It Takes all Kinds

Feeling a sense of accomplishment with some work behind me today. The intention of this work was a demonstration of shapes with their purpose. The paddles behind me in the photo are varied examples of Western Washington tribes with nuances that have function and purpose.

The canoe profile is one that my great great grandfather knew well in his lifetime. A river style canoe made for rivers and inner Puget sound waters.

In my efforts to have a moon as central figure with salmon surrounding with clouds subtle reference in background. Someone once accused me being disciple of Holm. The meaning as if I were a follower of some leader but it was not him as my mentors mentor. I am a student of many people who have taken time to show me the things that have meaning.

I’m forever grateful for the time I had with those here and now another place. In either way the work continues. And even if some of the loved do not recognize me or have confused me. The phrase for Marty Holm is title to this post.

My hope is that thru time and distance. I can share the paddles shaped as if you imagine all that crowd. That many hands of time that existed to arrive to perfected shape of waters and travels.

The paddles unpainted only stained as close to natural place I to the best way I can recall so they adhere to examples of function time and place.

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Content

something made me take paws, to know the place I carved paved over by industry. I saw a rabbit run that made me screech my brakes. I saw in the distance four coyotes pacing under new lamps and a new street.

Reminded of time they were there as thorns brush looking at me carving. Knowing I had nothing to do with them but my work. That was 2010, I want to believe that pack is part of one that is eternal to land that has duty to land. I went as far to pull off the road to see if one would come to me.

put my hand on the pavement, and express my memory of my heritage. One that stayed long enough to be a cars length from me, circled and got called away.

In some way I want to know, our relationship was not so far from broken, my thoughts will always be this.

---

A reminder of four coyotes and a black dog story I know that felt like a myth to me until I have experienced such thing. When I asked my closest known where the grandson of dog in that story is.

it is mystery, I want to think it was me. but the story is not that.

Some place I have time afford to me, work on my hands to do. When I am not social. I have no time because I have obligation.

my heart beats fast as the rabbit that is chased.

a new house will be at the place of our people now. And without me making it’s foundation I am distantly proud of it’s existence as my grandmothers mission was to see a place of belonging for those who need to find themself thru song.

There are songs that people will never know I know and know only with known.

by guard of my life I know in my heart this can be shelter for being and heart.

We as People here are not clan adhere to physical beings as much as songs. The land upon which the house stands was a farm and before it steward and maybe walked by Chief
Sitwell, A literal few would understand my sentiment in my statement. My time is my time and I regard myself as a hand in time grasping what I can understand with what moves me.

Motion and emotion

As the saying goes, once you see it, you can’t unsee it. Perhaps when the era of motion graphics entered a maintstream and found its way into a software I could afford I took it up.

Little did I know many companies would fall at the waste side and their language in coding I was studying would be overwritten by simpler things in record time in measure of time as I consider it.

The Island

I did animate one thing to recall an experience of canoe journey where two whales swam below our canoe once. I recall no one asked me to do it I just had a compelling effort to do so.

All things have to start somewhere.

The video is gone but the ability to make things exists. I’ve learned how tolling and taxing it can be to self fund things and take time to something that may not have pay off but self education and appreciation of peers.

To make the animation 30sec long could probably be done on a phone or tablet.

Steve Jobs once talked about code (as a marketer) that the workers who write may not be recognized by their work that is constantly written over. Something about moving the studio had me looking at cables and adaptors and how quickly things become obsolete.

I suppose that is why the value of the woodwork is so rewarding in knowing it takes time. It can be exhausting to do anything but equally, not stepping away from the work of one discipline will keep another in the back of your mind. Motion graphics are not a profit driven practice as I know it in fine art here because it’s not known yet. I have hopes that it can be something with value if nothing else, appreciated for it’s effort.

All is not Lost

No division but thought. Style of what we make I was humbled by an interview Billy Corgan interviewed the brothers of Stone Temple Pilots in an exploratory intrigue. As I let some things go and let some new things into my life. I’m deeply in debt to the people who have shaped my journey to be where I am discovering new things with an ability to appreciate new things.

I drove around my community because I was to tired to sleep with energy of moving my studio at 3am I saw a place I carved the welcome figure at now a warehouse and four coyotes were pacing their feet on pavement. I had seen them at times peering from the distance when I would carve at that place and hear them howl from time to time.

Making a space to carve on family property, I was feeling an awareness that the childhood I knew of them as demonstrative beings, they were in the woods behind me and on the river bank.

They continue their journey as all things do as we pretend we are somehow more advance.

Whatever fight we may have or fleeting moment we are at a conflict, the day is always turning over somewhere. Fires of Los Angles still effect some friends I know but it becomes old news.

I’m grateful for the work I have in my hands to have purpose and resonate some of what I have ability to do.

Worthy

as much as I am not a fan of mythology. I am one of the DC universe and my inspiration came from my grandfather in appreciation for illustrations from Bernie Wrighson illustration.

from time I was born most people held a sentiment that northern tribes raided our villages and it’s understood in history that happened.

it does not mean that it was long lasting or held even in time of the country when it was in it’s place.

if I am nothing but echo of Leschi or Patkanim

I am what Chehalis might call, grandson of dog. One that picks up where someone was left off that was seen as no value.

the nuance of lines capture by Bernies work well illustrate his understanding and echo of okiyo-e style of line relief.

I made peace with self that I would not draw in those talents, ten years of study looking at what my great grandmother left to me in her time. a nuance perhaps overlook or over ruled. I was moved to understand the time of war when what is not spoken in schooling but upheld by document and true devotion, the individuals that sheltered my grandmother.

knowing this I made point to study the work and her brushes to take on something.

she had small carvings and many writings in music. I studied all of that as a child eldest of my relations. Happy times under the stairs of my grandparents house to figure out her writings when there was nothing but time. Her time is gone but the value of all that is erased is unbreakable. It is part of my existence, my boundaries what I know as person in keep.

to me she holds leadership in my heart a boss, a heat that can never be broken or taken from me.

as I dug foundation in rain with my father, hitting deep enough to find old clam shells. A sentiment of what is not gold but I held in my hands, sands of what might have been by grandpa Bennies time and the map I was trusted with to know, what places were once called.

The place I worked at called tuwadab cheh

the small running water that touches the beach is what I was told.

Linguists would not be kind in correcting me but that is my memory.

whatever differences our people have even within our own family, there is room to grow and learn and be open to thought. In pass of my grandfather, I met many people who gave my insights with patience and endurance to demonstrate their experiences.

when to great pillars were gone I lost myself. I carved a bit but not as I could at my best.

I had foundation of family that helped me through a dark hour. In that experience, I have done my best to carry over such shelter for others in my life.

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The space between distance

Song: Deck Dark by Radiohead

Jeffery Verege

Jeff is an existing star now

far beyond anything i can dream or

imagine

his depiction of Spock

I wanted always for my father

he and I shared brief moments and he

like any artist, share insecurities

and to him i shared my own.

his understanding and design language

a definition of its’ own place

as a shore washes up the sand and

i place myself with my hands folded over my knees

many clouds that cover the moon

and despite it so

i see a small group of raccoons

play in the distant

a breeze from the shore sweep into my face

and i feel the water reach my feat

the water at my eyes walking distance with me

to recall a moment engaged from his universe

Thor and Rocket

Some people are gone, really gone

i could never be the imagination or voice for depiction.

His positive space like Eddy Vedder and me

gravitation to Chris Cornell

Some mutual enemy depicted by Gieger

I have to believe some place

we are a bind not broken but felt by time

in place of you on this earth

i will be the darkest our

the end is no end

I share known to few, sketch concepts and I lost many to theft

what placed itself in my eyes, the thing i would not be

sleep until i know i place it into the world

Some place you are a superhero that will find me

lost and you will help me navigate the universe

until then there is just time and space.

many moons pass but I know there is a distance between us I can only know by feel, when magnetism stands over my hand. I have nothing in monetary value, I have my heart.

I give you my tongue and endurance, my grit and the sand i’ve felt in my hands are time not lost in space. whatever time took you to the place you’ve gone to., I will always be you friend, holding the night time in it’s darkness. you are few and far between to marry and hold you keep as something good, my aim to be half as good.

I know I can not speak for those gone in their voice. I can only speak to my reaction of the reaction that is placed within me.

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If we dissipate recall known

the world is different. now.

Green Coarse

A knight falls into the dawn. I am more aware of of humanity in the pass of Don George.

the other world receives you and my father is deeply wounded without you.

No person I’ve known in my life to adhere to iron, like Johnny Cash and be wild in my youth and stories told about you.

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Whole Hearted

The river runs and it always will. Let life be simple.

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by time

a granted time of seed I have been place of place.

it bedcomes a new duty to e embrace my endurance.

grafitti covers wall and I was tasked to be person at time needed. I put my head in good faith and I came back to a lot of my things sprawelled out turned out

What is lost can never be lost.

los angles burn

imagination of dream

a place I am my fathers legacy

a black moon fror my friend Andred

I draw my sword with purpose, cut place be bitter the toll taken

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Like Fourth of July

a black flag

a dark memory, a heart like no white snake can take place a lion of fire

my integrity of collection, my great grandmother shakes a a stick in absensce of a powerful soul

hiked a moentain, never gone to Salish lodge

you are the time you were meant to be.

Bamboo

A feared dream, where all a being I was a raccoon on her installation.

I knew nothing of panda and red sign. I went away because I knew religion is not the way it was in my youth. I found my cross.

The Fire

As fires burn in LA my father and I have some sense of communication after he’s survived cancer. We don’t speak much or engage in conversation. I’m aware the influence Los Angeles has had on his growing up. In his illness I watch the news and see his reactions perhaps like Batman in the movies To see a city burn where he was relocating out of place not of his decision.

We returned to the place we were Indian relocation act at times. Despite his complicated history and those who might have been hurtful to him. He has a severance for the place he was a young man. So to look at him and see him be held in some way without words.

I understand I am just a monitor at times. I was wild once far beyond his reach and had to become the person I come home to. Studies of many mentors, the person of return.

Coast Salish people and our region have no clans that I have understood by my time. That does not mean it is without a sense of organization. A natural state of being is like anything. A wound is made, it is healed and if too deep nature will rush to it.

The fire will go out and people who can change that will do their part.

These are one of the studios that help me get thru the days of a digital grind planning and making plans for the future.

New year

this year I will live up to a promise

let vengeance go, understand time should be it’s own place of value.

I will learn as I go

one of my heroes fell into dementia and in despite all the wounds I would be to find his effort. He told me he would kill me with a sniper rifle to release me to god. The wound is there but it grows over with tough skin. Perhaps part of him wanted me to be part of a house I could not be in his time. I would never dare to think he would force me to a religious belief.

for the first time taking a moment when someone asked me to smoke a cigarette with them at turn of the year. I recalled a memory of humanity when I did smoke. Partly because the man needed someone to be social. He said he moved from Atlanta and his family was in debt. I had no words.

his panic met the shoulder of me. For the first time in a long time I felt myself a security to be a found. Share the experience of life and security to someone. Someone, I can see who wants open and a point where Bill Ried would call edge of a knife.

I could go on and on about the wars of tribes. but the moment we shivered as men, standing outside of a door as human beings.

Thoughts within me, the forge of my iron keep.

There are men who are so fear driven to speak to women and I was that place once.

I earned my way to the heart of keep by enduring. I was nothing more than an open door at time we are known.

I hope he made it back. I stood at the door another hour because I was grieving a memory of my own where I waited four hours in cold.

that time passed and I have the wear with all to let it go now.

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Shaped into transformation

I was told I was a black dog and I will be forever that wrath

I force no one idea on anyone. The horrific and heroic, exists in my my eyes.

a time that was before my time, where the feathers of white bird are the arms around me even if gone.

an earth with me, knows me not foreign and reject what is not this place.

a time comes where one must take on a mask

this place knows its own knowing

if you dare to to look at the eyes or tell my kin we are slaves

I will be the black dog you would not want to know. This trade is not for sale.

I am devoted to idea and love with wounds of keep.

Some where in you life find an Atticus, my heroes are my heroes and bonds do not break, I am a zero and one. no escape.

good grief

there is a story of a bird, that had completion an eagle vs a blue jay

in that place a time was written a cloud of darkness existed

before me world known, I can let go of this bond and know Holm sees me for what I am worth.

the life I am is nothing without you

all cuts of trees, I worry within the bones men do not know how much it takes from who we are inside and out.

to see my hero slowly go into a place, I watched a log come ashore with a raccoon and I can walk away, know time is nothing broken.

no one sings like you anymore

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into the clouds and trees

A moment took me where my dog had to do what we all do. Pent up in the car for five hours on long drive. My love asked me if the land I was on was mine. I said no, this is my family property. Some part of of it bothered me. He ran back and got in the car.

We didn’t speak for the next hour and I let it out. Why do you ask about property?!

in my mind because my tribe derives funds in a system, I thought she might be aiming at something of value of who we are.

I hit my hand hard against the wheel. Full of emotion as if I was betrayed.

She said to me, I just wanted to know he was safe, he’s 16 and he’s a dog, coyotes could have been out there and this is a time of season of that desperation. I felt so ashamed for a thought of jealousy that had monetary value of the value of my ideal design of a woman who can know me for what I am worth without drive. I looked back to my dog that is a place holder for us of life, him shaking. I pulled at the first stop so she could hold him like a baby.

I let the darker side of my mind get ahead of me. It became a small lesson where I thought I could not be better for the lesser.

I’d driven so long, her hand at wheel, she nudged me to tell me, this is where your grandma grew up.

I looked back to the seat in the rental car and see the babe, folded in her sweater.

the stem of this argument started about lead singer of Keane sounding like Freddie Mercury and I stand by it.

a story of birds challenging each other where all came down to blue jay and eagle.

in my mind I always wanted to make it into a print beyond a story. Height of planes where I look at clouds I imagine them somewhere top of mountains. I am taken by an idea I stand by, even if I shiver at a gas station by Oso. Her playlist comes on and

the concept of the bird and whale is part, in my idea a bond. When I was a boy thunderbird was said to be a powerful being that had lightning snakes at the edges of its wings. I have not seen demonstration of that. The challenge that posed me reading mythology where the Thunderbird to you people was the size of a hawk.

where the shiver trades place, ask why I am out at 4am leaning on a rented house.

I saw the coyotes work with the raccoons, somewhere the a thing my great uncle told me. Nature works in the night and she is mother of thoughts. my great void to see three that came to see me and because I was travel, I didn’t have anything to throw to them.

I n desperation I ran to my pocket of jacket on the bed, I motioned as a wait. I handed down a bar and they shared it. one of the three came up on the perch and pushed the hand down, not to say, I want more but as if to say see my appreciation, I place my hand and she crawled over my head and pushed her nose at my cheek.

if I were to write it with romantic notions she would have called me, but in all honesty, there is part of me knowing my place and bonds that cannot break.

I am back at a place I start.

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Legion

long before destiny or roles we play. my heart has been earned by the days I spend in the forest knowing what is my place. Those of us now few and far between, eight men managing forest now reduced to one. My great uncles now to me the last faller.

The last whale back saw in my hand, that shapes from start to finish.

To know how to shape silver in a wooden donut tied by strings

to cut film separate colors in ruby and emberlith.

learn and devote 13yrs to change with no guide into the new world of digital.

I was a boy once, I am still that person but understanding of story that is bigger. Thru art I can make difference where a story that is written is of greater good by vessel of my being. The many hearts broken and healed, no death falls my hand but time of thought that I can reflect memory of the people who chose to ask me to speak for memory of place.

but what is memory without an ocean that comes back.

thru the eyes of a black dog, I give what I give to someone who can hold onto value an idea that can not be bought but traded by time as the one who gave it to me. To me I held this for Arthur until Loren White passed, where I felt the world would end if I cut my hand not by accident but a thing that was told to me like passage of betrayal.

a swirling keep of the current that will always be the challenge of men. A log that went as a perfect thing, that I would see with my son. A long I wanted to bring to all my mentors, a washed up log forgotten and somehow not secured by money. I tried to go back to get it once by a hook, the only hook I inherited from Don Jastad in my youth. I had not plan but idea this would be something I could being back with pride to my tribe.

I slipped part way and I swept into current it took me far into keep. I grasped all life to be where I am today and at the beach of Tillamook, wet where I could shake myself off.

Recalling what anti Vi told me and I should have known, not to chase what you can not own. Be the person not the thing that you chase. Embrace the passage not the thing.

Without love there is no life.

before we were domesticated, the world was a different place, and I am bond to that idea.

my name is part of that place, with the whales and the cedar I carve and protect forever with my life. a value few will ever understand.

it was only knowing this when I walked over the narrows to feel the wind forwards and back.

forever whole

no part of me taken from time, all times I’ve carved many things for those who need it to be place. At time any hour I needed to have a place, the place I carved is a closed door now.

this post goes unconventional in midweek, time falls and calls us at time we need it to be. The wound found me in place of my being. A dream of a man who did not whale but his spirit is place of whaler that will not die, it sheltered me not from rain but sun. My life is all but dark hours, lines drawn on anything we can draw upon. We are many things and we are not dead.

We live within a different light. Knights of hour watch.

no death can finds dying of design of mind that wrestle itself. I pulled my shoulder out, and in memory, ending the cedar chips under my feet, I rest for moment. Lean on the work. I lay on them and make a snow angel for a moment to know the only person who would appreciate it know, smiles down where work continues eternal.

I don’t fish or hunt, I make work for ancestry of time. not whaler but there are parts of me that go deep into depth where I loose myself.

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