stuff about artstuff.

Things That Make Me Smile: Vacation Edition

Dog walks every morning and afternoon are an every-day attitude adjustment around here, but on the beach, forgetaboutit.  It turns into an ear-to-ear grinning until my cheeks hurt thing.

At the beach, little things become fun events.

Some birds.
A boat.
A pattern.

The perfect latte in the morning is enough to bring a smile to my famously-grouchy-morning-lips (yes, we actually pack up the Breville and take it to the cabin) but it's even more fun when I pull a random mug from the cupboard and realize it's designed by my talented friend BJ Lantz!
Her cute beach design made me smile every morning (those who know me well will attest, this is a tall order).

And finally, 2 weeks of perfect sunsets, how can that not make someone smile?

Vacation Inspiration

Finally going through my photos from last month's amazingly restful, absolutely-perfect-in-every-way vacation at the beach, I was struck by the colors and suddenly needed to play Brenda Pinnick's fun color-palette game again (ok, maybe it's not supposed to be a game, but those of you who dig colors like I do understand exactly why I think it is).

From the subtle foggy morning shades on through that crazy-dramatic changes-every-few-seconds sunset smorgasboard of color, I'm now finding even more inspiration in my simple little shots of the beach...

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Blue and Gold

There's an awful lot of grey outside my window right now. 

Just last week, though, it seemed to me that the whole world was blue and gold. 
 
 
And deep purply red and vibrant fiery orange and every shade in between.  Then the wind picked up and the clouds came in and now it's more than apparent that winter is lurking just around the corner...

A Day at the Beach.

Sometimes you just need a day at the beach.
Sometimes you need to stand and stare into the surf.
Just stand
in one place
while the waves
wash
over your feet.
Like this guy.
 

Sometimes you need to watch the birds

and search for treasures in the sand.
Like this guy.
Or have fun finding tracks in the sand
like this raccoon's
or this deer's
or even the little tracks left by grass in the breeze. 

Sometimes you need to fantasize that there's no one around and you could just live in a fort.
Sometimes you just need a day at the beach.

More Flotsam & Jetsam

Just for fun, a few more bits of eye candy from the beach a couple months ago...

 
As a kid I was fascinated by monster-sized bull kelp.
 
I guess I still am.



 
Extreme tides exposed all sorts of treasures, mostly tied into knots by the waves.

 
One super-low tide exposed a magical sugar-frosted wonderland, it just sparkled in the evening sun.

There's No Place Like This Place.

 
Just another ordinary ferry ride, on another ordinary summer evening. 
We around here tend to take things like this for granted, it's just how we get to the other side. 
I grew up on the other side, and it was just how I alawys got to ... well, everything. 
A perfectly ordinary way to get somewhere. 
People do it every day, to commute; to do ordinary, mundane things and get to ordinary, mundane places. 
Every so often, though, I am lucky enough to remember how extraordinary "ordinary" things really are.



 
I've always loved the colors and textures as the seawater is churned up by the ferry engines.



 
I so dig this place I call home.

So do you remember this?

And this? 
And of course this? 
And ... well, all the rest are here.

If you do, once again: extra bonus points for paying attention.

Gosh I drew these a long time ago.  But guess what?  We're finally "refreshing the line" with some new Seattle and Puget Sound themed designs.  I am excited to get drawing on this new project after all these years, since this place is one of my favorite subjects. 

Stay tuned for more about this very soon!

Flotsam & Jetsam

Buoys, floats, barnacles, rocks.  Little offerings from the tide. 

Thanks, tide.










   

For the Birds.

 
All week the beach was full of birds.
 
Several hundred at a time would fly past in a cacophonous swarm
 
and settle in on the sandbar, at the surf line, to stand there.
Sometimes they would float on the surf 
but mostly, just stand there.
Facing the surf.
Molly tried this too, she found the standing still part quite Zen.
They were there in the fog and mist 
and (the few times it made an appearance) in the sun.
Crows joined them in the mornings 
and sandpipers would take over in the evenings.
Extremely high and low tides all week seemed to be bringing in a feast on the surf 
and a feast below the sand. 
All day, they'd just stand there
 
until the sun set 
then little by little they would lift off and fly away until the sun returned.

 
One of the little guys I made while playing with my Paperclay is now doing the same thing from the cabin window ... just staring into the surf all day long. 
Like the real gulls, he seems quite content to do so.

And I Think They're Cute, Too.

Looking back I notice a sort of unexpected recurring theme from the week at the beach.

From the handful of books I grabbed to take with us 
where I read lots of stories about how Coyote helped create the World, gave people fire, taught ancient tribes how to fish and other real practical, helpful things...

...to the visitor who joined Molly on a walk one morning. 
Not surprising then that he showed up a couple times in my little sketchbook and drawings during the week.

Really just a pleasant character overall, in my opinion.  The Coyote of legend just wanted people on earth to be happy.  He sometimes gets a bad rap for the means by which he accomplished stuff, but his intentions were usually pretty positive.  The coyote on the beach was unobtrusively and politely curious.   And if you're an animal lover and haven't ever followed the Daily Coyote link in my lurk-list in the sidebar here, I think you should.

North Head Lighthouse

I thoroughly enjoyed visiting this beautiful old piece of Washington State history last month.

Although aged architecture in decay makes for a neato artsy photo-op, it's not necessarily the respect that should be shown to our historical monuments.

There is a wonderful group, "Keepers of the North Head Light", who are working toward properly restoring the old beauty.

You can see some of the masonry work already done by students from the Historic Preservation Field School at the University of Oregon.

I'm not sure exactly why, but I seemed to have gotten giddy enough while there that I forgot some very basic and vital information about myself. I have extreme acrophobia. Like, standing-on-a-chair-is-too-high-phobia. But caught in some sort of moment - most likely I was out of my mind from the tsunami-advisory-excitement of the day - I seemed to be determined to go up inside and see it for myself.
Halfway up the first flight of stairs, it struck me, "holy crap girl, just what do you think you are doing?"

Those of you who know me well, feel free to answer aloud, in unison:

What is the one thing in the world I hate more than anything else?

"Stairs you can see through."

And what else?

"Stairs with no railings."

Thank you.

Once started, though, I couldn't exactly back down on my hands and knees (you think I'm joking?) and ask for my donation back. I'm sorry, I've changed my mind. I don't really care about your dumb old lighthouse any more. I'm going home now. So I looked up and kept going.
It was worth it. Really cool.

I hesitated for only a second looking at the stairs below, realizing I pretty much had no other choice but to take a deep breath and step down

but that's the only good thing about stairs-that-you-can-see-through - you can see-through much less going back down. And even better, point-and-shoot digital cameras can be held out from one's body while one is firmly pasted to the wall (look at me, I'm wallpaper. I dare you to peel me away). I had no idea what these next 2 shots looked like until I was back down on level ground.

If you're in Southern Washington it's worth a visit, and the folks who are organizing the fundraising/restoration efforts are super nice and are passionate about what they're doing. For more info about their organization or to find out about making a tax-deductible donation, you can contact:

The Keepers of the North Head Lighthouse

PO Box K, Ilwaco, WA 98624

or email them at KeepersOfNorthHead@gmail.com

The Wave that Wasn't

It was our last full day out at the coast, and after a very busy week, I was looking forward to a quiet day with no plans ... my art supplies were spread around me on the table, and I was sipping the last of my morning coffee going back and forth between drawing and just watching the rain outside.

That came to a screeching halt with a knock on the door, word about the tragedy in Chile, and a warming that there had been a tsunami advisory for the coast.  The beaches were closed (the much anticipated clamming weekend was canceled until further notice) and although there wasn't an official evacuation in place, many were packing up and heading inland.  Although they were only predicting 2-4 foot swells where we were, that seemed significant enough for concern sitting beach-side, right at sea level on a 28 mile peninsula sticking out into the ocean.  Looking out into the surf, or what you could see through the mist, it was easy to imagine the unknown dangers lurking beyond. 
We scurried around between the television news coverage, worrying about friends and loved ones in Hawaii and Guam, starting to pack, then deciding not to leave ... finally settling on packing up "a little bit" (we would be leaving the next day, anyway) putting some stuff up on tables or shelves "just in case" and heading to higher ground for a few hours.  We decided to make our final decision after reports started coming in from the more southerly beaches.

For us, "higher ground" was a place we'd been talking about visiting anyway ... just maybe at a little more leisure.

There seemed to be a little more traffic than usual, everyone was out doing something: heading to the north end of the peninsula where there were a few hills, heading south to go back inland, or chuckling at those who were doing so from a beer-drinking bonfire party along the highway.

The sun was back out as we arrived at our destination, and we were greeted by cheerful blooms along the path. 
Heading along the trail we'd get ever increasing glimpses of the dramatic ocean below.




 
It seemed a lot of other people had the same idea as we had...
There's just something about lighthouses. 
The symbol of safety, protection; 
looking down from a lighthouse one is easily reminded what could happen to ships if it wasn't here, guiding them away from the rocks.


 
I have much more to share with you about this particular lighthouse, North Head Light - but that will have to wait for another post. 
For now, well, you already know how this story ends.  After a while, reports started coming in that Hawaii had "dodged a bullet"; folks headed back down the trail to their cars, and eager clammers were already gathering on the beach below.
Although there seemed to be a collective sigh of relief upon hearing that the Pacific was no longer in immediate danger, I can't say the mood actually lightened, as the fact remained that earlier that morning, hundreds of Chileans had lost their lives, and it was indeed a sad day.

Is the Ocean Made of Diamonds or Glass?

More from my February visit to the coast.

On one afternoon walk, I was convinced it was diamonds.


 
Or was it glass?

 
I suppose it is just made of ocean.

A Conversation with the Surf.

Day 1:

Me: "Hi, Ocean."

Pacific Ocean: "Hey there ya big wuss, why ya wearing boots?"
Me: "Well it's still actually winter. I was afraid I might get too cold."

Pacific Ocean: "Really? That's never stopped you before. Whaddayer gettin' old or somethin'?"

Me: "Sigh. The Ocean is right. I totally need my toes in the surf. What was I thinking?"

Day 2:

Me: "I'm back."

Pacific Ocean: "That's more like it. Here, watch this - I know you're gonna like this one."
Me: "You're so right, Ocean. Thanks for making me come back barefoot. That's the stuff...
"This is exactly what I needed, just a little-
Hey!"

Pacific Ocean: "Gotcha! Heh heh heh."

Me: "Wait a minute - who were you calling old, anyway?"

Score: Pacific Ocean: 1, Me: wet pants.

The Legend of the Fallen Creature on the Beach

We came across this guy on a beach walk and wondered who we was, where he had come from.
Just lying there on his back, with dem teeny tiny little feets in the air.
Little Miss Agatha was pleased to be able to give him a proper dog greeting.
When your nose is only a few inches off the ground, good bottom-sniff-greetings are hard to come by.

He had landed quite peacefully, actually. From the trail of clouds, it looked as if he had been launched somewhere in central Oregon. But where ... and why?

For thousands of years, deep within the thick deep old-growth forests of Oregon where some of the oldest trees on the planet reside, there has lived a tribe of woodland creatures that no human has ever seen. The creatures are shy and secretive, and cherish their quiet life among the giant evergreens. Long before even the first Native American set foot on this continent, they erected a grand statue of Magic Wood - a monument to their society and their home in the ancient forests.
As rumors spread throughout the old-growth forest that a logging operation could be closing in on their pristine and private homeland, they realized they must relocate to a deeper, denser area. But their grand monument - he was much too large to carry with them (the creatures are very small, you see). What would they do? If they left him behind, Evil Loggers would try to cut him with their saws, maybe even burn him with fire, and the secret of the Magic Wood might be revealed. The statue must go as far from Evil Loggers as possible.

Some of the little creatures decided to build a catapult, and thrust their statue into space to live among the stars. But the older, wiser creatures realized that Magic Wood was much too heavy to make it all the way to space, and would fall short; they suggested aiming it toward a land birds had told them of: The Beach. The Beach is a magical place covered in soft sand, which would provide a gentle landing for the statue. And even better, there was a beach north of them that was the longest, straightest sandy beach on the face of the earth. This would be perfect ... a 28-mile runway in which to land.
The creatures gathered in a somber ceremony to bid farewell to their monument. Their world was changing, and all they could hope was that they could find a new little piece of forest in which to live, forever hidden from humans and their destructive ways. They watched as their grand monument launched into the sky, as if on fire - contrail billowing behind him - far, far, away, to land softly in the distant sands of the Long Beach Peninsula.
There he rests peacefully today. As predicted, humans have tried to destroy him with saws,
and with fire,

but he is made of Magic Wood, and he remains solid and constant - a silent monument to the Creatures of the Old Growth Forest.

The Ocean in February.

Anyone who knows me knows about my thing with the ocean. I'm all about the ocean.

But I have a special thing about the ocean in February.

Most folks wouldn't consider outdoor activities involving the beach this time of year, at least this far north ... but there's a special place in my heart for Pacific Northwest beaches during this particular month.

It all started in 1972. We were planning a little family outing, a long weekend at the cabin over Presidents' Day. Mom said, "we're going to have to make sure and pack lots of warm clothes. I am sure it will be cold and rainy the whole time we're there." but I had a pretty good feeling otherwise. Maybe this was just because I was a kid, and kids aren't very practical. But I felt strongly about it. I said, "I bet you it will be nice!" and then my kid brain went into bargaining mode: "I bet you a pair of clogs that it will be sunny and nice the whole time."

I had been longing for a pair of clogs for so long. Cool wedgie-heeled slip-ons - all the fashionable girls had them. Mom was not too keen on the style, and had been answering my pleas with a firm "No!" for quite some time. Looking back, I can't say I blame her. Allowing her clumsy and cross-eyed little child to leave the house in shoes with a heel (even a tiny one) and no secure straps or laces? It hadn't even been 2 full years since I had spontaneously tumbled down the driveway jamming my front tooth clean through my lower lip, and that was in flat Mary Janes strapped on tight. Heaven only knew what kind of damage could be done in floppy little clogs.

But she smiled, agreed to my "bet"...

The sun shone on the beach that Presidents' Day weekend, as it shone on my wishes for fabulous new shoes.

That next week I got my dream clogs: soft crinkly leather, cork wedgie-heels, and blue as the sun shining on the Pacific ocean in February.

Among other dumb things about 2009, it ended up being a particularly ocean-free year for me. That was totally lame, but instead of dwelling on the past, I'm happy to move forward and soak in all that this happier new year has to offer.

Off to a pretty good start, ocean-wise and fabulous-shoe-wise (really) and I haven't tumbled down one single driveway.

The World in Black and White.

No, in a good way, like the cookie.

Diane asked about the windmill photo...so of course in true Beth-Logan-style...instead of a simple, short answer in the comments-section of my last post I will take this as an opportunity to share more snow pictures!

The nighttime picture was just a photo with flash (love how it catches the snowflakes...could that be considered bokeh or is it just dumb old blurry flashy snowflakes?). Here is the same little guy this morning...this is sort of blurry as it's taken through an upstairs window, and most of our windows are the original old, wavy glass.

And remember this scene from the other night? The little Pope's hat the glass insulator was wearing has turned into a full-on Nefertiti headdress. Well, in hat terms. Or maybe just a Cat-in-the-Hat type thing...it is a little rough for a queen.

I can't get over how bright it is. And pretty. Oh did I mention there's snow? And I like it? Hey, guess what? We have snow in Seattle. I bet you don't know how I feel about it. Do you want to hear about how much I like snow? And Christmas? Do you?

But aside from myself and the thousands of kids home from school, already so pumped for Christmas they can hardly breathe, it seems most folks are not so into this. You know...normal people who have places to be, things to accomplish. Work to go to. We aren't set up for real-winter around these parts.

I kind of see this as a cry for help...we really don't know what to do with this here.

Please, friends-of-Seattle from Alaska, Canada, the Midwest, the Northeast, and beyond...we need your guidance. We are helpless, stupid, and creating mayhem for ourselves. Help us. Most Pacific-Northwesterners have the incliment-weather driving skills of Toonces the Driving Cat. Seriously, did anyone see the 2 buses hovering over the Interstate in downtown Seattle the other day? It's pretty bad. Help us. Please.

In the mean time...I'll go on blabbering about how gorgeous it is. Magical. How I hear harps and musicboxes every time I peek out the window or head outside.

Ho ho ho everyone.

Oh the Weather Outside is Frightful...

Well no...actually according to some, it's absolutely delightful...

Although this week I'm stuck here in the studio where it's warm and dry working like crazy (emergency deadlines!) I took a little break this afternoon to play in the snow with Molly. She loves this stuff even more than the people-part of this family does (and that's a lot).

And it's so rare around here...it's pretty special for us to have actual snow that doesn't turn to rain and disappear immediately, especially this close to Christmas. It's just so darn festive!

Now I know you friends who live where you get real snow have always thought I was exaggerating when I told you about the way Seattlites completely freak out and simply walk away from their cars, leaving them every which way in the middle of the freeway when the road they're driving on starts to turn white, but lookie here...I wasn't just making that up! This was the local news-blurb on my internet homepage this morning:

At the Lake!

Well now I realize I am still in end-of-summer-denial here, while my blogging friends are posting about frost and baking pies and featuring cute new autumn designs I can't seem to let go of this beach and vacation theme.

Really I do love fall, and September has always been my favorite month...but getting into it is terribly difficult for me this year. Blame our dismal, cold and dark spring that lasted until July.

But now this: although it's still a camping theme, this involves cozy flannel. See, I'm inching toward accepting cooler nights (baby steps). And not just any cozy flannel, but my At the Lake flannels from Henry Glass. Check your favorite local quilt-shop, or you can find some online retailers who carry this line by clicking here...although if you've visited my website recently, you might have to delete "recent-history" to reset your browser for the new links to show up, because I just updated the site with them today!
Anyway, trying to catch up with everyone and everything after my trip last week, I stumbled onto Henry Glass's new blog and was so excited to find this amazing creation:
Designed and sewn by the talented Kathy Burchill of North Dakota...you'll find details about her design and contact info for the pattern on the HG blog, where you'll also see a larger, more detailed picture of this beautiful quilt. Look at that applique work (click the picture to see it BIG) she's created her own personalized "at the lake" camping scene, complete with critters and tents and even a campfire! Too cool!

Thanks so much, Kathy, for letting me share your treasure here (and for sending me the additional pictures!) and for your creative interpretation of my little designs!

Although my own vacation time was spent on rivers and the ocean this summer and not an actual lake, there was certainly enough waterside inspiration to carry me through the colder months when I'm holed up inside where it's warm, drawing and painting...and you can be sure that will include many more designs like At the Lake!

As for letting go of summer, I'm still not all-the-way there yet. Yeah, the thought of a cozy flannel quilt on a cool evening sounds kind of nice, maybe next month...

And stay tuned for more, I plan on diving headfirst into my first "real" sewing project(s?) since the late 70s (seriously, it's been that long) and that should be worth a chuckle or two (or at least an eye roll) and also will be devising some sort of giveaway here soon (got stacks?!) perhaps a simple contest or drawing?

Suggestions, anyone?

Still Thinking About the Beach.

Following are excerpts from ramblings written in my notebook last Thursday...time? I don't know, it was about 2 inches above sunset.

Gumption Meter Reads 1.67

After a slight jump up to 1.8 to step inside and pick up this notebook and a pencil, it's lowering again. 1.68, reach for mug, sip, back down to 1.66.

The Pacific Ocean's gumption seems to be similarly low: a giant, flat piece of sparkly blue seersucker fabric, only slightly ruffled and white at the edges. A tame, quiet, lovely little surf. Beyond, only smooth and blue, and it could only remain this flat, blue, and calm all the way to Japan. There's no way it could be different beyond the horizon. Just flat. Just quiet. The sky above similarly calm, blue...the sun following westward, bright stripe on the ocean quietly moving along below it.

The dog's gumption level is low also. She is content to lie on my feet, soaking in the evening sun, to smell the air and simply think about running on the beach, rather than actually doing it.

Fortunately, husband's gumption meter is reading high enough to pick up the 12-string and strum softly while the surf plays backup.

I sat and wrote a while longer, but then had to stop to watch my favorite show:

I should mention, though, I do realize that while my little corner of the ocean was calm and flat, while my sheltered perception of the world around me was completely at peace (no TV or internet), that so many others experienced the complete opposite last week.

My heart goes out to those hit by the recent storms; lives, entire worlds turned upside down, pulled out from under those left behind. Staring into a calm surf with a slight breeze, we all understand logically and distantly what it's capable of...it breaks my heart to think of those who now know this personally, who have lost homes, communities, and loved ones. They are in my prayers and good thoughts.

Not Quite Ready Yet...

...to say goodbye to summer, that is.

Now if I were someone who was on top of my blogging (not to mention PR) duties, I may have shared these with you months ago, perhaps in preparation for summer, rather than when the rest of the hemisphere is putting away their outdoor furniture and pulling sweaters out of storage.

But that's not how I roll.
  So, here I am, better-late-than-never-Beth...just now getting around to showing you some very summery garden flags that were offered this (I mean last, sigh) season by Toland Home Garden.
  Why am I just now finally getting around to blogging about these, even thinking about them at all?

Well...it's not just me who gets around to things later-than-most. Here in the Pacific Northwest, spring and summer took their sweet time in finally getting around to us. It feels as if summer just got here recently, and I'm not ready to let it go yet.

Also, having just returned from a lovely and quiet week out at the coast to celebrate my birthday, I am so excited to have seen pelicans on our beach for the first time.
Now, I should clarify it's my first time seeing them, not their first time here. I guess they've been here for a year or two, but I have spent far too little time out there in My Favorite Spot on the Face of the Earth. When painting my "Fresh Catch" design, I was really thinking about Southern (Eastern) beaches. But now, here on my own Northwestern beach, in all their magnificently-beaky glory (it holds more than their beli-can, you know) they are here.

I suspect their move here has more to do with the not-so-pleasant circumstances of global warming, reductions in fish populations, pollution, and decreasing habitat than it does entertaining northern coastal birdwatchers like me; but wildlife-geek that I am, I'll enjoy their presence just the same.
Molly didn't seem quite as impressed with them as she was the abundance of deliciously marinated salty sticks on the beach.
But then have you ever known a dog who didn't like the beach? I haven't.
In addition to beach-frolicking, there was also plenty of lounging and dilly-dallying to do around the cabin. Before leaving home I bought a bunch of acrylic paints and brushes that live at the cabin now for everyone to enjoy. Painting on driftwood and rocks with acrylics is something I loved as a kid, and before this last week I hadn't done it in years.

Again, a thoughtful blogger on top of her game would have also taken pictures of the finished product (featuring Molly, Flossie, and the wild roses in bloom all summer along the coast) but no. I left the little painting in the windowsill, no final shots, but I suppose the blogworld will keep on turning just as before without seeing it until next time I see it again.

Still a work-in-progress, our place has recently been thoughtfully and lovingly rebuilt by my amazingly talented and hardworking brother (other members the family lending hands when possible). The original shelter, literally built from scrap-wood, driftwood, and building-salvage by my creative, nutty, visionary Granddad, had been rotting from the inside for almost 40 years...and barely stood upright any more.

Now that it's mostly-finished, old pieces from the original shelter are coming out of storage and finding homes in the new structure.
  I was pleasantly surprised to see that since my last visit my brother has hung the old kitchen cupboard doors I had painted...one in 1980, and one in 1985.
And in one of the many photo albums in which my dear uncle has lovingly (and entertainingly) archived every detail of the history of the place, I found a photo of me painting the second door.
In another (even older) album, there are photos of a talented cousin of mine carving the totem you see in the background of the above shot...from a driftwood log right on the beach.

Pretty neato.

My favorite chair on the face of the earth (yes, part of an old broken chair atop a very heavy rusty can) made it to the new cabin. Favorite, but never really very comfortable, I thought it could use a little help from one of my Halloween pillows Windham Weavers produced a few years ago.
The old outhouse still stands, but is now a tool-shed. We don't need to go into any more history on that one, use your imagination.

Thankful to live in such a beatuful part of the earth (for those of you who can't see the detail or don't recognize the second flag, that's our Washington State seal) and blessed with a family that, as varied and odd group as we are, completely different from one another in so many ways, shares some pretty basic values which include preserving our history...I returned home refreshed, grateful, ready to get back to work...but still not willing to give up the last few breaths of summer.

It looks as if I still have a couple more days.

NOTE: a few days after posting this, I asked our Naturalist at the Wildlife Center where I volunteer about the pelican situation. It seems there's not a situation at all! He believes there have always been brown pelicans on Washington's coastal beaches. I had seen them now and then on the more southern-WA beaches but never up here...why, we're not sure. Maybe my beach wasn't "good fishin'" before now, maybe it's a time-of-year thing (as in I hadn't been out there at the right times of year). I will look into this further! Anyway, whatever it is, I'm still a little surprised I'd never seen them before, and am just happy to enjoy their beak-iful presence now.