A Coloring Book of Northern Spain

You may have noticed that I haven't posted recently. It is mostly because I am spending an inordinate amount of time making art. I suppose this is good, because what I mostly blog about is my creative life. On the other hand, I am finding that "making art" can become addictive to the point of not knowing why you are drawing/painting/sewing and risks becoming an itch you must scratch each day, maybe a little devoid of meaning or seriousness of intent. It's kind of like shopping when you already have a closet full of clothes. Do you really need one more of these? Will one more "creative" activity really fulfill me or be, in effect, creative in a way that helps me grow my vision or expand my talent? So I decided I should take a day off, think of something else, and continue my tour of Spain for you.

Over at Jude Hill's place, Spirit Cloth, we students are just getting settled in for her current extended session of new ways to look at creativity, design, and life, called the "What If? Diaries." We are starting our thought process with the concept of designing with all white, and the suggestion was to convert some favorite photographic images to shades of white to ponder how they may influence our first design. Part of the exercise is to consider not just the "What if I do this?" but also "What will happen if I don't do this?" As Jude's bons mots will often do, this got me thinking. What if I don't just talk about the Spain trip like a tourist, but make something of my favorite images from this segment of the journey? Will you miss the touristy photos? Will you wish I had talked about my actual itinerary. Will you be lost or stop reading. I doubt it would matter. Actually I don't really know who "you" are or what you think of my writing. Do "you" read my every episode? Wait patiently for the follow ups? Since few people ever really comment, the guiding hand here is usually what I think a person might want to know about this stuff if we were acquainted. But even more primary: what do I feel like saying about it. What do I want to share? In reality, I'm doing this for me. It's sort of my own diary, for purposes of organizing and saving the journey. I guess it's mine to decide.

Maybe if I try to please less, I will think more creatively. Trying to move away from a lifetime of crafty to something more inspired by life. I decided that an alternate means of sharing the emotions of these images would be to manipulate them just a little, to add some color or take some away. Add some light or focus on part of the image. Distort the obvious in it. I didn't do anything severe or tricky, no special filters, no layers removed or added. Simply move the sliders of the basic adjustments away from making the image as the eye had seen them to how the heart did.

So this is segment four of my trip to Spain and Portugal, from Bilbao to Fuente De, two days of drama with art and animals, along the North coast, and into the Picos de Europa.

Arachnophobes need not draw near. One only notices the bridge as a sort of spider in this cropped image. Momma, towering over baby, towering over the people below. 

Heart stopping beautiful. I almost didn't need to go inside: The Guggenheim.

Titanium, a great clean palette to paint on.

I had wanted to see this for years. How did I ever get here?

I don't usually do pretty, but...

Poetry in motion, literally.

Inside, it's like a spacecraft waiting to lift off.

Richard Serra, "The Matter of Time", an exquisite journey though walls of metal into emotion. An experience that cried out to be captured.

I did my best.

Narrow openings...

...endless paths.

Think about standing inside. How would you feel?

The entire museum, a sculpture.

And then, outside again, decompressing under the puppy's gaze.

Thinking: I'm in Spain, but what does that mean? It's a beautiful, modern country, so different than I realized. We Americans can be so out of touch.

In the medieval town of Santillana del Mar, lunch at Parador Gil Bas. Making warm memories. 

Coloring book scenes of farm country on the edge of town.

Otherworldly and yet right there.

A special treat, the town of Riano in the rain, oozing history, emoting feelings of timeless connections. A sunny day would have erased all this.

A hot, dry summer diminished the river, but added to the charm of watching a  painter working magic along the river walk.

Two more artists in the gazebo, capturing the muted colors of town in glorious rainbows.

I have lost my fear of showing myself, my emotion. I like to make self-portraits these days.

Fuente De, a place, literally, at the end of the road. The view from the room: horses, mist, a path up the mountain.

The brave among us found joy in watching the cable car's approach, knowing we were going for more than a ride up the mountain.

Dizzying heights, the hotel just a speck below.

You have to be brave; you have to experience this joy.

Absolute surprise! A view and a herd of goats and a hand washing!

They completed the view.

It was their place.

I got to rejoice for a little while in the beauty of the mountains...

in being with beautiful creatures...

...and sharing it all with the one person who really understands how much this all means to me.

Refueling A Hybrid

I was reading an article in last week's paper about introverts and extroverts. Seems that research shows an extrovert is charged up by hoopla: hustle and bustle, sights and sounds, new things, challenges. The introvert finds all this draining, and prefers quiet and control to find strength and focus in her life. The author wrote that research shows if we allow people to find their own approaches to fitting in to the world, either personality type can find success and satisfaction. When I was a child, I was quiet around all but best friends. But because I spent a lot of time preferring the company of adults, and studied their more orderly world, I learned several things about myself that I have carried over time to have success in life: you don't have to be Queen of the prom to be Queen of your own life; it's okay, maybe preferential to be different from the gang; persistence pays off; being confident means not being afraid to be alone. I have also come to realize that while people may be generally "intro" or "extro" in their approach to life, I am a fine example of the Hybrid.


Most days and weeks of my life center around a quiet, if busy, home life that allows time each day for artistic pursuits, exercise, reading, and contemplation. And most days this solitude fills me with great satisfaction and the ability to concentrate on the creative life. The part of me that thrives on this is the introvert; the girl who always (and now) hated noise and confusion and needs to be alone to do her best work. But every so often that girl becomes drained of energy and needs a refuel, and when that happens the best way to charge all the batteries is to plug in to the energy of the city: to let loose the extrovert side, see and be seen, revel in big, bigger and biggest.


My guy had not taken a vacation day off in over five months, and with plenty to spare we decided to make the occasion of a concert the excuse to enjoy spring in a more invigorating environment. As regular readers know, my city of choice is the one lying a mere one hour to North and West, embodying all the art, culture and views  a person could require to inspire a creative burst. This is some of what 26 hours in Chicago bought us. (And by the way, this interlude was just days before the NATO summit, as the city made plans to disrupt the lives of normal folks in favor of showing off the riches to the world. What we experienced on two perfect weather days was an extremely quiet and low key downtown with light traffic and little hassle anywhere.)

Wine flights are the thing at Bin 36, part of the Hotel Sax building, adjacent to the famous House of Blues and Marina City.

L'Chaim! I love an empty restaurant at lunch, knowing this place can be totally booked at other times.

Walking Michigan Avenue on the way to Crate and Barrel, I snapped pictures of floral inspiration for my "Flower Crazy" class.

The concert hall (Chicago Theatre) was literally around the corner from our hotel. It's hard to believe I've been a fan of Steve Winwood since junior high and the man is still making such fine music. The audience on the other hand...don't get me started on spectator manners these days.

As always, an amazing view from our hotel. The "corncobs" of Marina City from the other side of the river this time.

Lying in the window seat trying to capture the lightening lighting up the sky around the Trump Tower. No luck.

First thing next morning, a reminder of my kitty, who is home alone. If he could call us he would. Instead we look in on him with a "nanny-cam".

Instead we request a goldfish to keep us company. As far as I am concerned they are all named Fiona after our first one in Portland. (The Monaco there gives them introductory name tags.)

The rooms are very elegant and make you wish you had more more to just laze in bed, but we must be off to get that recharge!

On the way to Blick's, some colorful sights include spider men...

A "green" service...

A remnant of another era in the clocks at the corners of the  former Marshall Field's store.

As Art Institute members we were able to attend preview days (and pre-crowd days) of an amazing exhibit of the life and works of Roy Lichtenstein. The only thing negative to say about it: we were both a bit headache-y after looking at all those dots for over an hour. Lunch in the courtyard restaurant gave us time to recover our perspective.

Since, unfortunately I wasn't able to take any photos of the exhibit to show you, I can only share the similarly dotted table on which I ate a most excellent lunch of huge shrimp on cheese grits. Yes, that is a biscuit, and no, not an optical illusion. Just the tiniest biscuit in history. Good, because I'm watching my calories. 

We decided to leave the building by way of the bridge from the modern wing to Millennium park, with some of the most wonderful views on the lakefront.

Look quick! You can just see the bus turning the corner covered with an ad for the Lichtenstein exhibit.

If you've never been to Chicago, you might think we were somewhere coastal. But no, that is Lake Michigan.

With the Modern Wing of the Art Institute behind me, I am enjoying a rest in the amazing prairie-like Lurie Gardens.

Under the "dome" of the Millennium Park band shell (designed by Frank Gehry), another view of my wonderful guy wearing my art.

And so ended a short but tasty tour of some of our favorite spots along the refueling trail. Enough to satisfy for a little while at least. But with all the painting and stitching I've been doing lately, I'm bound to run low soon. At least I know where they keep the juice.