Into the Blue

If you need a bit of a breather from the hustle and bustle of your day, take a virtual stroll through my friend Grace’s garden. It will truly soothe your soul:

Lori G. (c) 2008

“Desert Muse”

The Forgotten Muse, they call me.

When all my sisters scamper away to greener
realms and abandon you in a barren place,
when an accusing sun bears down
upon you in relentless unforgiveness,
I am there.

I wait in the dark and stony
ravines of your soul,
and listen for you
to call on me.

In the desert night,
under a new moon
when not one ray of silver light
shines to show your way,

I circle the perimeter of your camp,
like Coyote, waiting for you to look to me.

And when you do,
you know you are no longer alone.

I cannot lead you out of
the desert, but I will sit with you
until my sisters’ return,
until you rise once more and wander again.

Then you will forget me.

Until the next time.

Image and text: L. Gloyd (c) 2008.  This is a montage of photographic and computer-generated elements.  If you would like to see the process by which I constructed this image, click HERE.

“Siamese Cat”

I painted this watercolor, I estimate, 25 to 30 years ago. I don’t think I have the patience to paint this way anymore. It makes me wonder what happened. It makes me wonder if I can even do this type of artwork anymore.

L. Gloyd (c) circa 1980, 2008.

Yesterday, I attended the Festival of Books at UCLA with 130,000 other bibliophiles.  Here’s a little sampling of what I observed:

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

“Singing the Magnificat”

I digitally painted the image of the girl (from the ground up) and then added a mandala that I had made a few months ago using Photoshop and Illustrator. I softened and muted the colors of the whole image to create a glowing quality.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

“Melpomene”

This image is about 90% painted, 10% photo manipulation. Created in Photoshop 7.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

My writing rituals are fairly ordinary and my workspace extremely mundane. Typically, I draft my writings by hand, where I absolutely must use a black felt tip pen, preferably a Flair. With this pen, I can recline and keep the ink flowing. Sometimes I write on my living room sofa; other times I’m at my local natural food store that has free wi-fi—a fact that is important and I’ll describe in a minute. Typically, I write either very late at night or early in the morning, such as right now.

So, anyway, my handwritten drafts just tend to be a list of notes, phrases that roll around in my mind, and perhaps some more complicated explications. Then I move to my PC and flesh out the text. Now, when I am creating digital art, I typically skip the handwritten bit and just go straight to my computer and start working. My computer is in my bedroom/library/office/storeroom…. See, I live in this really, really small apartment and most rooms are utilized in a multipurpose manner. No I do not write in the bathroom but I have had many inspired thoughts there.

I don’t have too many odd things around my workspace—just usual things like books, papers, music CDs, books, a vacuum cleaner, my bed, a DVD of Qi Gong exercises (which I watch on my computer because my DVD player is broken,) books and more books. Regarding books, the two that are right next to my monitor at the moment are Writing Down the Bones by Goldberg and Krause’s Color Index: CMYK and RGB Formulas for Print and Web Media.

I don’t usually listen to anything specific when I write or make art. At the moment I am listening to some guy on the radio ranting about the state of the world—oh, I just heard a crow caw right outside the window—really, I’m not making this up—and two bus lines roar by my front door every five minutes from about 5:30 am to about 9 p.m, rattling the windows and drowning out any other sounds. In hot weather, when I have my bedroom windows open, I can hear everything coming from the people who live in the building next door. I hear them talking, cooking, watching tv, entertaining, etc. This is usually followed by the sounds of my muttering something about their getting a room somewhere else and the loud sliding shut of said bedroom window.

I have no other writing rituals except when I work at my computer, I MUST have something to drink—it can be anything (usually coffee) as long as it is sitting on the right side of my computer—which is interesting because I am left-handed. Also, and more importantly, I can’t even begin to work unless I check my e-mail first. I don’t know why this is, but I cannot work until every unread e-mail is read. So when I am writing somewhere not my home, then I must find a place with a free wi-fi spot (such as my local natural food market), when I can plug in my Ipod and look at my e-mail. Oh, no, I’m not addicted at all to the internet, nope, not me.

My ending ritual is realizing that I have to be somewhere else, scrambling to sign off, and bolting out of the room–Such as now– It is now 6:20 in the morning and I have to hustle to get ready for work.

L. Gloyd (c) 2008

I just received a Laurel Crown.,

just for doing something I love…..

Pretty neat.

Check it out by clicking HERE.

Madrona is a vernal marsh which means that it is dry as a bone in the summer and fall, but when the winter rains come, it fills up and becomes quite lovely. The amazing thing is that it is smack in the middle of a urban setting. There is a giant shopping mall across the street.

Video: L. Gloyd (c) 2008

I am from tuna fish sandwiches on Wonder Bread,
from Barbie dolls and Stingrays with banana seats.

I am from the rough stucco walls of a small tract house,
baking in the sun of a golden land.

I am from palm trees and sweet gardenia,
from juicy lemons plucked from a backyard tree.

I am from opening presents on Christmas eve
and then again on Christmas morning.

I am from roaming tribes of barbarians,
hardscrabble Yankees and Indiana farmers,
from grips and greensmen on the MGM lot,
from women who made egg custard in blue willow cups.

I am from raucous laughter and bawdy jokes,
from straight-shooting, between-the-eyes honesty.

I am from “what goes around, comes around”
and “everything happens for a reason”.

I am from Congregationalists, Lutherans, Baptists and Mormons.
I am from mediums who had séances in the parlor.
I am by the Book but respect all others who chose a different way.
I glory in the revelation of nature.

I am from a father who took me to the library three times a week.
I am from a mother who drew whipped cream smiley faces on pancakes when I was sick.

I am from faded photographs of straight-laced women in Victorian skirts,
from ancestors I do not know except from notes in a plastic box.

I live in the shadow of the Greatest Generation striving to make a mark in my own.

L. Gloyd © 2008

Studying family roots can be more than just an endeavor in detective work. As much as we enjoy learning about the places, dates and names of our ancestors, sometimes we can come across bits of information about our roots that greatly change our thinking about our present situation.

For example, one bit of information I pulled from the box containing my aunt’s research notes is a document that notes how my immigrant Gloyd ancestor arrived in North America. John Glydd was born in 1655 in Hailsham, Sussex, England. He was a younger sibling in the brood of Richard Glyd (AKA John Glidd*) and Mary Evans. The family must have been of some higher social standing because they had a coat-of-arms.

Then we read this:

“This Indenture witnesseth, that John Glydd son of John Glidd of Helson, in the County Sussex, in England husbandman, of his owne free will doth putt his selfe to Fran Littlefejld, Senior, of Wells, in the County of Yorke. In New England husbandman to learn his art & with his executors & assigns after the manner of Apprentize to serve from ye thirteenth day of June in the year of our Lord one thousand six hundred sixty & three, unto the full end & terme of eight years from thence next following to bee fully Compleat and ended/during which terme the sayd Apprentize his maister…” (taken from York Deeds, part I, Fol. 148).

Note the date John was born. Note the date that John “of his owne free will” signs himself into indentured servitude. He was 8 years old. EIGHT! This child got on a ship and sailed a storm-tossed North Atlantic to the wilderness of Massachusetts. Alone. No doubt his parents never thought to see him again. I suppose from a 17th century perspective this was the best thing a parent could do for his child—to provide him with the opportunity to learn a trade and make a living.

To my 21st century perspective, I am aghast.

However, what strikes me here is that whether it is the 17th century or the 21st, people are still being compelled by circumstances outside of their control to leave the home of their ancestors to make a better way. Some came by slave-ship or prison-ship, some because there was simply no way to survive in their homelands. The next time I see a crowd of day laborers waiting for a job at the local lumber yard or the women cleaning houses of my neighbors, I will remember John Glydd. He was not that much different.

And that is the lesson.

Text and Image: L.Gloyd © 2008

(*The spelling of the last name varies, it seems, at the whim of the writer, as well as, from time to time, the first names)

I created a series of short meditations based on illustrated affirmations.  Please check them out HERE.

Image: LGloyd (c) 2008