Are You There, God? It's Me, Francie

Are You There, God?
mixed media on canvas
36" x 36"

I don't actually think that God is my personal friend.

I suspect that God is a wild loving Force to which we return - but that is about it.

I do think it is possible that the God Force can be tapped if enough people concentrate on an issue

but it seems to me that getting angry because God 'let' something bad happen is simplistic.

Shit happens.

I had such a hard time moving into the making of abstract art.

I had to literally cut apart some of my pictures and glue them back in the wrong places.  The results were terrible but the act of doing it was a bit of a mental laxative - it seemed to tell my unconscious that I was ready to let go of a lot of crap, (pun intended).

But it is a comfortable place now and this large piece is about learning to use oil paint.




(And maybe there is a little spiritual arrogance thrown in and certainly a reference to the children's book, "Are You there God? It is Me Margaret")

Without Time

I walked a labyrinth last night.

Each time I opened my eyes while on the path I didn't know if I had been standing still for a thousand years or ten seconds.  

The idea that I could have an out of body experience for the asking drifted through my head.  I decided against it.  Not because the idea was frightening - impossible to be frightened in the labyrinth, but because I was mildly concerned about getting back.

About wanting to come back - 

the place of no time was so peaceful. 



Eventually the path led me out of the labyrinth.

As instructed I turned back to face the entrance and said, "Thank-you".

And then I left.


Somehow a very different person. 

She Who Brings the Sun

She Who Brings the Sun
Oil pastels on paper
approx 10" x 10"

The Mother carries the sun across the skies 
between Her antlers.

This is truth.

Words to Live By

Last Sunday's sermon was what is probably the annual, 

"You thought you couldn't buy your way

into heaven? ?  Well I'm here to tell you that you can" sermon.

The problem with those kind of talks is that those who get the message already give generously of their money and time.  It just makes them feel guilty so they double their efforts and eventually just burn out.

It goes right over the heads of everyone else.

Anyway I burnt out years ago so I let my eyes drift around the beautiful old church.

A teen age girl was slumped a few pews ahead of me - way too young to care about much other than her own changing body.

Suddenly, because I wasn't listening and didn't notice, it was time to stand.

The girl heaved herself up.

And that's when I got my sermon from God the Mother for this week.

For thus I say unto you in huge letters across the back the girl's hoodie were written these words:

Shut Up and Dance.

***

Farewell to a Priestess

In this image a woman is forcing the cranky travelers in the second boat forward 

with the power of her mind.

It seems my guess that the church would leave me 

this time around before I left it was true. 


Last Sunday our Priestess announced that she is 

retiring.


The sorrow was profound. And I, who 

have been there for such a short time, was sad.


In fourteen years she has taken a moribund church, 

(many parishioners kicking and screaming), into a 

new era of drums and social justice.  


And now she is tired.  


The picture I did last Christmas called "By the Power 

of My will" seems to illustrate what she did perfectly.


Some women are born leaders.



More thoughts on this turn of events later.


***

Judging Caitlin

'Judge not lest ye be judged'.

Well right. 

With that thought in mind I have to tell you that I 

have been totally creeped out by the recent photos 

of Caitlin Jenner.

Her idea of what it means to be a sixty-five year old 

woman makes my skin crawl.

I suppose what really worries me is not Ms Jenner 

herself, but the adoration of the camera.

The cries of, "How brave she is!"

But getting old requires bravery.

And evidently being able to see 


the colour of the soul 


under the story written on a sixty-five year old face 

is a skill the very rich have been denied.

***