Art Show Opening- Friday, April 3, 2009

Friends,
I'm thrilled to have four pieces in an upcoming exhibit later this week. The show will hang for two months at Nashville's Centennial Arts Center. This is the first year I've had a large mailing list to which I've sent the announcement, and I look forward to having my friends represented at the opening this Friday evening. Difficult times are high-yield times for painters and other artisans; I've been a prolific painter, writer and baker of late!

The first image ia close-up of "Blood Red," a piece based on a poem written by a friend of mine, Phil Ciampa, M.D., after one of his earliest experiences performing surgery. I was entranced by the imagery. This piece is about 18x22", clayboard with acrylics, gouache, and sumi ink.


The second image is a close-up of a piece I did on 24x24" clayboard for a photographer friend who did my PR photos. She is fabulously talented and equally fabulous to work with! Look her up: Kristina Marie Krug, www.Siren Studio.net. The words are from a poem by Carl Sandburg.

Thank you for stopping by. Please let me know if you have any questions by e-mailing me at:
Laurie@letterdancer.com.
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Spring in the Kitchen: Birthdays and Everydays

My friend Mike is celebrating his birthday by roasting succulent lamb and whipping up a handful of other delicacies for his family. In fact, he celebrates many days this way, with cookery, as do I. Lucky for Mike, his birthday is also accentuated as the first day of spring.

Some of us can't help being overcome by mental images of food on the first day of spring, from the green-purple lettuces being dropped into rich, dark garden soil to the tips of garlic just peeping out, to the hardy rosemary that withstood winter and is now looking fresher; I could go on and on. There's the obligatory strawberry shortcake, berry pies just oozing with fresh juice, pasta dotted with garden-fresh pesto, super-sweet canteloupe with a spoolful of yogurt and sprigs of mint... And, of course, the media won't let us forget that Easter is rapidly approaching, and so must Easter Dinner. So I'm thinking what a nice day for anyone to celebrate the day by taking hold of some fresh ingredients and creating something- anything- for the sheer enjoyment of artistry, tasting, and sharing with family and friends.

Personally, I'm impulsively driven this first day of spring by an urge to bake up a crumbly-crusty lemon tart, or a flaky, vanilla custardy milhojas like the one that practically took my legs out from under me and left me in a heap of ecstasy last summer in Puerto Rico. The taste of spring surely ranges from the obvious light, fruity springy flavors (berry trifle) to the more exotic (Orechietti with pea tendrils with a strawberry-basil mojito).

Regardless of what floats your "foodie" boat when you daydream of that first taste of sunshine and picnics and summery freedom each year, may I suggest you simply dig in? You need not consider yourself a chef, a cook, or a baker to gather up a basketful of freshness from your favorite market and let your heart lead you. Use your hands. Feel the textures. Revive your winter-dulled senses; taste as you go. Appreciate the flavors, one by one, and mix and match as you please. Take this as a challenge: As spring sun renews the world around you, let it inspire you. Go ahead; reinvent yourself in the kitchen. Enjoy! Share

Connecting on the Dance Floor

I have a limp today. Muscle overuse. I was doing what I most love- dancing- and I’ve no regrets. My last two days were spent at the Cumberland Shuffle, a dance weekend for lovers of swing dance, Lindy Hop, and Charleston. I learned a little about every move I’ve ever wanted to learn for the weekly swing dances here in sunny, danceable Nashvegas.

The only down side to this phenomenal weekend (aside from the full-body ache) was that I didn’t arrive pre-partnered. While it didn’t hinder my learning, it does mean a little delay perfecting my dance moves as soon as I’d like. I’ll learn and relearn these moves with every partner out on the dance floor, each with his own style of leading. Not having a regular partner also meant more than a few unexpected moments of reflection.

It’s all about connectedness on the dance floor- connection between you and your partner. At times, you maintain a careful but relaxed “frame” holding both your partner’s hands. Sometimes your right hand is clasped with his left, your other resting feather-like on his arm. And in those most exhilarating moments, (like in Drags, for you swing dancers), you must share a full body bear hug with your partner, joined from shoulder to big toe, with your chests and one leg literally smooshed together, touching all the way down.

There is simply no other way to maintain control of the beautiful (and truly fun) move than to stay connected in this way. And that, my friends, is only after you’ve spun around and slammed squarely into your partner’s hold. Kind of poetic, isn’t it? Still, even when you appear to be leaning on him, dragged across the floor, you maintain your balance over your own two feet. It is when everything is controlled and everything is balanced that it works. Sparks fly, the music sings, and you feel simply amazing.

I'm a child at heart, so nothing signals fun for me like flinging myself into the air. The dance weekend crescendoed for me in the "aerials" class. Remember the trampoline days? Jumping on the hotel bed before Dad came in to stop you? Jumping high to land hard in warm, squishy mud puddles? But having a dance partner fling you into the air to the rhythm of vintage swing music- absoultely delirious fun! Yesterday, the key to the best, safest, and most satisfying aerials was inevitably connection. Losing connection with your partner when he’s flinging you up, out, or around his body is at very least awkward and at worst ends disastrously in a heap of broken bones and dislocated other things. But let’s revisit the “fun” part of this; you don’t have fun without trying, cutting loose, being bold, and, sometimes, practicing. We practiced our fun yesterday. Over and over again. It was never about our rhythm, our strength, or anything other than our connection, and listening to each other. A firm hand grip with relaxed arms and shoulders, just a bit of good timing, and I was way up and back down with a graceful swoop. I was fearless. I could do anything.

Connectedness is like that. Never mind that some partners forgot their deodorant, have bad breath, some of us are short, some tall, some lean and some well-fed; any partner with the intention to connect can lead (or follow) the most beautiful dance. With all our differences, people with whom we connect make us feel at home in the world, add spring to our step, sparkle to our world, and lift to our flight. On the other hand, it can be disorienting to be partnered with someone without a connection. We don’t “get” each other, our steps don’t "dance," the music seems out of sync with us, when it’s really us out of sync with the music of life. I can recall many a waltz in which a partner offered nothing but rubber band arms, and the entire dance was spent trying to connect and find the step. But I also have a cache of memories of sparkling dances with those who led me with a firm but relaxed grip in just the right place, and the two of us, perfectly connected, experienced a few moments of joy together. And sometimes even a few goosebumps.

If we start out in sync and lose connection, we’re quick to ask, “Who moved?” Confusion sets in; sometimes even chaos. When we start out with no connectedness but try in vain to dance the song through, we wonder the whole time “What am I doing wrong?” Many believe we’re all interconnected from the get-go, and that we only need maintain openness to others. Others, like me, believe that connectedness with others will always require effort. Still others believe some are born connected while others aren’t, and it’s up to us to find those special best friends or soul mates. Regardless of our beliefs, any effort spent perfecting our connection surely improves us. I believe that being attentive to how and when we connect casually and intimately makes us better partners, stronger people. Listening with eye contact is a very good place to start. And it certainly doesn’t hurt our skill on the dance floor.

So while I have no regular dance partner I’ll keep practicing my moves. Dance moves, that is. I have the opportunity to learn from many different dancers with many different styles of leading, moving, holding and, occasionally, flinging. Having different "leads" will accentuate what I consistently do that could use some improvement. I’ll focus on my own sense of balance and “ frame.” And nothing is stopping me from just flinging myself into the air once in a while just for fun. For a dancer at heart, could there be a better opportunity than this? Share

I'd Rather be a Poppy

This morning I hopped on my red-and-white scooter and rode to work, dressed in my bright orange-red raincoat and a pair of wellies (rain boots) with bright red-orange poppies all over them. I love Land's End; they must know I'd rather arrive at work dressed like a flower rather than showing off my dark business suit (which, of course, I did remember to wear underneath). But when I passed by a mirror to do a quick hair-check, I realized that my face was beet red from yesterday's visit to the tanning bed. With my mop of bright red hair, I looked like a poppy.

Like a poppy, I'm a full-sun girl, happiest out in the brightest, hottest, cloudless, shadowless sunshine. As the days shorten in late summer, I often race home from work, toss my bag and jacket inside the door, and run back outside to plant myself firmly beneath the last rays of the day. I have a lightbox- one of those full-spectrum appliances that replicates the sun without the harmful rays. Sitting before this magic lightbox machine, I can reset my inner time clock and feel sunny inside and out even on short winter days and rainy days. But when I'm really missing the sun, I plunk myself inside the clamshell of a tanning bed with no apologies. Of course, I'd rather be lying around on a boat or a beach, surrounded by friends, but in the absence of a boat and a beach, I can close my eyes, imagine the ocean, feel the "sun," and get some color, too. Not too shabby.

But it is in those moments when we aren't prepared for change that we get more than we bargained for, like me, looking like a poppy with my bright red face this morning. Too much change all the sudden, too much sun after winter days and you can get burned. Change doesn't come easy, and, perhaps it should come slowly. As much as I long for the hot days of July, I suppose I should be thankful for the slow transition through April, May and June.

Take the time change for example. Wouldn't it be nice to ease into the new time by ten-minute intervals? Everyone I know is in a funk this week, brought on by "springing forward" one hour. Our inner clocks just can't change that quickly- even for one hour of our lives. The sunlight is off. Our routine is off. Our sleep is off, and we're grumpy.

To ward off this grumpiness, I went on a full moon hike last night with my local hiking meetup group. The image of the moon had changed; it hung low and full, a complete disc of cool blue light. We oohed and aahed at the beams of moonlight streaming through the awkward, bare tree branches, and had a revelation that these were, in actuality, rays of sun. How different they were, transformed by the movement of the sun, whose trajectory affects so much of my life. Even my experience with people was completely transformed, as there were no faces to recognize, the moon beams accentuating mere shapes with unique voices. After the hike I went home without having "seen" a single person, even under the light of a full moon. Something as simple as light- and absence of it- surely changes our perspective.

Wouldn't it be nice to be more prepared for- and less susceptible to- change? Change of seasons, change of sunlight, change in relationships, change of job, of health, of economy- anything? Take the poppy: a virtual celebration on a stem, and a very stout, strong stem at that. Always the brightest, most vibrant flower in the field, a poppy blooms in orange, red, yellow- the vision of happiness. They have dramatic, dark centers, and even their pollen is colorful- a deep blue. Their seeds are good for food the world over, and they produce their own morphine. Nice. Their simple, 4-6-petaled flowers close at night, and they're known as symbol of eternal love and good sleep (or death, but I prefer sleep). Best of all, poppies survive on very little water and in every kind of weather, from frosty cold to extreme heat. They adore the sun. They are good with change. They're survivors in full, vibrant beauty until their petals just float away.

Some days I'd rather be a poppy- more adaptable to change. More prepared, more tolerant of scorching heat and bitter cold. Consistenly vibrant despite the change of light and time around me. To be a vision of exuberant color, lasting love and deep rest would be pretty cool. For now, I'm learning how to prepare for change, and try to face it gradually, bit by bit. I surround myself with people and things that remind me of survival, strength, vibrance and tolerance- like my bright red waterproof raincoat and a bunch of real red poppies. But I'd like to know how you are in this climate of change. How do you prepare? How tolerant are you? Are you vibrant and strong in the challenge, or prefer change little by little? I look forward to your comments.

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A Beautiful Life

Hosting the Nashville Non-Fiction Writer's Meetup in my home last night reminded me of the many writing prompts I've tucked into steno books, sticky notes, journals, laptop, my memory. So many stories and reveries, a life full of joy, a life full of pain, an overload of experiences, and, at times, deafening quiet and profound aloneness and loneliness. No longer a question of "Where to begin," as the world is spinning from digertati to technerati and carrying us all along such that we only need begin with "What are you doing right now?"

The now. Now I keep moving. Now I attempt mindfulness. Now I taste a sampling of many years rolled into a moving confetti collage. And now I begin, here. I decide that this blog title will remind me to focus on the beauty in life while acknowledging what is not so beautiful. So, intermingled with the reality of life's difficulties, I will celebrate the bright orange poppies and the taste of melting chocolate and the kindnesses that people share along the way.

I will write about culinary travel, food styling, painting frenzies and artist/writer's block, my scooter fanaticism, my single-mother-of-teens journey, an abusive marriage (though not for long), dance gypsies, outdoor adventures, overcoming depression, and at times stare blankly at the blinking prompt. As I have been doing now for at least three minutes. Enjoy the day, live to the fullest of your passion, and for heaven's sake, get some fresh air....as I'm about to do. Share