terriloui

Several big life changes began in late Fall 2018, hence the 3 year absence of any postings on art, the studio, creative adventures.

I have space and interest to begin again. Like many in the fog and seclusion of pandemic 2020, I went outside for relief and inspiration. Phrases from an old children’s book came to mind, “…a hole is to dig… maybe you could hide things in a hole.” I saw holes in the yard, on my walks, I photographed them and decided to selectively fill them.

Outside, I saw plenty of colorful natural materials to work with growing in the yard or falling from the trees — buttercups, violets, black walnuts and holly berries.

I decided to buy myself a good condition, used hard back copy of A Hole is to Dig, A First Book of First Definitions, written by Ruth Krauss, illustrations by Maurice Sendak in 1952.

The first time I encountered this book was long after the household interest in reading it had waned. The girls were still young, sharing a bedroom, with matching antique twin beds, but they’d moved on to listening to us read the Narnia or Hogwarts stories aloud before bed time. In 1999, as a new step mom, I would help tidy up and arrange their bookcases, packed with board books and large picture books that they used to read. Sometimes, I’d pause and read. All good titles, many classics, many Maurice Sendak books like this one, all well-read and residing in the house before I’d moved in. 

The “girls” are 31 now, all those books are gone. Some were given away or packed and shipped to their adult apartments or were lost in our Dec. 2018 house fire.

Thus, I am filling holes figuratively and literally, attending to 3 years of random, Cycle of Life holes in the yard, our house, my life, my body, my new studio.

I have great timidity in being outdoors by myself, actually. I startle easily, I perceive danger and wild animals ready to pounce where others see a calm, inviting forest. But I like to explore and have been seeking an outdoor challenge.

One of my favorite book characters is Mistress Mary quite contrary from The Secret Garden, who gathers her gumption and sets about uncovering and exploring an untamed, unfamiliar space, the out of doors.

She stole a garden, I have borrowed a forest.

Lindsay Nolting asked if I wanted to come out to her Gum Spring property and make art, yes, yes, by whatever means, yes!  She described her annual Open Studio on Sat. Sept. 29, rain or shine, in and about her home and acreage, in bucolic, historic Columbia.

In mid August, Barry and I set out on the half hour drive from Scottsville on Route 6, East along the James River, to the former Town of Columbia, taking a left on Stage Junction Road. With Dulcy dog and Lindsay, we walked the woods, explored the creeks, delighted in forest bathing. I took reference pictures, soaking in the site and imagining what sort of found materials I would use, and what form of installation would happen.

I’ve been back twice since, with clippers, hand saw, boots, and water bottle. I’m going back today, undeterred by several recent stories of copperhead snakes. Then there’s Hurricane Florence and whatever she may do tomorrow.

I’ve asked Barry to teach me some knots and lashing. I’ve chatted with my friend Michael about construction techniques and outdoor aesthetics. It’s begun. What exactly is it? Working through that TBD phase…

The postcard announces “In House and Yard” paintings by Lindsay Nolting, to which she added “Beyond the Curtilage” woodland installations by Terri Long. Points for another vocabulary word.

You’ll find me and my work in the woods, somewhere about and beyond the curtilage, standing in the creek or maybe on a fallen tree.

The snow came as expected, so I spent some time in the studio composing some new Readers Digest Book Quilts. Arranged book covers, toted firewood, played with the dog, ate a lot, napped, repeated the sequence.

Nothing’s final, all moveable and up for consideration.