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i Paint. i Photograph. i Write
Fine art painting. Writing about Art and Life. Seeing through the camera's lens
by Sharon Furner on 4/28/2011 7:22:51 AM
The Gift of Life
She found you hiding in a shriveled leaf
quaking.
Tender fingers coaxed you to be brave.
Tenderly she placed you
amongst the softest down.
The beginning of life
miracle incubating in a shell
dancing through the warmed soil.
Nature's seamstress wove
through the silent night,
stitch upon stitch
threading a brooch
of crystal pearls.
Where do you tread
with your velvet padded feet?
Roses Crimson with
morning dew
melting
through crystallized velvet.
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by Sharon Furner on 4/21/2011 8:34:40 PM
I was born in San Francisco, living my carefree babyhood on a gently rocking houseboat on the bay. A floating home in a village of floating homes. At that time it was not unusual. Today such a sight would be unheard of--impossible!
With that said, I would not have imagined visiting Cambodia and experiencing first hand how thousands of Cambodians and Vietnamese gather in floating villages built above the water of the Tonle Sap River in their makeshift homes anchored on wooden stilts. Water is the life blood of Cambodia and both the Tonle Sap River and Lake are at its center. This great lake is central to the country's rivers, reservoirs, fishing and irrigated rice fields. What a gift to be able to visit these people.
Entire villages comprised of infants to wise elders live along the muddy, florid watery banks; they make their living from fishing, form deep communal ties, enjoy markets and schools. Their thriving communities are built entirely on bits and pieces of wood planks, rubber tires and tree trunks, with walls and roofs made of anything available, corrugated cardboard to tin. Each home is distinct with its own personality.
Children have few places to play except in the brackish water or on the shallow banks. They learn at a very early age to swim, navigate boats on the river, and have fun with the simplest of items. I have tremendous respect for these wonderful, friendly, beautiful people and their culture.
Brown bare bottoms are the norm. It is HOT HOT HOT in Cambodia. Besides there is little money for clothing. I would think it possible to live one's life with out the 'purchase' of something new to wear. Material goods have little impact, other than items needed to fish, maintain boats, cooking utensils....
Fishing is their main livelihood. This lake and river, like so many other places in the world, are threatened by over population, pollution, over fishing and lack of resources for restoration.
You will find a school, market, place of worship and stations to purchase petrol dotted along the riverbanks....all floating! One school was over flowing with children, a wonder it didn't tip!!! You could hear their delightful laughter from far away. The Cambodia children are ALWAYS smiling.
I like to imagine that this home belongs to a very successful fisherman and family. The long boats to the right are typical modes of transportation.
Ya, mama, this is my type of home....wonder if it has a stunning sunset or sunrise view...looks like someone is enjoying a mid morning nap.
This is a typical boat that you would see on the river....yes, that is a snake the little boy is holding. The family are hoping that you will give them a dollar to take their picture. A dollar can put a dinner on the table. I gave them two dollars to keep the snake AWAY!!!
Women and children quickly gather when "tourists" pass through. One should travel with many dollars, as there are so many eager hands. I realize the pros and cons to handing out money, but my heart can't turn someone away.
A talented photographer, writer and friend, Cheryl Bikman who lives in Singapore has wonderful posts on Bali and Cambodia. Awaiting Winter
Paintings donated to a Middle School Library.
"I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious."
Albert Einstein
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by Sharon Furner on 4/17/2011 8:45:25 PM
The farm was vast, beckoning, adventuresome and frightening.
Acres of land, dotted with sugar beet fields and shimmering golden hay to feed live stock; willow-banked creek with carp, slithering water snakes, and foamy white soap; punctuated like exclamation points, were long rows of weathered gray outbuildings, chicken coops and fences. Forbidden fences crisscrossed the farm....keeping the animals IN, keeping my younger sister and me OUT!
To a young child, the towering two story barn with its rough wood slats and precarious tilt was simultaneously intimidating and beckoning, likened to standing shivering above a deep dark pond, deciding whether to jump in. One had to be pretty sneaky, daring and slightly naughty to get inside undetected; climb the steep wooden ladder with loose steps; tumble into the hay strewn loft with its panoramic view; and crossing fingers to find new born kittens tucked somewhere in the straw. Yes, it was worth the chance of punishment...if discovered.
Feeling empowered, I stood tall, invincible, in the hayloft. I flew with the birds. Beneath me, spread out like spokes on a wheel, were the chicken coops that housed hundreds of clacking chickens. White, black, brown chickens daily laying eggs, warm as sunshine, with bits of feather stuck to them. Special hatching cubicles with dozing heat lamps warmed dozens of fuzzy, wobbly legged chicks, their soft down the color of field dandelions.
Outside the barn's creaky double doors were two gigantic cottonwood trees. One tree was towering, its shade dabbling the ground below during the sweltering hot Utah summers. At some point the second tree had been cut down, leaving a smooth, flat, trunk that looked like picnic table ready for alfresco dining. Then I discovered it was not a picnic table but rather where my mother or grandmother took a chicken or two...their demise imminent, to be prepared for dinner. I learned early that life on a farm was like a log split in half, the log of life and death. You couldn't have one piece without the other.
Feeding the pigs their meal of "slop" was always accompanied with squeamishness, but how wonderful was the sight of pink new born piglets come spring. The turkey pen I found rather disgusting and avoided. There were tightly fenced in areas of sheep and cattle.
HOWEVER.......
There was a FORBIDDEN old farm house hemmed in by the chicken coops; complete with peeling, dingy yellow paint the color of generic vanilla ice cream; splitting window sills permanently stuck; glass panes dingy and laced with dancing cobwebs and spiders; and a stoop ready to cave in from so much living. This old square house was where my Grandmother and Grandfather lived while they developed the farm, raised their family and built their maroon brick home, with its faux Tudor features.
It was a GIVEN, someday a determined little girl would get inside that old farm house. And one afternoon it happened. Squeezing through the door trying to avoid splinters, heart racing I stepped into another world, until now, totally unexplored. On a crumbling wall hung an old porcelain sink, grime coated, filled with hay and debris....was this where Grandmother plucked the feathers from lifeless chickens and prepared her larder full of wonderful bottled fruits and vegetables? How many hours of her life were spent in front of this sink, did she pump water by hand, did she ever weary of the endless hard work, what secrets did the old sink hold? Beyond the sink were boxes stacked every which way, broken chairs and a wooden table with peeling green paint. But it was the glass fronted, once white, cabinet that fascinated me. Why wasn't it inside Grandmother's new home? Why was it left in dusty seclusion. I coveted it. I coveted the old carved desk, that later I learned had crossed the prairies with the pioneers.
Tilting light zigzagged through the grimy windows across this landscape of life from another era. Then I was FOUND OUT....and was never to return.
In my Grandmother's "proper" faux Tudor home was a sunny breakfast nook, the hub of the house, practical, no nonsense, oil cloth covered the table. A table that was always laden with the fruits of their land and the labor of my Grandmother's hands. No Lean Cuisine, Weight Watcher frozen meals. This was the real deal, homemade mustard pickles with chunks of cauliflower, wine colored ketchup zesty from ripe garden tomatoes, translucent pear jam dotted with cherries and nuts, endless Kerr glass bottles crammed full with fruit, mincemeat and vegetables. Fresh garden produce picked at perfect ripeness, to sink, to scalded bottles, to bubbling kettle, to cold basement storage shelves, to journey's end; to the breakfast nook table where we never left our Grandmother's home hungry.
At my Grandmother's kitchen table my sister and I ate clandestine sugar, butter, bread sandwiches. Secret kept from our mother who would disapprove.
On my Grandmother's table rested a bowl filled with garden fruit.
And so it was, as I painted My Grandmother's Yellow Bowl, I fondly recalled a childhood where life was beckoning, adventurous and sometimes frightening.
My Grandmother's Yellow Bowl available through artist
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by Sharon Furner on 4/8/2011 8:47:04 AM
Recently I walked into a woman's clothing store. Expecting to see a wall of dark brown, gray, black and maybe red clothing, I was astonished by huge splashes of YELLOW... gorgeous, yellow in ever so many shades from citron to saffron to lemon. Yellow jackets, yellow pants, yellow scarves and yellow blouses. Right then I decided that my color for this year would be YELLOW.
The last day that my husband was in the hospital, they put a pair of...not beige, not blue nor black, but brilliant YELLOW padded hospital stockings on his feet. Walking into his room, sticking out of the rumpled sheets were two bright yellow feet! "Wow, I dub those when we get home." I now pad around the house in yellow hospital stockings.
YELLOW makes my heart zing. Yellow makes me smile. Vincent van Gogh loved yellow. Remember his quaint and crooked yellow home in Arles, Provence; his sturdy yellow wooden bed; all those beautiful sunflower paintings hanging on the walls. In a letter to Theo, Vincent wrote, "You know....the sunflower is mine in a way." I think that many of us have that same love and joy for the sunflower. They are so bold and beautifully riddled with a happy YELLOW personality. Simply put: they sing to our hearts.
I don't consider myself a painter of flowers, but when I do, most often they are sunflowers. Driving to a farmer's market, scooping up an armful of fresh SUNFLOWERS is pure happiness as good as a thin paper cone cocooned in PINK cotton candy. Sunflowers simply beckon one to paint!!! Cotton Candy? well that is pure childish joy and stickiness.
Last fall I started a sunflower composition primarily in red and yellow; gigantic, curling, scrolling, SUNFLOWERS in a blue and white vase. At the time of painting I took a few photos showing my painting steps. At one point I thought I was finished, but went back a month later and diddled around some more. The following photos show my progress from beginning to end...the final end. Well for now that is.
Lightly I sketch in a basic design, which gets changed several times. I use loose oil paint in a contrasting color with a filbert brush.
The background and foreground color are brushed in roughly with a wide stiff brush. Lots of canvas shows through.
I am not a patient, decisive, make the "correct choice first" type of painter. I sketch all over the place, scrape off and begin again. But the final lines will become important.
As my sketch becomes more certain, I get impatient to start laying in thick, brilliant paint. Easy does it, try not to get ahead of myself.
The design is getting closer to what I envision. But the sunflowers are not yet
dancing.
It took a number of more painting sessions to get it to the final stage.
This is the completed painting. I feel like it is now full of movement, good contrast in color, warm and inviting.
Now if I can just keep my "brushes off" and not diddle on it anymore.
This painting is available for sale on my website.
In Vincent's world, yellow was summer's glorious hue. He wrote to his brother Theo, "Just now we are having a glorious strong heat, with no wind, just yellow, pale sulfur yellow, pale golden citron. How lovely yellow is. " (Letter 522)
Vincent if I were to meet you, I would buy you a pair of golden-rod YELLOW socks!
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by Sharon Furner on 4/4/2011 2:51:38 PM
the journey has been oblique
feet sinking into sandy depths
our future a nebulous
vanishing point
drifting like sand dunes
into April
Shuffling our feet through March we have skipped into one of my favorite months...April.
Speaking it out loud, APRIL, is like biting into a sweet crisp Fuji apple.
So why do I write today? I haven't been able to keep my little blog going, but for some reason I didn't want to share the "WHY" in the gaps of time. After all I was excited about exploring different forms of creativity, from tempera to journals to whatever seemed interesting and FUN! Tiny wisps of spring were approaching. Ideas for sharing our glorious Asian trip stewed in my mind ready for exploration and experimenting. Why spoil it with the nitty-gritty of life, the coarse threads of mortal vulnerability.
Somewhere in March our lives did an abrupt, sudden, unexpected, overwhelming 180 degree change. We tipped upside down, side ways, upright and flat. We found ourselves in a gyroscope, dizzy with varying perspectives and possibilities. One seemingly innocuous medical test turned into full blown open heart surgery, literally over night. No not me, but my husband, Howard, who had already had two major surgeries in the past year. He has had more than his share of health challenges.
Early in the morning hours of a seemingly ordinary day, we left our home filled with the detritus of daily living; dishes in a sink, toaster and raspberry jam left on the counter, sorted piles of laundry on the washer, drooping plants in need of nourishment, bed tousled from a night's restless sleep, oil paints and brushes open ready for use, bills stacked on desk waiting payment....a seemingly ordinary day except that Howard needed to be at the hospital for an early morning test. A few days earlier a doctor had seen a little something on the echo cardiogram and thought it should be further observed.
We didn't return that once ordinary day, rather the "little spot" on the heart turned into bypass surgery, open heart, the splitting of the body, the heart held in the hands of competent surgeons, savers of lives. We couldn't go home to think about it. It had to be done. And it was.
Are we ever prepared for these enormous, unexpected, smothering events in our lives? Maybe it is better to be innocent and taken by surprise. I don't know. But we were definitely taken by surprise. The surgery went perfectly. The recovery started out smoothly, but then mental and physical events happened, occurred, obstructed the journey back to recovery. Nevertheless we went home. Within a few difficult days we returned to the hospital. Five days later we are home once again.To STAY!
While we hibernated in the hospital vault, Spring arrived.
This morning the bird feeder has been refilled our missed birds are returning. The American flag whips in the brisk breeze. Green shoots up everywhere. The laundry is done, the jam tossed out, the plants grateful for a healthy dose of water, bedding freshly laundered....hmmm the bills not miraculously paid. Shiny silver linings drape us like a warm wool shawl. Lazy, rolling beach waves wash over us with GIFTS OF THANKFULNESS, GRATITUDE.
we learn so many lessons
as we walk through
our allotted days.
healing can happen
appreciation for the calls and letters
profound gratitude for skilled doctors
caring nurses
blessed to not have a
heart attack
walking Cambodia and India
time to reflect
time to read
time to be grateful
zest for living
returning
Silver Linings
blessing our days.
My fourteen hour hospital days of worry, hovering, intervening, consulting and note taking stretched me until I was bone weary. Thankfully there were a few peaceful hours to read, learn, appreciate, observe others and wonder. There were even fewer moments to try to be open to creativity. Bless my i Pad. While sitting on the hard faux leather chair, the idea for i Padoodl's popped in my mind, as welcome as a bag of Peanut M & M's. A bit of experimenting and playing around to add COLOR to the GRAY day.
As we step into April, may my emerging lighter heart and inner peace that my husband will be strong and healthy in the near future, add a smile to your day as it does to mine.
Feel free to copy these funky little i Padoodl's. Send to someone you know is having challenges of their own.
Remember to add Yellow to your day. Yellow plus Black makes for a luscious Green, the GIFT OF LIFE.
MAY WE ALL SWING INTO LIFE FEELING THE BLESSINGS OF EACH DAY.
by Sharon Furner on 3/20/2011 9:07:13 PM
"It is not enough to stay busy. So, too, are the ants.
The question is what you are busy about."
Henry David Thoreau
It is the middle of March. March. An appropriate name for how life seems to March by.
Where did January and February go?
Did I live like a dizzy ant scurrying in circles?
Time has certainly Marched by.
What I seek is balance. Balance that allows me to live in a state of soulful grace. It is not easy. Clearly it is up to me and me alone to clear the clutter from my path.
And yet I reflect. What would I remove?
January was spent absorbing, learning; spiritually growing as we traveled through Cambodia, India and Singapore. I realized that I loved the MOST who had the LEAST.
The beautiful people who live in the floating villages of the Tonle Sap River.
Their entire lives are spent on the river and lake. There you find a floating market, church and school. The children float in their twirling dented tin pans, like silver minnows dancing about.
The women, weathered-chafing hands extended, hoping for an American dollar. One lucky dollar will buy rice for dinner.
This is a nation recovering from a devastating genocide. The marks are still there, daily reminders of the destructive power of evil.
But the people are resilient. Happy. Productive.
An orphanage outside of Siem Reap. There are one too many orphanages.
The children are shy at first, eventually huge smiles warm up when they share their art.
Art is an universal language. It breaks down barriers and opens doors.
Indian school girls dressed in cornflower blue uniforms, taking a break from their studies. They share the open meadows with lazy, caramel colored cows and lemon drop hued flowers.
Bring your camera out, they become fascinated and eager to have their photos taken. Of course they giggle and are delighted to see their photo on your camera screen.
Then there are more GIGGLES and SILLIES.
As I sit here writing, I wonder what this beautiful girl is doing today. Is she happy? Did she learn something new? Did she play games with her school mates? How is her English doing? She is one of the fortunate children receiving an education.
Exploring Singapore with our Four Little Muggers....few stones were left unturned....few ice cream parlors missed....hours of play, parks and painting.
By February we returned to the states. Our daughter and husband, immediately left to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary....in Singapore. Grandma Cathy and Grammy Shar Shar spent several weeks "mothering and loving" the Funny Bunnies.
And time kept Marching on.
Our son who lives in Utah, came for a five day visit, which led to our driving to the eastern side of North Carolina to visit our daughter and husband.
When families are together who are normally states apart, the time visiting is precious and does MARCH by quickly.
Life is more than travel. It has its peaks and valleys. And so I search for balance. How will time play out through the coming spring months.
I have missed not having time to paint. To get back to yoga. To read.
Balance.
Two paintings are now started. Pages are done in my Art Journal.
I can feel that some balance, some equilibrium is pulling me in, like the tightrope walker who reaches the end of the rope and with relief steps onto the platform.
I will always be the busy ant, but hopefully not running in circles.
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by Sharon Furner on 3/14/2011 8:56:40 AM
Heidi Hemming and Julie Hemming Savage are intelligent, articulate, talented women with a shared message. They co-wrote a very important and timely book I have wanted to share.
March continues to be International Women's Month therefore this seemed the perfect time to introduce Julie and Heidi's book to you.
Women Making America has a place in everyone's personal library, for it is a story of the backbone of our country--the women and the causes they struggled, fought for and attained.
And for you readers who live outside of America, we honor your heritage; your personal history, those women who have made a difference, paved the way for your generation to live with more equality, freedom and a voice that is heard.
Thus this isn't just an American book, but a historical appreciation and reminder for how far women have come world wide.
Now may the message extend to our sisters and daughters who live in countries where a woman's voice is still SILENCED.
Author Pearl S. Buck once said that writing her books was like being “ a juggler trying to keep a handful of balls aloft at once. . . . Were I a man, my books would have been written in leisure, protected by a wife and a secretary and various household officials. As it is, being a woman, my work has had to be done between bouts of homemaking.” All I can say to that is “amen sister.” When my sister and I started writing Women Making America in 2003, we had busy lives and five children, ages two to ten, between us. Our project was carried out in the midst of homework assignments, hastily prepared meals, and Girl Scout cookie sales. But our commitment arose from a passionate love of women’s history and our realization that as educators we could not find one chronological history of American women written at a level accessible to readers of all ages. How would students discover that women have been full participants in the American story if there weren’t the resources to teach?
Our efforts resulted in a book entitled, Women Making America: a colorful whirlwind tour of what it would have been like to be a woman living in any given era of American history. How would it have felt to get up every day and put on a corset, layers and layers of clothes, and top it off with a huge hat? What could have motivated a group of young crew team members to march into the Yale athletic director’s office, take off their shirts to reveal “TITLE IX” scrawled across their chests? And what was Ellen Church doing wearing that silly cape and little cap, pushing a plane into its hanger? Throughout the book we included reoccurring themes such as health, home, amusements, paid work, and beauty to provide a lens for both change and continuity over time.
Race, geography, culture and class have all shaped the experience of womanhood in significant ways. In this version of history, slaves, Japanese picture brides, and poor seamstresses appear side by side with more well-known icons of women’s history. Central to the story is the idea that we are all history-makers, and that the choices we make matter. To parenthesize this, each chapter begins with a choice, from slave Satira Turner walking away from her master with Christmas dinner still on the stove, to Louise Rosine refusing to roll up her stockings on a hot 1920s Chicago beach. As much as possible, we used anecdotes and women’s own voices to describe what they did and how they felt about it. The result is a narrative in which we see ourselves, our mothers, and our grandmothers.
Not long after Women Making America was published, our editor’s eight-year-old daughter had a friend over to play. In the course of the game, he insisted that girls were not as capable as boys. “Wanna make a bet?” she responded, and ran to show him the book.
We know women’s history matters, but so should everyone else.
by Sharon Furner on 3/12/2011 8:26:01 AM
It started with a phone call from my good friend, Dale. She called early in the morning, her voice rather hesitant. She wondered how I was. Fine! More hesitancy. Finally I had to ask what seemed to be the matter. She remembered that we have a son and family living in Asia and couldn't be sure if it was Japan. I told her they were in Singapore. Then she gave me the news of the earthquake in Japan.
Watching little TV, I was UNAWARE...totally UNAWARE of such a horrible disaster. How could I not sense something like this happening. I am no longer 'unaware.'
One month ago we were twice in the Nakita Airport, an enormous international, hub airport in Japan. It was clean, open spaced, pleasant. I took photos, visited the shops before our next flight to Singapore. I purchased cards of happy people doing everyday things.
And now the airport is shut down. I won't belabor the point.
So what can the average citizen of the world do to help?
I did some searching and located some sites and other postings. I want to share what I found.
For inquiries/ American citizens living in Japan:
U.S. Department of State, Office of Overseas Citizens Services at +1.888.407.4747 or +1.202.647.5225
For inquiries/UK citizens living in Japan:
UK Foreign Office Helpline number at +44(0) 20.7008.000 or japan.earthquake@fco.gov.uk
American Red Cross:
To donate US$ 10 to the American Red Cross, text REDCROSS to 90999 to help Japan.
Canadian Red Cross:
To donate for Japan Earthquake Relief, click here. Global Giving:
To donate to the Global Giving Japan Earthquake and Tsunami Relief Fund, click here. Salvation Army:
Doctors Without Borders/Médecins Sans Frontieres:
Network for Good:
Click here to donate. This website will link you to many other websites.
When you hit the 'click here' phrase, a long line will pop up. Click on the main name of the website and you will go directly to that site.
Please feel free to copy and send this posting to all that you know. Add your own information. And may the WORLD'S people be generous, when generosity is needed in so many places on this Earth.
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by Sharon Furner on 3/8/2011 9:29:40 PM
Women
Come
In
Many
Ethnicities
Complexions
Cultures
Status
Faith Bases
Voice or NO Voice
Laughter and Happiness
Suffering and Neglect
Convenience and Ease
Hard Labor and Struggle
Children forget how to cry.
Allotted to All, 24 Hours.
"A Mother with global consciousness knows that it is not only her children and grandchildren or the children in her community, or even in her country, but everybody's children, everywhere, who are deserving of a good and safe life."
Jean Shinoda Bolen
en
by Sharon Furner on 3/6/2011 5:18:18 PM
Talk terrific fun, we all jumped in the car and headed for the newly renovated Discovery Museum. This is the Kingdom of Play: Invention, Exploration and Imagination.
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| All shoes were created from recycled paper! |
We will leave the Discovery Museum with a big bang on the kettles from our Funny Bunny.
What will you CREATE today?
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