lion's Mane Jellyfish = ?

Happy day, all.

Invisible grace

Things are finding their place; a sense of poise returning.

A sideways slip of the pencil

and crossed lives may find

that by some invisible grace

they come to settle

on holy ground... *

The 'smush' that's been me recently has taken off and rolled on down the hill. . . splosh, into the harbour she went. Thank you and fare thee well, I say. Timing-wise, this bodes well. There are seven days between now and the day I turn fifty (I love the word 'turn') and I'm happy to report that my anticipation for this next half-century is mounting.

These are the last of the Moeraki pics for now; rock faces, line drawings, hard-soft edges. That day by the sea was a very great gift.

SOMETHING NEW

I have a newfound taste for lightness

albumen moon

mood stone

tone poem

I have a newfound lightness of taste

late wind

white ground

round sound

CB

*lines from the poem Consider - CB 2007

*

... to give you some idea of the size of these boulders, here's a pic of Annette & I embracing one.

Pound on the star

". . . Oh, quake!

Pound on the earth: dull and earthen its echo,

deadened and muffled by what we undertake.

Pound on the star: 'twill disclose itself for your sake!

Pound on the star: invisible number signs

are realized; the capacities of an atom

are multiplying in space. The tone shines.

And what here is ear to its fulsome

stream, is also somewhere eye: this dome

arches itself somewhere in designs. . . "

from Music

by Rainer Maria Rilke

(Thank you, Annette)

Dreaming rocks

This one

and this one

so intricately made.

Queen Conch

This little critter arrived in my e- Inbox yesterday. She looks wary to me; a wistful queen bundled up in her ocean floor sleeping bag.

Apparently water temperatures dropped down to 9 degrees F in Florida Keys this winter - not cold by Antarctic standards but - if you're a semi-tropical creature - reason enough to burrow in till little more than your eyes are showing? Researchers are suggesting that 'at this stage' it looks as though more damage has been done to benthic (bottom-dwelling) creatures in the Keys by the uncharacteristic cold than by the still-seeping oil. But tests are still being done. Results have yet to come in. One thing is certain... the chemical dispersants that have been poured into the sea are (yet another) grave mistake and long-term effects on ocean life are guaranteed and far-reaching.

*

I can't help wondering... if she could speak (in a language we could hear), what might this conch say?

(not) Petrified

I'm taking a 'rest and research' day today and heading up the coast to Moeraki* where my good friend Annette (who lives three hours North of Dunedin) and I will meet to walk this beach

&

wrap arms around these spectacular boulders.

*Moeraki is a Maori word meaning sleepy sky or sleep by day. South Island legend suggests that these boulders were formed when kumara (sweet potato) brought across the sea on the Arai-te-uru canoe were washed overboard and petrified on the beach.

Ah, down to sand and salt water's edge...

Tuesday Poem - Late

I've been a heavyweight lately. . . Time for a little lightness.

Here's an old love poem/a poem for love

LATE

She leans across the piano keys

switches the standard lamp

off; bare breast pale in the square

shade of a sleeping mountain.

He, too, is sleeping

a simple twist of coconut hair

captured in the copper lining

of her eye.

Outside, rain.

Inside, a lancewood-coloured carpet,

a pair of abandoned leather shoelaces

ancient as eels, record sleeves

clutching their sides with laughter.

CB

For more Tuesday Poems, please click here

G ULF series VII - Turtle

G ULF Series VII - Turtle (detail) Oil on paper - CB August 2010

This is what you shall do

". . . this is what you shall do: love the earth and the sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning god, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem. . . "

Walt Whitman

Alice Walker posted this piece on her blog a week or so ago - The Cushion and the Road: Meditation and Wandering As the Whole World Awakens to Being in Harm's Way. I go there often and always find succour. She reminds me of things I know and hold dear but sometimes lose sight of. She reminds me to look inside and outside, both. Her Chicken Chronicles: A Memoir (a tender and unhurried unfolding; each new chapter appears on the blog as it comes to her) is especially penetrating and affecting.

And - oh, oh oh - you have to read this poem. . . Loving Humans

G ULF series VI - Minnows

No words tonight - just a small painting that arrived in the midst of a storm; minnows bewildered by the oil in the Gulf.

G ULF series VI - Minnows (detail) Oil on paper CB August 2010

Susan Shaw: The oil spill's toxic trade-off | Video on TED.com

Lemon Meringue Phi, blistered toes & the ocean

Life continues to lay it on thick... it seems lots of us are feeling buffeted and blown these days? While I don't want to sound like a grumbling little minion - all things are relative - fact is I've been up on my toes and in a state of high(-ish) alert for toooo many months. If life's a dance, then this year has been one long, rigorous rehearsal. Everything will find its place in time, but today the bones in my feet ache; there's a blister on every toe and no more plasters in the drawers. I'd like to step 'off point' for a while and to cool my feet on dew-covered grass.

Some time soon this extended crazy period will reach a place of pause, but my hunch is 'not yet'. According to my dear friend and mentor LB, tomorrow - 7 August - is going to be one of my year's "energetic epicentres." Oh-oh. My seatbelt's been fastened for a while already - I'm not sure there are any spare notches, buckles or straps left to tighten. I suspect it may pay not to stray too far from home and to make sure my high-pitched yellow whistle still works?

When in doubt, work, walk or sleep? Each of these three have similar effects; they both refresh and energize. And... when you can't sleep, it's helpful to do something impractical or indulgent to distract yourself, right? Right. Well, baking probably doesn't exactly fit this description (?!) but last night I made a lemon meringue pie for my two hungry sons and me. It was seriously scrummy. If you like lemon meringue (do you pronounce it mah-ring-goo, too?) this is probably a recipe you'll want to try. This piffle-y little corner wedge is all that's left of it!

LEMON MERINGUE PHI

180g plain biscuits, crushed

90g butter, melted

1 x 400g tin condensed milk

1/2 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice

2 tspns cornflour

3 eggs, separated

1/2 cup castor sugar

(oh, and if you like soft, chewy mah-ring-goo - as opposed to crisp and crumbly - sprinkle in a small teaspoon of cornflour when you add the castor sugar to the stiffly beaten egg whites)

Preheat the oven to 160 degrees C.

To make the crust, combine the first two ingredients, press into a pie dish and refrigerate.

Warm the condensed milk with the lemon juice and cornflour, stirring till the mixture begins to thicken. Remove from the heat and whisk in the beaten egg yolks. Pour the filling into the crust and bake for 1o minutes.

Meantime, beat the egg whites till stiff then add the castor sugar and beat till shiny. Spoon the meringue on top of the lemon filling and return to the oven for another 15 mins or so.

*

While the pie's cooling, unpack a cupboard, fold some laundry or get on with your painting...

The pic below shows the ground I've been laying for the first of my new 'maps' series. You can tell there's a way to go yet, but a fair bit has arrived on the page during the space of the last five days. While I was cleaning my brushes and getting my work bench organized for an early start tomorrow morning, I was suddenly struck by the way mathematics finds its way into my paintings. I don't plan it this way; it simply happens.

This might sound a little off-beat but Phi is my studio muse for now. What an accommodating and challenging studio companion! Phi's here and not here, intangible and an experience at one and the same time. Phi inspires; it coaxes calm out of chaos, introduces harmony and lyricism to dissonance and disorder. Phi is discreet and dependable; it does not violate my space or intrude in my thought processes. Phi facilitates the creative process, respects my need for quiet and does not presume it has a right to clamber into my head to see - or seize - what's in there. Phi does not rifle through my papers or attempt to take over my world. What more could a person ask for from a muse?

When I stepped back to take an end-of-day look at this painting - Waters I have known - it dawned on me that it has sixteen 'windows into weather'. As it happens, I immigrated to New Zealand sixteen years ago. There's an underlying grid of 7 x 7 'pages' = 49. I am 49 for another fifteen days. There are a number of other mathematical 'coincidences.'

It occurs to me that I'm painting a 49-year chapter to a close. Of course, there's a new chapter on the other side of the membrane; a whole new volume about to come into being. Perhaps it'll tell a story of joyful emancipation? I hope so. Meantime, I'm standing on the threshold - a liminal space that feels every bit as poignant and perplexing as it is potent.

Waters I Have Known (process - detail) CB August 2010

Into the Trees - Zoe Keating

Oooh, exciting... I've just discovered that cellist Zoe Keating released her new album Into the Trees last month. If you haven't yet encountered her and her music, you are in for a treat. Zoe is surely one of the most gifted, graceful and ethically astute musicians around. She's streaming several tracks from Into the Trees on her website; the full album is available for order in three different formats (Digital, Compact Disc and a Deluxe Edition Compact Disc, ranging in price from US$8.00 to US$20.00).

This is an extract from her web bio "... Zoë Keating is a one-woman orchestra. She uses a cello and a foot-controlled laptop to record layer upon layer of cello, to create lush, beautiful and otherworldy music. Born in Canada and classically trained from the age of eight, Zoe spent her 20's dabbling in computer software while moonlighting as a cellist in rock bands. Inevitably, she combined the two and developed her now signature style while improvising for late night crowds at her San Francisco warehouse..."

Photograph of Zoe Keating from BOINGBOING - A Directory of Wonderful Things,

hosted by David Pescovitz.

Music & Projects

Tuesday Poem - False Alarm

TONDO

While I was up in Wellington last week, I had the great pleasure of meeting Mary McCallum - capable, exuberant curator of the Tuesday Poem initiative. The fact Friday was NZ National Poetry Day meant poetry was being celebrated in various shapes and forms around the city; we arranged to meet at Unity Books where two new collections (Dear Sweet Harry by Lynn Jenner & Lives of the Poets by John Newton) were being launched.

Mary and I had a moment's shyness once we'd put our plan in place; each of us felt a need to say we hoped we'd be recognizable in the flesh since we probably don't entirely resemble our blog photos these days. But, hey presto - there we were, like 'pop-up characters materializing from the pages of a children's book' (Mary's expression) - and we had zero difficulty identifying each other. It was a treat to also meet Tim Jones, Helen Heath, Helen Lehndorf, Helen Rickerby, Maria McMillan and Sarah Jane Barnett. Tuesday poets, all.

Yesterday I mentioned that I had a few quirky photographs to show you... Tondo is one of them. I was walking down Cuba Street in the city centre with my camera, looking for unusual shop window displays when I noticed a plaster detail several metres above street level on one of the old facades. Someone had glued a set of false teeth into the centre of this architectural feature, then painted them this rather splendid 'decay' yellow. The teeth had me laughing out loud. . . they introduced an element of humour and charm to an otherwise unexceptional, plain-faced old building.

I couldn't decide on a poem for today, so I thought it might be fun to do something a little different. Rather than leave my Tuesday Poem space blank, I'd like to suggest we compose a poem together today. If you're game to join in, please post a one-line response to these teeth/this Tondo in the comments box? Or you could write a line in response to the line - or lines - that precede it... Any random association that occurs while you're visiting would be welcome? I'll collect the lines up in the order they appear and post our combined composition at the bottom of this post.

To get things going, I'd like to suggest the word TONDO as a title for the poem.

Thanks for joining in this little lark! Have fun...

For more Tuesday Poems, click here.

* tondo |ˈtändō|

noun ( pl. -di |-dē|)

a circular painting or relief.ORIGIN late 19th cent.: from Italian, literally ‘round object,’ from rotondo ‘round,’ from Latin rotundus.

*

A crazy image of false teeth is bound to give rise to a quirky poem -

Here's our creation so far. . .

TONDO

Oh gaping maw of yellow decay

too far beyond cold to chatter,

that jaw had a tongue in it

and could sing once. Heart

in my mouth, teeth on a platter;

operas, arias, whispers and roars

pressed now in cold silence.

Mandibular gymnast, expectant

that I so longed to chew

the fat, the lean - and you?

I've eaten through your absence

(oh, the gnawing pain

of an abscess). Draw close.

Listen. I whisper, I groan

alone with cigar smoke, a bucket

fountain, feed on the rain

rust down. "A serious case

of tondo-itis", the doc said.

"It's been a while since

I've done this. It's good lubrication

for my pen!" said he, slipping

the thin tool from the kid-skin

case, "not to mention the lump

of cash in my pocket. . ."

Do not stop, tondo. Go round.

Begin again. Do not, Tondo

gaze too long into the mirror

of your name. Easier dead

than said in the lipless

jawless, disembodied scream

of myself; but is not death

a phrase of life? Let the scream

become a song. From such a maw

did Delphic wisdom issue? Perhaps

Tondo, you are our new oracle?

A surprise by

Therese Clear, Marylinn Kelly, Mary McCallum, Maggie@at-the-bay, Claire Beynon, dinahmow, Penelope Todd, Bernadette Keating, John Griffin, Clare Dudman, Pam Morrison,Tim Jones, RachVB, Geoffrey Dunbar, Susan Landry, Harvey Molloy,

and those of you who might yet like to contribute (take your time; there's plenty of it!) -

Mapping

This composite oil painting (2000 x 1005MM) is about as close as I get these days to marking days, weeks or months on a calendar. Titled Encounters with Waterfalls it's a visual logbook of a voyage through Western Fiordland on board the conservation yacht, Breaksea Girl. I started and completed this painting in 2008. It tells of hours and days at sea during which time I experienced dazzle and squall and everything in between (life in a nutshell/a pea-green boat?).

I'm posting this painting here today because it's the first day of August and I want to remind myself of my intentions for the coming month. See, August is my birthday month. I've spent too little uninterrupted time in my studio this past year. In twenty one days time I'll be fifty years old, which is quite a thought; a big, daunting, joyful, empowering thought. I'd like to paint my way into my fifty-first year and to celebrate this point of arrival in the company of friends, family and a forest of candles.

There's a fair bit of unchartered ground to cross between now and then, though. The old familiar landscape is shuddering again, arching its back and remonstrating. . . Ah yes, more change is afoot. It seems to me there are times in our lives when a thorough dismantling has to take place in order for some new order to grow up in its place. I know it's going to be helpful for me to create some kind of a map as I re-orientate myself and navigate my way into an entirely new landscape. I don't know who or what will be there when I eventually step into the clearing. I think painting every day is going to be an essential part of this process. As will standing on my head! And walking.

Tomorrow I'm getting up early to gesso boards and prepare a stash of paper for paintings. (I love the sound of that. . .)

*

Thank you for continuing to visit my blog even when I'm away from it, sometimes for days at a time. I've been slack this past while, not answering comments or saying an awful lot... I returned home from my week in Wellington this evening and will catch up with things soon. I also have some quirky photos to show you. For now, I just want to say Hello and to name this pact I'm making with myself; I am going to paint every day this month (or as close as damn-it).

Here's to an august August.

Here's to you.

Here's to me.

Here's to us all.

*

august |ôˈgəst|adjectiverespected and impressive : she was in august company.DERIVATIVESaugustly |ɔˈgəstli| adverbORIGIN mid 17th cent.: from French auguste or Latin augustus ‘consecrated, venerable.’August |ˈôgəst| |ˈɔgəst| |ˈɔːgəst|nounthe eighth month of the year, in the northern hemisphere usually considered the last month of summer : the sultry haze of late August | [as adj. ] an August cold snap.ORIGIN Old English , from Latin augustus ‘consecrated, venerable’ ; named after Augustus Caesar, the first Roman emperor.