Beverly Gordon
  • Home
  • Biography
  • Upcoming Workshops and Programs
  • He[art]Space Blog: Inner Nature Art Adventures
  • Artwork
    • Tierras and other assemblage sculpture >
      • "Reconfigured"--the movie about my work
      • Processing materials
    • Collage
    • Miscellaneous Sculptural Forms
    • Photographs
    • Exhibitions
  • SoulCollageĀ®
    • A sample of my SoulCollage® cards
  • Workshops, Lectures and Teaching
    • Recorded presentations
    • Workshop images and Student Work
    • Art and intuitive spiritual discovery workshops
    • Available services: lectures, workshops, faciltation
    • Ongoing classes: college or adult education
    • Death and Dying
    • A Taste of Past Offerings
  • Writings: books, essays, poems
    • Selected articles, essays and book chapters
    • Academic and Professional Consulting
    • Poetry
    • The Fiber of Our Lives: Why Textiles Matter -- slide show
  • Contact

ENCOUNTERS ON THE ICE AGE TRAIL

10/20/2020

8 Comments

 
Picture
The election madness is roiling around us and we are still dealing with the disappointments and "can't do that now" realities of covid. I've been spending a great deal of time thinking about and dreaming into the new futures that might arise from the collapse of the old period that we are in, trying to find a way to hold light and joy in this time of confusion, anxiety and animosity. In some ways I think I should address that here, but it's not what wants to come forward.  Rather, I am led to share a recent outdoor experience, where I was taking in and being fed by nature, and of course by color and form and texture and the overwhelming artistry of creation.  So here's a tale of a day in the life, and the details that are out there whenever we really look. Take the trail with me and may it lead you to your own creative expression and inspiration (seeing the images in full view is the most effective way to get the feeling--click on them to go through the slideshow).

It was chilly, but the rain had stopped and we wanted to get out to explore. We decided to try a place we had never been, a relatively new section of the Ice Age trail about 25 minutes of out town. (The trail is envisioned as a "thousand mile footpath tracing ice age formations on the landscape." It is far from complete at this time, but grows incrementally as portions of land are ceded or owners grant right-of-way access.) It turned out to be a lovely outing. The terrain kept changing, offering unexpected new experiences in just a few miles, and the sun came out and cast its glow over everything. The variety and sense of bounty the trail offered was especially welcome because the very strong winds we had had for a few days seemed to have blown off the most brilliantly colored leaves, and I was already feeling the desolation of late fall. The brightest red maple leaves had passed, and the purple ash leaves had no intensity. The tree in front of my house (inoculated and safe so far from the emerald ash borer) had turned bright yellow almost overnight, but with the fierce swaying of the branches in the high winds, the colored leaves came furiously swirling to the ground within two days.

But back to the trail. As expected, the path skirted fields and led through forested areas, sometimes following rock formations. The woods were relatively young-- the area had either been lumbered or more intensively farmed at some time in not-too-distant the past--and was dominated by oak and hickory trees. The hills were gentle, as was the dominant color palette: varieties of muted greens, golds and browns, with occasional accents of black, red, orange and purple (swollen pokeberry stems particularly stood out with their bright magentas). When one stood back from the woods, in particular, it presented a soothing autumnal tableau; restful and gentle, it reminded me of a hand-colored sepia photograph.

Picture
I loved the sensual layers of worn-down sandstone, kissed by pastel lichens, and the little micro-environments for ferns, mosses, and spiders. And I loved experiencing the varieties of fungi that are so vital to the forest, and so magical. To fully appreciate them we usually need to change our sense of scale--to enter into their world means getting very close and seemingly small enough to take them in.
The real surprise of this walk was that the trail led from the woods into a cornfield; the path was a wide passage between the rows. Clearly, this was a right-of-way, and totally unexpected.  I had many feelings stepping into this new environment. This was acreage planted in field corn, with soil that had been heavily tilled and probably treated with fertilizer and pesticides. The corn was the type grown to feed the livestock kept in feed lots, or to process into the fructose corn syrup additives found in so many processed foods. It represented everything wrong with our agricultural system--the opposite of the regenerative agriculture that would build strong soil and help sequester carbon and clean our planet. I am learning more about that, and understanding how commitment to that kind of relationship with the land (our mother) is absolutely at the heart of the oneness and unity we must grow into.

Despite the sadness of standing in this manifestation of such short-sighted monoculture and all the implications of not living in a cooperative ecosystem, this part of the trail still brought a gift: a chance to experience this plant with full attention and appreciation. I don't think I had ever lingered in a cornfield at just this time of the growing cycle, when the crop was dried out but not yet harvested (if it had been sweet corn, it would have been cut down long before). There was an accompanying sound---a distinctive whispery crackle that would rise and fall with the intensity of the wind in the dried stalks. There was aesthetic delight in the many shapes and textures, and in the plays of color--subtle variations on the stalks (a deep red at the joints, eggplant hues on the roots) and husks (from a creamy off-white to shades of purple); the sharp contrast between the dark dried-out corn silk and the pale husks; and the bright bright yellow of the crop itself. There was the warmth of the sun shining through the few still-green leaves, and the discovery of the tiny hairs that grew up the stalks, perhaps to protect them, or let in moisture. There was the pleasure in seeing the patterns of the ripe ears, which at this point in the season were in different positions, some playfully pointing toward--or away--from each other, some seemingly following the push of the wind. And the amazing roots, those sturdy mandalas that gripped the ground in no uncertain terms. This is a really strong plant, growing so high and solid in a single season, and, especially because I was there with the observant camera's eye, I was given the chance to fully take it in.
Picture
With this new awareness of corn and sense of her majesty, I had the urge to go out and plant an edible variety, complete with her sisters--beans and squash--like the native people did, and like them to bury a fish in the center of the grouping to add nutrients to the soil. I wanted to treat this plant as she should be, embraced, honored and nurtured, so I could be nurtured too. I also yearned to collect corn silk and husks, and felt some regret that in all the years of proximity to cornfields, I had not gathered this material or used it in my art.

Perhaps I'll still have that opportunity in the future, but in any case it was a visceral reminder of how I relate to these natural environments and materials, wanting to know them as an artist, to show off their essences and help other people see them anew, with eyes of awe.

The final impression from the walk that I want to share today is the patterns and the greens from the just-cut grasses in a field beside another section of the trail, the sweet contours of the land, and (if you can imagine) the fresh scent as those plant essences rose into the air. Every one of these little environments offers gifts; every one has stories to tell, associations to evoke, appreciation to be felt. And they want to be appreciated. I am grateful that I was able to take that in, even in the places where I felt some sadness or sense of disapproval.

I had expected to be including more about some of my art this month, but this is what came forward. There's always more, but I will stop here. It seems appropriate to quote Janet Conner, who recently wrote  these words in her weekly newsletter (see janetconner.com/):
"If it's meant to be sung, sing it. If it's meant to be lived, live it. You have no option but to live the art that wants to be lived." 


That's it: this, today, is the art that is meant to be lived by me.
8 Comments
Susan
10/21/2020 07:05:58 pm

I love the ‘whispery crackle’ of dried cornfields!

Reply
Donna Day link
10/22/2020 05:46:58 am

So much to savor in this piece as it invites us to awaken, see, rejoice, and become one. Beginning with the mysterious photo of corn roots and ending with it fully acknowledged is intriguing and satisfying. Thank you, Beverly!

Reply
elizabeth turner link
10/22/2020 06:54:35 am

Thank you
I so appreciate your eye and openness with these things---the texture of life---it is normalizing and validating for me. I savor much of the same but can berate myself for needing and feeding off the land, and small messages of awe. My thanks...xoxo

Reply
Mary Michal
10/22/2020 07:56:41 am

Beautiful. This calls me to remember my own corn story. My friend who milks cows and lives on the farm where she works is from Mexico, and also has a relationship with corn. In Mexico, the "mushrooms" that grow on corn that has not been treated with chemicals is huitlacoche, a delicacy that is highly prized. One fall day, while we walked along the edge of the cornfield, we found that prize--a veritable feast! It does indeed take deep seeing to find this delicacy and appreciate it. Nourishing in every way.

Reply
Olga Hebert
10/23/2020 01:24:41 pm

Autumn, more than any other season or so it seems to me, holds Nature's hints of what is passing and what is about to come. Thanks for adding the importance of being present in the present of fall. i loved the intimacy of your photography.

Reply
Sheilana
10/23/2020 04:03:36 pm

Great tp connect with you this evening via your posting.... great vibes, Beverly!

Reply
Mina
10/26/2020 10:14:44 am

I so enjoyed walking with you in a corn field, feeling the fall winds and watching Mother Earth’s gifts of beauty. Thanks so much for sharing. Mina

Reply
Dee
11/29/2020 02:10:37 pm

Lovely writings and amazing photos! You are talented in many ways.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    Author:
    Beverly Gordon

    Explorations and unfolding adventures in art, nature and spirit. These are intertwined--my art helps me learn about nature and spirit, and experiences with the natural and spiritual dimensions come through in the art. It's also about being amazed and awestruck--awestruck by the ways nature works, how brilliant and unfathomably huge it all is, and awestruck by what happens when we open to inner guidance. I believe that increasing the sense of appreciation and awe is a way of helping to heal the world. Join me on the path of discovery!

    Archives

    November 2021
    May 2021
    February 2021
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    January 2020
    November 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018

      receive notices of new blog posts by subscribing to my newsletter

    Subscribe to Newsletter

    RSS Feed

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.