The Relics

My grandmother ruffles through a box of material

that smells of mothballs. 4X4 squares

of old curtains, denims, dresses, ties, scarves.

Anything that could be cut to make quilts

packed so tightly in a yellowed box

the color on the fabric has no room to fade.

She searches for a newspaper article.

I've been through the box twice. Its not there.

She is so sure, so serene

as if by memory alone she can will it there.

Just to let you know that I am occasionally posting at Instagram. @leslieavonmiller

Her fingers lull through the fabric

loosening the earth of her past.

Each square, a sermon, a kiss, a new dish.

Hands still immersed, she recites the article.

It is of my father's early promotion in the Army.

I know how she must have studied it, line by line,

until the words became his uniform,

his boots, his medals, his tags.

I have been enjoying the art of still life. I use things I have gathered from nature, small collage, mail art and some relics from my family. The elephant was a souvenir my Dad picked up in WWII as a gift for his Mom. I cherish it with its handmade personality and wabi sabi appearance. In my mind's eye I see it sitting on a glass shelf in the corner of the kitchen. I can almost smell cooking applesauce.

She does not find it but she smiles. She offers me

the fabric to make quilts, pillowcases,

anything that can be sewn into a memory.

I take it, though I have already memorized her:

the smell of mothballs on her hands,

the rows of vegtables she nurtured

wearing the flowered dress that lies in pieces in the box.

I see her in my sleep. Words on a page.

I recite her.

~Poem entitled Vera Jewel

by Michelle McMillan-Holifield

This lovely typewritter was my Mother's Mother's. She had been a one room school house teacher, and then later the bookkeeper for her husband's auto repair garage. One day they packed up and went to Alaska. They never returned for the house full of things they left behind. They became my Mother's and are now mine. They are old enough now to be "vintage". I find them appealing and find it enjoyable to "document" them, via still life.

These things of our lives are never really ours. We are temporary custodians.

The Edges of Things

untitled collage Leslie Avon Miller

I like the edges of things

the way two elements come together

and are changed by the experience.

A third energy is born

 

untitled collage Leslie Avon Miller

 

To explain this in words

is to diminish the happening.

And yet I endeavor

to explain.

 

This morning I watched the sunlight

create a multitude of abstract paintings on my walls.

A strong dash of a line.

A pattern with rhythm.

 

 

untitled collage Leslie Avon Miller

 

In our solitude we are one person.

In our interactions, at the edges,

we experience a portal

and become, even fleetingly, changed.

 

My art avoids the boxes of words,

and moves to another dimension.

A dash of a line.

A pattern with rhythm.

 

 

untitled collage, Leslie Avon Miller

This is my poetry.

This is the essence of my content.

At the edges I am changed.

 

 

 

 



haiku for the new year

new year's haiku 1
Leslie Avon Miller

At the change of the year I require light, and space and room to breathe. I need time for mental clearing away and sorting to allow room to allow freshness in my life. January is such a personal month. I withdraw, cocoon and cleanse, preparing for what is to come.

new year's haiku 2
Leslie Avon Miller

I find myself stacking antique Japanese glass floats on an equally aged silver tray. They capture and reflect the pale winter light. Their aura is simple. They reflect my mood, symbols of vintage beauty brought forward in news ways to this time and this place.

new year's haiku 3
Leslie Avon Miller

The rich sparseness of Haiku appeals to me. I find myself sorting, choosing, tearing, shaping and arranging small space to please my need for minimalism and clarity.

new year's haiku 4
Leslie Avon Miller

 



threading a needle

on new year's day

the spool unwinds

 

Jane Reichhold

 

 

new year's haiku 5
Leslie Avon Miller

 

                                The first page of my new journal reads:

 

365 new days

 

and the second page

 

Let your life be a painting

Let your life be a poem

 

Osho

 

 

new year's haiku 6
Leslie Avon Miller

 

 

 

Best of new year wishes to you.









that sigh when all tension releases

Collage, Leslie Avon Miller

We need words
That ring like bells
Through cool air
Taut with sun,
that smell
like grass and violets
that feel
like sitting on moss
by the stream
listening to
songs of woodland birds,
words that bring
fresh air into our lungs.

Collage, Leslie Avon Miller

Words that bring us
visions of baby robins
trying to use their wings,
early tinted light
on the horizon,
tiny ants
swarming in and out
of their granular hill.

 

Collage, Leslie Avon Miller

 

Distant hum
of bees on plum blossoms,
sensation of sunlight
on the skin,
a moment of peace
in a hidden place,
hearing the sound
of water over rocks,
something to make us sigh
that sigh
when all tension
releases
and we’re

Just there.

   

These small collage on paper incorporate fragments of the photos I discussed in the previous post entitled Found Paintings. I find old walls, a partially decayed leaf frozen in a puddle and a found hand print to have a quality of mystery; of a story only half told.

Collage, Leslie Avon Miller

The quality of enigma engages me and makes me want to know more, to ponder what else might be there half hidden.

Collage, Leslie Avon Miller

To add to the puzzle, I added fragments of a poem I found engaging. The poem is called

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski. Some of the words are from an essay entitled

A Language Older Than Words  by Derrick Jensen. 

There is something about putting my hands on paper and moving small bits around that can make me sigh that sigh when all tension releases and we’re Just There.

Each collage is open to interpretation, and I hope acts as a  a doorway to our own thoughts and feelings hidden beneath the surface of polite everyday conversation. That's where I prefer to live my life; a little deeper, a little bit richer, a distance off the beaten path.

I don't know who the author is of the poem I posted at the beginning of the post about needing words.   If you do, will you let me know?

 

Found Paintings

Found painting Leslie Avon Miller

Found Painting Leslie Avon Miller

Found Painting Leslie Avon Miller

Found Painting Leslie Avon Miller

Found Painting Leslie Avon Miller

Found Painting Leslie Avon Miller

This is the real secret of life -- to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. 

And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.

                                                              Alan Wilson Watts

The images in the blog post are photographs I took of an old WWII bunker near Port Townsend this last weekend. The Graffiti artists make marks, the park worker paint over them, rust happens, along with the patina of time. I just came along and "found" them. I am using some of them as part of my small collage

 

My True Love Gave to Me 12 Turkey Feathers....

Turkey Feathers, Artichokes and Sweet Grass

A gathering I went in November…dried artichokes were cut and treasured.

 

Familiar ornaments were unwrapped with care.

Sweet grass and dried found leaves are a studio supply on hand.

 

And my true love gave to me 

all the turkey feathers he found as he walked along the road.

Christmas

~Anon

Every time a hand reaches out
To help another....that is Christmas

Every time someone puts anger aside
And strives for understanding
That is Christmas 

Every time people forget their differences
And realize their love for each other
That is Christmas 

May this Christmas bring us
Closer to the spirit of human understanding 

Closer to the blessing of peace!

 

Notice Each Thing

We are here to witness the creation and abet it. We are here to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed. Together we notice not only each mountain shadow and each stone on the beach but, especially, we notice the beautiful faces and complex natures of each other. 

We are here to bring to consciousness the beauty and power that are around us and to praise the people who are here with us. We witness our generation and our times. We watch the weather. Otherwise, creation would be playing to an empty house.

  

According to the second law of thermodynamics, things fall apart. Structures disintegrate.

Buckminster Fuller hinted at a reason we are here: By creating things, by thinking up new combinations, we counteract this flow of entropy. We make new structures, new wholeness, so the universe comes out even. 

A shepherd on a hilltop who looks at a mess of stars and thinks, ‘There’s a hunter, a plow, a fish,’ is making mental connections that have as much real force in the universe as the very fires in those stars themselves.

~ Annie Dillard

  

Witness. Yes, we can do that for one another. These paper structures, created with rusted and water colored papers, evolved from the need to create. Of course they evolved. For instance, we worked surrounded by long pine needles so they became the center of a flower. 

In a tree, on some rusty springs, in the brush, amongst the dried flowers from summer we set up the paper flowers and took photographs. 

          My niece and I walked around and found several different appealing placements.

 These are the new structures, the wholeness we contribute to the universe. And I       have returned home with boxes of pine cones, pine needles and dried summer        flowers. 

  More to come.

Drawing as Language

egg shell drawings Leslie Avon Miller

A small stick, some ink and watercolor, a pencil, some charcoal. A surface of paper, brown paper bag, or an egg shell. Drawing is a path to a small world complete with map, or to a story or to observation of beauty.

Marise Maas

 

 

Drawing the Unknown

Taking from the drawer

a large sheet of thick, white paper,

I place it on the floor

and kneel before it.

With a big stick of charcoal

I begin to make marks;

rhythmic, gestural, hard, soft,

intuitively covering the paper

until my hand takes over.

I work slowly with feeling,

drawing deeper

into the paper, into myself,

responding to what is there.

I sponge, smudge, rub, caress,

overlay new marks,

continue building layers,

building energy,

creating more depth,

darkening parts of the paper like thunder

causing the charcoal to splinter, crumble,

crack under pressure.

Now drawing with the rubber

I work into the darkness

clearing passages of light

and before me

there’s a tonal range,

graded and granular

from coal black

to the palest whisper of grey.

I keep going,

immersed, mesmerized,

becoming aware of illusory shapes.

I keep pushing, pulling,

forming, coaxing

until I lift the image out

and my hand is still.

~Ann Symes

Ann Symes, Burn 7

Ann Symes, Distant Voice, graphite

 For me, drawing facilitates thinking. The drawing process is so crucial to me, 

and gradually I have noticed that the activities in life which I prioritize and 

repeat outside of drawing allow a similar kind of thought process to take place, 

for example spending time walking is very important to me.

Through walking, I consciously create time to think, observe and explore. 

But, also I see walking as a linear journey or path through a thought process, 

similar to that of making a drawing. 

I think the other parallel is motion. 

I find it easier to think when I am in some kind of motion, 

which for me is particularly conductive to contemplation.

~Gemma Anderson

Drawing, Leslie Avon Miller

For me drawing is all about movement, it is always the result of an action, a record of motion as a result of a force exerted over time. Whether it be the artist's hand or body, seismic movement, the motion of a tree branch or the path followed by the wind through the landscape it is always the result of movement.

~Tim Knowles

Tim Knowles Tree Drawings

 

 

 

by mick maslen and jack southern

brown paper bag drawing, Leslie Avon Miller

As I put this post together I realized the subject of drawing has the potential for several blog posts. To be continued...

To draw, you must close your eyes and sing.

~Paublo Picasso

More drawings I love are here.