Off on a real adventure!

In seven hours, I leave for a five day Oregonian Road Trip with four other girls. We will be "adventure boating," river rafting, water sliding, and water-falling. "You only live once." said my very wise friend. I'm going to make the best of this trip.

Soy nuts, chocolate, and via packs?
Check.
Ipod, compilation CD's, notebooks, and sketch pad?
Check.
My clothes, money, and excitement?
Check-checkity-check.

Camera might not work..... let's hope it does! I have confidence in sunshine.... ;)

Lastly: Thank you LORD (and my dear mother) for this one!
Stories are on the rise.
Have a great week!

-abigail

I think spiders are beautiful

Have you ever looked at one? Really looked at a spider?
When I was about 12 or 13, I was still quite fearful of spiders. I made my sister kill them whenever I saw them, I would hide if I knew one was near, and I played the scared, screaming girl quite well. But with every thing that I have ever feared, I have felt the insatiable need to conquer that fear, from eating overly odd foods to pulling the release chord from a 70 foot drop. I feel defeated if I stay afraid.
So, one day as I was searching for a specimen to draw, I decided a spider would be perfect! I picked up a small arachnid from outside and let it scramble all around my hand (I don't believe the little ones bite. Have you ever seen one bite?) I studied it for a long time, and I thought it was gorgeous! I still wonder often what the oblong shapes are that are in their transparent legs...
From that day on, I really haven't feared any spider, not even the black widows I encountered in Mexico. There is something beautiful to be seen in how each living organism functions and is designed. True, spiders have a somewhat frightening appearance (and they can be deadly), and perhaps my fascination is a little odd. But isn't it better to have a lack of fear, than an needless abundance?

Shoe down the River

I believe a journey is awaiting me. I'm on the wings of an adventure. Tail feathers ready for lift off...
Just a week or so ago, I went tubing down a river. Higher than it had been the year before, it traveled faster. At one point, our four tubes, which were tide together, hit a tree root coming off the bank. My foot was caught, and I was whisked off of our safe floating cluster into the cold water.
For a moment I held onto a nearby branch, the water rushing past my face. My shoe had been ripped off. I searched the water for it.
I had to let go. My friends yelled to me. "Get back on the raft! The shoe doesn't matter!"
I swam to them, only a moment later, seeing my Keen just a few feet away, I clammored back for it.
With terribly bruised knees and a cold foot, I came back to my tube. "How can you be so calm?" One of them asked.
I had the shoe. Why should I be otherwise?

It's the little adventures that make things worth it.

Done. Seen. Sold.

Tuesday at 11:00am this painting was sold to Mr. Gray for decoration in his English class.
100$ "Ishmael and Queequeg" inspired by "Moby Dick."
This painting will forever represent the end of an era for me.
10 years I've been in the same place. Yesterday was my last day.
2 years I've had a consistent run of people and activities. Yesterday was the beginning of a breaking mold.
I made a mistake recently. I've made many. I'll make others. This one counted more.

At the same time, this was a learning experience. Every bit. My course is laid out, yet mysterious. I shall go out, create, and discover. I invite you to join me.

So close!

I've been working on a painting for weeks now. It's amazing when you are doing a portrait, and for the longest time it looks like nothing but forms and colours- blurs. But today both my characters became "people." I think it comes with the eyes. They are the windows of the soul, after all.
The painting is of two main characters from "Moby Dick", Ishmael, who is really not described in physical form at all, and Queequeg, an over described (if you know Melville) native man. The two become very good friends. They are tied to one another. Kindred.
This is the first painting I have done that shows a really good likeness to a familiar face. I've done paintings of myself and a few other people, but none of them looked right. They didn't have that spark of "Hey, I know you." This one does.
I'm so excited to finish. It'll be done, photographed, and sold by next week. I'm sad to see it go so quickly.
For all the toil and trouble it brings, painting this makes me know I'm heading in the right direction. This is what I need to do for life. I feel a great pull for it, and there is nothing else I'd rather pursue.

To Dream as Tasha

I believe I wear my dreams on my sleeve. My heart I can hide. My face can hold the furrows and frowns down, yet my dreams are everpresent. They resonate in all that I do, often more than they should. The things that rile me are like diesel for my engine. I begin to rumble and soon enough my only desire is to move. Get things done! Design something better! Start your own! Make your own!
Dream.
Sadly, my motivation is often crumpled by disbelief in my own ability. I know I can learn and do all that I dream, yet even the thoughts of time and energy slow me down to a stop.
Blasted procrastination.
Enthusiasm loses touch with purpose. Too often, my dreams stay around the general area of my mouth, sometimes making their way to the pencil.
This is when I look to others for inspiration. We all need the success stories people have to tell.

Tasha Tudor, an illustrator who recently passed away, made life exactly what she dreamed. When first attempting to publish her illustrated book, she visited every publishing company in New York. Nearly all of them turned her "quaint little pictures" down. All except one. Her illustrations are now loved and seen by many. Depicting an older, yet beloved times, her art has become a staple of children's illustration.
She not only painted a late 19th century time, she lived it. Raising cows, chickens, goats, and little corgys, weaving and making her own clothes, and being mostly self sufficient into her 90's were all things she accomplished while still managing to remain a working artistic icon.
She was who she dreamed to be.

Now, I believe she was rather selfish. She lived alone. She did what she wanted. She was whatever she wanted. She was not open to anybody but a select few, and she often was unaccepting of people
Even still, I admire her.
Through her art she impacted. Through her life she inspired.



















I hope that many, including myself, can learn to dream as she did, yet live beyond ourselves so that we may serve a greater purpose.

I went to Starbucks today,

and there, because it is my birthday, I was going to order an espresso truffle to celebrate.
The lady in front of me inquired, "Who is the birthday girl? Because I would like to buy her drink."
Magic exists.
Expect greatness, and somewhere, you will surely find it.

I had a wonderful day-
especially after that.