The day I drew this picture, I knew I wanted to draw clouds. I also yearned to be close to the water. So I ended up at the well-worn vista overlooking Susitna. I quickly drew the basic composition so I could have time drawing the clouds. Once I figured out that little dots were the way to go, the clouds began to create themselves on the paper. They took most of the rest of the time. I was grateful that the magpie showed up, very stern indeed, and just a couple feet from my face, to add an element of interest. Appropriately, he is semi-transparent because his presence was fleeting, if powerful. The other signs of life were airplanes taking off and landing at the Anchorage International Airport, and a lone small watercraft whizzing by in the distance.

Still a bit jet-lagged, I opted for familiarity and comfort, and returned to Side Street, which has just the best coffee in a coffee-inundated town and a hospitable and  laid-back atmosphere. I was trying to take the perspective of remaining aware of the space around me, and it came out in this way– the hanging objects, plus the cloudy-day sky above the ceiling.

[audio:http://www.pammcdowellsaylor.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/whipporwills.mp3|titles=Whippoorwill]

Little did I know that when 11 years ago I thrashed about “Lot 11” at the gated equestrian community of the Highlands, Grandma, Kathy and Daddy would soon be going to the other side. Or that my mother would subsequently sell “Leatherwood Retreat” and build a house on “Lot 10” of the Highlands. At the age of 80, grieving the loss of her mother, her daughter, and her husband, she chose a home design for the lot and supervised the building of the house “on the lip of the gorge.”

I had fallen in love with the place because of its raw beauty, the constant sound of a waterfall cascading into the deep gorge, and the presence of what appeared to be a deep cave in the far wall of the gorge. Now we take the long flight to Knoxville, the long drive to the Highlands, and sit in the sun room at my mother’s (and sister Chrissy’s) house. I draw the scene I love while listening to that waterfall (to the left of the picture, not visible except during the winter when the leaves are off the trees).

The objects in the “yard” are benches that Brian built several years ago. It was our idea that there could be benches at various spots from which to behold this view worthy of a national park. Seen from the sun room or back deck, the benches seem to have an identity of their own that goes beyond being just something to sit upon. They remind us a bit of Stonehenge.

The drawing was done over a period of about four days. The sun is setting in a clear sky. The robin in the foreground represents the robin that came to me each morning at sunrise on the other side of the house. The “time and space stretch” enabled me to include the robin. (When we returned to “Leatherwood Retreat” after my dad’s funeral on March 5, 2003, there were hundreds of robins standing at attention on the lawn. Ever since, I think of my dad when I see a robin, and feel somehow that he is close by.)

Click on the arrow below the picture to hear the sound of the whippoorwill.

Mother is bouncing back like a cat with nine lives from a major medical treatment of chemotherapy, radiation, and radical surgery. Her “recovery nest” has served her well. She still spends a lot of time there, but is now more and more her old self, ranging farther afield. She has shown decisiveness and fortitude in her fight against cancer– which was her attitude throughout. My sister Chrissy has been her constant companion and caretaker. The Highlands of the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River are the ever-mysterious wild and natural landscape in which her recovery has occurred.

Daddy’s recliner is in the picture. He passed away in 2003, taken from us swiftly and unexpectedly, right after having his morning coffee. I remember his hand working the lever on the side of the recliner. He sits there vividly in my memory, clear as a bell.

[audio:http://www.pammcdowellsaylor.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/tunebird.mp3|titles=Tunebird]

Edisto Island is thick with live oaks draped with Spanish moss, loblolly pines, and palmetto trees. It is flanked by the Atlantic Ocean and marshes teeming with wildlife. It is a mysterious place that holds the secrets of the Gullah people and allows for us outsiders to wonder about their history and lives. The time share condo from which I drew this picture was purchased after years of a family tradition of vacationing in Edisto. This tradition began when Aunt Mary Siddall Logan came in the 1930’s as a child with her parents, who built a beach house that still stands by the sea. The marshes and forest that magnetized my attention are in the central “peephole” in the background of the picture.

Click on the arrow below the picture to hear the “tune bird.” (This bird has a definite melody that it repeats over and over– haven’t yet identified the real name.)

After I had chosen the boundaries for the drawing and had begun to draw, the person on the right sat down.  I didn’t see her face. As I drew her,  the thought passed through my mind that her hair looked like Grace Merritt’s hair. But it was a fleeting thought and I was intent on the drawing process. When she left, engrossed in the drawing process, I still saw only her back. Later in the day, Grace walked into Snow City Cafe to see Anda, who was setting up her art show for First Friday. I immediately recognized the sweater and the hair. I had been drawing Grace, Anda and Ben’s roommate! Thus, the caption for the drawing presented itself.

I was drawn to the bridge joining Nordstrom’s and Penney’s for several reasons. There’s a coffee stand right inside Nordie’s; Anda and I often go there to sit and talk or journal in the middle of a shopping spree. It’s a comfortable place to sit and draw both city and mountains– and comfort is my middle name!  An unanticipated effect happened after I finished drawing. I looked at the Penney’s Parking Garage, which is a shade of bright yellow (not my favorite in such large proportions)– and– I felt a sense of affection for it! The attention I had put into the drawing process had taken my mind beyond its normal reaction patterns.

I did this drawing from Point Woronzof. This is one of the classic shots of Anchorage, usually done with a telephoto lens, which I did not have. In the foreground are chunks of leftover ice floating in the Cook Inlet which have been deposited by the tide upon the mud flats. It was only when I arrived back home that I realized how the process of doing the drawing had changed my perspective. I felt like I was in somebody else’s house and was extra aware of the walls, floor, furniture in a new way. My goal in doing these drawings it to notice the effects of the process on myself and to learn about how to set intentions related to that. This session was particularly powerful in that regard.

This drawing was particularly fun to do. I wanted to draw Susitna (Sleeping Lady) and the Inlet, and it was a clear-sky day. I didn’t know that I would end up drawing the inside of the car and the view in the mirrors, or Denali (Mt. McKinley, the tallest point in North America). Before heading for this spot, I stopped at Side Street Espresso to fuel up. While I was there I was engaged in an exercise of inner attention that had altered my perspective.

Previously I had noted that there was very little in the way of scenery in the room that seemed interesting. I felt I had mined the interest from the place the last time I was there to draw. However, as I followed the inward focus, I began to feel enlivened in my senses. I began to feel that everything was equally interesting and alive, that every moment of waiting for my soup was infinitely sweet and compelling. No matter where I turned it was the same. I had a sense that there was no limit to anything, that everything could be penetrated kind of like it was a bottomless pit.

It certainly seems that  I carried that perspective with me to my drawing spot, and the unexpected results were due to that preparation.

 

I never imagined that THIS would be on the way to Cushendall. I never thought I would descend into the basement to draw the scene there! The result was, however, that, after doing this drawing, I was more aware than ever of the “things” in my house, and that they, in a sense, have something to say to me.