Drinking the River, Touching the Mist

To the Far Horizon - Image c Lynda Lehmann 2010

Solstice Flow - Image c Lynda Lehmann 2010

I turn my face towards the descending mist. I feel its softness on my skin. Barely visible--both gossamer and fleeting--it hovers between the downcast sky and pungent earthy realms. Its delicate power transforms the forest into Chambers of Joy, humming with life process, inspiring and humbling me.

Oh Cathedral of Grace, full of scent and motion, press the moisture of life gently to my cheeks as it anoints the oaks, pines and hemlocks with sweetness, making them supple and new, coaxing shimmering manes of fresh growth.

I am intimate with the river. Fervently I soak in the reverberating tides, those mysteries translucent but steady. Eddies of lace, pathways of stone, forge ahead in your yin-yang dance of ages.

I walk enchanted through verdant halls, wanting for nothing. I am as complete as the damp patch of earth under my feet, swelling with emerging life.

The Sacred Grounds rise to my consciousness as the Perfection of the Universe.

Rush - Image c Lynda Lehmann 2010

Sacred Meeting of Water and Stone - Image c Lynda Lehmann 1010

All images and text on this blog are copyrighted material, and may be used only with written permission by the author/artist, except where syndication rights have been granted. All other rights reserved. Please visit my primary art site www.lyndalehmann.com if you would like to see my paintings and more of my photography.

Thistle Thicket

Even the spiny thistle has its own character and beauty, and Nature’s wise hand plays its magic on both the buds and blossoms of that we customarily think of as a weed. Maybe our emphasis on labeling things is just a superficial convenience that really fragments our minds and closes off our perception. We dismiss things too easily, because we have labeled them by our own accord, i.e. by our verbal traditions, either personal or acquired. Whether we refer to something with a nickname we have coined or by the vernacular of our time and place, we may limit its impact on our lives by relegating it to a negative mindset and meaning. What do you think?

Image and Text c Lynda Lehmann

All images and text on this blog are copyrighted material, and may be used only with written permission by the author/artist, except where syndication rights have been granted. All other rights reserved.

Notes on the Fragility of Life

Coming Into Being - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Recent media coverage of the Gulf oil spill has been a reminder of the preciousness of life, now put in jeopardy by corporate greed. Let's not forget that the sea is the BASE of the

food chain

. Instead of a sparkling, vital and beautiful ocean bursting with

magnificent

life forms of unimaginable variety and scale, I'm afraid

we may have rendered much of it a lifeless, poisoned, toxic soup. And I'm afraid it may not recover for centuries. If ever...

And how far will the poison spread? Pollution has no boundaries, especially in the fluid dynamism of the sea.

All because our human societies do not promote rational limitations on what both governments and corporations can do. All because we look at the short-term gain instead of considering long term ramifications and a wider view of The Common Good... Because we've gone to the moon but haven't been able to legislate rational limits to the destructive forces unleashed by habits of Consumerism and its untidy extremes: greed and entitlement.

Looking at the tiny, emerging blossom in the photo above, I'm reminded of just how delicate the tender shoots of plants are, how delicate the physical manifestations of each species. All of life on Earth is comprised of delicate cells, tissues, membranes and organs. They are not made of plastic or clay. Each is made up of an orchestrated unfolding and cooperation of trillions of cells. In short, the chain is as strong as its weakest link. So it is with life systems. What the cell cannot withstand, is reflected by orders of magnitude in the health and longevity of the entire organism.

Consider your own cellular structure, protected on the outside by your "integument." Your skin is actually your largest organ. But consider as well, how easily damaged it is, by a burn or abrasion, or worse: caustic chemicals or radiation. So it is with the Earth, comprised of many life forms of wonderful and miraculous diversity. But each organism on our planet is vulnerable, and whole forms of life, which we call "species," have already become extinct. That means that in spite of the fact they they once flourished, they are now gone from the face of our planet forever!

So it is that when we damage whole ecosystems, we damage the integrity of Earth and all her inter-related species. Life is not to be taken for granted. It is not a given. It's made up of a statistically improbable, miraculously coinciding alliance of chemical and mechanical events that generate Life.

The creative force at the center of the universe may be powerful and enduring beyond our comprehension. But the species that populate our precious green planet, are not. And we are one of them.

As Chief Seattle said:

"

All things are bound together. All things connect......

Man does not weave this web of life. He is merely a strand of it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself."

All images and text on this blog are copyrighted material, and may be used only with written permission by the author/artist, except where syndication rights have been granted. All other rights reserved.

The Sad and Terrible Truth

When corporations become sovereign, democracy is swallowed by their greedy machinations. When will we find our voices and stand up with intelligence, clarity, and political will?

A Ballet of Blossoms

Peachy Petals - Lynda Lehmann c 2009

Watch the petals of irises sway, billow and gently gesture in the breeze. It's like watching a ballet: the dance of sweet spring air over translucent sheaths of brilliant color, orchestrated interplay of air, color, and light....

Irises may be my favorite flower, for their intricate, sculptural forms, whose graceful spatial relationships flourish in 3-D. I think they're much more interesting than tulips, for example, whose colors are just as beautiful but whose petals form a more symmetric and predictable, cup-like structure. As with the process when I paint, I enjoy variety and a few surprises!

The closer I move with my eye or my view through the camera, the more I see of the fantastic architecture of the flower kingdom.

What's your favorite flower?

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.

The Luck of the Seagull

The Culprit - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Lunch Frenzy - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Wharf Scene - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

A Gull's Position - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Outside the Fish Market - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Bike Dock - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

Back at the Dock - Lynda Lehmann c 2010

We visited Portland the other day, since I had to deliver some new photos to a gallery there. Afterwards, we had a lovely lunch at DiMillo's floating restaurant, housed on a

huge ship that was originally a car ferry running between New Castel, Delaware and Pennsville, New Jersey. We

gazed at the boats in the harbor while enjoying delicious lobster club-sandwiches.

Afterwards, we decided to explore the wharf area adjacent to Congress Street. We turned a corner just a few blocks past the restaurant and came into a narrow thoroughfare that bordered the fish market area. We were fascinated by the trappings of an industry that has lasted since America began and brave new towns sprang up all over the Northeast. Old docks and walkways, colorful old buildings that bear the markings of age and exposure to coastal Maine weather: crusty and salty with worn, rusted, scarred and tattered surfaces in a variety of old materials. It was an interesting scene, and I was excited to be surrounded by vintage architecture and time-etched surfaces.

It was mid-afternoon on the first steamy day of a May hot spell, and a couple of lobster boats were just coming in with their catch. All around, the seagulls were in an uproar. Their excited cries nearly drowned out the steady, deep hum of the diesel engines. I've never seen so many swarming, screeching, flapping, swooping, fluttering, and diving creatures anywhere. The mayhem was not without a dimension of aggressive behavior, as they competed for morsels of available fish.

I was raptly photographing those graceful white birds, whose wings by the hundreds, fanned the warm, salty air. I stood at what I thought was safe distance. After shooting about 30 images, I had cocked my head to look through my camera at a new angle. Suddenly a shadow passed over my head. I heard the approach of fluttering wings and felt a rush of wind, then the sensation of cool liquid oozing into my left ear. He had let one go! And by that I don't mean a clam shell or a morsel of lobster meat. He had POOPED on me! Not ON but directly IN to my left ear!

Had it hit the outside of my ear, the fleshy part called the "pinna," I could have dealt with it better. But the idea of that oozy detritus sliding towards my ear canal, did NOT make my day.

On the way back to the car, I joked with a couple of people we met along the dock about my surprise gift from a seagull. Apparently they were fishermen, because they showed no great surprise at the event and even chuckled at my consternation. Two of them went so far as to say "When a seagull _ _ _ _ s in your ear, it's means good luck!"

"Yeah, sure," I muttered under my breath. "Maybe with an albatross...."

I was immensely grateful for the hand wipes we had in the car, and I cleaned my ear the best I could. So far I've suffered no ill effects.

I'm sure I'll survive, but I could have done without that added sensory dimension to my harbor experience.

The regal bird you see in the top photo may have been the culprit. One moment I was fixated on his dignified stance on the wood piling, and the next thing I knew, he'd given me more than a photo op. I'm grateful that it happened after lunch!

NOTE: For my last couple of posts, it seems as if unwanted code has been insinuating itself into my text. Has anyone else been having that problem with Blogger this week or last?

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography, where my other sites are listed, as well.

Disconnected: A Flash Fiction Eulogy

"You DON"T have to call me very day!" Walter slammed down the receiver. Holly was out of hand with her calls. He'd told her again and again that once a week was more than enough. Why was his eldest daughter so persistent?

All three of his kids hammered him about taking care of himself since Myrna had passed. What did they think he was trying to do, damn it?

He'd loved Myrna. Although he'd always been what she called "too gruff" for her, he knew she was just getting hung up on style. The substance of their marriage was what mattered, right? And he'd given her everything she'd wanted.

Now it was his time. Now he didn't have to deal with the rebuffs and the control, anymore. As much as he missed her, he enjoyed the freedom of not having to answer to his wife for everything he did. She had never gotten it through her head that being a stay-at-home, non-professional sort of woman, it was much more her job to defer to the needs of her very busy and accomplished husband. He hadn't become CEO of a nationwide chain like

Manley Hardware, by accident

!

Now, with his shares and discount still in place, he could buy anything he wanted, go where he wanted, bring anything into the house that he wanted. He'd finally bought himself some new tools, a set of pipes for his favorite tobacco, and a set of CDs with his favorite Swing music from the 40s. He'd hung a new cabinet in his downstairs shop and stocked it with new nails, screws, and bolts.

Why did his kids have to hound him and half ruin his nearly perfect, new life?

*****

Ah, two o'clock and time to head out. Some new steins for the fireplace mantle were next on his list of the things he'd been wanting for a long time.

"Son of a bistro-chef!" Walter hissed. "Where's my damned wallet?" Myrna would have found it for him, but then he would have had to be beholden to her for the rest of the day. That's how she was. She always wanted acknowledgement. He wouldn't have minded giving it to her if the things she had done had actually been in some way, important!

He opened the kitchen drawer, the one where he threw his wallet and keys those days he didn't bother walking as far as his desk in the den. Not there. Shoes on but not yet tied, he hobbled to his desk, opening one drawer after the other. Not there.

"Where the hell did I put my freaking wallet?" he boomed, so that his old male border collie, Shelton, slithered under the desk.

Walter was getting agitated. To make matters worse, the phone rang. "Again!!" he yelled.

He turned toward the living room and lunged for the receiver with a leap worthy an outfielder honing in on a high-fly ball. As he grabbed it off the shelf and hurled it to the floor, he tripped on Myrna's 4 x 5 foot oriental carpet, the burgundy and blue one with the coffee stain from his mother-in-law on the left-hand corner, and fell. He felt his thigh hit the floor and his knee bend--if knees could do that--within it's socket. In a moment he was writhing in pain. He lay there, stunned. The pain was in his right arm, too. Could it radiate all the way from his kneecap?

He reached for the receiver dangling a foot from his arm, but couldn't grab it. The darn thing hung there like a mad miniature bungee-jumper vibrating between the cliff and a hard landing. Grabbing for the phone again and again, proved futile. He tried to raise himself on his left arm, but that hurt too. "Ow!" he yelled. Was his dammed arm broken, too? He became exhausted and h

is movements gave way to a steady moaning.

Hours must have passed. Walter still lay on the floor. He was shivering now, probably from the sensation of icy cold that crept out from his knee and thigh and up to his spine, radiating out into his body.

"Holly!" he called out, full knowing she was neither present nor waiting on the other end of the phone line. Damn. Where were his kids when he really needed them? And that good-for-nothing dog Shelton was snoring under the coffee table, not the slightest bit concerned about Walter's plight.

Night fell. Walter was shivering uncontrollably, in spite of summer temperatures without the AC turned on. With his last ounce of strength, he summoned all his anger to push himself towards that phone. The wrinkled cord still dangled in front of him like unattainable treasure. This time he managed to raise himself just a bit on his right side and move maybe an inch closer to the boomeranging receiver. "Wanda!" he called again. "Dennis!" No one answered. No one was there.

Hours passed. Maybe a day or two. He didn't know. All he knew was that sometimes when he opened his eyes, the glare of daylight bored through his eyes and deep into his skull. Other times and more often, he felt he was in a kind of twilight when he managed to open his heavy lids. He wanted a hot dog and a cold beer, but that was out of the question. How could he make himself a meal if he couldn't get off the floor?

Lying in the dark in pain, his eyes filled with sudden tears as it dawned on him that he might die right there, alone, in a crippled heap of agony. Would any of the three of them call again? Not likely, as he'd told them all off in no uncertain terms, just the other day at Dennis' house when his wife Lori served up one of her over-spiced pasta dishes. No, they wouldn't call again for at least a few days....

Walter squinted in the dark, trying to get his bearings for a last look. He comforted himself by the thought that at least he would die surrounded by his favorite collectibles. Too bad he hadn't had time to purchase those new steins before his number was up.

Note to my readers: This is my first attempt at flash fiction. I wanted to write a short, short story that would convey some sense of character and some meaning, as well. I hope it kept your interest! I appreciate your taking the time to read it.

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.

Circus Balls, Dream of Red, and Other Digital Paintings

Intrusion of Linear Elements

Dream of Red

Circus Balls

It's good to be back. My husband and I are always so busy with projects, being the do-it-yourself types. Doing construction and home renovation with your own hands, brings the freedom to pursue new options, but not without a cost. The cost is that the agenda is always intimidating, if not overwhelming. So be it...

I haven't been able to paint in months. My most recent art project was to size, print, mat, and bag about 200 prints for a local coffee shop.

I've finally had time to sit down at the computer. Smitten with the painting bug late in the evening, my only recourse was to turn to digital art instead of breaking out all the smelly, messy acrylics.

The nice thing about digital art is that you can do it almost anywhere that you can sit with a laptop or notebook computer, instead of requiring ample studio space and ventilation. And with iterative "saves,"one can easily squeeze multiple images from the same "mother" image. The possibilities are endless.

Here you see three images borne of the same original "source" image. I'm able to work with brilliant color which I so love, and texture, to create my visual experience.

I've heard some pigment painters object to digital painting because "you can't see the track" of the painter's hand and arm, the "touch" and physicality of it. But I don't think that's true. Surely it IS different, but not altogether. Using a touch-sensitive stylus with a graphics tablet can create many effects and communicate many nuances. Okay, so you won't have the richness and "presence" of impasto, but in my opinion, the effects done with the digital pen can be just as visually compelling.

I hope everyone had a happy and fulfilling Mother's Day, and I look forward to catching up with you!

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.

Taking Time Out

Consciousness - c Lynda Lehmann

Burning the Midnight Oil - c Lynda Lehmann

Right now I'm burning the midnight oil, trying to print, mat and frame dozens of prints to hang in a local shop and a gallery in Maine, and I'm over my head with a bunch of other projects and goals. I won't enumerate because I don't like to post a lot of details about my personal life on the web, and because I don't want to bore you with long lists. I will not likely be posting for the next several weeks but as always, I want you to know that I'll miss every one of you with whom I've shared the blogging journey.

Be well, count your blessings and enjoy your days. I'll come back to posting and visiting you, as soon as I can!

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.

More Views of Nature at the Shore...

Alone in the Surf - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Piping Plover - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Chums - Image c Lynda Lehmann

True Grit - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Stranded - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Sea Wreath - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Rock of Ages - Image c Lynda Lehmann

Here are some of the sights that have given me peace in the past few weeks. I hope they do the same for you.

The photo "Stranded," which I know I've posted before, was taken at a very picturesque and interesting spot on the beach, where the remnants of a rotting wharf of years past, has taken on a life of its own. My husband thinks huge boats must have pulled in to the Long Island shore here, to haul out sand from local sand mines. I'll have to research that and let you know. At any rate, the "ruins" of all these wood pilings offer many interesting views and create a Stonehenge type environment. I'll be working up my other shots to show you soon.

On another note, please bear with me while I re-design my page! I hope you get out into the sparkling sunshine today. I had intended to do just that, but at this rate, fiddling with my template and settings, I'm not likely to make it past my desk!

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art, please visit
Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography

Creating False Value: The Mark of Emptiness?

Mad Dogs and Solipsisms
Acrylic on Canvas, c 2009 Lynda Lehmann

This is not a "feel good" post. So if you are depressed today, wait to read it until you're feeling better, or skip it. I don't want to bring anybody down.

I have to say that in all the fascinating options for meeting people, communicating and interacting that are available to us on the web, we've maybe come to an impasse. When everybody is trying desperately to be seen, or heard, or branded, and to sell themselves as a CEO, SEO or expert in multiple facets of every kind of business, the frenzy overpowers any potential for quality or meaning. We're hearing too much about actions and reactions to and from our social networking sites on mainstream newscasts these days, leaving less time to report critical news from around the world. We proudly report numbers, in our love for having amassed vast quantities of essentially anonymous and dis-interested "followers." What does this prove? Are we in kindergarten? Enough is enough, already. Let's talk.

This is only my opinion. Just as we have too many TV channels to choose from, and nine out of ten of them offer trash: the cheapest, basest forms of titillation and over-stimulation in the name of entertainment--however violent or wanton and forever dwelling on the darkest depths of the human soul--we are inundated with sites promising us the best exposure and experience for this and that. I've been drawn to them as much as anybody else, I'm ashamed to admit. Where is our intellectual perspective?

Well, aside from becoming virtual Cyborgs (no pun intended) in our over-reliance on artificial intelligence, we are becoming even more distant from the ability to maintain internalized systems of moral values, taking it by rote instead, in heaping doses, from our respective churches, synagogues and morality gurus. You can't claim to be "religious" if you're a hater (of all who differ from you in their choices) or if you've forgotten the sounds of the human voice, or the cues of lowered eyes, a chuckle, or a facial tic. Or the aroma of blossoms in spring....

Come forward, people, and let's share our humanity instead of our projected, pre-packaged slick personas, fashioned in the need to point people toward our product or creed. Let's communicate honestly and openly about real issues, instead of using social media for their opiate value. Let's be real and forget about presenting ourselves as gurus and experts and financial whizzes, and just talk....

I had to vent tonight. These questions have been on my mind for awhile, and I think they might be questions worth pursuing. Is it because we are jaded by a cultural mindset that proclaims in so many various ways that "More is better?" Are we becoming more neurotic and compulsive in our need to connect, yet somehow defeating our need by being spread so thin? How do you feel about the effect social networking has had on you and the people you know? Do you think our need to create "false value" to sell ourselves, reflects personal insecurity and cultural and economic decline?

As with everything, balance and judgment are requisite. Any behavior, unchecked, can become pathological. For both individuals and societies. If you and your life are not really being enhanced by the quality of your interactions on the web, don't be afraid to back off! Sit down and have a good talk with yourself, for starters. And don't forget that YOU are your best friend!

All images and text c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.

Earth's Ever-Present Voice

Broken Conch - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Peculiar Mix - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Stranded - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Shell Heap - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Basking on the Boulders - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Surf - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Flap and Flutter - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Alone in the Surf - Image c 2010 Lynda Lehmann

Earth's Ever-Present Voice

Nature speaks
and I must listen.

In inklings and intimations
She speaks to me,
diffuse and subtle
yet powerful and sure.

Her Voice comes in the
crunch of gravel and seashells underfoot,
in the hissing of sand
blowing sideways across the beach
in a gale
that stings my ankles
and whirls away.

Her Voice is in the
rakish angle of an emerging fin:
a diver following his own Muse,
deep underwater in
ironic search for treasure.

Her Voice is in the arc and call
of seagulls circling shoals
for late-day food
and even in the roaring engine of a lobster boat
making headway towards the shore.

Her Voice is in the sparkle of
quartz-laden pebbles
strewn on the beach,
each etched with its own
pattern of experience,

smoothed but striated,
glistening with minerals
while soaking in Eons,
the wear of centuries

and in the tumult
of children playing on the beach,
their laughter ringing
on the teasing wind.

Her Voice rises on the foaming tide
as it sweeps the shore,
engulfing seaweed, shards of glass and
millions of grains of sand.

Her Voice rises on the
scream of the gull
diving at the jetty,
extending its claws to claim a place
on the crusted rocks,

and in the flickering of sunlight
on all the detritus and
natural objects of the shore.

Her Voice is in
the singing of my heart
as I absorb
infinite dimensions of splendor

and in the stirring of my soul,
reveling in the
wildness and the freedom.

It is the Voice of Earth
calling to me
in intimations and inklings,
subtle and tentative
but always sure.

I must stop and listen.

Questions for My Blogging Friends: Is this poem too long? Should I cut a verse or two? Do you find the repetition of the phrase "Her Voice" to be boring or cumbersome? Your advice would be deeply appreciated! I look forward to any constructive comments, both positive and negative. Thanks for your visit!

All images and poem c Lynda Lehmann. If you would like to view more of my art or make a purchase, please visit Lynda Lehmann Painting and Photography or my gallery at Imagekind, where you can choose from several sizes and paper types or buy my prints plain or matted and framed.