Musing

No Going Back

As I dive deeper into doing artwork, the artwork is diving deeper into me, nudging and tugging at ideas and perspectives I lost track of or never knew were there.

Since coming to this prairie land I have sought out and felt the link between land and animal and human. Now as this journey with creating artwork enters the scene it is acting like something beyond connection. The art and immersion into creating it, is like a live yarn that is weaving in and out of the other aspects, leaving its mark on each and touching every aspect at once. There are fresh, wholehearted connections made, – with this landscape, with fellow artists, with my soul and, just maybe, with humanity.

It sounds idyllic and it is. It’s also real in a rough around the edges way, and a bit confusing in the way all new paths are. I’m in a constant tug-o-war lately – feeling compelled to open wider and go with the flow yet shy of it and what it is asking of me. Feeling free to pursue the many avenues and yet pulled to focus and narrow down the direction. Feeling elated for the possibilities and inadequate about handling them.

Continuing my common routine of ranch life shepherding a flock of sheep without the reach for more feels like the easy road. Yet creating art and writing words is a constant pull now, just like the prairie land. It’s there when I’m out in this landscape absorbing one of those big-small moments, reaching for the catch words to etch it in place at least long enough to get back to my journal.

The final piece is solidifying. There is no going back. 

Land, animal, nature, artist, human, humanity – every piece is within me and I am within every piece. There can no longer be a seperation of these pieces nor a life of acting as though they are.  

As we head into an celebratory time of gift giving I hope every person can find a little bit of this gift within themselves and when they do, pass it along to the next. The world needs that. 

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Where The Sheep Settle

I wish I could plunk you down where the sheep settle every night, to feel the protection of the spot they chose, to wander in the deep and wide hollow there, to connect with the way the hill at their back shapes a partial cocoon. To see the trees that both roof them and ring them, offering shelter from each direction when needed. To walk their foot trails passing and investigating into the abandoned buildings, to watch how the girls settle loosely on the fringe when weather is favourable but tuck deeper into the core when the weather shifts toward ugly. To be in their space and feel the wisdom of their choice, and connect with the natural spirit that that wisdom stems from. I wish I could plunk you down where the sheep settle.

Just about every winter I write about the wise choice these ewes make at picking a bedding ground. And every year it feels increasingly important to see and recognize these traits, in livestock in particular because I worry the majority of livestock raised in North America are losing or have lost these innate, natural traits. That our animals are being steered away from their natural by an increasingly un-natural species.

I feel that people in agriculture are growing further entrenched in the idea that we, the human, know what is best, not Mother Nature. We tell ourselves that our choice to raise the maximum amount of fast food, and the plethora of interventions necessary to do so, is the only choice there is because otherwise we just can’t make it work.  Are we no wiser and more brave than this?

As fast-food agriculture strives ever and ever more to fix production flaws nature never had to begin with, so to do we strip away the natural from the animal and from the land, and by proxy, from ourselves. As the divide between us and nature grows so to does our dissatisfaction with life. Until here we sit, a first world nation of over drugged, generally unhappy, distrustful people.  Are we no wiser and more brave than this?

I’m not suggesting we return all livestock animals to the wild and let it be, but I am suggesting that we’ve gone way past the balance point on this one, and no one seems to be noticing the disconnect. I don’t know if I am making right choices for going forward in the agriculture industry, very possibly not, but I do know taking away the natural these sheep have is certainly going backwards toward a place I don’t wish to go.  I want to be wiser and more brave than this.

 

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The Restart

Ah, the first post – the mark of commitment and always the toughest one to write, even when it’s a continuation of something you’re already doing. But this new blog space feels more like a fresh start than it does a do-over. This new space feels like touching the pen to the blank page of a new journal; how for the first few sentences you write careful and deliberate and maybe a little too thoughtful. prairie wetland grasses I recently came across the phrase “inspiration comes after the journey has begun, not before,” although can’t recall who said it. This has been the case for me with the artwork, the writing, and taking photographs. Indeed, there are small inspirations all the time, in many facets. A peculiar thing is how this all still feels like I’m just getting my feet wet when in fact I’ve been rising at five in the morning for years; keeping that same block of time for doing something creative at the onset of my day. Perhaps that lingering newness feeling is the mark of knowing you’re doing the actions your core being needs you to do. Doing them hasn’t become stagnant yet. And I suppose that’s partly how and why we land here, on a new blog platform, with a new name and a slightly altered path, but with the same well loved subjects of prairie land, sheep, and a few good working dogs. Welcome to the re-start.

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