Category Archives: shards

Fragments, Forms & Layers, Part One

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Series Introduction 

This week, the remarkable artist and teacher Crystal Marie Neubauer invited me to talk with her online group about my work. It was an honor — Crystal’s influence on my creative life goes back years — but it also presented a surprising challenge. How do you describe an art practice that moves through so many materials and forms? Encaustic, collage, fiber, clay, found objects… I’ve never been a one-medium artist, and trying to explain everything at once felt impossible.

Then I realized that my work isn’t united by medium at all. It’s united by object and intention — by the forms that keep reappearing no matter what materials I’m using. And when I stepped back, three clear paths emerged:

  • Santos & Shards — guardians, icons, and the stories held in fragments

  • Vessels — boats, bowls, pods, and the metaphor of holding

  • Layered Images — collage, wax, and the quiet revelations inside transparency

These three paths intertwine across everything I make. They shape how I think about narrative, memory, devotion, protection, and the unseen layers beneath the surface.

This three-part blog series grows out of that conversation with Crystal and her community — an invitation to look more closely at where my work comes from, how it evolves, and how other artists might find echoes of their own practice in these structures.

Taos Ceramic Center Workshop – Shards and Santos

Part 1: Shards & Santos — Stories from the Broken and Blessed

A three-part series on Fragments, Vessels & Layers

We rarely begin with a whole story. More often, meaning appears in pieces — a scrap of paper, a chipped relic, a bit of fabric softened by time. Over the years, I’ve learned that these fragments are not the leftovers; they’re the invitations.

This first post in my three-part series returns to the roots of an idea that has shaped much of my work — and shaped the work of many artists I’ve taught, especially during my Shards & Santos workshop in Taos. That circle of students helped me see just how universal the language of fragments can be.

How Shards Become Stories

In my own practice, fragments arrive like clues: a small clay face, a scrap of rusted tin, a wooden bit that once held something together. But in Taos, I watched my students discover that same moment of recognition — the instant a found object becomes a story seed.

One student picked up a cracked porcelain doll arm and immediately said, “She’s reaching for something… I don’t know what yet.” Another wound red thread around a bundle of broken twigs, transforming it into a line of healing. Someone else combined milagros and fabric scraps into a small guardian who looked both ancient and brand new.

Their work reminded me that the power of fragments isn’t personal to me — it’s common to all of us who rely on intuition, accident, and memory to guide the creative process.

Santos, Spirit Figures & the Art of Devotion

My own santos and spirit figures grew from this love of broken, found, and humble materials. They echo the devotional folk traditions of the Southwest and northern New Mexico, where handmade imperfection is embraced as a sign of humanity.

In Taos, my students instinctively reached for the same archetypes — watchers, keepers, protectors. Their figures weren’t copies of mine; they were something deeper: their own histories embodied in small forms. Some appeared fierce. Some gentle. Some humorous and unexpected. But each one performed an act of trust and devotion: taking what is overlooked and turning it into things that matters.

Teaching in Taos: A Circle of Making and Mending

The workshop gave me a front-row seat to the creative courage required to work with fragments. No one started with a clear plan. Everyone started with pieces.

And I saw how quickly the shards guided them:

  • An animal bone became the spine of a tiny santo.

  • A found seed pod became a symbol of protection.

  • A scrap of handwritten ledger paper held the echo of an unknown voice.

These transformations reminded me that assemblage is not just a technique — it’s a way of mending meaning.

Inviting You Into the Studio Conversation

Even if you weren’t in that room in Taos, these ideas belong to you too. Artists everywhere — no matter the medium — work with fragments. Sometimes they are literal (material scraps, failed starts, bits of old work). Sometimes they are emotional or intuitive (memories, glimpses, unfinished thoughts).

From the presentation to Crystal’s Group

So here are some invitations for your own practice:

  • What three fragments are asking for your attention right now? Do they go together or are they separate stories – a series, perhaps?

  • What part of something incomplete could become the beginning of something new?

  • How might you create your own guardian figure — a studio santo — from the materials around you?

The beauty of working with shards and fragments is that nothing has to be whole to be meaningful. The “broken” thing is already full of story. Your job — our job — is simply to listen and find its true companions.

Looking Ahead

Next week, in Part Two, I’ll share the second path in this creative trio: Vessels — how boats, bowls, pods, and containers have shaped my work and helped me think about what we hold, carry, and protect.

Cultivating “Enoughness”

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Every once in a while, a word drops into my lap and refuses to let go. This week it was enoughness. I first used it when talking with our Enso Circle Continuing Residents about wabi-sabi and the endless challenge of cleaning and organizing a studio.

Here were those observations about the difference between “normal” intent and “wabi-sabi” mindset:

Conventional Studio Clean-Up
  • Striving for order: Every tool in its perfect drawer, every scrap of paper sorted or discarded.
  • All-or-nothing mindset: Belief that the studio must be fully “finished” before any new work can happen.
  • Stress and guilt: Overwhelm at the clutter, shame for letting it get “out of control.”
  • Time sink: Hours (or days) spent chasing an idealized, showroom-ready workspace.
Wabi-Sabi State of Mind
  • Enoughness: Accepting that some piles, stains, or chaos are part of a living, creative space.
  • Incremental rhythm: Tidying in small, mindful gestures that create breathing room without demanding perfection.
  • Compassion for self: Seeing clutter not as failure, but as evidence of energy, exploration, and process.
  • Organic order: Letting the studio evolve toward usefulness and comfort, rather than an imposed ideal of spotless control.

Enoughness. Funny word. But the more I sat with it, the more it started to echo through my own art practice.

Enoughness is not about settling. It’s not shrugging and saying, “Well, that’s good enough, I’ll just stop here.” Instead, it’s a sense of completion that comes when a work, a studio, or even a moment feels whole—alive—without needing to be flawless. It’s the place where beauty and imperfection meet.

As I’ve been creating the shard-based assemblages for our upcoming Taos exhibition, I’ve been struck by how the broken pieces seem to carry this truth. A shard of clay, a fragment of a vessel—these are not discarded failures. They are clues. They invite me to listen and to assemble them into a new wholeness that doesn’t erase the breakage but celebrates it.

This assemblage is a conversation in fragments: a face, a hive, antlers, fish, stars. None of these pieces were “whole” when I found them, yet together they created a balance that felt complete. I remember pausing as I worked, holding another small object in my hand, and realizing that if I added more, the story would start to unravel. That moment was enoughness—when the piece declared itself “finished”, not because it was perfect, but because it had found its voice.

Here, the clay face rests beneath the word encanto and a small bird. The cracks and weight in the features carry their own gravity, so when I tried to “fix” the balance with additional adornments, the power of the piece diminished. The bird and the word were all that was needed. Enoughness is sometimes choosing silence over noise.

This assemblage reminds me how enoughness is about honoring the fragments for what they are. Rusted tin, clay shards, a hive filled with crystals—each is incomplete on its own. Together, they form a shrine that feels both fragile and eternal. Enoughness comes when the materials themselves breathe, and I don’t need to push them further.

When I’m working, there’s always the temptation to keep adding more: another layer, another fragment, another mark. But the piece itself tells me when it’s had enough. That moment of recognition—that quiet knowing—is enoughness. To go further would risk dulling the spark. To stop short would leave it unresolved. Enoughness is the balance point, the breath between too much and not enough.

This is where wabi-sabi sneaks in. The Japanese aesthetic of imperfection and impermanence reminds us that cracks and scars are not flaws to hide, but part of the story. Enoughness is wabi-sabi in motion, the living edge where a work becomes whole not despite its fragments, but because of them.

As I gather shards and build these new assemblages, I’m reminded that enoughness is not only about art—it’s about life. A studio doesn’t need to be pristine to be ready. A piece doesn’t need to be perfect to be powerful. And perhaps we don’t need to be flawless to be whole.

So here’s a reflection for you, SHARD readers:
How do you know when your work—your art, your home, your life—has reached enoughness? Not perfect. Not abandoned. But complete in its storytelling.

The Pause: Take a moment. Let it be enough

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This is the next in a series of summer posts using the in-progress Enso Circle oracle cards that I’m working on to help myself keep consistently grounded in studio practice and creative community. Thanks for being part of that. Read on.

In the wake of the recent floods here in Texas, we find ourselves reeling not only with grief, but with a sense of helplessness. As artists, our instinct is often to respond: to create, to express, to offer solace through our work. We feel the call to stay on the path, to keep moving forward, to do something with our hands that might help mend the world.

But there are moments when even that noble impulse must yield to something deeper—stillness. Not from a lack of inspiration or purpose, but from a need to let the weight of the world settle gently into our hearts without resistance. To let silence be a kind of medicine.

This is not a surrender. It’s a sacred pause—a conscious act of rest and reflection that allows us to absorb what we need before we continue on with renewed meaning and strength. We do not stop because we are lost—we pause because we are listening.

This another early Enso Oracle card that I created several months ago, but it seems really appropriate right now.

THE PAUSE

The Pause – When Stillness Is the Bravest Choice

Keywords: Stillness · Restoration · Listening · Grace

Interpretation (Upright):
The Pause arrives not as an absence, but as a presence—quiet, whole, and necessary. It invites you to step away from motion, not because you are uninspired, but because your spirit knows when to rest. Like a hush between notes in music, this moment of stillness holds space for something sacred: integration, healing, and gentle awareness. In the midst of life’s turbulence, this card reminds you that you are allowed to stop. To be. To listen. Rest is not retreat—it is preparation. In the pause, your deeper knowing rises. Let it.

Interpretation (Reversed):
When reversed, The Pause may reveal a deep discomfort with stillness—an inner urgency to do something, especially in times of sorrow or upheaval. You may feel desperate to help, to fix, to create meaning out of heartbreak. But this impulse, though noble, can become a way of avoiding your own need to rest and receive. Not every response must be immediate. This card asks you to allow space for presence before action. Choose grace over urgency. Trust that your quiet awareness now will shape deeper, more meaningful offerings later.

Reflection Questions:

  • When was the last time you truly allowed yourself to be still?
  • What emotions or insights have you been too busy to feel?
  • What would it mean to pause—not out of weakness, but out of wisdom?

Affirmation:
I honor the stillness between moments. In rest, I restore my light.

What happens after the Pause?

You don’t simply go back to work. You go forward—with a steadier heart, clearer eyes, and a deeper sense of intention. The stillness doesn’t erase grief or uncertainty, but it softens the way you carry them. You may begin again slowly. Gently. You may write one word, make one mark, sweep your studio floor, or sit beside your worktable and simply breathe. That is enough.

The Pause is not a break from your path—it is a sacred moment within it.

Things to think about when you need to pause:

  • I don’t need to solve everything right now
  • This moment is enough—I am safe to just be.
  • Stillness is not emptiness—it is where I gather strength.

Previous Enso Circle oracle card posts:

THE CRACKED CUP

THE SHINY OBJECT

THE HUMP

THE WANDERER

The Shared Spark: Morphic Resonance and Creative Synchronicity

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Rupert Sheldrake, English biologist, biochemist, and author

One of my all-time favorite books is The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, by Rupert Sheldrake. It inspired this week’s Enso Oracle card, The Shared Spark.

Sheldrake’s theory of morphic resonance proposes that memory and habits are not stored only in brains or genes, but rather in collective fields called morphic fields. These fields carry information across time and space, influencing patterns of behavior and form. According to this idea, once something is learned or created, it becomes easier for others to learn or create something similar—not by imitation, but by tapping into a shared field of information.

This theory helps explain the uncanny phenomenon where two writers, artists, or inventors—working separately and unaware of each other—can arrive at the same idea simultaneously. They may be tuning into the same morphic field, where certain creative patterns or insights are “in the air,” accessible to anyone open to them. In this way, creativity may be less about ownership and more about resonance.

In her book Big Magic (another favorite), Elizabeth Gilbert recounts beginning a novel set in the Amazon rainforest—she was passionate about it, got a publishing deal, did deep research… then life pulled her away. After nearly two years, when she tried to return, the inspiration was gone. Then she met Ann Patchett, who revealed that she was writing a strikingly similar novel, also set in the Amazon—with no awareness of Elizabeth’s project. The idea… “migrated” to the mind of her friend and fellow writer, Patchett, where it grew into that author’s bestselling novel set in the Amazon jungle, State of Wonder.

Think about this : What if the creative idea that arrives unbidden—just as someone else is working on the same thing—comes not from your mind alone, but from a deeper field we all share? Jung called it the collective unconscious, a psychic ocean of universal symbols (archetypes) and instincts. Rupert Sheldrake, in The Rebirth of Nature, offers a complementary vision: that ideas and forms can resonate across individuals through invisible morphic fields.

The Shared Spark oracle card lives at the intersection of these two ideas—a visual embodiment of the moment when something ancient and collective sparks simultaneously in two separate souls.

The Shared Spark
aka The Echo Field

Keywords: Synchronicity, resonance, collective insight, unseen connection, simultaneous inspiration

Meaning:
When The Shared Spark appears, it reminds you that ideas do not exist in isolation. You are tapping into something larger—a morphic field of thought, memory, and form that transcends location and time. Whether you’re mid-project or just beginning, this card affirms that what you’re creating is part of a greater, invisible dialogue. Others may be receiving similar sparks right now—not because of imitation, but because you are attuned to the same current. Celebrate the wonder of this resonance. It means you’re exactly where you need to be.

In a reversed position, The Shared Spark invites you to release possessiveness or fear that someone else “got there first.” Comparison and self-doubt can cloud your unique contribution. Remember, even if the concept is shared, your expression is singular. Trust that your voice brings something irreplaceable to the field.

Reflection Questions:

  • Where have I experienced a creative idea that felt strangely universal?
  • How can I honor synchronicity without falling into comparison?
  • What unique perspective do I bring to a commonly held insight?

Affirmation:
“I am part of a greater field of vision. What moves through me is shared, but never duplicated.”

MORE ABOUT THIS

I had a note about this very subject last week from my friend and fellow artist and writer, Melanie Childress Reuter whose Made for Grace Arts lives on Substack. She wrote, “When you see my post on Sunday which I wrote nearly two weeks ago, you will wonder how in the world our brains got intertwined. My piece starts out with a story of a lady who keeps going to Michaels to buy supplies for the next latest/greatest. I promise I’m not copying you – lol!!!” Melanie is a master of practical spirituality – you’ll enjoy what she writes.

She referenced both my recent Oracle cards, The Shiny Object and The Hump. We’ve all experienced these things – that’s why these Enso Oracle cards are such a joy to invent. They are based on our real and messy and exhilarating and never-enough-time creative lives.

The Shape of What We Hold

Lately, as you may know, I’ve found myself deeply drawn to the form of the vessel—small boats, pods, bowls, bundles. And I’m not alone. In recent months, I’ve noticed artists, writers, and makers across disciplines turning toward vessels as symbols and structures—sometimes consciously, often intuitively. It’s as if the world is asking us to hold, carry, and contain something tender, transitional, and vital.

According to Rupert Sheldrake, this is no coincidence. When a form or idea begins to emerge in multiple places at once, it may be a sign of morphic resonance in motion—a shared energetic field where meaning is coalescing and transmitting itself through the minds and hands of many. Perhaps the vessel is not just a form, but a frequency.

Why now? Maybe because we are navigating uncertain waters, and the act of making a vessel—literal or symbolic—is a way of reclaiming our ability to gather, protect, and offer. It’s not just about what the vessel is. It’s about what it makes space for.

Which brings me to something I’m especially excited about:

My new online course, Vessels and Spirit Ships, will launch in just a few days on my Teachable site. This project has been in the works for nearly a year, and it’s full of all the things I’ve been exploring—wax, thread, paper, memory, metaphor, and mystery. If The Shared Spark speaks to you, I think this class will too.

Stay tuned. The tide is rising.

PS. If you’d like to take a look at Rupert Sheldrake’s book, The Rebirth of Nature: The Greening of Science and God, you can find it here on Google Books.

Butterfly carrots and pumpkin shepherds

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Words are becoming increasingly important in my recent work, both as design components and as inspirations. I’m honestly not sure why, maybe it’s because I’ve been rediscovering some of my beloved Abstract Expressionist heroes  when I was an undergraduate art student — Larry Rivers and Robert Rauschenberg. Those guys were amazing.

Parts of the Face: French Vocabulary Lesson 1961 Larry Rivers 1923-2002

Robert Rauschenberg, Metropolitan Museum of Art is an offset Lithograph poster made in 1970.

Sometimes the words I’m finding are strange and somewhat obscure, like “hiraeth,” the Welsh word that inspired this series, which is now complete and will be shown at my solo exhibit next Saturday. I’ll post those soon.

Sometimes the words are both inspiration and visual elements. I’ve just completed five “story banners” which will also be shown in the exhibit. These were partially inspired by two of three random words from a vintage child’s stamp set that was a gift from my friend Jean. I talked about those delightful word stamps in an earlier post, and am still discovering ways to use them.

Look at these words that are available in the old stamp set – limited but evocative. Picking any two or three can can conjure stories that blend nostalgia and weirdness and wonder. Try it! Butterfly carrots?? Pumpkin shepherd??

For a narrative artist like me, this is gold! And when these words are combined with synthographic and vintage images in fiber and mixed media, the results are really intriguing.

Here are the five banners. Each one is about 14×24″ with layers of fabric and images and old milagro charms.

Lyn Belisle, Mother Nest, 2024

Lyn Belisle, Seven Horse, 2024

Lyn Belisle, She Know, 2024

Lyn Belisle, We Were Sisters, 2024

Lyn Belisle, Little Tiger, 2024

During this process, I continue to learn that “shards” can be more than just pieces of stuff for assemblage – they can be scraps of fabric and synchronistic words that appear from unusual places. And these “shards”—whether bits of fabric, stray words, or found objects—are fragments of meaning waiting to be woven into something whole.

By embracing them, we give ourselves permission to see beyond the ordinary, to let coincidence and curiosity guide us. In this way, each piece or word becomes part of a larger narrative, inviting us to craft stories that feel both ancient and freshly our own, across any medium we choose. And then it’s up to the viewer to join us in figuring out these stories in a way that speaks to them. What fun!

Thanks for reading!!

Creative Circle Power – want to join?

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I’ve just returned from Taos, New Mexico and a wonderful teaching experience at the Taos Ceramics Center. For two Saturdays, I worked with eight students who inspired each other with their generosity, support, and insights. It reminded me strongly that the power of a group of artists is almost infinite.

Sharing and discussing one’s art is a slippery subject, kind of like trying to nail Jello to a wall. But we know what we love when we see it, even if we can’t describe in words our instant connection to a painting, a sculpture, or, in the case of our workshop, an earthenware Santo.

But when an artist creates within in a group environment, a certain magic happens – conversation flows, ideas emerge, support abounds. This is what Michelle Belto and I have experienced during the first two twelve-week terms of our virtual artist’s residency program called The Enso Circle. 

If you apply to The Enso Circle and are accepted, you will have access to workshop sessions, a private online library of resources, regular Zoom critiques and group discussions, and presentations with guest artists. During the three months there will be opportunities to share your work in process, troubleshoot stuck points, get positive and supportive feedback, and meet one on one with Lyn and/or Michelle. The residency will culminate in a shared online exhibition and catalogue.

Here is a link to the exhibition catalog from the Spring Residency. You can see the amazing variety of media and creative levels. One thing these residents had in common was a commitment to twelve weeks of guided support  toward a self-described goal.

We are now in the tenth week of the second residency with twelve new artists, all of whom are successfully completing their goals and ready to show their work in a new Summer Exhibition Catalog.

Michelle and I would like you to consider joining us in The Enso Circle for the fall term. There is a limit of twelve residents and each person must apply for admission. If you think this might be right for you, please go to our Enso Circle Website and read more about it. You can apply right from our webpage.

And if you’re not sure, we will happily put you in touch with a current or past Enso Circle Resident Artist who can tell you more about it from their standpoint. Remember, applications are coming in and we are closing that window on October 8th. You are invited to join us.

Now, I can’t wait to tell you more about my great experience in Taos, and a follow-up workshop I’m planning called Shards and Santos — with Paper Clay.

Thanks for being in MY creative circle. When creative people support each other, magic happens. Here’s a photo of my friend, artist Linda Rael, and me after productive a day in the Taos workshop. See those smiles? Happiness is the power of the circle!

♥Lyn, glad to be back home

 

 

 

 

Shards and Santos, Clay and Collage

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Happiness is teaching in Taos!

A week from tomorrow, I’ll be at the Taos Ceramics Center working with students in my Shards and Santos Workshop. The class takes place on two consecutive Saturdays – here’s a description.

In this workshop, we will create personal assemblages inspired by these iconic figures of Santos. In the first class, we will construct handmade textured slab-based clay components such as heads, bodies, and enhancements. We will also learn to make hand-crafted clay press molds. These components will be fired once.

Here are some examples of assorted assemblage components that I’m taking with me – honestly, working in assemblage is just like working in collage, only a bit more dimensional:

Continuing the workshop description —

The next week, we will build our figure, incorporating found objects such as bones and shells and bleached twigs into the final assemblage and perhaps include cherished objects and hidden words. We will explore the limitless possibilities of cold finishes, such as metallics and beeswax, to enhance the surfaces of the unglazed earthenware.

These santos, below, are in progress, and I’ll use them to show how the components are put together.

Since we will not be glazing and re-firing the shard components, I’ve been experimenting with cold finishes for fired clay for the last couple of weeks.

One of the most successful combinations I’ve discovered is Pearl Ex powder by Jacquard mixed with Gamblin Cold Wax Medium.  You can control the translucency and the color saturation, then buff the wax finish. It’s exciting to see how well it works on bisqueware.

 

Another technique I’m playing with is tube acrylic paint mixed with a bit of cornstarch to dull the finish.

In the sample below, the acrylic mixture mimics the look of Gilder’s Paste at about half the cost and with less potential toxicity.

This kind of experimentation is part of the fun of planning a workshop. And then I get to share with new people!

I’m grateful to the Taos Ceramics Center for inviting me – and at this writing, there’s just one spot left, so if you need a quick get-away, come on up to the mountains of New Mexico!

 

A Walk-in-the-Woods Workshop?

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2020 was surely The Plague Year (and we’re still being extra-cautious), but it did get a lot of us outside, walking and exploring nature. That’s a good thing. Decades ago I discovered that walking worked well for me as meditative thinking time – plus I find lots of cool stuff along the way. And sometimes it seemed that the cool stuff was left there especially for me to find.

You may remember the wonderful photo collection of composed found objects that artist friends contributed to my website in 2019. Here’s that link, and here’s one of my favorite compositions (this one is by Marilyn Jones)

Marilyn Jones, Found Objects

This kind of collecting is nothing new for me. One of my signature techniques is embedding sticks and other natural objects into my assemblages – there’s just something mythical about material found outdoors “by accident”.

Sometimes, I even construct pieces almost totally from found objects and natural material, such as this piece called Bone Tea.

Lyn Belisle, “Bone Tea”

It was influenced by my friend Shannon Weber, whose work with natural materials makes me swoon.

Shannon Weber

So all of this leads up to a new workshop that I’ve just posted on my Teachable Studio site. It’s called Sacred Serendipity:Nature Shrines and Assemblages.

Collecting things from nature and assembling them as art is a long and honorable practice.

If you’ve ever read Ann Morrow Lindbergh’s Gift from the Sea, you know how she describes different seashells as stages in a woman’s life – the oyster shell, covered bumps and lumps but still smooth and beautiful on the inside.

This is a workshop for anyone who has ever found a pine cone, a smooth rock, or a red and gold leaf and brought it home in gratitude and wonder.

There are several free preview videos, including one of me being very goofy in the woods across the street from my house, pretending to “find” objects. But I think the real beauty of this workshop lies in the techniques about arranging and attaching natural objects to a small canvas. This gives you so much leeway to create your own small Shrine to Nature.

I also show you step-by-step how to make a mold from a natural object and then cast it with paper clay – you can do faces this way, as well. The class fee is a mere $29, and you can start and stop whenever you like. The lessons are yours forever – or at least as long as the Internet lasts. Think of this as the cost of a bag of groceries but with more lasting results!

Workshop Preview Link

So here’s to a walk on the wild side – and the natural treasures that we “accidentally” find there. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

Shards, Scrolls, and Synchronicity

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The concept of “Shards” is a foundational inspiration in all my artwork – an idea that helps me trust the creative process and follow where it leads me.

To me, Shards are synchronistic fragments that hint at a story, make a collective connection, or suggest a direction. Shards can be objects, or an intangible occurrences. A Shard can be a brief glimpse of something, as well, something that helps you find a direction.

For example, last week I was taking my usual pre-dawn walk in our wooded neighborhood when I saw what I could have sworn was a Nativity creche scene in a distant yard. It was so clear that I could see the roof of the lean-to shelter.

As I got closer, I saw that it was just a string of Christmas lights around somebody’s front door, partially concealed by blowing branches. But the illusion of the creche-like shelter seemed so significant in its clarity. Why that illusion at that time?

I followed that thought-thread as I walked back towards home, considering the whole idea of shelter for travelers, of people who go on journeys to freedom and safety, of how fortunately I was to have a safe destination and a home to return to. I thought about pilgrims and wayfarers, about what it must be like to carry all your belongings with you.

Then came the memory jog. That whole pilgrimage concept reminded me of a series of clay assemblages I had done five or six years ago called “Peregrinos” (Spanish for Pilgrims). It was an age-old theme  that I had I wanted to go back to at the time, but had pushed it to the back of my mind.

Peregrino Series, Earthenware assemblage, Lyn Belisle 2015

Now, though, this Peregrino theme inspired by the mistaken illusion directed me straight to my studio to begin the mixed-media fiber piece I’m working on now. Its working title is The Pilgrim Scrolls. The form is a triptych of canvas scrolls that contain pictures and small relics and memories that represent things we take with us on our journey.

The triptych (so far) has photo transfers of my original Peregrino clay assemblages along with other images and components. It will have smaller scrolls, patches, stitches, and pockets. It speaks to homelessness, but not randomness.

Phototransfer on canvas in progress

Part of the techniques I’m employing, particularly the phototransfer on fabric, came from my recent Prayer Flag workshop, but I would not have been given the Peregrino/Pilgrim theme without the “synchronistic Shard sighting” that was not even what it seemed. I’m really looking forward to completing this work, to seeing where it takes me and what I learn.

During Covid-time, I’ve had more time to think about sources of artistic inspiration, and I want to explore more about my “shards” and other kinds of synchronistic fragments that seem like a secret handshake from a deeply collective and timeless source. There’s always something surprising to discover, and something to say about that discovery.

I’m re-reading a book that I keep coming back to over the years called The Tao of Psychology: Synchronicity and the Self by Jean Shinoda Bolen.

She’s written many books, but this is one of her first, and my favorite. You’ll like the way she explains synchronicity and why sometimes it seems as if we are meant to be in a particular place at a particular time to come across a particular “Shard.” Here’s a link.

UPDATE!

If you’ve read this far, perhaps you’d like to know that I finished Pilgrim Scroll last night – here’s how it turned out – I’m very happy with the way the shards led me!

The Blanket People

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Yesterday I took six orders for earthenware faces from my Etsy shop to the Post Office. They were going out to six different states – Washington, Kansas, Maryland, Illinois, New York, and Texas. As always, I wondered how the faces would be used and whether they would inspire the people who ordered them.

Every so often, I get an answer to that question from someone whose work really lifts my spirit. I wanted to share this one with you.

Brita Rekve

Hi Lyn,

I’ve been thinking about you and how your faces have prompted an whole new direction for me in my work. I have enjoyed the ride and hope it continues. It seems I started with stick figures that came with stories then there was a slight morphing into heads on a stick, very nature based and now I’m creating what I refer to as blanket people…I am so in the groove when this is happening it’s a holy experience. ~~ Brita

Brita sent some pictures with her note, pictures showing wonderful textures and colors:

Brita Rekve

Brita Rekve

I asked her if she would send the Blanket People story that accompanies her soft-sculpture. Here it is:

Blanket People
She lived with sheep and would sit for hours in the field watching them. Named them after cowboys and mountain men. Doc and Wyatt, two of her favorites came to her for chin rubs and endearments and she marveled at the way the sunlight caught in their eyes and offered a glimpse of something ancient. She wove blankets from their fleece. It was such a comfort to bring the blanket to her nose and breath in the spun sunshine and sweet grass, feel the softness of the wool, the gentleness of the animal. Wrapping herself up she felt safe and protected as if all her grandmothers had circled round. She yearned to give this very same feeling to anyone with a sad and weary heart or the suffering of broken dreams. A wrap in the offering of the animals, a circle of grandmother arms, the  comfort and peace of safety and love.
The Blanket People story makes me feel all warm and comforted, even more so when she added:
There is a backstory I will share with you. Prior to the plague I was teaching process painting in my studio.  That’s what the studio was set up for. When we needed to shut down in the spring I started playing with sticks and fiber. It was around the time of a granddaughters high school graduation and I thought I’d make her a Spirit doll to hang on her wall. One thing led to another. Someone told me about your faces. My studio is a birthing room. I’m blissed out on the people who come to me, some with stories, some without. They come alive and I feel them…  This is a spiritual walk.
PS – Doc and Wyatt moved on to the great pasture in the sky. I’ll always miss them.
Brita is from Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and if you’d like to know more about her Blanket People you can contact at Facebook her under her own name, Brita Rekve, or email her at  fourwingsstudio@gmail.com.
There are some amazing connections going on – right after Brita wrote, I heard from another artist, Barbie Koncher, who lives in Hawaii and does beautiful work using non-traditional methods and indigenous materials. I’ll write about Barbie next.
Stay warm, stay connected, and take good care.
♥Lyn