She Waits

I am working with an image of a great horned owl. High in her camouflaged aerie, wintry and waiting as she sits upon her eggs. I have observed her many times over the years at the old abandoned homestead in the Summer Lake Preserve. She patiently withstands the occasional birders and ATVs in order to raise her chicks in that food rich place. She is silent and powerful, a shadow of the night, perfectly colored to hide in the huge old winter-bare cottonwood tree that remains by the barn. Once I saw her fledged chicks perched in a row high on the top ridge of the barn, their fluffy feathers making them appear enormous. How they got there is a mystery to me. But then that is the thing about owls, the mystery.

Solstice...

Deep dormancy, channeling bear and waiting for the turn.

The big Jacobs Gallery show is finished now and I have settled back into a wealth of quiet private studio days. I have been thinking a lot about the season and the light, or the lack thereof. I feel like I am deep into the birth canal with little oxygen and lots of pressure from all directions but forward. I am not exactly stuck, but rather in limbo, pregnant and waiting.

It's funny how the light will begin to return before the season turns toward summer.  At Solstice, the days start to lengthen as we begin true winter. That has always seemed odd to me.  Likewise, the days are longest at the beginning of summer and wane as the days heat up. Never the less, it is the way of things in the northern hemisphere.