One day while walking along the shores of the Hood Canal near my hermitage I found a great big wooden stick. It was sturdy and the right height so I brought it back to sit with it for a while and ask how it wanted me to embellish it.  Often when I lead art programs I talk about art as being both tabernacle and pilgrimage — a sacred container and a sacred journey of discovery.  It holds the power of both.  I have wanted to have a staff and a small box as symbols of these energies of art.  At

The photo in the piece of art above was taken of me at age nineteen, during my junior year in college. I had a boyfriend at the time who was into photography, especially black and white, and I still have several of the photos he took of me.  I think I find them striking because at the time I was struggling with my self-image and yet I remember feeling beautiful while those photos were being taken. For this creation I began with a piece of canvas paper and had painted it with some blue and silver acrylic similarly to yesterday’s stamp

This photo is of my grandmother on my mother’s side.  The baby is my uncle and the little girl is my mother. My uncle is the only one left alive from this image. I can see a theme developing in my art already — I used a wooden board as a base, adhered white tissue paper with gel medium (I really like the texture), then cut the image up in pieces — I wanted to experiment with dividing a photo into separate parts.  This technique fits my grandmother well, as she was never a happy person.  In this photo I

Loving Advent Christmas is coming but Advent is here. A time of waiting – Not for gifts to open but for our very selves. Our hearts open slowly. We must wait and wonder. Something new will come out of the darkness. Let yourself sink into the unknowing. Bring a pillow, get comfortable. Waiting in Advent is like planting bulbs for the spring. -Pamela McCauley Pam was one of the participants at our Awakening the Creative Spirit program last month and a longtime reader of this blog and poetry contributor.  I love her poem about the waiting of Advent — “Not for gifts