Gi-irl (Lennon & McCartney style)

Hair

This picture reminds me of a conversation I had once on a date. I was sitting at the table of a smokey Denver dance hall with a man who was losing his hair, but not his sense of humor.

Here's how it went:

Elaine: What is this thing men have about women's hair?
Man: There are three important things on a date: The man, the woman, and the woman's hair.

Sean Brubaker, talented husband of the gorgeous Silke, took the photograph below. I worked the picture below on Photoshop to accentuate the glamorous. Sean, taking up the challenge to 'Andy Warhol' it, put together the picture above. When I thank him, he says, I was just messin' around.

Another Fine Mess of Purple

The Malisa Smile

Purple

A Rosebud

Heart of Joy

Nettie's Fireplace Work

My friend Nettie creates and installs ceramic fireplaces, fountains, and much more. You can see samples of her work below: details from a fireplace installation. To see more of Penman's work go to her blog: Blackbird Clay Studio.

Pargeting, Ganch, and Mud Pies

Dianne, my blog-friend from Australia (Here Is My Heart) tells me the pictures remind her of early century Pargeting. Well. OK. I had to look it up, didn't I? So, it turns out that pargeting comes from the French and Latin Par and Jeter, to throw about. Pargeting refers to plaster moulding or sculpture that is often put on the exterior of buildings. Originally, it referred to waterproofing the outside of the building. I can just see it now. The ancient artisans having a few lunchtime beers and then (imagine Monty Python British working class accents) "Ee, by gum, lads, Ah reckon it's time for a bit of pargeting, then." Off they go to throw plaster about on the outer walls of some poor housewife's hovel, to the tune of said housewife (her hair in rollers, tied in a scarf, and with a fag hanging out the side of her mouth) screeching: "Ere, you! Mind you keep your pargeting muck off my nice, clean windows."

Nettie works with clay. She creates the ceramic tiles and then the tile artisans (or tile guys as we call them around here) put the tiles onto the walls, presumably onto a base using grout and cement, and I suspect the whole installation is supervised by Nettie.

I've seen some lovely indoor pargeting at the Dushanbe Tea House in Boulder. They have a pargeter guy. (I would have called him a plaster sculptor before today.) A courteous member of the wait staff once told me that the sculptor comes back from time to time to touch it up.

Hmm. Well, of course I had to look that up too, didn't I? So, it turns out that the Dushanbe Tea House plaster work is called Persian Ganch. The sculptor uses a secret formula to blend the plaster, then he carves the plaster one tile at a time. Then, after the tiles are installed, he retouches the carving again. You can find more here on how the Boulder Dushanbe Tea House came to be built.

So, it seems there is some throwing stuff about, either way, whether it's Nettie throwing her clay, or the pargeters (a common English name, by the way) throwing plaster, or Kodir Rhakimov painstakingly curing his plaster to the exact, delicate consistency for carving.

I just love it. I used to parget a bit myself as a kid. I had an aluminum pie tray, some water, lumpy mud, and a stick. My favorite thing was to sit outside the back door stirring my pargeting mix. I remember the warm late afternoon sun on my brow as I bent to the task at hand.


Whether you call it, tile, adobe, stucco, ganch, pargeting, or just plain pie, it makes a lovely spectrum of mud, so it does! I can't help thinking that if there were more pargeting in the world, there would be less fighting! More Mona Lisa, less battleships, more mud pie, less missiles: Think about it. How many people would choose revenge over having fun? You can harm someone, or you can do something creative. Well, it's just a thought.

Lady Bug Crosses Dandelion Leaves

I could look at pictures of lady bugs all day. (We call them Lady Birds in Scotland, and we love them.) I like how she is climbing onto the leaf in this photo. She reminds me of me: another day, another dandelion leaf. Heh, heh...

Things behind things...

The more you sense the rareness and value of your own life, the more you realize that how you use it, how you manifest it, is all your responsibility. We face such a big task, so naturally such a person sits down for a while. It’s not an intended action. It’s a natural action.

–Kobun Chino Roshi

It all boils down to being interested in everything that you see.

–Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

When I saw the scene in the photo above, I wanted to take the photograph. It's just a lamp in front of a calligraphy, but I saw something more. I wanted to explore that. The calligraphy is by Kobun Chino Roshi. It's called "Pheonix and Dragon Play."

The term: "Things behind things" is a Scottish saying that points to complexity. You can see the surface of life, like the lamp and the calligraphy, and then, you can also catch the subtle play of complexity, like the play of reflections in this picture, and like the pooling of the light on the glass of the lamp. When I look at it, I see the calligraphy. I see the lamp. That's nice, but there's much more to see. There's the light reflecting off the glass of the calligraphy. There's the reflection of the window on the other side of the room and the reflection of the greenery in the world outside that window...

The original calligraphy had its own complexity. Kobun Chino Roshi created this work in the year before his death. Marlow Brooks was a senior student and close friend of Kobun Chino Roshi. She taught a meditation workshop, two months after his death. In her teaching team, I supported her as a meditation instructor.

Brooks told us much about Kobun Chino Roshi. She told us that Kobun Chino prepared his own calligraphy paper. He put paper in the bathtub with colored water, Brooks told us. Then he poured sumi ink onto the still-watery paper and left it. When the paper was dry, he performed calligraphy on the paper. In this calligraphy, the pale courses of ink suggest to me the streams and misty mountains of ancient Chinese painting. Two smears of red appear in the paper and echo the color of his seal.

On July 26, 2002, Kobun Chino Roshi's daughter, Nina, fell from a dock into the deep currents of a pond. Kobun Chino was in Switzerland, teaching. When he saw his daughter fall into the water, Kobun Chino jumped in after her. He wasn't able to save her and they both drowned.

Kobun Chino's name dharma name was Cloud Phoenix.

I bought this calligraphy at an exhibition of Kobun Chino's work that Brooks put on in the fall in the year Kobun Chino died.

Determined not to spend money, I walked up the stairs past beautiful calligraphies. On the landing, I looked around, feeling my resolve. Down the hallway to my left, a flash of green caught my eye. I had to go find out what that was about. I didn't even know you could have a green calligraphy. It hit me, and reeled me in. I walked around the exhibition with Brooks and the meditation students. I looked at other calligraphies, but it was all over with me. One thousand dollars and seven months later (I paid in instalments, like layaway.), I took the calligraphy home. It stretched me to pay that money. It cost me something. I hung the calligraphy on the wall of my bedroom.

I never heard Kobun Chino Roshi teach. I never met him. I never saw his face in person. I only heard of him when he died. His wife and remaining children lived in a trailer. They were poor, and they were bereft of their beloved husband and father. It seemed heart breaking to me, and human.

Two years later, I sold my home after a year of under-employment. I hung the calligraphy on the living room wall of the rental house we moved into. I never regretted buying the calligraphy. It called to me from that hallway, it called to me from that pond in Switzerland, and it kept me going. It kept me believing in being human.

When life calls, you have to step up to the plate. Sometimes you have to step off the dock. Sometimes you have to write a check.