I was staring at the painting I've been working on for weeks and I remembered something from when my kids were newborns, something I learned slowly, and became better at understanding by the time I had my second newborn: you have to surrender to your baby. Totally. And when you do--all the answers you need are waiting and available to you. Whatever that baby needs, you can know. Some days you have to listen longer and quiet your own noise more completely, but some days it's like that baby and you are of one mind with a clean conduit of wordless information flowing in both directions.

It's like that with painting also. All the information is there. I listen, coax, create space in my mind to be able to recognize what is needed, and use it. I see the shapes in my dreams and in my waking hours and if I am still, and humble enough, it is all there, ready to access as I trust my instincts and do the work that's needed.

I love music but I am not a musician. I have gotten over that disappointment a long time ago. What I've done instead is ally myself with musicians all my life.

My mother sang, still does. I sing, though not well. My daughter, Ramona sings constantly: in the shower, around the house, mealtimes, between conversations, on top of other people's conversations...
I married 2 musicians. The first musician marriage didn't last as long but it was full of beautiful music nonetheless.
The current musician marriage is strong.
What he does is really amazing and just what the doctor ordered. I am the straight man in this house. I am the practical and dark one. He takes me to a lighter place. He knows what I need.
He plays music.
Let me give you some examples.

School mornings can be intense around here and it hasn't gotten easier just because our kids are now young teenagers. To get them out of bed, breakfasted, and out the door on time is a daunting challenge experienced anew each and every school morning. But music in the morning has gently persuaded us out of our warm beds before the sun is up. Brian has been our DJ since before kindergarten, a regular mood calibrator. He sometimes plays CDs but more often it's a one song at a time thing, youtube.

This morning Felix sat down to breakfast, flung his hair over one eye and said "fashion", an obvious reference to The Flight of the Concords song "Fashion is Danger", so tappity-tap-tap on the computer and we heard it. Which, of course, implied a listen to David Bowie's fabulous "Fashion". We've listened to a lot of Bowie in the mornings...Ramona likes "Yasasin" and I like "Space Oddity"

Sometimes we're forced to endure a song from whichever musical Brian is obsessed with at the time. Like "Sit Down You're Rocking the Boat" from "Guys and Dolls". But I love it when I get to hear my favorites from musicals like "People will Say we're in Love" from "Oklahoma" or "I Loves You Porgy" from "Porgy and Bess". Ramona likes anything sung by Betty Hutton.

Lately it's been a lot of 1930's Eastern European Tango. I'm just going with it.

Yesterday Felix had to memorize an insipid Japanese pop song for his Japanese class. We heard it over and over. Then Brian found a punk version. Better.

The Ramones always make us happy. And we're pleased that Ramona likes the music of her namesakes.

Music makes the morning better.

On November 2, 2010 my father, Robert knight Fowler, Jr. died. I was with him until the very end. I watched them take his body away and he has been following me around ever since. He was the enormous ball of fire sun that set on the drive home the night he died. He was the drizzle which greeted me as I drove into Austin. He was the warm sun and cool breeze which flirted with the creek water and snowed autumn cedar leaves on the gathering at his memorial. Today he is the wind which keeps tossing my drawings about in my opened window studio.

He was a powerful force. I learned more than I care to admit from him. He dreamed big. He was an artist who never ran out of ideas...always working, never doubting, always excited by the next project. If he feared failure he never showed it.

The lack of fear, sheer bravery, is what I aim to gain from him. Everything else should follow.

I had planned a home studio show for Dec. 3 but his death has pushed my schedule off the calendar for now. He can't push me around much longer so I'll just let this last one slide.

Home studio show date to be announced soon.

This is the name of a wonderful musical, written, produced and recorded by Brian Beattie ( my husband and sometime creative collaborator). I am in the process of completing illustrations for a booklet to accompany the CD. We are hoping for a late spring completion...
Ink on claybord illustrations. Totally like drawing when I was a little girl. The protagonist is an 10 year old girl. Set in Texas in 1938. It's the first day of summer. Rocks and trees and birds come alive. There are scenes in hell, heaven, and Texas.
Eating this up. Totally indulgent, drawing like a kid.

Meanwhile, I paint. Currently it's a series of 4 large (54X42") paintings based on the 4 seasons, change and nature's rhythms.

Tomorrow I start the 40 day yoga challenge. Forty days, daily practice. I practice yoga a lot, and have for years, but lately I've been yearning for the real rhythm which is daily commitment.

The fall garden is in. Lettuce, peas, mustard greens, swiss chard, bell peppers...
Now I wait and watch...feel the sun and breeze, watch the birds pick the last of the seeds from the long dead sunflowers, wait for the last 4 melons to ripen and a new fall bloom of roses to begin.

When I boil it down it all sounds so simple. But these really are hard times. Best to just keep working, head down, trusting all that you know best.