Being There

by Lyn StClair

It is 4:47 AM and I have been sitting and contemplating the composition of a sketch for a new painting of a polar bear and ross's gulls that is coming together on the 24"x48" stretched linen on my easel.  As I stare at the piece, I am reminded of the trip when I saw my first white bears and pink gulls…

Several years ago, my friend Cathy joined me on a trip to Barrow, Alaska to visit my friend Donald and try to see polar bears.  We arrived in Barrow in October, in the middle of whaling season.  

Barrow is about as North as you can get.  One of Donald's nieces described it best in a call to him shortly after he started working there:  "Uncle Donald, we looked you up on the globe…you're really close to the screw!!"  Yup, that about sums it up…

We managed to rent an SUV from a local hotel and proceeded to troll the limited roads of Barrow in search of polar bears.  

Toward one end of our route , a whale carcass was being dismembered by the townspeople while whaling crews continued their hunt.  

Near the other end was a beautiful cemetery in the snow with white markers and colorful plastic flowers.

Big trucks loaded with one sort of detritus or another rumbled from one end of the road to the other (there is no road out of Barrow).

Grey-green waves crashed on the beach and a cold wind whipped the landscape.

There was no sign of bears on the first day…no sign of much of anything.  The arctic fox we saw in the distance saw us and ran like lightning the opposite direction (they hunt them, here…they hunt everything here).  

One morning, Cathy was feeling a wee bit stressed that she'd used precious vacation time for this...and no bears.
So, I offered a suggestion…in my very best (which was very bad) Jacques Cousteau accent, I said:
"Ho-kay, tew-day ees dee day zat vee speak vis zee varra bad French accents…and ZAT eees how vee find da polar baars."

Cathy groaned "Zee mud, but ahll zere ees, ees  MUD!"

and I replied:  "And zee sheet haulers, zhey haul zee sheet in zee mud from wan end to da other"

Thus it began…

We became our own comic relief…and we couldn't seem to stop the silly accent thing (much to the dismay of our dear host, Donald, a speech pathologist).  

We weren't finding much to shoot...but we were laughing so hard our faces hurt...

Then slowly, we began to find wildlife.... discovering the snowy owls that sat in the cemetery, posted on fences and hunted the tundra on the ends of town.  We found a Jaeger cruising a frozen pond.
We tried to sort out unfamiliar gulls and eiders. 

We'd been told to look for the pink gulls, which brought a wide-eyed look of wonder at one another…Ross's gulls!  A holy grail for birders!  

So, we'd sit on the beach and scan the birds with binos, looking for the "faint wash of pink"…

"Oh, that one has pink…could it be…?!"  

Back and forth we went, scanning for bears and shooting whatever we could find.  In the long stretches between seeing wildlife, on top of the silly "French" accents, we invented the Wide World of Arctic Sports:  dead bird leaping, wind jumping…

Basically, we did what Cathy and I do best:  

we played.

One day, on the way to the cemetary, we discovered a "stink" whale that had washed ashore.  This is a whale that had been harpooned, but escaped being brought in by the whaling party.  They die at sea, then wash ashore too late to be used for food.  We visited the stink whale often, hoping for a bear…and sadly mourning its terrible fate and the waste of a beautiful life.

We trolled and searched the tundra until our eyes hurt...

We even tried doing bear dances on the beach.

 Locals suggested looking for bears in the middle of the night (it started to get dark about 4 PM and didn't get light until nearly 10 AM)…so we began cruising in the deep of the night and the wee hours of the morning.

One night we brought Donald and his partner, Mick…who rolled their eyes at the accents (Donald whispering to Mick: "make them stop"), then fell asleep in blankets in the back seat while we looked for bears.

We found a lot of bear tracks...seemed we just missed them several times...

Then, late one night we were leaving the stink whale when we saw them…a sow polar bear and her nearly grown twins.  They were ambling up the road ahead of us.  Cathy was driving and carefully tried to sneak up as close as possible so I could, at least, get a record shot with the camera.  

They were MAGNIFICENT!  Cathy and I have been very close to many grizzlies over the years we've known one another…these white bears make grizzlies look small!  As we crept closer, I aimed…and "click"…the flash bounced off the windshield.  

The sow stopped and turned with a menacing look that pretty much said "do that again and I will open that thing like a sardine can and feed you one piece at a time to my kids!"  

Cathy whispered:  "Oh sheet, she eesa verra, verra beeg!" and we were lost in a paroxysm of laughter.  

We followed at a more respectful distance as the three bears ambled on and disappeared into the night.  We giggled like leetle girls the rest of the trip over Cathy's reaction to the bear.

One morning before we left, we were scanning the beach as usual when we saw them.  A flock of Ross's gulls hunting the surf and skimming the beach.  Our jaws dropped.  

Whatever we had seen before, it was not Ross's.  The "faint wash of pink" description in the bird book could not have prepared us for these gorgeous salmon and grey gulls hunting the green-grey surf.  Spectacular.

As I work on this painting, it comes to life with memories of Barrow, of the personal experiences with these two species and the laughter shared with my friends.  

My paintings are not just a portrait of a certain animal....they are stories of places I've been, things I have learned, people I have loved and homages to the beautiful creatures that I have been so very privileged to have seen.

As an artist, I cannot paint something I have not seen in the wild, in it's natural habitat. 

Photos mean nothing...the experience is EVERYTHING. 

There is always something new to be discovered…and there is simply NO substitute for being there…

So, as I tweak the sketch and prepare to start painting, I remind myself:  

She eesa verra, verra beeg…

  

...and zhey vere a verra, verra PEENK!

The Yin and Yang of Duende

by Lyn StClair

We have all heard artists refer to the "muse".  The muse is inspiration from outside. Creating with passion also means listening to and acting on something deep inside. It often means defying logic and sometimes pushing ourselves in directions we don't consciously want to go.

The Spanish poet Garcia Lorca called this "duende" and described it as "a power and not a behavior, it is a struggle and not a concept...it sets blood afire…it exhausts and consumes us" He wrote "I have heard an old master guitarist say: ‘The duende is not in the throat; the duende surges up from the soles of the feet'."  

In his "Theory and Play of the Duende", Lorca wrote:
"Seeking the duende, there is neither map nor discipline. We only know it burns the blood like powdered glass, that it exhausts, rejects all the sweet geometry we understand, that it shatters styles and makes Goya, master of the greys, silvers and pinks of the finest English art, paint with his knees and fists in terrible bitumen blacks..."

The best work comes out of responding to duende, this consuming "urge" to paint. It makes your heart pound....sometimes it seems to tear your heart right out of your chest.  When this feeling hits, I have to drop everything to paint and I will paint until wholly exhausted. 

Some paintings almost feel as if they are channeled...the hand with the brush pulls something out of the air that often surprises even me.  In addition to countless learning opportunities, in my opinion, these wild dances with the muse and "duende" produce the best work.

The other side of the duende fire...the "yin" side...is "block". As suddenly as it appeared, the inspiration may vanish...maybe right in the middle of a painting. I have learned to stop when that happens. For me, trying to "force" a painting to work often ruins it. At times, I may go a month or more without even going near the easel.

You have to let go and understand that periods of "non-creativity" are as essential to the artist as the frenzies of inspired work. You can't be creative 24/7...you need time to recharge.  When faced with "block", I try to do something different. I "chase" bears, hike, ride/train my horses, take a trip or dive into a book.  Sometimes I look for activities that may inspire future work…other times, I simply play. 

If you want to keep your work fresh, learn to give the muse a little breathing room once in a while. Stepping away can be just as productive as sitting at the easel...if you learn to turn "block" to your advantage.  

It is easy to get caught up in the rush of duende…it feels good, it is what we believe making art should be like.  Block, on the other hand, brings stress and suffering.  We berate ourselves for having "lost" our creativity or worry that we will not have the work we need for exhibitions and collectors.  The key is learning to perfect the practice of block…and to appreciate the opportunities it offers to reflect, consider, explore, experiment and learn.  

Have patience with your periods of block, honor that time to look within (or without).  Soon you will discover that the deep, dark, cool stillness of "block" is as delicious in its own way as the wild, heated rush of duende's fire!

Ashes

All my world is built on ash

scrawled in charcoal, memories past

ashes of the loved ones lost

and ashes burning bridges cost

Years ago it wasn't there

all this ash that streaks my hair

over time, though, it's been earned

reminder of the passions burned

Through looking glass I try to see

all the flames that burned in me

and with that glass held under sun

ignite new fires, one by one

I remember all the names

of my old loves, my old flames

the conflagrations loving brought

become the ashes losing wrought

My whole life's been forged by fire

inspiration, dreams, desire

I draw pictures in the soot

that dusts the path I've undertook

Passion's heat, and flagrant dreams

devour everything it seems

ashes ashes all fall down

blur the edges, muffle sounds

Ashes dust the blackened trees

that mark the forest fires in me

burn my world down now and then 

to open heartscape once again

Still it comes with some surprise

when phoenix from the ashes rise

and fiery soul again set free

gives flight to creativity

Gift Horses

by Lyn StClair

There are countless books written about "visualizing" the life you want…but visualization has never worked for me.  Oddly, the more I tried to visualize something…the less likely it seemed to happen.  To say that has been frustrating is an understatement…at times, it has been downright heartbreaking.  Yet, every time I was "denied" what I "wanted"…something better seemed to come along.

What I have learned along the way is that life is not about getting what you want…
    ...nor is it really about learning not to want.

Our dreams and desires have the power to move us forward…but sometimes we must be willing to let go of the originally hoped-for destination.

We should not only be aware of the doors that open along the way…but also appreciate the value of the ones that shut.

So many times I have looked back and marveled "who would have thought I would be HERE a year ago?".  In a society that seems to value security, it seems odd to say that I have come to LOVE the polar shifts that have marked new chapters in my life again and again over the years.

Having experienced the loss of a child, divorce, the death of a parent, cancer, the passing of friends, not to mention the infinite "minor" stumbles along the way...I have learned that gifts lie beneath the pain, if you are willing to look for them.  Every tear shed has been a drop of moisture to the soil of my soul…and the ever-present laughter is the sunshine.

Early last summer I joined a couple of friends to look at a home one of them was considering for purchase.  Before I'd even made it up the driveway, I realized it was the kind of house/studio/barn/location I'd dreamed of…and, for the first time, it hit me that I would likely never have that.

Several years ago I'd saved enough for a substantial down payment and was actively looking for a house to buy.  Then I was diagnosed with cancer.  Being uninsured meant that all the money I had saved for a downpayment on a house would disappear like a puff of smoke into stacks of hospital bills.  

With my friends, I looked over that perfect property until I couldn't hold back the tears.  After saying my goodbyes, I left the house and ran to the solace of my horses.

For the first time, I really cried over the cancer thing…and, as I did with the horses of my childhood and youth, I hugged my ponies until the tears stopped.

Then, with a deep breath or two, I let go of that dream house and remembered all I had to be grateful for (including the horses whose coats I'd just cried into).  

A few weeks later I was surfing craigslist and found a post advertising a little schoolhouse for rent.  Long story short:  my new home is better than anything I could have dreamed of…

Time and again I have had to learn to let go of what I "want".  Even when "letting go" has meant it had to be painfully, and involuntarily, ripped from my grasp.  When I finally let go, the reward was often a gift better than I imagined.

Many people believe that our mistakes and personal tragedies are something to bury, leave behind, forget…at best, we "should" learn from them and let them go.  Others hang on to their failings/injuries/losses and drag them along throughout life, continuing to carry the pain or anger or grief indefinitely.  Recently, I have come to believe that the most soulful approach lies in embracing the pain as much as the happiness.  What a marvelous gift to be alive to feel not only love, happiness, hope and joy…but also pain, failure, regret and loss.

My path has never gone where I imagined it would…yet here i am in the most marvelous place.  I would not be here had I been able to buy a house instead of having cancer.  My fabulous horses and a remarkable dog came into my life as a result of having cancer.  No one considers it a gift when they are diagnosed with cancer…but, in hindsight, maybe it was.

How do we learn to appreciate the gifts that may come wrapped within our tragedies and disappointments without having to find them in hindsight (if ever)?

How do we learn to appreciate the gift of every moment and every single breath we take?

Five years ago I woke from surgery less curvy, free of cancer and soon to be bereft of savings.  

Today my life is full of family and friends that I cherish, work that I love, pets that make me laugh, ponies that carry my dreams, a view that astonishes me every day, a home that I adore and life…precious life.  

The hopes/dreams/loves that have been left behind are as much a part of who I am as the ones realized and yet to be.  

No doubt, more heartbreak lies ahead….but I will never stop hoping/dreaming/loving.  

Rather than holding too tight to my dreams and desires, though…I hope I will have the courage to set them free and the wisdom to appreciate the gifts that come in unexpected packages.

As another season of giving winds down, let us appreciate the gifts we receive…
          whether it's what we wanted or not.

Good Morning Moon

Good morning, moon. 

Last night I couldn't sleep...that magnificent moon was making magic out the windows. From my bed I saw the resident mulie herd cavorting in my yard...just a few yards from my window. I watched them play and tried to point them out to Newt but he wanted to sleep, lol. 

Later (well "earlier", actually), I wandered about the house in the dark looking with awe out the windows at the brilliant moonstruck landscape. Finally drawn out onto the deck around 2 a.m., I stood there amazed. The brutal wind that has pummeled the house for days was gone and the temperature was a wonderous 41F. So much light! The aspens in the yard threw delicate shadows across the snow and I could even see the little game trail that follows the creek through the woods by my deck. The soft gurgling of that creek was the only sound. The hills were lit in every direction. Above, the "smallest" full moon of the year hung among a field of stars. 

Mesmerizing...I tried to take a picture but the camera saw only the black of night so I was left to try and etch this night into memory, a gift for my eyes (and soul) only.

Finding Karma

by Lyn StClair


At my solo gallery show opening in 2009 one of the women attending mentioned she was selling a horse.  Though I was in no way looking for a horse, I could not resist the opportunity to go with my wonderful horsey neighbor Donald, his partner Mick and their friend Gregg to look at "Billy Jean" as a possible horse for Gregg.

Billy Jean was Percheron/Thoroughbred cross owned by a young woman named Molly.  

Molly rescued Billy's pregnant dam from a PMU farm in Canada and brought her to Santa Barbara where Billy was foaled.  Born coal black with a star, Billie was a deep charcoal grey three year old when I met her.  

Molly had begun her training beautifully, but had recently met the love of her life and was moving to Sweden...so Billy needed a new home.

She was gorgeous, but I had trouble justifying the cost of boarding the horse I already had (and they could accept no more boarders even if I could).

More importantly, though I have ridden since I was a toddler, I had never trained a horse...and Billy had a lot more to learn.

My pragmatic Scottish side kicked in.  I admired her, loved on her...and then hugged her goodbye.

Afterward though, I could not stop thinking about her...and Michael Jackson's song had become stuck in my head non-stop.

"B-B-B-Billie Jean..."

A few weeks later, we were riding with a friend.  I was on her huge Percheron/TB paint and falling in love with draft crosses.  As we rode, I told her about Billy Jean and she said "Of course you could train her!'  When the boarding dilemma came up...she came back with "you could keep her at my place".  An intense feeling came over me...I HAVE to do this!

At home, I stepped out of the truck to see the daughter of the woman who was keeping Billy for Molly.  Perfect timing!  I beelined for her and told her I needed to reach Molly to buy her horse.

Her response was a crushing blow: "Molly left for Sweden yesterday...Billie was sold to a neighbor, the sprinkler guy."

Brokenhearted that I had missed the "dream horse", over the next couple of weeks I turned to Craigslist searching for a draft cross and began working with a green Quarter Horse that our friend wanted to sell.

The MJ song refused to leave my head though.

So, I tried emailing Molly for more information...she was sympathetic, but couldn't help.  Billy had been sold and that was that.

Never one to give up easily on a dream, I emailed every sprinkler guy in the area:  "Did you recently buy a big grey horse?..."  Amazingly, one of them responded "yes".  He was happy with her, the farrier was coming out the next week and then they'd know more.  That last part seemed a door open to possibility...

A few days later I wrote him back and made an offer that was more than Molly had been asking.  He thought about it for a couple of days and then agreed.

Billy Jean was mine.

Her name became Karmelita, in part to keep that MJ song out of my head.  Instead there is a Warren  Zevon song to sing to her.  

She can be "good Karma" when she is and "bad Karma" should she ever be rotten (rolls eyes dramatically).

This funny, tough, beautiful, quirky, intelligent, goofy, spirited mare has been a priceless addition to my world.  She has been a challenge at times...but she makes up for it by being an extraordinary soul who continually enriches my life.

She has taught me far more than I could ever teach her.  Together we have weathered some pretty tough stuff and always come through smiling.

As to training...I have come to realize that I knew more about it than I thought...and nothing at all.  What I continually draw on is what I learned with the horses I adored as a child and teen:
Love unconditionally
Cultivate trust
Be kind
and Have fun.

Beyond that...I am always trying to learn something new.

Horses teach you that calm, quiet, patience, humor and kindness are not only good qualities with which to approach them...they are the way to approach life in general.

In my opinion (for what it's worth)...training horses means learning to find a way to bridge a gap between yourself and a soul that sees things very differently than you.  The world can certainly use more of that!

Horses, like art and life, are a work in progress.

They are sensitive and they react to what we bring to them...so the most important step to training is learning to leave your stress, temper, impatience and worry outside the arena (or off the trail).

Like people, horses have their good days and their bad days...so, as one trainer says, you learn to work with the horse that shows up.

Rather than get mad and frustrated that my horse is not doing what I tell them, I look for reasons why and different ways of "asking".  What builds from that is trust...

When you and your horse trust one another...you can do anything.

Whatever I do with them, I am always on the lookout for them to "try"...and hopefully they appreciate my "try", too...

Thank you Molly for rescuing this lovely mare and her mama from the wicked Premarin farm program and shaping her young life so thoughtfully.  Thank you Hank for answering that email and being willing to let her go, albeit reluctantly.  Thank you Dody for telling me "you can!", for offering advice and for giving me a place to put Karma for the first few months.  Thank you Donald for getting me back into jumping...and Donald, Mick and Gregg for letting me come along to see her that first time.  







Last but not least...
thank you Karma for just being you.