Girl From The North Country

a constant longing…

I constantly long for warm summer nights in meadows looking up at the brilliant night sky… for the feeling of solid ground beneath my feet as I run the hidden trails through the pines… for the crisp autumn air in my lungs and the bright leaves swirling around the hooves of my horse… I long for giant snowflakes, massive raindrops, and cold gusts of wind… the claps of thunder that make you jump, and the sheets of lightning that turn the night into day… I long for the sounds of birds outside my window as I wake from a deep slumber and the howl of coyotes in the distance as I take in the night from a wooden porch… for the crunch of hard snow as I walk up to the barn and the smell of hay drying in the splendid summer sun… I long to forever see the beauty in every sunset, and the mystery in every sunrise… the sound of water lapping against the shore, rain falling on an old tin roof, and junebugs keeping me company in the garden… I long for this through every waking moment and I cannot wait for this to become my ever constant reality… for that is where I know I belong…

a walk in the woods…

our story…

I have always believed that fate is the main contender in this battlefield of life - that somehow and somewhere there are beings sitting up in the galaxy above us flicking their wrists and dancing their fingertips along the stars as if conducting an orchestra. I believe that our lives are attached to their fateful hands by delicate thread and that they slip and slide and collide us into people we are destined to meet; that they urge us forth with gentle tugs in the directions we must go…

To many this notion will sound absurd, especially to those who believe that they themselves hold control over their destinies; that there isn’t something greater conducting arrangements more beautiful than we can comprehend in the great vastness beyond our blue sky. I pity those souls who can’t wrap their head around the beauty of this life, for there is far too much that lays unexplained to not find a sense of wonderment in it all. I believe in fate, and I am about to tell you why my amazement in the power of the universe will never falter. This is the story of two parallel worlds colliding…

(to be continued)

the good ol’ days…

When I was young, I used to leap out of bed as soon as I’d hear my dad’s big diesel truck start up in the driveway. I would race to my window and check to see if it had been raining the night before and if it had, oh man, it was a complete race against time. My heart would be in my throat, tears welling up in my eyes, and I would fly down the stairs in sheer panic. I would throw on my rubber duckies and run as fast as my little legs and potbelly could take me to the bottom of the driveway. What for, you ask? Simple.

After every rainfall our driveway would be filled with hundreds of helpless, pink nightcrawler worms. They would all be inching, no, micromillimetering along on our tarmac painfully slow, blindly searching for that sweet soft earth - completely unaware of their impending doom as dads’ truck sat warming up behind them. It was gut wrenching, and there was no way I could stand by and watch those tires roll forward without taking all necessary preventative measures.

Enter, Sarah. Age 5. Worm Rights Activist.

I would dart to the foot of our driveway ensuring that my tiny feet wouldn’t crush any of my displaced comrades. I knew it would be only a matter of minutes before my dad would be strolling out that backdoor with his tea in hand, ready to get on with his day. I would start in front of his tires and visualize in my mind where he would drive to reach the road, and I would focus on saving those ones first. I would work fast and efficiently at picking up and flinging each worm onto the dew covered grass on either side of the driveway. I hated how they felt between my fingers, but I knew it had to be done. In my mind, I was singlehandedly saving the worm population of Canada.

That is how I spent every morning after it rained. I worked tirelessly until I was certain there would be no casualties, and only then would I go inside for my well deserved bowl of Captain Crunch. I know, you’re thinking, ‘wow Sarah, you were just as awesome then as you are now’, but I didn’t stop there folks. That was just my warm up.

Feeling that my heroine status would fade without extra credentials, I would then grab my trusty bucket, a fruit rollup (wrapped around my finger), and head off to free the captives in the dark, cobwebbed, outdoor prisons of every single house on our street (all except house # 19. Rumor had it she ate children. And hated worms). Yes, my final mission of the day was freeing all of the tiny, helpless wart covered toads that were trapped in those god forsaken window wells. I would climb into each filthy aluminum box with the Inspector Gadget theme song playing in my mind, keeping a careful eye out for the evil Mr.Claw (my brothers), and quickly collect all of the captives.

I now realize that they were actually living the dream down there and that in fact, by releasing them into an open field I was ensuring that they would have zero survival rate against birds, snakes, foxes, etc., but that’s not what matters. In my five year old mind I was keeping WWF afloat. I had that shit covered.

Man, those were the days.

ROADS LESS TRAVELLED…

There is something ghostly and arresting about a cold winters eve. Driving the back roads the bitter cold clings to the exhaust as it quietly leaves the car. The landscape is silent and its desolate aura makes it feel like it belongs in a cracked picture frame hanging on the wall of some musty basement. No wildlife lurks, no frozen leaves rustle, not even a blade of dead summer grass stirs as the shadows creep over the horizon. The headlights illuminate the stark naked trees in front of me at the crossroads where I know sit, thinking. To my right, the road leads to city lights and forgotten dreams. A city filled with people running circles in a never ending maze of restraint and restriction. To my left, empty skies and dark winding roads. The only light would be my headlights dancing off the scenery around me, and my only company would be the crackling on the fm radio. There is something about the unknown; about the dark and mysterious that captivates my soul. I turn my wheel and lean forward as the snow squeaks and grinds beneath my tires. I have no idea where I am headed, but as those city lights recede in my rear view mirror I know that I am pointed in the right direction. Winter may have an icy grip on the world around me, but it will never freeze my will to escape the uniformity and explore the roads less travelled.

thank you to my darling matthew hawker, for this video.

A link to my various collections of paintings...

weightlessness…

I followed Finn down to the old oak tree. The air felt thick with the looming dusk, and the cold wrapped itself around me in a silent shroud. Winter has definitely arrived, and I welcome it with open arms. Many of my favourite moments can be found on nights like these, where the icy air snaps your thoughts into a straight line, and the bitter wind punches them into your gut with an undeniable feeling of conviction. It’s like a rush of clarity followed by a frigid sense of closure.

Until this walk, my heart had been teetering on the edge of what was then and what is now. I was mislead and unsure of how to move forward from it - to let go of the hurt and to put it behind me. It is so easy to get wrapped up in the injustices of life; to get caught in the misfire of other peoples actions. I have found time and time again, that the selfish quest of many leaves little room for the battered hearts of the selfless. But, as with all of life’s lessons, this is how we grow as unique individuals - it’s how we learn to eventually thrive.

I knew my heart would once again find a steady rhythm, and it came to me tonight as I stood beneath the icy limbs of that old oak tree. You see, I long ago found my self worth, my purpose, my souldeep desires, but I had allowed for them to slip ever so slightly out of the forefront of my mind. In doing this it allowed for these past feelings of hurt to encompass me, to weigh me down. One thing I know for sure, is that nothing in this life should have that type of lasting effect on you. Allow yourself a moment to feel, and then allow for that icy air to awaken your incredible sense of worth, and for that frigid wind to slide the weight from off your shoulders. Our waking moments are few, and our hearts on this journey should be weightless.

empty canvas…

I find nothing more beautiful than the empty canvas. In its appearance it is indifferent, silent, and untouched. In reality it is filled with incredible tension, with a thousand low voices full of expectation and a purpose greater than you can imagine. It can carry the truths in your soul without judgement, but can also devour without guilt all that is false and dishonest. It can reveal the quiet whispers of your deepest secrets, and withhold a connect should you not fully commit to what your soul reveals. It is the greatest truth to those willing to face it, and it does not lie, for it can not lie. There is nothing more beautiful than the empty canvas.

Portrait of the Artist, Photographer: Ivan Otis

quiet moments…

The night rolls in like a burial, slowly wrapping the world around me in a blanket of shadows. My eyes watch the sky as it fades from red to crimson to the deep glow of burning embers. This cloak of darkness is my escape, my retreat from the constant noise that the light of day brings with it. Alone at last in this night, quiet at last in my mind, peace at last in my heart and in my soul. Closing my eyes I breathe in the transformation that these changes have evoked. What once used to fill me with anxious uncertainty, now fills me with hope and excitement. I have discovered so much more depth and strength in all that I am, and I know that I will thrive in these new directions I am heading. A change has come, and the night has closed in. A change has come, and I am ready.

a link to my various collections...

[Flash 10 is required to watch video]

the fall…

A few tired leaves scrape the sky as they cling to the barren branches above my head; refusing to let go, holding fast to summer hope. Crows circle the field of wheat that stretches out for miles in front of me; their caws piercing the silence like sirens, warning the landscape of this quiet intruder. The cool autumn breeze sways the tree and dances through its limbs, beckoning the last of the golden leaves to let go and succumb to the cold that is creeping in. I stand unmoving. I close my eyes and allow my mind to clear, my soul to breathe, and my spirit to soar.

I love the fall and the change it sparks within me.

behind the scenes…