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ART BEYOND: Saturday in the Park – Invitation from Sarah F Burns to participate

I’m working with the Schneider Museum of Art organizing a couple of plein air events this summer as part of their exhibition ART BEYOND.  Please consider participating in the Lithia Park Painting Event Saturday, June 19th.  There is no limit to the number of artists who would like to go out and paint, but we can exhibit the work of the first 30 to register. The show is called ART BEYOND: Saturday in the Park  – it’s a snapshot of a day in the park.  Exhibition at ScienceWorks in partnership with SMA. Also – it says painting, but of course any media that you like is welcome! 
Please register right away! I want you in the show! 

Lithia Park Plein Air Painting Event

Date: Saturday, June 19th
Time: 9am-7pm

Open to all. Sign up to join fellow Plein Air artists in Lithia Park on Saturday, June 19th. Artists can come and go throughout the day. The general public will be encouraged to engage with the artists between 10am-5pm where you can talk about your work and process. This event is part of Art Beyond, a new initiative from the Schneider Museum of Art to promote the visual arts in outdoor spaces.

Artists will be invited to show one piece created at this event at Scienceworks Hands-On Museum from June 21 – September 16. Art will be sold at by Scienceworks with 50% of sales price going to the artist and 50% to Scienceworks.

Please register here to be a participating artist by June 1, 2021.

sarahfburns.com

The Personality of Process: On the Enneagram, the house we built, and marriage

The house foundations last August


Blobs, spots, specks, smudges, cracks, defects, mistakes, accidents, exceptions, and irregularities are the windows to other worlds.—Bob Miller

 

Part One: In Which I Vent About the Enneagram (Though I Love It, Too)

 

If you know a bit about the Enneagram, you know that you are likely one of nine types—and that each type has specific fears and desires and motivations. Learning about this framework helps us understand ourselves and others. 

 

However…I’ve also learned that you can come into this world as one type but can learn to adapt into another type that appears to serve you or others better. And then you can be very confused.

 

There are various schools of the Enneagram, and many of the types have different names according to which one you study. I believe I came into this world a Four—the Romantic or Individualist. But the world rewarded my ability to be a One: the Perfectionist or Reformer. I joke that I’m either a Perfecting Romantic or Romanic Perfectionist.

 

From my school years through the first months of my marriage, I lived pretty well as a Perfectionist-Reformer One. Even my creativity was highly structured; I’d embark on a series of 100 portraits, 30 days of painting-poems, et cetera, et-orderly-cetera. It didn’t help that most organized religion and education love achievers—and boy could I achieve. In grade school, I memorized whole chapters of Corinthians for our church version of the Girl Scouts, The Missionettes. (Somewhere, there exists a photo of myself wearing a turquoise polyester sash with all of my badges). I worked to be high school valedictorian. Then I worked even harder to be undergraduate summa cum laude. By grad school, I let myself breathe and settled for magna cum laude. And that was probably because, while I shaped my poetry thesis, I rediscovered a wild creativity longing to play free—uncaged by a rigid grid of quantification.   

 

And then, decades later, I got married. Funny thing about marriage: your True Self emerges in a way it never did before. True union eventually squeezes out anything false. And when two become one, a lot of shit has got to go. (I could make a terrible pun here about two each becoming the most annoying parts of the Enneagram’s Reformer One, but I shall not!) 

 

Suffice it to say, that whatever façade we’ve built basically gets shaken off, and whatever’s underneath probably has some black mold and maybe a rat or two, despite however many years we think we’ve done our spirit excavation. 

 

And also, I married an Eight: the Challenger. Challengers can call your bluff pretty darn well. 

 

Part Two: In Which I Vent About Building a House (Though I Love It, Too)

 

This all leads me, most indirectly, to the process of building a house—before we’d been married a year. (In fact, as I write this, we are just about to reach our nine-month anniversary). 

 

But before I get to that, I should also mention that it took me until my forties to see an obvious life pattern. During my college years, I worked as a housecleaner—for residential and professional buildings. And then I worked as an editor in some capacity for longer than most starting editors have been alive. Cleaning and editing. Basically, I trained myself to see the mess and the misspelled and to perfect them all. But such tasks, though they felt good when done, didn’t feel good in the process; they felt exhausting and never-ending. I wouldn’t so much celebrate as check off the completion of each round of “perfecting,” even as I braced myself for the next round of trash and typos. Versus celebrating the process—mud ‘n’ all. 

 

And let’s just say that pointing out all the dirt and dialogue flaws is not a beneficial marriage skill. But the long-entrenched One in me—the Perfectionist-Reformer—was so used to doing this, that it was hard to stop. It took me a while to be grateful for the fact that my husband doesn’t really care if things are clean or if every T is crossed. “But these are my strengths!” a part of me kept shouting. 

 

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, the truer part of myself kept saying she loved going off on muddy river adventures and not needing to analyze the etymology of the kayak term “boof.” 

 

One book on the Enneagram is called The Road Back to You. The One-Me never understood that title. The Four-Me is jumping up and down for childlike joy, saying, “Yes! We’re back!”

 

Marriage has invited me to return to my creative being: my True Self, the Self who loves paint splatters and rough-edged canvas and impromptu word play for pure fun; the Four who knows that all of life is poetry, not just words on a page—or a specific page count. That Self has risen up alongside our house.

 

Yes, finally, I get to the house. It has become my metaphor for building a more authentic self and marriage. 

 

Last summer, I took a photo of the foundations—surrounded by heaps of displaced earth. Where wild grass had grown in beautiful abandon, the hillside looked like a jagged scar. But we wanted to build something, and so we had to tear into what was there. We had to make a mess.

 

Now, a brick home stands on that site, finished, after months of trucks and lumber. But nothing is ever finished, is it? The wake of construction rubble and ruts surrounding the house remind me how ongoing building really is.

 

Our first day in the house

So that Miller quote I opened with; I am still struggling to love the messy process. But now that I’ve been building a life with someone and building a house with someone—I am beginning to get it. 

 

I am also beginning to embrace both the Reformer and the Romantic in myself—and I consciously choose those two labels for the One and the Four. The drive for excellence in the former helped ground the often formless creative sensitivities of the latter. Maybe I’ll call myself a Romantic Reformer—head in the clouds but feet on the ground. Imperfectly trying to bring Heaven to Earth.

 

The two types in me have finally become one.

 

Union starts in our very own hearts. 

 

Part Three: In Which I Don’t Vent About Marriage, But Instead Write A Poem About It

 

O this strange bliss—

brimming with

mess & misspellings 

mud & wonder—

I embrace all 

your stains & stars.

 

Two become 

one house 

uniting 

divided hearts

 

We build

a mystery.


Right after the land became ours last spring


From Prompt to Print Winter 2021 ~ A Celebration of Our Creative Process!

This collective publication is a celebration of the creative process! This anthology of poetry, fiction, and memoir came from a six-week writing group at Writers’ Room, a creative writing studio in Jacksonville, Oregon. We began by free writing to a series of prompts. Over the next weeks we developed our writing, provided feedback to one […]

Sacred Offerings from Roxanne Evans Stout

third   Hello you beautiful artists and friends! I hope this newsletter finds you well! These are not easy times, but I am finding ways to create joy, and I hope you are too. I am thrilled to tell you about a special project I have been preparing for quite some time. It is finally ready to share with you! 1 poster
My next online class for you is… Sacred Offerings! Create beautiful backgrounds for stenciled “Offerings.”

How will you use them? In books, as wall hangings, as gifts or stand-alone works of art… Join me March 11 at 1 pm PST on Facebook Live! The class will last 1.5-2 hours.

After you register, you will receive an invite to a closed Facebook group, where the class will be. You will be able to re-watch the class and share with the group forever after. So even if you can’t make the live recording, it will always be available to you in our Facebook group! And it is only $30! Register here now! Register now to join Sacred Offerings!

Nurture your creativity with Sacred Offerings. Nourish your artistic spirit with an afternoon making art together… In Sacred Offerings!

If you want to explore printmaking on a Gelli plate, this will be a wonderful class for you!

We will add texture and color to papers and delve into new and meaningful ways to use my stencil designs!

We are going to nurture our creativity together, and create all kinds of magic!

Register now to join us in Sacred Offerings!

Explore Gelli plates and stencils in new and meaningful ways with us in Sacred Offerings!
IMG 5318 2
May you have a magical, beautiful day! Thank you so much to each of you who has already signed up for Sacred Offerings!  

©2021 River Garden Studio | P.O. Box 645 Keno OR 97627

The Gasket of Grace

To celebrate this month that celebrates relationships, I decided to write about gaskets. 

I don’t think I really knew what a gasket was until we had three needing to be replaced. First to go was my husband’s kayak drysuit neck gasket (which I really didn’t know about). Second was our woodstove door gasket (which I learned how to replace). And third was my little stove-top coffee maker gasket (which apparently gives up if I accidentally leave the contraption on the burner too long).

 

Once things happen in threes, I start to pay attention. And I start to research meaning. Turns out, the official definition of a gasket is a seal that fills the space between two or more mating surfaces.

 

Well, if that isn’t a relationship metaphor! 

 

A favorite of the hundred or so books I’ve read on marriage (I exaggerate that number, but only slightly) is Rob Bell’s Zimzum of Love. In it, he explores the ancient Hebrew word zimzum, which essentially means “the space between.” I’m kind of obsessed with this idea. In fact, my first poetry collection many years ago was a little chapbook titled, The Space Between. I look for connections everywhere—for what brings things and people together and what keeps them together. 

 

The best part of the gasket definition? It allows for less-than-perfect mating surfaces between two, irregular parts. Which could be said of the space between two, irregular people.

 

“So,” I asked myself, “What is the gasket of marriage?”

 

First, I should explain that my husband and I are very different. We are learning to laugh about this. 

 

He’s Mr. Spontaneity. On a Friday after a long work week, he can grab a jar of peanut butter and head out camping on a whim. I am Mrs. Planner. If we are going camping, I like to A) know about it at least a day in advance and B) pack a cooler brimming with pesto, sliced aged cheddar, pre-chopped onions soaking in olive oil for morning eggs, driving snacks of sea-salt dark chocolate, at least one good bottle of wine, etc. etc. 

 

He’s Mr. DIY. Whether changing the car oil, installing a new dishwasher, or cutting his hair, he’s a do-it-yourself kinda guy. I’m Mrs. Outsource-My-Weaknesses. I like to take the car in for its checkup to my trusty mechanic, hire a handyman to install anything that comes with a lengthy instruction manual and connects to electricity or water, and when I did briefly cut my own hair for a season, it just confirmed that I should leave some things to the professionals.

 

He’s Mr. Down-to-Earth and says it like it is. I’m Mrs. Pie-in-the-Sky and tend to quote literature aloud. When we watched Starsky & Hutch one night, I recognized the start of a favorite Shakespeare line, quoted by Snoop Dog, “To err is human…” and I spoke in time with the rest of it: “…to forgive, divine.” At dinner parties now, my husband likes to say I quote Snoop Dog, at which point, I start distinguishing between primary and secondary sources. 

 

Whether expressed by a 17th-century bard or a 21st-century bard, forgiveness is something my husband and I both agree on. It’s the gasket of grace. Especially in marriage. And especially when two different people approach life in different ways—which is bound to lead to misunderstandings.  

 

I have a hunch that you don’t need a lot of grace to love someone who’s a lot like yourself. That’s pretty easy. Learning to love difference is a gift in that it does require a lot of grace. Maybe the more difference between two people, the more grace you can have—if you also choose to give it. 

 

I looked up zimzum to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Part of HarperCollins’s definition states: “In marriage, zimzum is the dynamic energy field between two partners.” 


We are learning to celebrate the dynamics. 

 

So whether I lean toward my poetic-academic love of Big Words and call it zimzum, or whether I lean toward the practical gasket, I know that whatever seals the space between us will be made of grace. 



Boulders and Aspens in Hope Valley

The post Boulders and Aspens in Hope Valley appeared first on Stefan Baumann – The Grand View: Paintings by Stefan Baumann.

Yosemite National Park: View from Glacier Point

Yosemite National Park View from Glacier Point, oil on canvas.

Painting by Stefan Baumann.

Painted on location en plein air, alla prima, from Glacier Point.

This painting is looking toward the south Yosemite Valley.

The post Yosemite National Park: View from Glacier Point appeared first on Stefan Baumann – The Grand View: Paintings by Stefan Baumann.

Yosemite National Park: View from Glacier Point

Yosemite National Park View from Glacier Point, oil on canvas.

Painting by Stefan Baumann.

Painted on location en plein air, alla prima, from Glacier Point.

This painting is looking toward the south Yosemite Valley.

The post Yosemite National Park: View from Glacier Point appeared first on Stefan Baumann – The Grand View: Paintings by Stefan Baumann.

Shoshone Falls

Shoshone Falls, Plein Air Painting of Shoshone Falls by Stefan Baumann.

Shoshone Falls is a waterfall on the Snake River in southern Idaho, United States, approximately 3 miles northeast of the city of Twin Falls. Sometimes called the “Niagara of the West,” Shoshone Falls is 212 feet high—45 feet higher than Niagara Falls—and flows over a rim nearly 1,000 feet wide. Wikipedia

The post Shoshone Falls appeared first on Stefan Baumann – The Grand View: Paintings by Stefan Baumann.

Shoshone Falls

Shoshone Falls, Plein Air Painting of Shoshone Falls by Stefan Baumann.

Shoshone Falls is a waterfall on the Snake River in southern Idaho, United States, approximately 3 miles northeast of the city of Twin Falls. Sometimes called the “Niagara of the West,” Shoshone Falls is 212 feet high—45 feet higher than Niagara Falls—and flows over a rim nearly 1,000 feet wide. Wikipedia

The post Shoshone Falls appeared first on Stefan Baumann – The Grand View: Paintings by Stefan Baumann.