drylands journal

Desert Snowflakes

2011-12-06T11:05:00.001-08:00

This morning, perfect snowflakes fell like sequins onto the cholla cactus outside my studio window. I went outside and discovered perfect crystalline shapes, and was able to capture a few with my little camera. Welcome, Winter, to our dry land! May these images remind you of the beauty that surrounds us all in this world, and of the peace and true meaning of our holiday season. Blessings to you all.

2011-10-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

Hiking in Ojito WildernessIt's been a while since I posted, so I thought I'd share some pictures that I took on a walk out at Ojito Wilderness yesterday so you can come along with me too. I always take dozens of photos every time I go out anywhere, but sadly, almost none of them make it into this blog. I'll try to remedy that in the future. Generally, given a choice of things to do, I tend to want to spend them in the studio. Creating a blog post takes me most of a work day.

I've been walking in Ojito for over 15 years, way back when it was just a Wilderness Study Area rather than a full-blown wilderness. It's a fairly small area, about 25 miles northwest of us in northwest New Mexico, just at the edge of the Colorado Plateau. But Zia Pueblo land and public lands surround it, and it feels very remote. I took the first image above as I set out from the parking area, and it gives you a good idea of the kind of terrain that's out there: mesas with desert scrub, juniper and pinon, and cholla cactus on the flats. Remember that you can enlarge these pictures by clicking on them, and truly see the details of the place.

Here's a really nice cluster of hedgehog cactus I found on the flats. Maybe Claret Cup, or another variety. I'd have to see it blooming in the spring to know for sure.

One of the things I love about wilderness areas (as opposed to national parks, etc.) is that I can walk anywhere I damn well please. No signs or park nazis ready to pounce and hand out tickets for Walking Where You Shouldn't (this actually happened to me at Chaco once). So anyway I was wandering around looking at things and found this pinon leaking sap out of one side. I hope it's not bark beetles, but the shimmery sap was fascinating.

Junipers are my favorite trees, partly because of the beautiful forms they create while growing in this harsh climate. This one had bent over at about hip-height and had actually twisted around itself. I wonder why? Many years ago, someone had cut a limb off of it for firewood on the other side. I wonder if that had an effect on it taking the shape that it did.

A secret alcove found while exploring a small rock outcrop.

Making my way northward along the east side of the mesa, I came across this tiny patch of badlands. I love the colors and shapes of badlands; these had greenish, rust red and parchment-colored layers of clay.

Not far beyond I discovered a small community of hoodoos and Ponderosa pines. I always feel like I'm in the company of spirits when with hoodoos. There is another area of Ojito that I call the Sanctuary which is similar to this one, but much larger and it takes a longer hike to reach. So I will call this one the Little Sanctuary.

The light was perfect, even though the air was a bit hazy. There was a very light breeze but the sun was warm for the time of year. What I love most about these hikes is the silence. Just the wind in the trees, the occasional raven or jet high above. Silence is necessary for my well-being, but I find when I'm out on a walk like this, my thoughts can start running in infernal loops. So I try to think music rather than words; most of the time it helps.

I do sense presences around me as well, if I can shut down the mental chatter. The plants and earth formations are beings themselves. This area had the feeling of being a community of strong, distinct individuals, all centered around this beautiful large Ponderosa who felt like the leader of the clan.

This and other local pockets of Ponderosas are relict populations, left over from the cooler and wetter Ice Age a few years back, and they are growing at a lower altitude than most Ponderosas in the region. In Ojito they seem to prefer these sandy areas with the yellow-white hoodoos.

One way that you can identify a Ponderosa is by getting right up against a crevice in the bark with your nose and breathing in. It will smell just like vanilla.

This was taken from the shade of that Ponderosa, looking back toward the southeast. This hoodoo was like the fat auntie of the tribe.

Another view of Auntie, looking up at her caprock. The harder layer of caprock over a softer layer of sandstone prevents the soft material from eroding away, which is why they have such wonderful shapes. That, and because they're presences in the land. Do they dance together in the moonlight when no one is watching?

Another member of the hoodoo clan. I admit that I tend to take too many pictures and that this can get in the way of just being in the here and now with the land. But I see so much beauty here everywhere I turn, and forget it so easily after I get home. Hoodoos especially are photogenic. They change dramatically from every angle.

I sat for a while under the big Ponderosa and made a watercolor sketch of this smaller one nearby. There were tiny rodent bones scattered around, probably the remains of an owl's dinner, perfectly bleached by the sun. The shade was deliciously cool, and the wind in the pine needles sounded like forever.

The trail climbed around the side of the mesa to the north and west. This is the view from a ledge on the north edge, looking northwest. The Sanctuary that I was talking about earlier is spread out just below the highest mesa on the horizon over there. Cabezon peak, a huge volcanic plug, can be seen over the horizon on the left. We can also see it from our house, 60 miles away.

I went along a little further to this rock outcrop before turning back. Cabezon is framed between the small juniper and pinyon. Out beyond Cabezon about 50 miles away is Chaco Canyon.

Just a few feet away was the weathered remnant of a juniper. In the distance to the northeast, stormclouds were building over the Jemez range. They've had terrible floods up there since the monsoon rains washed out the huge area burned by the Las Conchas fire last summer. Jemez Pueblo is beyond the long red ridge on the right, and Route 550 heads toward Cuba, Chaco and the Four Corners along the side of the range on the left.

Desert sculpture. Another part of the same tree. Nothing evokes the Southwest like weathered juniper.

There was another smaller tree skeleton nearby. Likely these were struck and killed by lightning since they are on an exposed corner of a ledge. The velvety golden-brown balls in the center of the image are resin from the dead tree. You see these everywhere under dead trees, and I have guessed that they were formed when the trees burned and the heated sap came out in large globules. These were still soft on the inside, but they will harden over time and last for many years. If some is placed on burning charcoal, it makes the most exquisite incense, not unlike copal, but warmer and more balsamic.

Another stunted Ponderosa looks like it's in the process of walking off somewhere. The soft sand has eroded out from under the roots over the years.

I never try to speed through when on a hike. I always meander along, examining everything. Sometimes you don't see things at all until you sit down on the ground. Near the walking Ponderosa I found these two very well-formed rhomboid calcite crystals.

On the return, the light had shifted and I took a few more images of the hoodoo clan at the Little Sanctuary.

Going back by the trail instead of lower down, I came upon this area of golden and white sandstone formations in the slanting afternoon sunlight. One of the best things about Ojito is that there is a tremendous variety of variation in the terrain and I always see something new.

It was a sculpture garden in stone, clay and sand.

The trail homeward. Beyond the mesa on the horizon, another blue ridge can be seen very faintly through the haze: the Sandia mountains, near my home.

Until next time...

The 2011 Placitas Studio Tour

2011-05-11T13:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I survived another Studio Tour at my home studio in Placitas, New Mexico this past weekend, May 7 & 8. It went pretty well, all things considered. And since I'm such a regular (once every 20 months, like clockwork) poster to this blog, I thought I'd get some photos up for you this time. Here I am, fresh as a daisy, on Sunday morning, ready for Day 2. Experience has taught me that show clothes should be loose and comfortable...and this ensemble is in my beloved cactus green!

Before the tour, the dreaded "To Do" list...with almost everything crossed out. There are always a thousand little things to do and even though I try to pace myself, it always ends up feeling a little stressed at the last minute.

My husband, Michael, lugs a table through the kitchen to the studio during Friday morning setup. He did about half the work, and all the heavy lifting. There's no way I could do shows without him.

This is the part I hate. Everything is piled around in a jumble, and I'm irritable. Eventually all the pieces found their places on the tables, and the corresponding boxes went under the work table, stacked in order, so they could easily be kicked over when we write up a sale.

Our house entry is set up so no one can find their way in without signs, and I decided at the last minute to nail a really colorful Badhani mirrored shawl from India to catch people's attention. It looked amazing, glittering in the sun!

We had great weather for the tour! It was in the 80s, and the nonstop spring winds gave us a break (thank GOD) for most of the weekend...no small thing, considering that a week ago it was blowing 50 mph and snowing. Spring is not the best time to be in New Mexico, trust me. Our Claret Cup Hedgehog Cactus were still in bloom for the tour, which has never happened before. This is a view of the front courtyard, which the guests walked through on their way to the door.

Just before opening on Saturday morning, studio manager Dante gives me a very pointed look, and wonders if this means he's going to be confined in the bedroom with his mortal enemy, Kamikaze, for the duration of the tour. Unfortunately, the answer is yes.

Since it's so different from my other work, I decided to put the Drylands Incantations pieces on my drafting table, along with their labels and boxes, plus a few jars of beads and things to fill it out. I do all of my torch work on this table when I'm making pieces.

One of the two big tables, covered with washed and ironed dropcloths from the hardware store. Mike took a picture of me ironing, but I looked too fat so I deleted it. Anyway, I just left everything as it is in the studio, as much as I could this year. It gave people more of my real working space to look at, and it was less to rearrange in the end. All of the pieces were set out with their labels so folks could see what went into them. I set the signs that go up in my booth at shows on the tables as well. I tried wheat berries instead of sand in my ring bowl, but the rings tended to sink, and the berries were too much contrast, so...back to sand. And wheat berry salad.

The other table, with earrings, short necklaces, baskets of energy bracelets, and prayer beads. I even left my healing crystals uncovered on the shelf to the right, and no one bothered them (well, I had a sign up.) In past years I actually nailed dropcloths over the bookcases to avoid distraction...now I think having people see all my stuff is a great way to start a conversation, and meet like-minded people!

Some of the first customers on Saturday. Most of the time it was a steady flow, with steady sales. Perfect! Then there were other times when ten people were trying to all squeeze into the 11 x 14 foot studio, and ask questions, at once.

Everyone really liked my crystal altar. It's the one fixture in the room that's always remained constant, and I met some fellow crystal lovers because of it. The Tarahumara baskets underneath are full of my supplies. This is early morning, looking into the courtyard, with the Sandias beyond. You can't see the mountains because they're washed out, but it's an incredible view. Later, the sun comes in and hits the crystals and floods the room with light. I think it's really important to have a creative space that's beautiful and energetically supportive, as well as practical.

In full swing on Sunday. Folks who bought at the show didn't get the elaborate wrapping that I like to do with my Etsy orders, but they did get to hold and try on the pieces!

After closing on Saturday. Oh man, I was tired. And hot. But it was a good sales day and already I felt the tour had been worthwhile. We're parked on the futon that usually lives against the wall in the studio, but a table was there instead. We've discovered that if we put the futon across the entrance to the living room, it deters unwanted wandering guests. Plus it's a great place to scope out new arrivals since it faces the front door.

After it was all over on Sunday, I was too cranky to take photos. I just wanted my studio back, so Mike and I were able to clean and put away the jewelry, AND clean and put the studio back together in just 2 hours! And then, time to rest for a day or two...

Till next time, whenever the hell that is...

All the best to you,

Dawn

Of Painting, Drawing, and Mixed Media

2009-09-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

A long time ago I promised that I'd post images of my "other" work: my paintings, drawings and so forth. So at long last here they are! First, please remember that ALL of these images are copyrighted may not be reproduced at all, anywhere, unless I give you my permission. Sorry to have to say that, but people have stolen my work before, alas. Anyway, many of you may already know I was trained as an illustrator. I had my first professional job even before I graduated from art school, and did that for several years in the early 80s.

This first image is from a small (about 20" x 30") oil painting on canvas called Desert Heart. Don't forget that you can click on the images to see them enlarged. It 's my perennially-unfinished piece, begun around 10 years ago, with some lilies and jewelry still waiting for finishing touches. I did it because I wanted to see just how far I could push the detail on the technical end, but it was inspired by Spanish Colonial religious art and the work of Van Eyck (mainly). Pre-Raphaelite, Symbolist, and any lovely, old-fashioned painting has also inspired my work for years. And I wanted to create a kind of contemporary madonna which incorporated all sorts of spiritual symbols from all over the world, sort of a blessing piece for a home altar.

Closer in, you can see her face and halo in greater detail. If you click on this, it will enlarge to about the actual size it is in the painting. The halo was directly modeled after Renaissance European art, but most of the stones are in my own collection. Her opened gown reveals a heart space that is a fusion of the rising sun and an x-ray image of a beryl crystal. I was really pleased with the way her hand turned out (the one holding open her gown). Hands and feet are awfully hard, and this one just went down so beautifully!

Closer in to her face...notice the red and green eyes! I'm not sure why I did them that way, but maybe it's about the inner fire of spirit. There were no preliminary drawings for this painting, and I just intuitively added details as it progressed, according to whatever struck me at the time. When I get to the finest details like these facial feature, her hair, and the trim on her clothes, I'm using an exceedingly fine brush--only a few hairs to it. My paint is very thin and usually translucent, built up in many, many layers.

Onward...here's a more recent oil on masonite painting that did have a preliminary drawing, which is now owned by a friend in Albuquerque. It's called First Blessing, and was inspired by one of my favorite novels, The Wood Wife by Terri Windling. Actually, I think it was that novel that drew me down to the Sonoran Desert so intensively; up until that time I was mainly a high desert-redrock-and-canyon-country sort of desert person. But there are so many different deserts!

Anyway, Terri's story is a very satisfying and fascinating blend of celtic mythic tradition and native american tradition (sort of), melded with the desert landscape around Tucson. And there's a Mexical surrealist artist also, who painted wonderfully-described images. It was those images that inspired this painting.

As you can see, she's a deer woman-spirit, related to the one portrayed in White Deer Woman in my Etsy shop. Because she is a spirit of nature, or the fairy world, her proportions waver and look strange to us. Horns are a symbol of sacred power. Initially, she was going to be all white, but I suddenly realized her face needed to be dark...a reference to the Dark Goddess, or Black Madonnas that I love. More earth power. She appears and pours water from a copper bowl onto the desert floor, where an very large ajo lily bursts into bloom.

Below, a detail of the desert behind her. The time is just before sunrise, and I actually travelled down to Tucson to shoot the bajada at that time of day. That wonderful strip of blue-violet shadow with rose and aqua on the horizon is called the "Belt of Venus".

Next is an unfinished painting called Ceremony. It's an experiment with a feeling and with the deep ultramarine our twilight sky turns around winter solstice.

It's a larger piece, around 2' x 4', oil on masonite. The sky was laid in first, and worked up with many very translucent glazes of pure color. The effect is like stained glass, because the white ground beneath the colored glazes reflects light back through them. You can't do this with anything other than oils. Some kind of ceremony or ritual is taking place with the land and with stones, and everything is luminous, revealing its inner light, or life force.

All of the plants in the painting are finished, along with the sky. Seen here is a detail of the agaves in bloom along with a few boojums (which don't ordinarily grow together as far as I know...artist's prerogative!). My monitor doesn't show the colors very well--they all just look blue, but the plant's glows are all in greens and aquas against the ultramarine of the sky.

Here's another detail of the base of the big agave. The figures are just roughed in and not really begun at all, but will still be shadowy and mysterious, I think. I've learned it's better not to try to work everything out before beginning, but rather to let pieces (jewelry and art) evolve on their own. I really must get this one done, though--it's been sitting for years.

This is Threshold, another oil on canvas, smaller than Ceremony. It hangs in my studio, and is based on the badlands of the Blue Mesa section in Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona. I took many photos there years ago and used them as reference for this "mythic landscape". The cloud, however, was shot right out of my back door one morning.

Detail showing the center of the painting. Like Desert Heart, I fought the nubbly canvas texture every step of the way and afterwards returned to working on masonite. The idea behind the piece is to try and capture a sense of immanence, of an otherworldly or sacred something about to be revealed as one journeys toward the horizon. That's how it feels to walk out in the desert places.

In recent years I've become fascinated by the textures of earth, and worn objects, and ceramic surfaces that come from wood-fired kilns that many potters use here. I wanted my art to look less slick and polished, and more elemental, more like part of the earth. So that was the idea that got me started working on these distressed papers. This is one I'm holding onto for the moment, called Never Look Back. It's another kind of dark fairy tale image, of a girl who's run away from home. She's not a pretty girl at all, just sort of a waif with tangled hair, and she's trying to get far away from some sort of horrible abuse. I know many people who've survived abuse as children, and so this piece is in honor of their struggles.

She's not safe yet, and is traveling through a desert landscape that is full of peril as well as gifts, if she can see them for what they are. The wings of a sandhill crane have sprouted from her back to aid her in her flight--the sandhills are the voice of autumn here in central New Mexico, as they fly to their wintering grounds south of Socorro, down the Rio Grande valley. A figure from old European fairy tales is her guide: a white, crowned snake, who tells her that the past is done, and there's a long way to go still, and she has to keep going no matter what. Snakes, especially in Scandinavia and Lithuania, were traditionally held to be carriers of life force and great wisdom, abundance and blessing. The crowned snake was the greatest of all.

Here's a close-up of the pair. The runaway girl was rendered mostly in Prismacolors, while the snake was mostly painted in white goache.

The lower-right corner, with queen of the night cactus in bloom. They look simultaneously sinister and wildly beautiful, and the flower essence of the queen of the night is taken to help one feel spiritual wholeness, enhance intuition, and put one in touch with deep inner wisdom. So I thought she could use that kind of help. You can see the rough edges I've fallen in love with, and the border I've been putting around all of these drawings as a reference to their storybook-illustration qualities. This one even has a page number stamped below.

Finally, here's a piece, Vigil, I just did very quickly the other day, to show you how things are born with me. This is a large, loose sketch in conte crayon on grey paper, and shows a woman standing in what will probably be granite boulders in the desert, near or just after sundown. When I'm trying to bring an idea through it really is like flying blind, and I just feel my way around most of the time, erasing far more than ends up being on the paper. But with this one, it just looked perfect to me, even without all the drawing problems worked out. Her stance and face were just right, and so I sprayed fixative all over it and there it is. Sometimes the hardest part is leaving it alone!!

She may become a painting herself, some day.

I learned a little about painting while in art school but am mainly self-taught, as with my jewelry. While doing book covers for the fantasy and sci-fi genre in the 80s, I exhibited at a lot of east coast regional conventions and was even asked to be artist guest of honor at a few, and my work won quite a few awards. But commercial work just wasn't for me...and it was the noncommercial work that was winning the awards! I guess the main reason that I switched my focus from 2D to jewelry is that I found I could no longer sit still for hours at a time and work on a piece of art. I got too restless, and bored. Working on the highly-detailed pieces was exhausting and very hard on me physically, especially the neck and shoulders. I found I wanted to make something that I could hold in my hand, rather than just paint it. I can sit for many hours and work on jewelry because so many different activities are involved; with painting, you're just doing the same thing over and over. So now it's become a blend of the two!

If you've stayed with me this far, thanks! I appreciate it, and am happy to share!

Till next time, then,

Dawn

Antique Bottles and Labels: a Tutorial (or, Shiny is Bad)

2009-08-01T15:48:00.000-07:00

I realize I haven't posted a thing to this since February--February!!--because I've felt compelled to work on jewelry instead, but where does the time go? Now that my shows are out of the way for the year, I'm taking a breather from all of that, shifting gears and slowing down. Yeah, right.

Actually, for the past three days I've been experimenting in the studio (playing, for me) with creating labels and storage jars for the odds and ends I've collected to use in my work. I have plenty of plastic bins, but prefer to keep them out of sight if possible in favor of more organic containers. And something I've been wanting to do for a while has been to make really interesting labels for my antique bottles, and see if I could make new, shiny jars look old and filthy. Some of the results of that experiment can be seen above, and I thought I'd share the little tricks I learned along the way in case anyone else wants to try it.

First, aging glass bottles: go and buy whatever strikes your fancy, or use what you have on hand. I bought my new ones at craft stores. Get ones with lids or corks, or find corks at the hardware store (bring your bottles to ensure a proper fit). I begin by dry-sanding the glass with 150 grit sandpaper. Wearing a dust mask is a good idea here... Sand inside and out if you can, and focus on corners and raised areas, where the most wear would happen naturally.

Next, use pigments to replicate the appearance of bloom and caked-on dirt. For this, there's nothing like REAL dirt--in my case, some nice brown earth from the bajada on the west side of the Kofa Mountains in Arizona. Sand is great for texture, and I've heard that debris from your vacuum cleaner bag is also great. The other materials I used are pictured above: dry earth pigments, metallic pigments, ink, including walnut ink crystals, and matte acrylic medium to use as a binder. All were obtained at the local art supply or craft store, but you may have to order the walnut ink crystals online.

Before you begin, lay down some old papers or a dropcloth over your work area: this is going to get messy. If it doesn't get messy, you're not doing it right. I also recommend wearing some rubber gloves if you don't want to spend half an hour scrubbing bits of paint off your hands like I did. You can use an old, largish (1" wide or so) paintbrush, paper towels, a sponge and/or rags to apply the paint, and you'll need a container for water, and a plate or paper palette to mix your paint.

It's really helpful, when you're trying to replicate an effect, to have an example of the real thing on hand to refer to. So, if you can, try to get hold of an old, dirty bottle somewhere.

Start mixing your paint by adding the acrylic medium to the same amount of dry pigment and/or dirt. Dirt gives it texture as well as color. Now add water if you like, and just start brushing it into and over the jar at random. You can make it very thin, or thick and lumpy. Now take a damp or dry paper towel, or a damp sponge, and start blotting it up. Remember that dirt tends to accumulate in corners, or at the bottom of a jar, so more paint can go there. You're going to keep doing this sequence of application and blotting several times over, using both dark and light earth colors.

This is an intuitive and in-the-moment process, so it's critical to remember two things: One, don't overthink what you're doing. Just slap the paint on and blot most of it off. Two, removing the paint is just as important as putting it on. You want to leave residue, in random places and colors. Try creating an area with thick, lumpy paint, blot some and let it dry, and then put a thin wash of lighter or darker color over it--this looks great. Manipulate the surface, then manipulate that, and then manipulate that, over and over.

If you have a bottle with a small mouth, make a thin wash of color with some dirt/sand and just dump some in and swirl it around. Shake it back out, or give it a quick rinse and dump it out to leave a thin film of residue. Inside and outside residue looks the most authentic. You can also really cover the outer surface and wait until it's almost dry to begin blotting and rubbing it off. I even had success sanding off some of the paint. Keep going at this, using slightly different colors of paint, over and over, until you like how it looks.

Once the bottles and jars are to your liking, it's time to move on to your labels. I needed to age my paper first and then print the labels, because the ink would run if I got the paper wet after printing. I started with 24lb. Ivory Granite paper by Southworth, because it's what I had on hand, and the speckled ivory tone was a nice base for the antiquing. (For those of you who have ordered jewelry from my Etsy shop, this is what the Artist's Statement is printed on.)

You'll also need a work area with dropcloth, paper towels, some of the walnut ink or other brown ink, diluted to a thin wash and put in a spray bottle, a large (about 1-2") paintbrush, and a nice pot of strong, black tea. I like to do this outside on cement in hot sun...the paper dries FAST in our climate, but you can do it indoors as well. You'll also need some of the walnut ink crystals in a little dish. Pour some crystals into the dish, and then pour most of them back: you'll be left with the tiniest, finest particles of ink, which are the best (see the picture below). This is because they expand and darken dramatically when immersed in water.

Ok, this part's also fun and cathartic, sort of like finger painting. Begin by covering a few pages front and back with the tea, using the brush. Blot some of it off if it puddles too much. Next, you can sprinkle a tiny bit of ink crystals at random locations over the sheets, or spritz them with a little of the ink wash. You'll see the ink particles start to bloom and spread like little flowers. Grab a paper towel and start blotting: they shouldn't get too big or dark or runny. Just as with the glass-antiquing, this is a fast and loose process, with no hard-and-fast rules. I generally make several passes with the tea, crystals and ink spray followed by blotting before the pages look good to me. One suggestion I do have is less is more--don't make your surface too dark or busy, or it will interfere with your print and handwriting. Have fun and don't get cranked up over it!

While the little brown spots made with the ink crystals aren't strictly necessary, they do add a nice dimension to the overall wash, and replicate mildew or "rust", as it's called in the antique trade.

If you have hot sun on your sheets, let them dry in it. Use rocks to weight the pages if there's wind. Or, you can dry them in a warm oven, but you need to keep an eye on them. Remember that magic number, Farenheit 451, which is the combustion point of paper. After the paper is completely dry it will be fairly warped and won't go through your printer (this is the voice of experience here). So you'll need to iron it. Use a dry iron on the wool setting to get it nice and flat, and pay special attention to the edges and corners, where your printer will need to grab hold of it to feed it through. Some of my finished sheets are pictured above, along with an untreated sheet, just to give you an idea of what you're aiming for.

Now for your labels. This is strictly up to you, and I'm no computer genius, so I won't give you a step-by-step description of mine because I don't remember how I did it. I can say I created the documents in Word, just playing with the text and putting a border around it, and using a combination of brown and grey type. Look through what you've got and use an old-fashioned serif face: mine was Modern No. 20. You can look around the Internet at images of antique and vintage labels, or do what I did and go see the latest Harry Potter film 6 times (so far). Besides just loving the story and everyone in it, I am constantly amazed and impressed by the stunning amount of detail and attention to the props and set design, which is what I'm looking at in those repeated viewings. Seeing the Potions classroom and that outrageous portable potion-brewing chest in Slughorn's office galvanized me into doing this little experiment in the first place. These things are all only seen for fleeting seconds in the film, but the artists involved took immense care with even the smallest details, and everything is just spot-on perfect.

So, I ended up going for a kind of alchemical look and actually figured out how to put a half-tone alchemical symbol into the background of my larger labels, visible on my big apothecary jar of feathers a couple of pictures below. I also chose a latin phrase as my studio motto, "Ex Tenebris Lux", which translates as "out of the darkness, light". This refers to the light of spirit emerging from the apparent darkness of matter, as well as the journey of the soul, and is at the bottom of all but the tiniest of my labels. I added some other goodies and lines for contents and provenance, and (after a few bouts of swearing) I had my design.

After the labels were printed on the aged paper, I wrote them out with a nice fountain pen I have with brown ink. Another great type of pen is a glass nib pen, if you're into such things. It's easier to write them out flat than when they're already affixed to the jars.

So the last bit is to put the labels on the jars. Plain old glue is fine, like Elmer's, that's used for crafts and scrapbooking. It doesn't have to be waterproof. Glue your labels where you want them and let them dry. Now, you need to do one last little finishing touch to make them look properly decrepit. Put some ink wash (like in your spray bottle) into a cup and some darker ink in another dish. Use a little brush and have a paper towel on hand for blotting. Dip the brush in the ink wash and go around the outer edge of the label, one side at a time, blotting the ink as soon as it's down. This will moisten the edges and darken them slightly in a random way. Avoid creating a line of wash parallel with the paper edge; think irregular. As soon as you blot the wash up on one side, dip the brush in the dark ink and draw it along the edge, not on top of the paper, but along the glass outside of it, so only the tip of the brush is making contact with the very edge of the paper. If you're doing it right the edge will darken slightly and bleed into the label. Avoid getting the printed section wet unless you want some of it to bleed (which is an option).

This little detail will make a lot of difference, and will prevent your otherwise very old-looking labels from having raw, clean edges. There are a couple of photos here that home in on the edge detail so you can see what I'm talking about.

And that's it...you're good to go! Here's a few of my bottles: the little ones on the basket are antiques, and the long, tall one is a brand-new craft store special.

Here's the big apothecary jar with a half-page-sized label. You can clearly see the round alchemical image with the ouroboros as the background.

Two more antique bottles housing my bead mixes....

...and another closeup of a newly-antiqued bottle. Notice the edge treatment.

So, I hope somebody out there finds some of this helpful and gives it a try! You know, this would be a really fun thing to try with kids (of all ages), especially if they're bored and/or into Harry Potter or other magical fun. If young ones are involved, there are plenty of nontoxic inks and paints out there to choose from. This would also be a great idea for gifts!

Feel free to contact me with questions, and let me know how it works out if you give it a try!!

'Till later,

Dawn

My Studio

2009-02-28T09:46:00.000-08:00

This is Saltdance Studio, where I spend my days, and where my talismans are made. There's nowhere I'd rather be, actually! It's a little 12' x 13' space full of light and warmth (sometimes too much in the summer!) and I'm surrounded by all the things that evoke the desert and inspire me. Yes, it's pretty neat and clean...I need it that way, as I've learned from experience that walking into a mess first thing in the morning does not make for a good start. So I have a ritual in which I clear away whatever I'm doing nearly every night (there are exceptions!) and if whatever I'm working on isn't complete, I'll stow it in a basket or bowl, ready to be brought out the next day.

That's one of my oil paintings on the wall over the (sadly empty) drafting table, based on the badlands of Blue Mesa in the Petrified Forest. Another piece, a mixed-media drawing, is at the left of my work table.

A random assemblage of stuff on my worktable of Mexican pine. An ever-changing assortment of random objects lives here. I guess it could be referred to in general as "stuff I like to look at", and I keep out whatever is most inspiring to me at the moment so I can see it first thing in the morning. Ahh...mornings. My routine is to get up, shuffle into the studio with coffee and park myself on the futon while I wait for my eyes to open fully, usually with a book or something else to set the tone for the day. Then I get dressed and get to work!

Some of my storage: my rule of thumb is, if I like to look at it, it can be out in view. If not, that's why God created baskets. I use a ton of baskets and bowls as storage, mostly from the Tarahumara of Mexico and from Africa; they're cheap and utilitarian, and evoke the ancient cultures of the desert for me. Plus they're better than plastic.

Way back when I was in art school studying to be an illustrator, I got this image in my head of what a "real" artist's studio was supposed to look like. It generally involved an ugly, dirty, uncomfortable, urban-industrial space in a crummy neighborhood, and I found the whole idea depressing. Instead, from that point over 25 years ago, I always created my own space the way I liked it, which was pretty much the opposite of that original idea. So I had a working environment that I loved, but somehow always felt like a dilettante because it was, well, comfortable. Only recently have I realized that I am one of many who believe a studio can be a work of art in itself! Finally...vindication!!

My crystal altar catches the sunlight and I love it! It evokes the soul of the desert for me. I've been collecting fetish offering bowls by a guy from Cochiti Pueblo, Sal Romero, who looks for stones that already have the animal shape in them, and brings it out with very little carving. On the altar are four spiral snake bowls and a bird, and they have offerings of cornmeal and turquoise in them, for the local spirits and also for the condors. Underneath are storage baskets full of supplies. The shelves are full of more crystals and stones: for several years I studied alternative healing, including crystal healing, because I thought I wanted to work with people on that level. Eventually I realized my true path is through art and jewelry, but the crystals need to stay in the studio, even though they're taking up a lot of space! And they really need dusting.

Out the window, you can see the courtyard with our cane cholla cactus in it. They're kind of droopy now because it's the middle of winter, but you should see the outrageous magenta blossoms they have in June! There's also a spectacular view of the Sandia Mountains, different every day.

Another view, panning to the left. The closet holds a LOT of supplies, including my easel which I'll put on a dropcloth in the middle of the room when painting (something I really must get back to!). The painting above the door is by fantasy writer and editor Terri Windling, of a shamaness...years ago, she traded a drawing I did for the painting, and it's one of my treasures.

Yes, that's white carpet on the floor. White wool carpet. It came with the house. Amazingly, I've been able to keep it pretty clean, through judicious use of dropcloths and generally neat habits. There have been some pretty spectacular exceptions, though! But at about 17 years old it's starting to wear thin, hence the $40 area rug from Home Depot.

More crystals in the afternoon sun...with the window open in the middle of February! I'll have it open anytime I can stand it, and it's been warm this month. Even though this is high desert, at 5500 feet in altitude we do have winter, sometimes with quite a bit of snow, but apparently we were passed over this year. I've set the upright crystals--all quartz, except the big Mexican satin spar gypsum in the triangular vessel--in gypsum sand from down in the White Sands of New Mexico, collected years ago. It brings the energy of the place here. The 3-lobed vessel on the left is by a local South Valley artist. My cats broke it of course, but I was able to piece it back together, with the exception of a hole on one side. I decided to make it into my "earth fetish pot", and there's a pinch of earth or a pebble in there for each place I've been in the southwest.

Here's one of our resident curve-billed thrashers on the cholla outside the window. I actually took this while photographing some work by the front door, when two of the thrashers landed in the cactus. Their nest from last year can be seen at the bottom of the shot. It isn't 6 feet from the studio window, but they built it last spring and raised two families in it, with me banging away in the studio and with music on and everything. I'd open the window every morning and go "Hello, Birds!" and they'd just look at me and carry on. Lately they've been coming back to the nest to rummage around and have discussions about this year's brood(s).

We have great wildlife here. So far we've seen rabbits, jackrabbits, numerous rodents (alas), antelope squirrels, bobcats, coyotes, tons of birds including quail, hawks, hummingbirds, vultures, a great horned owl that hoots down our chimney, rattlesnakes and red coachwhips (not enough--they eat the rodents!), lizards, horned toads, BUGS like tarantualas, scorpions, centipedes (the only things that have ever gotten me to jump on the kitchen counter), and vinegaroons, one of which greeted me in the studio one morning. The white carpet showed it up nicely. Fortunately, I wasn't awake enough to scream. If you've never seen a vinegaroon, look them up and you'll see why.

Anyway, here's more stuff. There's a great discount Mexican furniture place in Tucson and I usually bring something back when I go. More great storage. Also medicine bags on the closet door(the big one's my own) and my big strand of desert spirit beads hanging on the wall. A basket of Gary Wilson's components on top of a piece of coyote fur, and a juniper stick with some of my bead stock on it next to the door. There's a Tohono O'odham cactus rib rasp and a Tarahumara indian girl's hoop game resting between the shelves. The little shelves hold all kinds of stuff.

This is Paloverde, a desert fairy, one of the feral cousins of those fussy little flower fairies you usually see at the bottom of the garden. She watches over all of the proceedings in the studio from high atop a shelf, next to three Tarahumara shaman's baskets that are full of little plastic bags of dozens of types of desert earth, sand and clay. I made her years ago when I was playing around with making art dolls, which I loved, and she was begun in a workshop I took in Albuquerque with Wendy and Brian Froud. Haven't made any more recently, but you never know! Oh, and by the way, desert fairies bite.

OK, this is what it looks like when I'm actually making something. The dropcloth goes on the workbench, the tools come out, and supplies, and I'm ready to go. This is fairly typical for an average work day, but if I'm doing a mixed-media piece the place looks like it exploded. This was kind of a gloomy day since I have my light on, but as a rule I don't work in artificial light. I'm solar powered and work during daylight hours only--and Jeopardy! comes on at 6, so I quit then, if I'm not going into town for dance class or rehearsal that night. Yes, I have a family life, another reason I don't work in the evenings!

A closer view of the stuff on top of my crystal shelves. Mostly it's small baskets full of beads with one full of tiny crystals I dug in Arkansas, and another full of obsidian tears from the Jemez Mountains to our north. There's a coyote skull and something-or-other that was found back east, and an iron snake fetish from Africa. Recently I put my tribal belly dance headpiece up there too--dreads and feathers for my badass alter-ego (see http://www.roguebindis.com/) I finally sprung for one of those handmade paper casts of Pueblo Bonito, a gorgeous ruin at Chaco Canyon, last weekend when we went out for a day hike. I like the way it's kind of a subtle ghost-image behind the baskets.

Storage bottles on one of my small shelves. Most of them are antiques and came from the Casa Grande Trading Post, owned by the parents of one of my troupemates in Cerrillos. Todd and Patricia belong to the Bottle Society of New Mexico, and dig them up themselves. You've got to check out their place at http://www.casagrandetradingpost.com/ ! My bottles are filled with my three main bead mixes, Desert Sand, Borderlands and Sonoran Bajada (I should sell these...!) They're kind of the bead equivalent of sourdough starter...I began with a bunch of beads that harmonized and every time I bought something else that went with it, a few of them were added to the mix. Then I have bottles of bones, rattlesnake skin, cactus spines, vintage hardware, etc. The bones are from near the owl's nest, found on the ground or in owl pellets that I pulled apart (the rest goes in my special chile recipe).

I love to watch the morning sun come in and illuminate everything in my space, and will watch its movement over the course of the year. These baskets are beside my worktable, again full of things I like to look at--crystals, ammonites, wool (some was dyed in neighboring Bernalillo), and petrified wood I've picked up around NW New Mexico. The big basket in the back holds my desert rock "anvils" that are used to texture a lot of my metalwork.

Stuff on my wall over the futon. Couldn't resist the little "nicho shelf" with the tiny drawers full of random bits of flotsam. A couple of my mixed-media drawings are pinned to the wall along with tinwork from a local artist and some neat metal ethnographic pieces. I hate frames, and putting things under glass--it's like imprisoning things, like dead butterflies. I just pin everything straight to the wall, and constantly change things around. As you can imagine, I make liberal use of a can of spackle and paint that I keep on hand!

That's pretty much it. Things constantly flow in and out of my studio as mood dictates, so it's always different, and that keeps the energy fresh, something that's absolutely critical to my ability to work. The studio is my sanctuary and sacred space in the most literal sense of the word, and I'm very careful about who or what comes in here. It's all designed to take me into that desert space that my work comes from as soon as I walk in the door. What the pictures don't convey is the music I have playing, usually Steve Roach. "Early Man" and other of his "desert ambient" works are perennial favorites for holding the space. http://www.steveroach.com/ (..sheesh, this is turning into a plugfest!) And the scent of copal or palo santo, to clear the atmosphere, which I'll often burn in the morning before getting to work.

Thanks for stopping by!

hasta lumbago...

Dawn

Sonoran Sojourn

2009-02-18T16:06:00.000-08:00

It happens every year, usually in January: wanderlust sets in and I head down south to the incomparable desert of the Sonora. As I said to my friends, I was going to get in the suv, head southwest and keep going until I got warm. When I was finally able to get away, I was out of here like a shot and got down to Tucson in good time where

...it rained. And rained. With fog one morning, which I've never seen in the desert, and it actually looked pretty cool. But it wasn't what I came for. On the other hand, the indescribable scent of creosote bush was in the air, riding along with the aroma of rain and opening earth, and I wish I could send that over the internet because it's a healing balm to the soul, let me tell you. I was breathing it in deeply as I took this shot, just after I arrived at the eastern unit of Saguaro National Park, nestled between the eastern edge of sprawling Tucson and the Rincon Mountains. Rain in the desert has its own beauty...

... and to console myself for lousy timing I met my second objective for the trip after dry heat, which was to have dinner at Cafe Poca Cosa, my favorite restaurant in Tucson. This is the best real Mexican food you'll find in the southwest, and I think the place has reached cult status--the owner-chef is certainly a saint, and for me it's a spiritual experience. Never mind: if you're in Tucson, just go, and make sure you're hungry when you do!

Anyway, above you can see a view of the bajada west of the Tucson Mountains the following day, after the rain cleared out. This is the western unit of Saguaro National Park, west of the city, across the small, serrated Tucscon Mountains. Saguaros, prickly pear and creosote.

Before that, I was sulking at a trailhead in the back of the X-Terra because it had begun to pour, when I noticed how lovely the droplets of water were as they glimmered on the branches of a paloverde tree. One thing I love about the Sonoran Desert are the lovely, soft greens. By the way, I don't know if you know this, but if you double-click on these photos you can see them much larger, and really see the incredible detail of these plants and places!

This is also on the bajada in Saguaro West atop a small knoll of basaltic boulders. That's a pretty famous petroglyph, the spiral on the central boulder. Just seems to capture the soul of the desert. You know, I just realized that all these pictures look pretty remote, like I hiked out into the screaming wilderness for hours just to get there. Actually, I'm a wuss. I can't take much heat (English ancestry) and usually drive for miles out into the screaming wilderness so I can take a leisurely stroll wherever it looks interesting.

Heading back to town later, I pulled off Gates Pass Road to photograph this beautiful little rainbow over the Tucsons. Such a feeling of benediction comes from rainbows and this land--as harsh as it is, there's a vitality and vibrancy to it that seems to come from the incredible plants. Remember, this is the middle of winter with temps around the 50s to 70s, and there's rain. If you go in June you have relentless sun and temps in the hundreds, for days on end.

The day after that the storm cleared out in earnest and I decided to head over to Ironwood National Monument out to the west. Much more remote here, and a different feel altogether...plus that velvety silence that is the true hallmark of the desert, and all too rare in our lives today. I went out on the dirt road for about 8 miles and could have gone much farther, but didn't want to be out alone after dark (even though this is the most active time for desert life). The bajada and plains here were just gorgeous. I had a hard time selecting just a few photos because they were all incredible.

Mature saguaros, creosote, and the fuzzy, pale cacti are teddy bear or jumping cholla--and they're not fuzzy; those are densely packed, wicked spines. Don't know the name of those mountains out there. You can see how there is plenty of ground between plants: desert plants have a very strong presence and everything here has exactly the right amount of space it needs. The image at the top of this post is also from this part of Ironwood.

Nothing dies quite as spectacularly as a saguaro. They sort of fall apart in slow motion, eventually leaving their ribs exposed in a very picturesque manner. Yes, the sky really is that blue--none of these photos were doctored.

The monster. I don't know how I missed this on the way in, but I did a u-turn when I saw it on the way out just to get a better look. Saguaro cacti can live for 250 years, and if they grow arms, they don't start doing it until they're about 70. And sometimes there are saguaros that become true giants with dozens and dozens of arms...who knows why; it could be the result of any number of factors. But this one looked almost scary, like the wild god of saguaros, and I can't tell you how many arms are growing and budding on it. Wow. I want to visit it again over the years and see how it's doing. Maybe even try to count them. Or leave an offering.

Golden sunset on the Tucson Mountains again, in the clear light of evening. The green of the paloverdes is almost incandescent.

That vivid moment just as the sun sets in the Gates Pass. Dozens of people had come up to watch the show. Orange stone, lavender sky, something primal in the air, despite our proximity to the roaring city beyond. That timeless energy in the land will outlast anything we can build, and I find that a comforting thought.

One last hike, back at Saguaro East the next day--hard to believe this was the grey-green landscape of rain and mist just a few days ago. A classic "candelabra" of an old saguaro towers into the blue. And it was warm. The fiercely rugged granite Santa Catalina Mountains are over there in the northwest, towering 9000 feet over the city (hidden beyond the rise).

Well, I got back home and the weather here (at 5500 feet) turned warm and dry and has stayed that way for the most part, which means the studio windows are open during the day and I'm not getting the winter blues. I promise I'll get that post of my studio and our high desert landscape up soon...

Till then,

Dawn

A Bronze Preview

2009-01-17T11:59:00.001-08:00

Last year a new material, Bronzeclay, was introduced to jewelry designers. Much the same as other metal clays, it's a combination of powdered metal, an organic binder, and water. It looks and works like terracotta before firing; after firing it is about 25% smaller and is pure bronze. I find it's a little more challenging to use compared to my limited experience in silver PMC, but it is far less expensive and allows me to create amulets and forms that have the solidity and mass that I've wanted my pieces to have. I'll be posting items for sale, including several that you see here, in the future at my Etsy store: http://deserttalismans.etsy.com/

For now, here's a preview of what I've been up to since the holidays...pictured above, from left to right: a hollow-form pod amulet of pure bronze, and two head pins of bronze attached to amulets: the one in the middle is a belemnite, or fossil squid (and nothing says "desert" like fossilized squid!), and the piece on the left is a 3-sided pod of polymer with Sonoran desert sand and gold and silver leaf.

Here are some earrings, all of of solid bronze. The pair on the left were fired all in one piece with the wire in, and the center and right-hand pair had wires added after firing.

I'm really excited about these components. They were all made from molds I made from cactus remnants that I picked up over the years down in the Sonoran Desert. At the top, an unpierced element from an Organ Pipe cactus rib fragment; left to right below are pendants from a fragment of dried Saguaro cactus skin, another piece from the same Organ Pipe cactus mold, and a third from a Cholla cactus skeleton.

The longest piece is about 3" long and has been strung on a handwoven cord with a couple of fossil walrus ivory beads (not visible in the photograph). The other two pieces next to it have since been strung on strands of seed beads, and they all look wonderful when worn together as a set, or on their own.

And here's what I'm really excited about: bracelets of solid metal! The bangles are fantastic and have an absolutely timeless, elemental quality to them. The large bracelet is my first attempt at a fusion of bronze and polymer. The bronze base was fired and finished, and then the polymer was built up over it, and cured and sanded. The layers, five in all, were made from translucent polymer mixed with earth from five different locations in south and western Arizona, gathered on a trip I took down there two years ago. I found that the sanding was the most laborious part of the work by far, two hours of wet sanding, all by hand. But the result is an incredibly smooth, pleasing surface...you just want to hold the bracelet, it's so touchable!

So there it is so far! More pieces are joining the ranks all the time, and rings will be coming soon as well! Keep checking my shop on Etsy for new items!

Later,

Dawn

A Solstice Crystal Blessing

2008-12-22T09:33:00.000-08:00

This is a crystal grid I created for the Winter Solstice in my studio. All crystals and stones vibrate to certain energies that can be used for healing, transformation and the development of consciousness. One of my favorite ways to work with crystals is to create an arrangement of stones dedicated to a specific intention. If you think of each stone as a musical instrument, then a grid would be the equivalent of a symphony. It can be used as a focus for mediation, but once the energy is set up, it will continue to broadcast that energy until dismantled.

Every year I'm drawn to do a grid at the solstice, using blues, violets, and clear and iridescent stones. Almost all of my high-energy powerhouse stones go into the mixas well as heart stones like rose quartz and morganite (a pink beryl and cousin to emerald). The intention is to help ground the powerful transformative energy that comes in with the death-rebirth qualities of the winter solstice, and also to anchor and distribute some very high and refined spiritual energy into the earth and all of us. If you like, you can work with this grid through the image simply by intending to do so, and using it as a focus in meditation. I'll leave it up at least through Christmas...I have a sense for when a grid has fulfilled its purpose and then I take it down.

Years ago I studied several forms of spiritual healing, including crystal healing with JaneAnn Dow and Katrina Raphaell. I also studied shamanic practice and counseling, flower essence therapy, earth healing, aromatherapy and Reiki during my long spiritual sojourn, but in recent years I've felt that art was my true (and original) calling. So I've come full circle, having returned to art and jewelry design full-time. Now I believe that all of the healing and transformational energies go out most effectively through my creative work. That may seem like a surprise to those who are only familiar with my very earthy jewelry, but I assure you, the energetic dimension is definitely there!

I hope you enjoy the blessing energy of this grid, and that you have a lovely and transformative new year!!

Dawn

The Procession of Guadalupe

2008-12-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

Today is the feast day in honor of Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe.

My Guadalupe altar.

A group of young women bear aloft an image of Guadalupe as the procession falls into line.

I've been a devotee of the Dark Madonna for years now, although I'm certainly not religious in any formal sense of the word. There are shrines to her throughout my house, and I have a large tattoo of her on my right arm that regularly gets me stopped by admirers when I'm out and about. The Dark Madonna is champion of the poor, the downtrodden, the marginalized and dispossessed; the one who fights outside of the mainstream for those who feel betrayed and abandoned by the status quo...she's the maverick, the subversive Madonna. And to many, myself included, she is the Great Mother, the goddess of the earth, the Divine Feminine.

So this year I felt compelled to go up to Santa Fe to check out the annual procession held in honor of what is probably the most widely adored Dark Madonna of them all, Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe. Guadalupe is everywhere in New Mexico and is loved by many both within and outside of the catholic community. Processions, dances and special celebrations are held everywhere on her feast day, and the night before. This particular procession was to kick off the feast day celebrations in Santa Fe, with a route beginning at the Cathedral and ending at the newly-dedicated statue of Guadalupe at the Santuario de Guadalupe across town.

Dancing in the street during the procession.

My son, Max, and I drove up early, had a solid meal of tamales and chile at Tomasitas, and walked over to the Cathedral, which at the moment is surreally wrapped in scaffolding and plastic, Christo-style. What with that and construction in the Plaza, downtown Santa Fe is looking pretty strange this Christmas. The procession was supposed to start at 7. We went into the Cathedral and found it full of people getting ready to listen to the Santa Fe Symphony; the procession was forming up at a hall next door. So we went around there but it was all but deserted...we were in the right place, but where was everybody? I was expecting a crowd of hundreds! We wandered back around to the front of the Cathedral just as a huge group of people appeared seemingly out of nowhere, all converging on the scene. A troupe of Aztec dancers arrived in a pickup, decked out in gigantic feathered headdresses, and pulled around to the hall.

We went back, and joined the crowd near a huge image of Guadalupe wreathed in flowers, borne on the shoulders of several young women. Looking around, I saw that Max and I were among the bare handful of Anglo faces visible...and he was easily the tallest of us, at 6' 4"! Excitement started to build in the air, an electric feeling that was a combination of joy, passion, and raw power. Someone handed out white taper candles sheltered by clear plastic cups, and one by one they were lit, pools of light appearing as little knots of people gathered to pass the flames from one candle to the other. The drums began, loud, fierce, and I caught a whiff of burning copal. I thought it was ironic, the stark contrast between the chaotic, almost frenetic energy in the courtyard and the ordered, upscale white European event, attended by Santa Fe's elite, going on inside the church next to us. And it was clear to me where the real power was: out here under the stars, in the street, among the people. This was where the wild energy was, the fierce love, the devotion, and it felt old, incredibly ancient--deeper than the institution that purported to contain it, certainly. I could feel a wild emotion welling up in me, around me, and knew that this was all for Her, the Mother, dancing with her people in their own way, on their own terms.

The dancers perform in front of the statue as the procession arrives.

Suddenly, with a huge amount of noise (surely they could hear it inside the cathedral! What were they thinking, I wondered) we were off, fast, away from the church and down the street, past the parking garage and the shops toward the Plaza. The Aztec dancers led the way. Max and I fell into place in a large group immediately behind a second group of dancers in red and white, adorned with multiple sequined images of Guadalupe and holding rattles, effigies of hands, and bows and arrows. At every intersection they paused and danced. These were traditional dances from Mexico, I guessed, as I'd never seen anything like them here and they all looked indigenous, yet different--more energetic--than what I've seen at our pueblos. Moving down the street in the crowd, I felt like I was back in San Miguel de Allende somehow.

People appeared on the street and on balconies and at windows to watch the procession. Most of them looked bemused...this wasn't in the tourist brochures...what was going on? One couple stopped me to ask, undoubtedly because I was one of the few non-Hispanic faces in the crowd.

Matachine dancers perform for Guadalupe before her statue.

The procession wound around onto--you guessed it--Guadalupe Street, and our destination came into view: a 12', 4000 pound statue of painted metal, installed with much fanfare last August. A line of bonfires--luminarias--lit the scene from the street alongside her, and farolitos, the little brown paper bags with candles in them, lined all the sidewalks around the sanctuary. The statue itself was floodlit from below and there were dozens upon dozens of roses and candles at her feet. As we approached the groups of dancers performed for her at the foot of her statue before they moved off to the church.

Max and I watched it all as I tried to take a few surreptitious shots of the scene. The smoke from the luminarias wreathed around the people and the statue, and the color and movement of the dancers in the half light seemed mysterious and otherworldly. Max turned to me and said "Thanks for bringing me up here tonight, Ma". I was grateful, too...although it wasn't my religion, nor my community, nor my hometown, I felt like I was welcome, and a part of a very powerful expression of love, gratitude and celebration of the Divine Mother...who belongs to everyone, as we all belong to Her.

Watching the dances by the glow of the luminarias.

Aztec dancers as they prepare to process into the sanctuary.

The dancers, who had disappeared toward the church, suddenly reappeared after a while and the procession reformed to travel around the sidewalk and enter the sanctuary itself. We followed out of curiousity, although it seemed to me that the true focus of the procession was to arrive at the statue, and I felt complete with that. Everyone converged upon the entrance. The dance groups went in first, followed by those who hadn't already taken a place inside. The interior of the sanctuary, which I hadn't yet seen, was white and sterile, with ugly, politically correct flourescent lights in the wrought-iron lanterns and a curiously dark altar dominated by a reproduction of the original image of Guadalupe, before which the dancers were once again performing. Scattered around the front of the church were some lovely images, and Guadalupe was everywhere, but the overall feeling was oppressive, anticlimactic; we had entered the institution of the church, while the true life and focus of the celebration seemed to have begun and ended outside of it, on the streets, among the people.

The group pauses before for the final procession into the sanctuary.

I bought three roses, one red, one white, and one pink, from a woman in the back of the church. As we left, some people were offering free devotional cards, rosaries and bumper stickers from a table in the lobby. I was given a rosary of bright violet plastic beads; Max took one of brown beads. As we lingered at the back of the church, unwilling to stay, but not quite ready to leave, Max studied the prayer on the back of his card. "Don't look at the back" he said to me. Without my reading glasses on it was out of the question anyway, but apparently it was a rather pointed entreaty from a right-to-life group out of Colorado, one of the many groups who have appropriated the image of Guadalupe to promote their cause. Max knows I'm a fiercely dedicated feminist, but I just shrugged and said "put it in a little frame--you don't need to look at the back. The front is all that matters". After living in New Mexico for 12 years, I've come to respect everyone's religion and point of view, even if I don't agree with it.

This, probably more than anything else, exemplifies the universal appeal of Guadalupe, Empress of the Americas, who is revered by all manner of Christians, as well as agnostics, atheists, Jews, Buddhists, gays, lesbians, people of color, Anglos, promoters of political causes, and yes, even us feminists: she represents love and compassion, someone who looks out for us and walks beside us and understands...no matter who we are and where we fit in. And one thing I've learned is that, if you live in New Mexico, you can't get away from her--sooner or later she'll come knocking on your door and eventually you'll let her in, into your life and into your heart.

The statue.

I left the biggest and prettiest of the roses, the pink one, tucked into a vase at the base of the statue, saving the other two for my altar back home. We lingered for a little while longer, and then headed back through the cold night to the SUV and toward home.

Que Viva Guadalupe!

till next time...

Blessings,

Dawn

Condor Talisman

2008-10-30T20:06:00.000-07:00

I'm such a die-hard, I was figuring out how to do this design even as I was watching the condors fly in the Grand Canyon on Sunday! Yesterday I got out the very last of my silver PMC and crafted this pendant from the image at the top of my last post. I wanted it to be recognizable as, and capture the feeling of a condor in flight, but not be too fussy on the details. (For fussy details, I'll post images of my paintings sometime!) Instead, I went for a primal look and feel, something that evoked the high-desert environment and ancient rock art.

I'm pleased with the result, and am thinking about taking a mold from this and doing a limited, signed edition of it in silver and/or bronze, and donating a portion of the profits to the condor restoration project, probably either the Peregrine Fund or the Grand Canyon. Other designs are coming to mind to be offered as one-of-a-kind originals or limited editions. I would appreciate your feedback on this if you're interested!

'Till later...Dawn

Condor Dreams

2008-10-28T11:03:00.000-07:00

They are like nothing else. No other birds even come close. With a 9 1/2-foot (3 meter) wingspan, the California condors are the great shamans of the air, flying with a pure, stately grace through the vastness of the Grand Canyon and beyond. As I write this, two days after seeing them for the first time, I can see them in my mind's eye, but I struggle for words. It felt like a visitation from one of the great Powers.

My husband, Michael, and I had taken a brief trip to see Steve Roach in concert in Flagstaff (for photos of that, see his website at www.steveroach.com) and for a few days of R&R in Northern Arizona. Mike suggested that we go up to the Grand Canyon again, and so had arrived at Grand Canyon Village on the South Rim, actually found an available room, and were just wandering around deciding what to do with ourselves.

A talk on the condors had been scheduled at Mary Coulter's beautiful Lookout Studio, but I figured I already knew most of what they would say and I hadn't come to stand around in a crowd. We decided on a walk down the rim trail for sunset and were heading back to the X-terra for warmer clothes when we came upon the talk already in progress, so I said what the hell, let's hang around for a few minutes.

And then I saw it: a large bird circling out over the canyon. As it turned, I saw what looked like a white head and assumed it was a bald eagle. Others saw it, too, and began to point and exclaim. Then the guide turned, took one look and said "Here comes one now!" I couldn't believe it...it was a condor!!

We and everyone else in the vicinity scrambled for a good view. As we watched, more condors came to investigate until there were five in all; apparently they are drawn to crowds and activity. We watched them, and they watched us. At times one would fly by at eye level, so close we could hear the air rushing through their wings. It was an awesome sound, like the wind through the pines. They had a good look and then landed on some outcrops on the cliffs below, took off again, and circled away and back again, playing in the air, for a good hour.

Their flight is rock steady, with wings perfectly outstretched on either side, primaries spread like fingers at the tips. They'll spend hours like this, going as high as 15,000 feet and hundreds of miles in a day. And I can tell you, these pictures don't do them justice.

Nearly all of the condors in canyon country today have been released there from the breeding program (more on that below), and bear plastic numbered ID tags on their wings, as well as radio transmitters. At times, they were so close we could read the numbers through binoculars.

Meanwhile, here are Michael and I, as I took our picture just before the surprise of a lifetime. Nice camera shadow...did I mention I was a professional? Mike's already scanning the skies.

One of the condors perched on a ledge, just hanging out. They relax and wait for the wind to be just right. Taking off, they expend as little energy as necessary: just one or two flaps of those incredible wings, and then they're soaring on the thermals for hours.

The same view, pulled out to show the condor in context with the canyon.

Beautiful in flight. Mature adults show the classic white on the underwing, with an orange and yellow head and gorgeous red eyes. They often fly with their white feet hanging down, and so look a bit like planes with the landing gear down. I would guess this helps increase drag, so they can slow down when they want to get a good look at things, like us. They strike me as very intelligent and full of character.

Hours later, still watching the condors from the Rim Trail in the afterglow of evening. They will fly until darkness falls.

This was the unexpected culmination of a dream of a lifetime for me. Condors captured my heart in the 1980s and became sacred animals for me, even as I learned that they were in grave danger of extinction. I drew pictures of them and even named my studio Whitecondor Studio. In the spring of 1987, just as I was taking my first tour around the Southwest, the last wild condor was captured and brought into captivity in Southern California for a controversial breeding program. It was an almost desperate measure to try and increase their numbers and someday release them back into the wild.

When their numbers were at their lowest, there were only 22 condors left alive.

The captive breeding program was a success, and in 1992, the first captive-raised condors were released in California. In 1996, the year we moved to our home in New Mexico, the first condors were released at the Vermillion Cliffs north of the Grand Canyon, part of their ancestal territory. They quickly discovered the Canyon, condor nirvana, and have become--incredibly--a common sight on the South Rim.

Today, there are nearly 300 condors alive, and several dozen call the Grand Canyon and the surrounding country home.

I watched them fly away into the distance of evening.

When I first visited the Canyon in '87, the idea of seeing condors flying in the Southwestern skies seemed like an impossible dream. At most, I hoped someday, once in my lifetime, to see one flying free somewhere. On Sunday, October 26, 2008, that dream unexpectedly came true as I returned to the Grand Canyon and saw not one, but five breathtaking condors flying wild, so close that I heard the wind whistling in their wings.

If you would like to contribute to the restoration of the condors, please visit

http://peregrinefund.org

thanks...until next time,

Dawn

Ogg Goes to the Used Atlatl Lot & Other Prehistoric Misadventures

2008-10-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

It was a chilly, grey day on October 4th in Santa Fe, muting the yellow of blooming chamisa and golden aspens on the heights of the Sangre de Christo mountains high above. I had driven up to visit the Sun Mountain Gathering, an outdoor interactive festival of prehistoric southwestern craft held by the Museum of Indian Arts and Culture on the east side of town. Most of the action took place down behind the museum complex, along a network of paths that ran through the pinons...

My first stop was the atlatl-throwing range, where you could try out a selection of atlatls and darts and try to hit targets that consisted of pictures of large, friendly-looking animals stuck to hay bales. For those of you who haven't brushed up on your prehistory, an atlatl is a stick with a finger handle attached that's used for throwing spears and darts; it predates the bow and arrow and at one time was used all over the world. This lady pictured above kindly displayed her really nice one that she ordered from a guy on the internet.

That's right folks, you can order you very own atlatl on the internet.

Naturally, I had to try one myself. They gave me some 4-foot darts and, after failing miserably on the first two tries, I got lucky and hit the rabbit right in the jugular! Well, just barely, but hey. I took a picture of it so I'd have proof. (Of course, this proves nothing so you'll just have to believe me.)

I was hooked. It was easier that I thought, and came back later for a few more throws, killed the deer and was rewarded with a badly aching shoulder the next day. I want to make my own atlatl now. It's on my To Do list.

A little further down the trail, I came upon Ulysses Reid of Zia Pueblo (not far from us at home) just as he was opening a firing pit full of his Mesa Verde-style pots. This is something he's just been getting into, and pit firing is tricky business. Above, he's removing the potsherds that covered the new pots in the pit, which are visible upside-down on the left.

This beautiful bowl was one of the first to emerge. The Mesa Verde style pottery is one style of many from the old days, and is characterized by black designs painted with Rocky Mountain Beeplant (I believe) on a white slip background.

Here's everything just as it came out of the pit. They still need to be rinsed off, but the firing was a partial success; there was no breakage but smoke had blackened much of the white slip, obscuring the designs. Better luck next time, Ulysses! I did take one of the bowls home for my studio, though.

Next stop: the Archaic Hunting Camp...

...where I met John from Portales who, fueled with a large bag of peanuts, was busily flintknapping arrowheads from obsidian. John was a delightful guy who quickly taught me the basics, thus making it appear much simpler than it actually was. Nevertheless, I was able to make one edge of an arrowhead look pretty serviceable, and he gave me a bunch of pieces to take home a try out. Which I will, as soon as my hands heal.

Another flintknapper (whose name I didn't recall, unfortunately) had a display of points and knives he'd made from obsidian, stone and glass. The knife points are set into flattened sheep horns and bound with sinew. Pretty neat stuff.

The only tools the original knappers used were a stone, an antler point, a piece of leather, and a sandstone block. John had made his own tools of copper which worked beautifully, but I've made my own from elk antler tips just to see how it goes.

The day was going by really fast and I realized I wouldn't have time to learn all the techniques, so I made a beeline for the yucca fiber display, part of the Navajo Sheep Camp. I didn't see any Navajos, nor any sheep, but I did meet Mary Weahkee, Santa Clara Pueblo-Comanche, making fabulous things out of yucca fiber. Above, she's set up a partially-completed blanket of rabbit fur strips woven into yucca fiber on an upright loom.

And here is a length of yucca rope she made. The dark, fuzzy strip above it is the beginning of a turkey feather blanket, which will be woven together in the same manner as the one made with rabbit fur. Some turkeys in a neighboring exhibit had serendipitously had a fight earlier in the day, and thus Mary was able to obtain a good quantity of fresh down feathers for her blanket. I had always assumed these blankets would be terribly itchy due to the combination of yucca fiber and little ends of feathers sticking out, but this had been woven so skilfully that it was incredibly soft. I'll take one of these over a coat any day!

Here's Mary showing a newly-twilled segment of yucca fiber to another participant. I'd tried at home to figure out how to make this, but never got the hang of it. Mary taught me how to do it, and it was actually very simple, if hard on the hands. You can either soak the leaves for a long time or just cook them for a couple of days in your turkey roaster at home; the goal is to soften the pulp in the leaves so you can scrape it off. You're left with the pure fibers, which can then be twisted in a variety of ways, and spliced together . Her tools were prosaic (a piece of PVC pipe on a cafeteria tray, an antler scraper and plastic buckets filled with water) but the results were very impressive. I'm still getting the hang of it, but if you see any of my jewelry for sale with handmade yucca fibers, you'll know where I learned it!

All in all, it was the most fun I'd had in a LONG time, and I came away feeling as if, should civilization collapse, I would at least be able to provide us with meat, clothing and footwear. I stopped in town for groceries and some fresh roasted chile and headed for home just as the first autumn storm blew in, which deposited a layer of snow on the mountaintops during the night. Can't wait till next year!!!

Bisti Sojourn

2008-10-07T21:08:00.000-07:00

With beautiful autumn weather comes wanderlust in New Mexico, and last week I and my son Max decided to make the 3+ hour trek out to the Bisti Badlands, a wilderness area in the northwest corner of the state. A fair portion of the drive is on dirt roads (REAL roads, by God!) like this one, as I shot it out of the window en route...

...heading west across the sagebrush steppe of the San Juan Basin. This is Navajo country, despite the fact that the official border of the rez is out there ahead of us. An occasional house or two is the only evidence that this land is inhabited, and there have been times I've had to slow down so a dusty herd of sheep can clear the road.

We arrived at the dirt parking lot for the wilderness, where a group of somewhat bemused-looking out-of-staters had just wandered back to their vehicles. They had no idea that the really interesting stuff, seen above and following in no particular order, is a good mile up the wash. Which keeps the riffraff out, incidentally.

The above image is pure Bisti: dark hills of shale and clay seamed with coal, bonewhite clay hoodoos, and huge petrified logs. One of the logs is visible resting on a pedestal of clay in the bottom center of the photo.

The hoodoos and other formations look like living things, graceful and muscular...like something that has only briefly transformed to stone and clay...

An intriguing side passage.

A towering hoodoo. This one is over 15 feet tall; many of the formations in Bisti are actually quite small. Wonderful and strange things happen just above ground level, and the feel is intimate, like a sculpture garden, rather than the monumental formations of canyon country. Hoodoos form when a layer of harder strata erodes away until only isolated caprocks remain. The stems that support them are of softer stuff, and once the caprock falls will quickly erode away.

Small, exquisite hoodoos in the glow of evening light.

During a rest, Max contemplates the meaning of life, the universe, and beef jerky.

I've never seen another place quite like the Bisti. Truly another world...the most desolate, eerie, and fascinating place in the Southwest.

At one place, and only one as far as I know, there is a field of stone eggs which have cracked open and seem to be evaporating back into the dreamtime...

Stones take forms here that I've never seen elsewhere, and wouldn't believe were possible unless I'd seen them myself. Wind seems to be the prime sculptor of these shapes. Many fantastic formations were impossible to photograph in a way that showed clearly what they were, but some, like those above, literally composed themselves.

...We stayed out for a good six hours which went by very fast, and arrived back at the suv just as the sun had slipped below the horizon. Then a long, dark drive homeward...

______________________________________________

Next time in the Drylands Journal:

Ogg Goes to the Used Atlatl Lot!

Stay tuned...

Desert Jewels and the Glittering Land

2008-10-03T14:08:00.000-07:00

Late sunlight turning the bonelands golden at Bisti, turquoise, silver...the scent of juniper smoke at twilight and a chill in the air at night... Autumn has come to the high desert in Northern New Mexico.

Welcome to my new blog! I've created it as a sister site to my online jewelry store, Desert Talismans at Etsy.com: http://deserttalismans.etsy.com

I'm looking forward to giving you an expanded, more in-depth look at my world, my work, and my creative space...as well as works in other media and works-in-progress.

But for now, I thought I'd include a couple of favorite images from recent days in my first posting to my blog, as a taste of things to come. One was just taken this morning as the first rays of sun fell across my worktable and illuminated a wind-carved stone bowl full of Nevada turquoise cabochons. At the top left of the page are the Bisti Badlands, taken on a day's hike with my son a couple of weeks ago. The Bisti is out in the San Juan Basin, in the northwest corner of New Mexico. I was hungry for new shapes and forms that would inspire my work in PMC (precious metal clay), which I've just begun to use. I wasn't disappointed! An expanded post will include more images from this otherworldly place in the future.

'Till then...