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

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.

'The Bug', Ego and a Vaccine

Our perception of self worth and value tends to be deeply aligned with our pesky testy fragile ego and as such it is an incredibly powerful aspect of the human condition, ego can be a serious force to reckon with.

I have my own ego issues, of course, but they are not usually sports related. God and fate did not see fit to give me a reasonable sense of spacial awareness or much by the way of eye hand coordination.  I respect the high possibility I may die carrying the laundry down the stairs some day. So when it comes to sports, of any kind, I hold myself back, take extra care and never compare my progress to others.

And this detached approach works well for me.... Until I catch 'The Bug'.

'The Bug' happens when I get really interested, invested and begin to see 'Dramatic Improvement'. Symptoms include an awakened fiercely competitive six year old self, hair brained determination and a complete lack of concern for possible bodily harm. Having the 'The Bug' means that I will now measure my progress with a ruthless and unforgiving memory.

Skiing is a great example.

I started skiing on gentle runs in the rolling sprawling hills of Harrisburg. I loved it; each time was chaotic movements in a splendor of heavy snow and coupled with fantastic car wheels.

Then I moved to Utah and had a couple of days on snow accompanied with the skilled aid of my dearest. Having grown up skiing on a racing team in Utah, he is more than proficient, ridiculously fast and a persistent instructor. Under his tutelage I went from sort of up right and mildly paying attention to showing some assemblage of 'Dramatic Improvement'.

I remember my first run taken with 'The Bug' and an inkling of confidence... As of that run, I have clobbered my face, free fallen, lost skies, blacked out and seen the inside of the First Aid office at Snowbird and Alta. In the name of 'The Bug' and my burning desire to be awesome; I have become a fanatical devotee to my crusade -despite my natural state of klutz.

Getting 'The Bug' is not a given occurrence though.  Scuba diving, for example; My darling introduced me to the world of diving years ago but the whole thing only enhanced an already acute awareness of my squish-able self. Diving is cool, awe inspiring and down right scary. Scuba diving remains in the category of 'Improve and Proceed with Extreme Caution'

Flying has been in this category up until last October.  I treated the whole thing with watchful meticulous routine and warily eyed interest. Then last year, after a summer of monsoons, cross winds and blown out days, there came a mystical week in October. For six days, in a row, there arrived warm/ cool autumn air, bringing straight and even winds with golden sunsets.

It's incredible what consistency will do. Launching, flying and landing six days in a row, of course, improved my confidence and skills. It also included my personal hook: 'Dramatic improvement'.

Perhaps 'The Bug' is intermediate syndrome, I have read a bit about it. Intermediate syndrome describes making 'choices not in line with one's actual level of experience, skills' and general know how. Regardless of what it is called, I have it, a burning, driving need to understand and accomplish, on my own, continuous improvement.  Along with 'The Bug', my ego now includes the unhappy trait of sensitivity when my choices are second guessed.

Then.... something did not happen to me, it happened to the one who matters most. I listened to the one with a prouder and stronger character than anyone in this world; swallow the first and exemplify the second, and ask for help, feedback and advice.

I think might have found a vaccine for 'The Bug'.

It's called 'Be Quiet and Listen.'

Inspiration Point (Original Art)

'Inspiration Point' 

10.75" X 13.75" 

Heavy Weight Mixed Media Paper

Permanent markers; Oil Pastels; Acrylic

'Wind Woman Sing me a Song' (Original Art)

'Wind Woman Sing me a Song'

11" X 14" 

Heavy Weight Drawing Paper

Permanent markers & Oil Pastels

https://www.etsy.com/listing/190727332/wind-woman-sing-me-a-song-original-fine?ref=shop_home_active_2

**Sold**

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/

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.

Longest Flight

Last night I took off and flew for an hour and forty minutes. My longest flight this far.

Here are some quick details to explain why this flight was amazing. Cold air is thicker than warm air. This is an important detail because summer flying is very different than spring or fall flying. Temperatures have been very hot and dry this year. About a week ago, it started dropping to the low 60's at night and maxing out in the eighties during the day. So in the evening the air is cooling while warm sunlight is still heating.

We fly in two kinds of ‘lift’, thermals and ridge lift. Sunlight (heat) creates invisible thermals (think of dust devils) and ridge lift, (think of air as water and what does moving water do when it hits a wall? It breaks and rises. The air hitting the mountain ridge travels up it in a wave of 'ridge lift').

K, so there are the terms. I took off and the air was thick and warm with little rivers of cool washing over me. It wasn't hard AT all to fly up and reach the back ridge. Rather than sharp jostles, which I am familiar with this summer, the rocking felt like being in a boat in a bit of waves.

And the lift... the highest I had ever been before was 6750 ft. Last night the air lifted and lifted and somehow I was 7530 ft. in the air. I was above everyone else (for once) and alone and it disconcertingly odd to look around and see how very far up I was in that big blue and orange evening sky.

It’s scary to fly away from the hill. There is a mental block that happens. I, like many pilots, mentally latch on to the place I take off from. I do not want to get too far away from it. While there are some flight restrictions (airline paths and heights), this fear of leaving the ridge is actually counter intuitive. Technically the further you are up and away from things, the less there is to possibly run into. I know this. Karl repeats it over and over again, trying to help me see past it.

I twisted around to look at the far away landing zones, at the teeny tiny tree tops and houses and thought 'Whoa..." The Wind Woman was humming, busy dressing trees for the coming autumn festival. I could see the glimmer of red and orange in the mountains, her handiwork about to be on full display.

The last ten years came crashing down on me with a vengeance; my journey to me. I was filled up to tears with gratitude and just as quickly, filled with jealous fear. I have this fantastic life. I belong with this beautiful man I call my husband. I have the sweetest most darling dog, who I call my friend because she is so much more intelligent and interesting than a regular dog. I have a lovely home, a black and white bratty gentle cat. I get to do everything I love. I am never bothered by things like enough food, a safe place to rest or the ability to get what I need.

My job sucks, I wish I would ‘grow a pair’ and try publishing my book again, I wish I had more time to paint but these trivial complaints are swallowed whole by the fantastic force called my life.

It occurred to me that this life might not go on forever and this seemed painfully unjust and unfair. The Wind Woman came to laugh at the sudden knot in my throat. She touched my legs and traveled up to wrap a brief warm scarf of air around my shoulders in a gentle hug.

‘Look at your hands…’ she whispered. I looked in wonder at my hands. I stretched out my arms, reached out my fingers, and I ‘air-planed’, rocking myself to each side. Before she rushed off she reminded me ‘Live for each moment, live in each season…’