My dad has a Model A that was given to him by his dad. I remember growing up and playing in the rusted out body of this car. I remember boxes of pieces; the rear view mirror, a door handle, the top of the gear shifter. For 30 years, my dad carried around the pieces of this car and then one day he restored it. He had help, of course, car experts, mechanics, and such, but the will to do it was his, the tenacity to keep all the parts, the resolve to carry the boxes through multiple moves and to know one day it would be done - those things were his alone. It's easy to get distracted, discouraged, to let doubt decide what you will do or not do. It's easy to get overwhelmed by time, or the chaos that runs most of our lives. It's easy to forget or get lazy or to say you are too busy, to turn everything into 'I've just got too much going on'. What isn't easy is to pursue something in a relentless way until it is done, to see it in your mind even when it isn't real, to wonder and worry if what you can see so clearly will ever be real, to go to bed every night and wake up every morning yearning for what you do not have, but could make...if only.... All those "if onlys", all that energy welling around inside of you, knowing exactly what you are capable of, but not being able to create it - that is what isn't easy. But then one day there it is. You made it happen. You defeated every monster of self-doubt, you slayed every dragon of fear and regret, you persevered through the worst of things to arrive at your own definition of the best. My dad showed me the way. I played in that old car, I cut my feet on those little shards of metal on the floor board, I saw something so broken it didn't seem like it could ever be whole again...and then it was. Like a phoenix it rose from the dust of those boxes, it became shiny and new and made noise and jumbled and rumbled as it ran across the bridge over that mountain stream, and seeing it, watching it happen, knowing how it came to be, that made an indelible impression on me. Watching him molded me into someone that didn't quit. I didn't stop when I was told I'd never do it, I didn't quit when the art failed, I didn't stop when the story fell apart, I didn't quit when I got criticized, I didn't quit when I was slow, and I didn't quit when I lost the one person I most wanted to show it to. I couldn't quit, because I was raised by parents that never quit and partnered with someone who wouldn't let me quit even when I was at my lowest point. "You'll never get what you want if you stop trying," he said. I trusted him, and he was right. I remembered what I'd seen my dad do. I found that the obstacle is the way and faith lives in you even when you forget or get lost. I could hear her, my mom, "Life is a journey, not a destination. Never forget that." I won't and I didn't. I can feel her proudly seeing me today from Heaven, with my grandmothers and grandfathers, by her side. I was reminded she is with me, even when she isn't, by my dear aunt and her treasured words that came in those most terrible of moments. So in this moment too I will drop every regret, every feeling of being too late, and know it doesn't matter - it is the journey. She is here and can see it. Today, this is for both of my parents, on their anniversary, to know that today I published my first children's book, dedicated to my daughters, and never forgot that the journey may be jumbly and rumbly like riding in that Model A but the people we share it with, every moment, every memory with them, make it wonderful and valuable, make it joyful and faithful, make it beautiful.

Inspiration strikes like lightening without warning or reason: a sudden flash, often accompanied by a delayed booming of mental thunder. It often overtakes me. When it strikes I can't stop imagining this thing that has inspired me. I become obsessed with the curves of the image, the color, the relevance and context of what I see. I often can think of little else until I turn the inspiration into some kind of reality, some solid object, some interpretable expression to share. Even if the execution of the art fails, the mere act of creating soothes the obsession, and reassures my mind and my heart. This time I was inspired by the green sea turtle. These creatures filled with wisdom; the wrinkles of their skin are graceful lines depicting a life, and a perception we cannot understand. The shapes of their bodies reflect their exquisite adaptation to their environment. They are perfection in underwater flight. I want to depict this inspiring creature in batik, my favorite medium, to see how the wax would flow around those curves, dip into the wrinkles, highlight the intelligence I see in their eyes. This is always how it begins, how it always begins; out of the blue, a lightning strike, a voice almost...some calling to create, to interpret, to engage in a multi-layered art process because somehow the results reveal something way beyond what my eyes and fingers create, way beyond what my imagination can see.

This turtle I know I've seen him before, floating in the Caribbean Sea. He made an impression on me then, but as it is with such a sensitive soul, it took me years to be able to see it, years to hear the calling to create. I brushed the discovery aside, buried it under business, always too occupied, too overwhelmed in all the other to see ... I was blinded by everything I thought I had to do; I had no time to reflect, no time to listen, only to do do do, and to go go go. But now, here it is again, in this quiet, an awakening, and a turtle to act as ambassador. "Come this way," he beckons, or bellows. I realize all at once: this turtle is a guide. It seems impossible, doesn't it? To hear the calling of a guide from so long ago, or so far below, to remember something out of the blue, to feel the inspiration out of an echo. I'm not sure how my mind finally heard this turtle, or remembered the look of a decade past, or connected to the light he seems to want to show me, but I am grateful. I am so so grateful.

I start with a sketch. I tape two pieces of paper together, and clip it to the hangers on the wall. Then, I pull the sea turtle's form onto the page with light strokes of pencil. I don't worry about which curves might be right - for the final ink is really what sets the image - I just sweep them onto the page focusing on the light and the movement. The turtle takes form. I start to imagine how the wax might fall on these same curves, but then I laugh and remind myself to stay here with these lines, this pencil, this sketch. Don't jump ahead. Be where you are now, right? I always fall in love with the art immediately. Sometimes I fall in love with the idea, and the art, well, it becomes the icing.

The workspace has to be clean and organized to proceed. I mount the inked over sketch on some cardboard with masking tape. The fabric is stretched tight; the ink lines barely show through. Those ink lines are my guide, my pattern, but as you will soon see or feel, the wax has a mind of its own. I pull out the batiking tools and turn on the wax pot. I open a window, best to keep the wax fumes to a minimum. A vapor mask is not a bad idea either. In these moments, when everything must be placed just so, the right heat, the right blend of wax, the right tools, as I'm waiting for the wax to reach the right temperature...my mind tends to be the most open, like a pause in the wind, that second when everything is quiet, before the roaring starts again.

And, there it is: the wax skeleton of the green sea turtle. He is starting to come to life. I can see a tiny twinkle in his eye; I see a purpose, a path. This turtle is migrating many miles across the open sea, and amazingly, so amazingly, it knows exactly where it is going and why. But this turtle is also beckoning us to join him, to dive into the great unknown, the abyss, and use only intuition to guide you. Take a breath to fully embrace, fully believe that your destiny is within you and will lead you even when you cannot see it, even when you doubt it exists. It takes only a moment, to watch, to remember, to listen, or just to be quiet, and let your heart guide you. You may be amazed to find yourself exactly where you belong.

There is more to painting than one might think. It is again a liquid with a mind of its own, and it creates its own flow, its own light. I like to paint in layers, first the base color, the background; then more and more detail. I like to look around me at the colors I see and imagine the layers of color that are there, the light reflecting in some cases, absorbing in others. And, as each paint color hits the fabric, it spreads in its own way; it follows its own path. The lines it creates are unpredictable, unintentional. I feel freedom in those lines. When they go where they seem to need to be, instead of where I think they should be (all except outside the wax lines…that’s when I get my Tide pen out). I paint the turtle in layers of light and green, I imagine all the days and age on this turtle, where it has been, how where it has been affects those green lines. Maybe there’s a scar with a darker green, maybe a wrinkle with a lighter edge, maybe there’s the light of that Kelly green through the miles and miles of blue water. Color transforms me and transforms my turtle friend, color makes this turtle start to come alive.

The turtle is there in all the green glory! All those paint lines are there, the colors, the ragged edges, the light, the dark, the accidents and the intentions. And, now it’s time to wax over all that paint. It seems reckless in a way, after all the care and joy and freedom of the painting, after the hours letting the liquid find just the right line, I go and cover the art with wax, but this is the way. There is an old Buddhist saying about how only when everything is destroyed, do you know what it is that is indestructible. I think of that saying a lot when I am batiking. It’s a process of destruction and life, it is a phoenix rising from a fire, it reveals something hidden beneath, the thing that cannot be destroyed. I heat the wax again, using my thermometer, of course, to get it to the perfect temperature of 225 degrees F. I use a wide brush this time. I pick up the wax in the bristles and watch it absorb into the green fabric. I’m careful to fill inside of the wax lines, instead of just on top of them. I like all the lines to have their own life, their own character…I don’t want to melt established wax lines with a covering of wax…I just want to cover the color so cracks show through. The wax needs to be not too thin, and not too thick. It needs to be just right. Too much wax will crack off and too little will not crack at all. It is about balance; balance, balance, balance.

I often wait a long time after the batiks have been waxed over to dye them. This is the moment of completion, when it all comes together, and often those are the moments where I have the most fear. What if I mess it up? What if I just wasted all those hours? What if what I dream, what I imagine doesn’t happen? I struggle with those emotions; I struggle with all those ‘what ifs’. I dream of the turtle during this time, I imagine it swimming before me, I listen to what it wants to say, I wonder if I am hearing everything I need to hear. Then, I don’t think of the turtle at all. I go on about my life, doing all those things, the go go go, the do do do…it’s like a distraction from what is real, what matters. It takes me a while to process all the fear, there is this anticipation that builds as well; there is an expectation that develops and then dies and then develops again. It is like the process of living and dying, ironically, I guess. We all live in each moment, and we all die in each moment too; we find our true selves and then we get lost again. It is a struggle, a battle. There is a warrior in each of us that takes up the fight, and there is demon in each of us as well, that tells us it’s not worth fighting. It is the lightness and the dark, the hope and the despair, the dream, the imagination and the fear. Then, there comes a moment, when I haven’t thought of it, the turtle, for a long time, a moment when I can’t stand the anticipation anymore. I have to see it. Maybe it is like what mothers go through as a child develops within… all that anticipation, nine months of wonder and hope, and then the truth arrives. There is something that dies in that moment, a former self, a dream that can’t happen anymore; and then there is something that lives, the truth, that new human being, set free finally to be whoever they are. I want to see the turtle so much, I forget how afraid I am, and I just dive in. I find the color, or the combination of colors, I mix the dye, I ponder the relationship between my dreams and my reality. I soak the waxed turtle in cold water, I worry for a moment about the cracks and then I don’t worry, I can’t worry anymore. The time is now. This is it. I crumple it, I destroy it, I push it under the dye, and little parts float to the surface…the first images of the turtle are there. I’m amazed, but I try to control my excitement…I tell myself it isn’t over until it’s over, it isn’t done until it’s done. I keep stirring, I keep dreaming with these little bits of reality thrown in, these little glimpses of what this turtle will be. I keep stirring, I rinse, then I set the water on to boil. After many many rinses, and lots of cracked wax everywhere, I push the turtle into the boiling water. I can see nothing, all I see is steam and the faded color of the dye in the boiling water and the yellow burbling wax that sticks to my thick gloves. But I feel something here, in this moment, I feel it is alive, it is beautiful. I’m in love with the turtle again. I hear garbled sounds bubbling up through the wax. This is the call, he says, and I hope you are listening. I am, I assure the bubbling water and wax. Look at me, the turtle says, and realize, this is the truth, this is why I’ve come to you, to bring you the truth. I take a deep breath, the truth, I ponder. Yes, the truth, the turtle says again. I’m not sure what it means, but when I rinse the turtle again and stretch it and clear off the rest of the wax, I stare at those eyes, those wrinkles, those colors, those cracks and I say to myself…This is the truth.

My heart is so full of gratitude tonight. It is as if my heart is coming out of my body, as if it is swelling and swelling, and then swelling some more. Not like the quick, booming reaction Roger Rabbit has when he first meets Jessica, it isn't like the big red heart pounding outside of the chest; it is more a heart-shaped balloon filling up from within, as if on each deep breath I am filling my heart with helium. Bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger it gets until I magically see it before me, it has come out of my chest and is on the outside of my body, it is pulling me forward. It is this big full balloon heart that can carry me, that pulls me to my feet, that pulls my feet from the ground, that rises up and soars. I see myself in my mind's eye floating up above everything, I am caught by a light wind, I fly. I look all around and I see such amazing things. Then, I feel it even more. There is this wild and adventurous heart stretching out of me, and it has given me this sudden and now constant reminder of everything amazing, of these incredible feelings, the gratitude, the love, the joy, the exhilaration, the enthusiasm. It is the sum of all the awe I have for my family, my friends, my animal companions, for the intricate display of evolution in nature, for everything new I learn about the infinite cosmos. Maybe I am the Higgs boson? Maybe I am flesh materialized from energy? Maybe I have traveled zillions of miles across millennia to arrive now at this perfect place, in this perfect time, with these perfect souls to create something new and beautiful. Maybe I will continue to travel through space-time for eternity, maybe I will rediscover this amazing feeling of love again and again and again and again? Maybe I will share it, and grow it, and materialize it into art, turning energy back into matter? Maybe I already have done this. Maybe I already have done this forever. Wow! Wow! Wow! What gratitude and love and enthusiasm I have for every single moment of this experience, for the wonder of all these possibilities! This life, this world, Love.... How incredible is it all? To live in this perfect and beautiful place, to be alive in this amazing and wondrous time, to have abundant love that I feel so fully so deeply so completely it fills my energy field, is shared by others, and provides the power to transcend any obstacle. It is so amazing! How could I not bow down to a Universe that provides such power and intrigue? How could I not be overwhelming with gratitude when I know love can do anything, absolutely anything? How could I not want to stop in awe and just say a million times a day, Thank You Thank You Thank You? I can't. I must. I have to express my thanks. I have to breathe deep. I have to grow my heart lighter than air and fly above all that I love so I can appreciate absolutely every single detail of this magnificent life, so I may feel it and see it all better and more clearly and be heard as I say loudly, oh so loudly: THANK YOU.

The best results in batik are achieved when you find a balance between dyeing and cracking. It is after all those little crack lines that give batik its unique magic, but if left unattended or for too long too much of the dye seeps through. Of course, different dye colors also seem to have different properties, some seeming to soak through the wax more than others. Overall, however, it is the temperature of the dye bath and soaking time that make the most difference. If the dye water is too warm (great for dissolving the powered dyes), the wax will be too bendy; no cracks. Best to have the water as cold as possible, even icing it, if you wanted to try and go so far.

It feels like spring on the Oregon Coast! The sun is shining and the garden has made its way out of the ground. Time to plant seeds, make new things, and finish old projects. Today was the day to dye a batch in Peacock Blue. In 2006, I wrote an instruction manual for dyeing that outlines the process, and then catalogs the colors of all my dye batches. I love to mix the dyes to see if I can come up with some new color. Today I decided to go for straight Peacock Blue, sometimes the colors they already have are the best ones. The color is vibrant and cool, and I love how different it is depending on what fabric you are using. I can imagine something made of different materials, then dyed in this blue. Cool! The cracking is not quite what I wanted. I left the items in the dye bath for 40 minutes longer than normal, which is probably why the hue is so deep. To get better cracking, I'll just remember for next time to let the items soak in cold water 8-12 hours before putting them in the dye bath.

Here's a close up of the first sturgeon final batik. It is done on linen with a navy-sapphire blue mix for the dye bath. I like the expression and the crack lines. I think it could be improved with more contrast along the wax line outlines.

It's no time to quit now. Look deep, deep down into your heart up to and through the complicated hyperbolic layers of your mind into the dark marrow of your bones and out to the embodied spirit you carry with the thousands of lives lived by your soul before; look inside to find the energy you need and use it. You can do this. Summon all your strength not only from your body, but beyond you; summon the strength of the millions of souls who have made this journey already. Put the Universe at your back, feel the push of it and never, ever give up. This dream you have is bringing you home and it does. These voices you hear, they are your adoring crowd, cheering you on: 'You can do it!' someone cries out, 'We believe in you!' says another. You keep going through it all, going to where you know you belong, going to see your dream a reality, going going going. You continue through the pain of it, through the joy of it, through the close calls and the calm waters; you never forget where you came from and all the places you have seen. You bring it all along: the joy of your life, the pain of your life, your journey; you bring it all home, you bring it with elation in your heart. Look at what you can do, what you are a part of...it is so much bigger than you and it is beautiful! The crowd roars, or is it the rushing waters? It doesn't matter. What matters is that you are going to make it, no matter what challenges are put in your way, no matter how lost you may get, you start again, you find another way, you never give up, and you do it. What you envision is real, you make it real. It isn't easy, if anything it is the greatest challenge you will ever face, but you do it because it is you and you don't quit, you don't give up; you put every breath into it, into every falls, every weir, every dam, every smooth glide, and you find it: home.

The space where something isn't, the shape of the space around the something, instead of a focus on the thing, a focus on the nothing. It goes best with background noise of Morgan Freeman talking about the Big Bang, the improbability of everything coming from nothing, the thoughts on nothing, and how many physicists through time had pondered this very question. Then, a concentration on a picture you want to capture, and connecting the eye to the hand, staring at the outline of what you want to draw, but instead of making the thing your focus, you make the negative space, the nothing around the thing your focus instead. It is drawing the shape of the nothingness around the object, it is an exercise in seeing the negative space as the positive space. I first read about this technique in the 'Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain' art instruction book...a great book about how to unlock your inner artist. Now, I go back to this thought and ponder, dwell in a world where the negative space is the positive space.

Ah, here we are with the first official project for Draw Your Imagination, a batiked white sturgeon on t-shirts. This is the final sketch. The batiking will begin shortly. This sturgeon celebrates an ongoing sturgeon research project occurring in the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta in California. They are looking to better understand this very mysterious fish. I wonder if the sturgeon would prefer to stay mysterious, as it is the mystery of life that makes it so interesting.

It has been almost three years. Three years of working, three years of finding, three years of wondering, wandering and watching. Time does fly, as they say so often. I like to believe moving faster makes time fly slower, but that truly only works near the speed of light, a speed I never achieve. Moving faster just makes the present moments blur. In my new and recent time of stillness and quietness, I have taken moments to stop, to quit the go go go, the do do do, and just to wait. What is it that the Universe wants for me, what is it that I want for myself? I thought it was to find love, to restore habitat for fish, I thought it was to return to Costa Rica, I thought it was to make books, to write stories, to create art. I did some of those things, but finding love was the most powerful of all; it eclipsed all the other things when it finally happened. Love is everything. In my heart, I already knew that, but my soul longed for the reality of the experience. I already knew that I'm a late bloomer, as my mom always told me. I'm a thinker, a ponderer, a wanderer. So, in these three years of manifesting my dreams, I took some moments to look back, to review, and I found old stories, old sketches, and a new resolve. It has been three years of preparing, and three years is plenty enough. Now, it is time to barrel ahead, as they say in Texas. I spent all this time fixing to do this, and now I'm doing it. The fixing is done. So this is the ending of something, and the beginning of something else. I am dropping all my fears of change, of it being done, and I'm just letting go, I'm just on a path to do it.

I always try to remember: anything is possible. Somehow I find it so powerful to believe, that at any moment, in any instance, everything can change. The potential for discovery exists in every moment. Possibility blooms like a flower, or springtime, just in one sudden moment when finally, after a long winter, after a long sleep, everything pops out again. Suddenly there is color everywhere that was just without it before, and something new has begun, has emerged, has reemerged. We all live and breathe in the same air of possibility, of potential, of newness in every moment, which means at any moment, for each one of us, there can be a discovery or a new beginning or a revelation that changes everything.

I hosted a batiking party at my house on year, and all my friends came to make their own batiks. This is a batik I made from the design Katia made that day. She said she was inspired by the thought of Japanese art and the tsunami waves. I loved it and wanted to make one of my own.

The Draw Your Imagination blog is intended to follow the effort of one, not so young, scientist, artist, adventurer (sorta) as she continues her endeavor to make art and tell stories for children. The art is coming along nicely; the stories a little slower, but she is here to share as they both come together.

There have been some silent days of wondering where to begin, of what to say, of how to say it. There is so much. I can see it all so fully formed in my head, but I just can’t see every detail, or hear every word. It’s like all the drama I see and internalize and actually feel, but can’t express, except in a curve or a particular color. Abby used to say, ‘Oh, what a sensitive soul you have.’ This intense, sensitive soul that has spent the last many years searching or researching, but still looking, learning, and wanting…sometimes just wanting to understand. But all along I have taken in all these parts of it, all these stories and souls, and it envelopes my mind with those delicious velvet corners. Tonight I aim to see beyond my cocoon, perhaps to even think of chewing through the cocoon. You see tonight I want to be able to take all that I’ve seen, all that I know, all that I don’t know, and turn it all into some kind of sweet essence. A simple story about a fish or two, and the litany of actions that let them be. But each time I start, I also stop and wonder if I can paint the same color with words as with paint and wax.

This guy is just so damn cute. There has to be a song or something about Tisbe. Oh Tisbe, Tisbe, Busy Tisbe; What is it you do all day long? Do you shoot about? Do you scream and shout? Why are you oh so yellow on the inside? Are you the envy of all those small? Do you swim out at night above them all? Tisbe, Tisbe, Busy Tisbe....

It is now time to dye this ultra large, breakthrough eelgrass batik on bamboo. I’d like to dedicate this dye bath to the Tide to-Go Pen, the hero of this piece of art. I’d also like to thank my sister for introducing me to the magnificent pen. It keeps those pesky paint leaks, due to the all too natural cracking wax lines, from interfering with the final dip dyeing. The Tide To-Go Pen just cleans up those little leaks, and I can relax. Most of the mistakes I love, it almost is like the mistakes, or spirit spots, are really where the life comes into these pieces. But oddly, I don’t feel that way about paint where I don’t want paint.

As I finished some batiks in need of the dyeing stage, I pondered about bleeding hearts as the welcomers of spring. And about how they are both the flower and the tragic soul who finds themselves enveloped in the agony of others. Bleeding hearts are one of the first flowers to emerge in the Northwest woods; they poke their heads up in early spring just when the air is warm enough. There are pink ones and white ones and barely a smell, but they are a color pink so sweet your mouth barely waters if you look into it deeply enough.

First official day at my new job, CEO of the Draw Your Imagination company. I had an excellent day filled with day dreaming (maybe we should call that ‘brainstorming’) and real business development. I drafted the company mission and included an outline of products. I let it flow freely, remembering that I can always make changes, edits and improvements with later revisions. As part of my day dreaming, I was remembering where the idea for each book came to me; what was the core of the inspiration. This brought me back to my life at Casa Rustica, and as I was vividly remembering each tiny detail of the place, I began to write. It is such a simple book, and it seemed like a lovely place to start –back at the beginning, where it had all started for me anyway. I finished a draft for the book, and vowed to correct the details and refine it tomorrow. Maybe add a little more rhyming or rhythm, bring more color from Costa Rica to it, make the word choice convey as visceral experience as you can while keeping a young audience engaged. At the end of this first day, I looked for color inspirations to reflect how I feel and how this journey I’m on is unfolding. I found this flower a perfect example. What I appreciate the most is how the full color yellow drawns you in, and inspires you to look closer and closer. And then that close inspection is rewarded with greater and greater detail and wonder. What are those star shapes in the flower’s core? And those circles, what are they? Are those buds I see in the frame also? And who ate the petal’s edge? Isn’t the color of periwinkle blue just amazing? It is that awe and wonder, that eye dancing [wonder], that I am looking for, and what I am looking to convey with words and art. I want to tell stories that bring colors and light to the mind, and spread smiles across sweet faces of children.