Lady in the Wind (Original Art)

I drew out a couple of sketches at 3 am to capture the mood and the next day laid out an outline on an 16" X 20" X 1.5" canvas.

The completed piece is heavily layered and textured using acrylic paint.  Para-gliders soar, cumulonimbus clouds build, far off rain falls and wild ocean waves spray a rocking sailboat; All held by the mood of the Lady in the Wind.

 

'Lady in the Wind'

16" X 20" X 1.5"

Acrylic - Stretched canvas

Take Flight - Falcon (Original Art)

Take Flight - Falcon (Original Art)
8" X 10" X 1.5"
Acrylic on stretched canvas

Take Flight - Hawk (Original Art)

This original gorgeous hawk, painted in vibrant purples with undertones of pink, is posed mid-landing (or launching) on a red and orange 8" X 10" X 1.5" canvas. The work has been sealed to help protect against fading. Edges are painted using a mix of the same reds and dark purples on the bird.


https://www.etsy.com/listing/219187509/take-flight-original-art?ref=shop_home_active_1

Free Flight: Paragliding and Hanggliding

Please Watch and Share: Gliders vs. Miners

The mining company purchased the property behind the houses in the 1990's when there were already houses.  This mining company will devastate the neighborhood and quality of life if they are allowed to mine "Phase 2".

I find it interesting that one neighbor cannot change his adjoining property (house and land) in a manner that negatively impacts mine without at least a massive effort to prove the need and to then hear opposing views. How can a different neighbor be completely exempted when their intended use of the property includes the words "total disturbance"?

Please sign the petition https://www.change.org/p/salt-lake-county-government-save-steep-mountain

Our Muse

I am twisted slightly to look over my shoulder, eyes glued to the sluggishly waving wind sock behind me.  Every exhale of moving air against my neck is mentally measured. My peripheral vision watches the cells of my paraglider breathing in the north wind's presently insignificant gasps.

A tiny bead of sweat cools the side of my temple.  The rest is caught inside the mesh of my snug full face helmet. My fingers slide softly against my lines...

The north wind is coming.  I know it.  My imagination pictures my Wind Woman tumbling, laughing, teasing around far off flags and trees.  Although she is carelessly delayed by distractions from the eastern mountains and then tardier still as she momentarily pauses to smile at leaves... she is coming and I am patient and impatient as the late summer sun roasts my shoulders through my long sleeved shirt.

All around me stand 30 or more others; gear on, harnesses clipped, their heads also steam cooking in colanders called helmets.

We wait in near silence.

Then... the hang glider waiting on the edge of launch, having leaned forward on his wires for minutes the length of hours, suddenly straightens and takes the base tubes (the frame) of his wing in his hands; he has seen the flag down the valley snap up and strong.  He launches. The nose dips down and then curves up.

She is here.

There is a unvoiced cheer of unified relief as we pull up our wings, each of us now competing for our spot to take off.  We stagger forward like zombies, chests to the ground, toes scrambling; we are laughing with our belated muse as she catches us off the earth's edge to toss us up and up.

Inspiration Point (Original Art)

'Inspiration Point' 

10.75" X 13.75" 

Heavy Weight Mixed Media Paper

Permanent markers; Oil Pastels; Acrylic

Wings in the Air (Original Art)

'Wings in the Air'

24" X 30" X .75" 
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Headed Home

Lately, the Wind Woman had been something of a pill, delivering only turbulent rain or half-hearted little breaths of a breeze.  Just in the prior week, on THREE evenings, I stood clipped into my gear, sweating in my full face helmet, fingers fiddling with my lines, staring over my shoulder at the flag on the end of launch.... and no wind....

Additionally I was immersed in family chaos composed of college graduation, dinners, military commissioning, an impromptu bridal shower -All of which a happy series of events, of course, but also loaded with family politics and emotions.  

Naturally, it was fantastic flying conditions the two nights booked with family gatherings....

And then it was Sunday and although the weather was not predicted to be flyable, it was still Sunday, the most lovely day of the week.  I am very fortunate to have a deeply religious family and usually I am left Sunday as my day -no interruptions, no events. Ah Sunday, how I eye this day with excited scheming and anticipation.  

Sunday morning we pulled weeds, hauled branches and after four hours of yardwork, the rental property was a little more presentable.  That afternoon, we hurried to Alta to celebrate closing day by slugging through heavy slushy spring snow and admiring the array of inappropriate costumes and outfits (or lack of ).  

As we returned to the car, my darling man checked the winds on his phone and announced... "Hey! It's flyable!".

Skies and boots were never so quickly shed.  Tearing down the mountain, falling out of the car to swap our ski gear for paragliders, we dashed to the flight park.  

And it was flyable;  we stepped out of the car, into harnesses and off of launch into bouncy and perfectly ahhhhhmazing wind. 

We flew and flew, for around an hour until it was time to head home.

"Headed Home"

"11" X "14" X ".75"
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)


***I have decided this piece needs a lovely vibrant background... ;)

(Twitter)

A Pilot's Point of View (Original Fine Art)

"A Pilot's Point of View (Lone Peak)"

16" X 20" X 1.5"

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/ UV)

Like this style?  Email me to request a personalized version.  This is a painting of a hang glider pilot, using a photo they provided.  This is an original piece and one created for you would also be an original.  

"A Pilot's Point of View (Timpanogos)"

9" X 12" X 1.5" (Complete 3D Piece)

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/ UV)

Like this style?  Email me to request a personalized version.  This is a painting of a hang glider pilot, using a photo they provided.  This is an original piece and one created for you would also be an original.  

This piece is comprised of one 8" X 10" X 3/4" canvas mounted to one 9" X 12" X 3/4" canvas, bringing the completed work to 9” X 12" X 1.5”.  

Turning point

Something strange has happened.

I noticed it when we went skiing in January.  Something had switched in my focus, something was different in my decisions; I have a feeling of intention.  I skied thinking about the snow, about the day, about the line.  I did not thinking about how steep was the run, how many were the trees and how thick was the falling snow… not one of my usual inner questions awoke to look for and find flickering familiar fault.   I just skied. 

At the end of the day, when my hero wanted to show me a view that required a hike, I didn't mention my trembling legs and exhausted hands.  I followed.  When he turned and saw my slower steps, when he pulled my skies off my shoulder and carried both, I just said thank you. As he turned away, I swallowed back my salty girly reaction to the beauty of our friendship and his seeing heart and hurried up.

I just had my first 'real' flight this month.  Even though it had been months, I didn't find my usual nauseating swirl of nerves and self doubt as I pulled out my wing. I ran my fingers through my lines, clipped into my harness, completed my pre-flight check, kited for a couple of minutes and launched.

I actually felt lonely without my shadowy quivering fears. I am the queen of self doubt, the champion of personal mistrust.  All alone with the wind on my face, I just flew. I flew for thirty three minutes until I decided to land and warm up. There I found the glow of sunlight, a calm sunset and familiar friends.  I looked around as I packed my wing, wearing my usual dorky 'just flew' grin plastered on my face and I wallowed in awesomeness that is this time in my life.

While I would love to attribute my new found confidence to myself; it is because I am watching someone else's audacious bravery that I have this unfamiliar poise.

Someone important to me, someone I have long respected, admired; someone I 'knew' would always alienate me because I'd chosen a path he could not understand, relate to - much less praise –This person has decided to chose an uncharted and unknown path, one that is the complete opposite of the one he has long followed. 

I am amazed, I am enlightened because his new direction was discovered only because of his staggering possession of courage and his driving need for truth.  But that isn't what astounds me, it is that He Intends to Take the Journey.

Ohhhhhh I flinched and glowed when I heard his intentions.  I took this journey.  I remember my horror when I realized my prior belief system was built on terrible deceit. It seems that all religions maybe presently followed with good intentions but the original story was certainly not. 

Individuals I respected and loved looked at me as the betrayer for questioning their strongly revered and complicated superstitions.  When a person declares they are leaving - leaving means you are a cancer and you may infect the rest and so you must be cut out or held at careful bio-hazard clothed arm's length.

For YEARS I had stood bewildered by my loss of culture, acceptance and identity.  And here's the thing Reader -I got out early, I took the chicken route, I moved away and I never approached the topic directly.  Snide comments were swallowed and judgmental verdicts accepted.

He, on the other hand, has invested years, oodles of  tithing money, scarified friendships - Every personal and professional decision ruled by  rationale decreed from inside religious parameters..... And he didn't just have the spine to research questions, earnestly and honestly.  He actually accepted the answers he found deploying sound logic and He Intends to Take the Journey. 

– By this, I am set free. 

http://mormonexpression.com/2012/12/19/episode-219-ex-mormonism-as-a-heros-journey/

Me and the Wild thing

Usually it’s a statement, “You should sell your art!”

Sometimes it is a question, “Why don’t you sell your art?”

Questions of this nature bemuse and flatter.  I am puzzled because I know I am not particularly good.  I am charmed because perhaps they feel what I felt while painting.

I married the most intelligent, brilliant and handsome man.  We live a life of adventure, friendship and beauty.  Life, work, pets, dinner, dishes –most of these daily tasks bring me happiness and satisfaction.

Despite this incredible life... there is something restless inside me.  And I feel I understand people who fight to live happily while sharing space with something inside them.  When ‘this’ rises up inside, I must rise to greet it.  If I do not, if I decide to ignore or fight it, 'it' and it's rip tide of need will shred my sanity.  You see, inside of me, there is a wild thing. 

The last few weeks were on fast forward and I haven’t painted At All in over three weeks.  Not one sketch or doodle.  My hands began to hurt first; I started to clench and flex them in my sleep.  Next my eyes start to look hungry in the mirror.  Now I am half listening to people around me, half of me checked out in distraction. This growing, hyperventilating need to pull into myself; to sit alone in a grove of trees found only in my head -it is about to consume me.  This starved feeling had begun to torch all other feelings into ash –my nightly dreams become a frantic race to my imagined trees and as I nearly reach  them - the morning alarm again goes off.

Early this morning, still short on time, thinking about a lunch I haven’t packed, a phone call from a recruiter, my boss’s email, a class I need to take a look at, laundry in the dryer –Instead, for a moment, I went outside to watch Lone Peak disappear in the oncoming storm.  I watched the cloud cover expand, thick and wet, as it draped across the mountain and I listened to the softest smallest wind breathe….please…

Two hours later I took twenty minutes to lay a base of blues, purple, grey and greens on a stark white naked canvas.  I cannot tell you how it feels, I can try:  It is oxygen flooding into my hands, a feeling of water and wind in my lungs and my terrible torturing tension eases. 

You see, I am not a religious person and I am not fond of the idea there could be a guy in a beard hanging out in clouds, delivering bizarre rules.  However I do believe in the Wind Woman. I believe in the prophetic powers of sunflowers, dreams and instincts.  

Here is the complication about selling my art:  Each painting is a spell I cast using paint to reflect the light breaking in my soul; I cast out an imagined silver and gold net to draw in emotion, the moment, the point of view I am seeing. 

I have always hung them where I live so every time I walk in, I rest when I see them.  The wild thing relaxes.  Safety, beauty; the intangible threads of my life woven into these small bright windows.  It doesn’t matter to me if they are good or correctly scaled or controversial and strange.   They are me.  I painted them for the purpose of existing.  I painted them because it made me smile.  If they make someone else smile that is exciting!  Because they felt what I felt and I have successfully expressed my truth; We are all connected, no one is as alone as they think, wish or fear. 

How do I sell that?  What is the right price tag?

Just fly

All of us hide in ourselves. We hide in makeup or no makeup or in too many or too little clothes. We hide behind smiles, behind boasts, behind silence; we are all hiding.

Watery warm autumn sunlight kisses my cheek and jaw line. The Wind Woman plays lightly with my hair. She is whispering in my ear, her cool bare breath against my face, tickling me into a smile.

People are flying and I want to fly too. I came out here to watch, to be inspired, to talk to the Wind Woman, the Lady of Wild Hair and Random Tangents. Lately I am afraid of things I want and I wonder why. Is it a mortality fear? Fear of aging, am I overly sensitive to the fragility of my human body? I had pondered this two days ago too. I thought about the fear when I launched and flew but then completely forgot about it as I excitedly landed EXACTLY where I wanted.

‘AH HA!! TADDDAAAA!!!’ I shouted to myself, this included an imaginary high five to self too. Out loud I only quietly giggled to myself, mildly drunk on my happiness. I launched again, caught up in the surging glory of success. I continued to forget about fear as I flew back and forth awhile –until I unexpectedly bumped into it again on landing.

When I notice something about myself I notice it in others. Or imagine it in others. Either and/ or. Most of the time I think no one notices I am watching them; trying to understand how we are all so alike and yet so separated. Occasionally, I think my ‘observing’s’ are noticed by some and that some become suspicious and think me suspect of something. When I notice them noticing, I wish I could ask, “I see this in me, I think I see it in you. What conclusions have you arrived to?”

But people are hiding and dislike nothing more than being found out.

Back to today. The air is calmer than yesterday, rich in dense cool air, rising up like lazy champagne bubbles… My Wind Woman sighs her question softly ‘Would you like a glass?’

Yes, yes I would. Despite falling over the dog, then the cat and then my shoes and dropped coat; somehow I make it out to the park with my head attached. Carefully, systematically, I pull and lay out my wing and my things. I call my dearest to tell him where I am. I strap in, flight check twice and pull up.

It was perfect -until my glove caught in the brake handle, came off and I flopped the wing over trying to catch it, making myself laugh. Redo was effortless, launch was clean, and up up up I went. I made a very low bench, the kind that had me grinning all the way, wondering if I would land on the trail.

On the back ridge, looking at the romantic lonely Timpanogos and her snowy ridge outline, studying the fairy land that must be Lone Peak, I decided: Sometimes, maybe we are afraid of what we want most because it is what we want most. Nothing is as disappointing as hope unrealized; so the more we want and hope for something, the more we are guarded against it.

I told my Wind Woman my conclusion. In answer she shook out my fear like dust from an over trodden door way rug and told me ‘Just fly.