Archives For life

Winter Trees

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 23, 2015 — Leave a comment

Everyday, lately, I watch the winter trees. Some days they are dancing in the wind, some days they stand still as statues. Often they are mobbed with chattering black birds.

The dark, bare branches look like ink against the gray sky, so I drew them. I let the ink drip down the crinkled paper, as I held it upside down. When I turned it right side up, I found a tree:

Winter Tree, ink

Winter Tree, ink

Today, the trees were rain-soaked and slowly moving, here and there. I wrote down a little poem while I sipped my coffee:

The trees stand

like frozen sentinels

drenched by a cold winter rain.

They watch me with

arms spread high and wide

daring me to hear them

to feel the bare morning

to come out of my house

and reach to the sky.

Wet to the bone

they tease me

as I sit in my warm chair

wrapped and snug.

With waving wet arms

they tell me to come out and see

come out and dance

and feel the rain.

The Nap

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 2, 2015 — Leave a comment

There was a recent day when my son was sick. Tired and weak, he crawled into the deep pile of pillows on my bed to rest, and quickly fell asleep. On tiptoes, I inched into the room to feel his flushed cheeks and warm forehead, checking him with a mother’s worried, loving eyes.

The Bed, Toulouse-Lautrec

The Bed, Toulouse-Lautrec

The room was still and soft; the folds on the white pillows were tinted with blue and gold. The quilt lay across his sleeping chest, and the beauty of this restful moment enveloped me as I stood, quietly watching.

Always one to browse and soak in Impressionist paintings, an image floated through my mind as I lingered, a painting by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. I suddenly saw the moment as a painting.

As an artist – well, really, as a human – I try to pay attention. To notice and find the beauty and wonder in everyday moments. To value everyday moments, because that is where life is, and life is so short. When I see it, I try my best to capture what I have seen, what I have felt, what I have imagined. Sometimes it is easy, like a quick doodle to capture a snapshot in the day; sometimes it requires more effort.

In this case, I used gouache for the second time in my life, and sought to blend the images of Toulouse-Lautrec’s painting with the quiet, colorful moment of a child’s afternoon nap. It’s not perfect, but it captures a hint of what I saw as I stood in my room, and it is always a gift to try something new.

The Nap, gouache on board

The Nap, gouache on board

“The artist is a receptacle for emotions that come from all over the place: from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider’s web.”  –Pablo Picasso

Southern Hygge

Mary Liz Ingram —  January 19, 2015 — 2 Comments

This weekend has left several improving marks upon my life.

It began with a challenge: an attempt to clarify a fuzzy whisper in my mind.

Feeling another step in the right direction of living well in my place, it tickled the edges of my thoughts. The many tasks and routines and duties of daily life crowded out any understanding. For the weekend, I decided an easy and concrete way to lessen the buzz and listen to life is to set aside the smart phone. You know how it is these days…our children telling us stories or asking us questions while we continue staring at the screen, looking for who knows what.

Be present, original photographyIt started with a sentence: “Be with the ones who are here.”

I added it to my phone’s lock screen photo, my favorite photo. Each time I lift it and push the magic button, I am reminded to be present. Most often, I put the phone down. I needed nothing; just an idle addiction to “news” and “notification.” When the timing is appropriate and I am the only one here, I browse. Friday afternoon happened upon an article introducing cultural concepts from outside the US. Several of these ideas struck chords in my heart and set off a light bulbs in my mind. I ate up as much information as I could to understand (and correctly pronounce) these new terms.

It begins with an “H”: The Danish Hygge (pronounce something close to “hue-gah”)

A warm, cozy sense of well-being; being grateful for the present moments, for warming, light-filled simple things. Like walks in the woods, bundled in soft clothes. Like a warm cup of tea, or hot chocolate by the fire. Like snuggling on a deep couch with your family, or taking time to pet your dog. Watching your children run and laugh and play down a trail; watching the sun rays through the trees, shining off the puddles and warming your face. A home that exudes welcome. Good friends and good company.

In Denmark, they say this contributes to the Danes being the happiest people on earth. Filling their homes with candles and lights and joy and camaraderie. I ordered some string lights for our home (with Christmas past and hygge not quite celebrated here, they proved hard to come by!) and have candles in mason jars on my mantle…a southern type of hygge. I’m ready to bring warmth to these cold winter months and more peace and awareness into our daily moments.

It starts with an “S”: The Japanese Shinrin-Yoku

Translated as “forest bathing,” we immediately explored this concept of “spending time in the forest and natural areas,” which is supposed to be “good preventative medicine.” On our sunny and mild January Saturday, I loaded up the three kids and headed around the way to our nearby Red Mountain Park. We wove our way through the forest, up and down and around the hilly trails and through the tall, tangled towers of bare trees. We soaked in the forest, the sunlight, the changing earth which darkened the nearer we came to the old iron ore mines. We explored and adventured.

It was good for the soul.

The two children who had earlier been squabbling as we stayed indoors now laughed and ran and chased each other, finding rocks and sticks and life. The mother who was tired, morose and irritable breathed deeply and gazed warmly at the world and with so much love and gratitude at the scampering kids. Can hygge and shinrin-yoku go together? Fusion philosophies, like fusion food? It seems that way.

There is so much to learn in the world; so many ways to improve our lives so that in turn, we may improve the lives of others. In our fast, competitive, needy American life, these slowing, peaceful, contented cultural concepts sound like good medicine. I already feel a difference in my life, just from the first days of appreciative attempt. I wish the same for you, along with a warm and welcoming winter.

Explore, original photography

Explore, original photography

 

Recently I had a cool opportunity to share about creating portraits for my sweet friend Julie Holly’s sermon serie, The Faces of Jesus, at Canterbury United Methodist Church here in Birmingham.

Now, my nerves were threatening to get the best of me as soon as my den was overtaken with a big ol’ camera, a bunch of bright lights, and I got hooked up to a microphone. But thanks to the kind cameraman, I did my thing as best I could.

I hesitated to share the video, you know how we humans pick ourselves apart, but they did such a good job making it, and it’s not everyday you get to share what you do in a video, so here goes nothing:

The Garden

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 23, 2014 — 5 Comments

For months, I’ve been consumed with my latest project:

My fabulous front yard garden.

I’ve researched, I’ve measured, I’ve sketched and planned. I’ve shoveled dirt, I’ve carried rocks, I’ve moved buckets and buckets of soil. I’ve planted, I’ve watered, I’ve problem solved, I’ve watched food grow, I’ve eaten produce from my front yard.

With my trusty helpers, including the 2 year old, we have made my dream a reality and I have to admit I am super proud – giddy even. If you follow my blog, you may remember my post from St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, when I was first inspired to plant the garden. Well, I’m happy to say I DID IT. I did it!!! And if you follow me on Facebook, you’ve been barraged with garden doodles.

In planting, I tried to be responsible – environmentally, economically and practically. After a persistent search, I found an amazing deal on recycled fire bricks ($25 a ton!) to edge my garden. I ordered a huge dump truck load of soil at the best price. I compost and I now own a $40 rain barrel. I ordered non GMO seeds ($.99 sample packs!) from seedsnow.com and they grew. I shop at my local Homewood Garden Shop and have healthy blueberry bushes and lovely plants.

I worked my butt off building and planting this garden.

Beginning at the end of August, in the Alabama heat, I made it happen with my ever-present garden buddy. My kids, especially my son, now understand exactly where food comes from and how to grow it and care for it. My son waters it, pulls grass out of it, harvests the radishes, and takes a walk through it every time I open the door.

My garden is planted to grow community.

I didn’t know how that would work, but the first day I was out there I had real conversations with a dozen people, neighbors and passers-by. I share food with my neighbors and have met all sorts of new people. My kids tell anyone who asks about the plants growing, and I find that food is an easy thing to discuss, a common denominator.

My favorite story happened a few weeks ago. As we walked home from school, I began talking to an older lady about rosemary, as our kids were smelling it by someone’s mailbox. I just made a quick comment, not aiming at anything, not trying too hard. A few words later, we were talking about my garden. She was interested and missed her garden, as she said, “in my country, we have sun everyday and I grow many plants.” As we parted ways, I told her to stop by anytime and see the garden and take some herbs.

A week later, she stopped me at the corner with her two grandsons and asked if they could walk down to see the garden. On our short stroll, I find out they are from Haiti, and that her entire family was there during the earthquake except for her. She had arrived in the US four days before the quake for a wedding, and was plagued with anxiety over the separation at such a time. I now know her name, I know a portion of her amazing story, and the kids all ran together along the stepping stones of my garden.

Growing something, overcoming obstacles (like cats, cabbage worms, flooding rains, aphids…), being faithfully attentive and persistent…you learn things from gardening. About life, about children, about the world. I feel at peace and connected to nature when I’m checking the leaves and hearing the spray of water hitting the thick pile of green collards. It is a small miracle to see a snow pea sprout and grow out of the dirt, mere days after planting. There are more benefits to this garden than I can name.

My Garden Doodles thus far:

 

 

3rd Grade

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 20, 2014 — 1 Comment
Homework, ink doodle

Homework, ink doodle

I’m slowly realizing as the days go by, that with the advent of my daughter entering 3rd grade, things are rapidly changing.

3rd grade is hard.

3rd grade does not mess around.

3rd grade means more homework and less fun.

3rd grade math makes me feel dumb sometimes.

3rd grade means my daughter is passing out of the “little kid” stage into something else…some fuzzy middle area before the preteen stage (*gasp*).

But she’s still only 8, almost 9. And she is a rockstar.

And I love her.

And I have to help her with a lot of terrible homework.

But we’re in it together.

Reading, ink doodle

Reading, ink doodle

Dominoes

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 17, 2014 — 2 Comments

With a ramekin of Raisinets and a game of dominoes carefully laid, we sit in a quiet house changed by time. Same waxy table and wooden chairs, same salt shaker, same floors, same smells, different people.

I used to be the small child playing on my grandparents’ floor in this den. My grandmother would be cooking in the flagstone kitchen, the smell of southern specialties like no other filling our noses and making our stomachs growl. My grandfather would be sitting in his navy recliner, telling us about the fish mounted on the wall or his latest wood-working project. Chipmunks and birds scurried and hopped on the flowered mountainside out the tall windows.

Dominoes, detail, watercolor

Dominoes, detail, watercolor

But today a different crew sits with elbows on the table. My grandfather runs this house now and acts as eager host. My grandmother rests not far away, getting the care she needs in a different place. My two oldest children make their own memories with their great grandfather in this same room, with a tournament of dominoes and hors d’oeuvres of sardines on crackers with tabasco. My daughter turns up her nose, as expected, but my son forms a bond of sardines with Paw Paw, the only two to enjoy such a treat.

Seven games later and snacks devoured, memories are made, added to, reflected upon. A special time for my kids; a bittersweet time for me. Time moves and carries on, we age and change, get busy and get lonely. Too long we wait to visit, too little we think of others as we go about our days.

Domino games and mismatched snacks don’t come often enough, and it is so hard to change. My emotions ebb and flow as I create this picture. Thinking of the old and the young, my life and my past, the simple things that can mean so very much if we just pay attention.

Dominoes, 12x12 watercolor

Dominoes, 12×12 watercolor

Dia de Los Muertos

Mary Liz Ingram —  October 12, 2014 — 4 Comments

Day of the Dead bannerLast night my husband returned from San Antonio, bearing gifts and stories and impressions. He’s been before, but this time, his trip was marked by a tradition somewhat unfamiliar:

Dia de Los Muertos, the Day of the Dead.

Sure, we know what it is: the (mostly) Mexican tradition of honoring ancestors, remembering and celebrating their life and welcoming their spirits return for the celebration, the night of October 31st through November 2nd. We see images of decorated, colorful skulls, skeletons, flowers, and ofrendas. But being the Scotch-Irish Americans we are, it is not a part of our culture or yearly celebration.

When our son received his San Antonio t-shirt with a decorated skull on the front, he knew instantly the significance, thanks to elementary school Spanish class. When I unfurled my Day of the Dead banner, our daughter gasped and clapped, remembering the same recent lesson at school.

I then realized, I’m a little rusty on the full comprehension of this fascinating cultural celebration…. So I researched and read. I love gathering information, understanding and absorbing new experiences. In my reading, I came across this:

“Day of the Dead is becoming very popular in the US – perhaps because we don’t have a way to celebrate and honor our dead.”

Day of the Dead seems so macabre, mysterious. Seeing kids with candy skulls and toy coffins, skeletons riding bicycles, painting faces to look like skulls…it’s not what most of my demographic is used to. Death is to be feared. When someone we love dies, we try to move past it, push it away, we try to forget about death and just remember life.

With Dia de Los Muertos, something sad and scary is made beautiful, colorful, full of life and celebration. Through art, music and life, the dead are remembered, not just at one funeral, but every year. Hmmm. It makes you think…

In reflection, I drew a self-portrait this morning.

Self Portrait, ink

Self Portrait, ink

 

Then I redrew it, and through the magic of art, added “Sugar Skull Face Paint.” It’s hard to see a skull and not think “creepy”; death makes us uncomfortable, or at least it makes me uncomfortable.

But it is part of life, and life in all its forms is to be celebrated.

Dia de Los Muertos, ink & marker

Dia de Los Muertos, ink & marker

 

 

 

Summer Rain

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 28, 2014 — Leave a comment
Rainy Day, ink doodle

Rainy Day, ink doodle

The sweet, hot smell of the first drops of a summer rain

Like an old friend we welcome it back and it steams off the baked asphalt

We inhale the familiar scent of renewed life

Saved from drought, the parched earth soaks up every drip

We rush outside in our bare feet, my little one giggles at the spray

The rain trickles down her nose, curls her wet hair and it plasters to her cheeks

Water beads on her little arms and drips off her chubby elbows

All smiles, dimples, rain and dirt, she plays with sticks

She stirs mud with her toes, the ground that was hard and dusty minutes before

A good summer rain that restores the dry soul

It lifts drooping leaves and greens the earth with life like resurrection

“Love in this world doesn’t come out of thin air. It is not something thought up. Like ourselves, it grows out of the ground. It has a body and a place.” -Wendell Berry

Blueberries, ink doodle

Blueberries, ink doodle

Listening to Old Crow Medicine Show, I’m standing in the kitchen in a summer dress and apron, hair pulled up and wrapped round with a yellow bandana scarf, barefoot in good Alabama style.

A colander full of fresh-picked blueberries from the farm, I begin to make a big double batch of blueberry muffins, ready to share with my neighbors and family…aiming for a little Southern hospitality.

I’m thinking of my “sense of place”…what that means to me, what is my place.

I may feel a pull to other places, such as the free hills of Britain, but here, standing in my kitchen in the middle of a hot, Southern summer, I am in the middle of my life.

I stir my muffin batter and dump in my blueberries, wondering what good I can do in this complicated, messy, humid, growing  city of Birmingham, Alabama.