The Magic of Hands describes my belief that our hands have the unique capacity
to transfer the energy of our hearts to something outside of ourselves:
a bowl of yummy soup, a handmade hat, a painting of happy bluets.
It’s why humans make art, and why art is good medicine.
Welcome, then, to the realm of my heart.
For two weeks in the beginning of Autumn I was the artist-in-residence at the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness Park in Michigan. This remote wonderland on the shores of Lake Superior is haven to wolves, eagles, pine martens, and of course, porcupines. You can read about my adventures—and the ongoing work that was inspired by my residency—here.
Last week I went on an amazing hike from the valley floor to the top of Mount Mitchell. Two dear friends were with me, mommas all. Never mind the blaze of Autumn color–it was the the regal, dark brilliance of the tall Spruce People that spoke to me. And I couldnt stop and listen. We had to rush, a bit, to get to the summit, because we had to pick up our kids. This is not a complaint, but an observation. Life moves at a quick pace, even when you are recreating.
I have a t-shirt that bears the advice, “Live Slow.” It also has a sloth on it. I like sloths and I think it’s very interesting that they are named after a deadly sin. Not that anyone cares about that so much anymore, but what moralist would have thought that a deadly sin would become necessary to balance the pace of life? Continue reading