Paintings imagery most often arises of its own impetus, only later informing me of content. The space between things gets wider with awareness. Shamanism is woven through the lives as those who go between realities. Artists of all disciplines as well as children, until they learn better, naturally connect to the life energies around them.

This image takes me back to Chejudo, the Japanese name of a small island off the southern coast of South Korea. Basaltic stacked boulders as fences crisscross the terrain where trees grow horizontally in the wind. At the center the island is a huge volcanic crater. From the rim you can see the sea on all sides with agile mountain goats dancing on the rim. The wild horses there were brought to island in ships by Genghis Khan in the Goryeo Kingdom, 918-1392.

When I was there staying there in a Buddhist temple, adjacent was an indigenous woman shaman who I found as I wondered at night looking for the chanting ritual of the nuns. She was a mudang who performed her nightly rituals by firelight. Like shamans all over the world, the mudang shape-shift into animals for knowledge and power. Later in a thatched house with basalt bolder walls I found something like a shaman museum filled with dust and spiderwebs. The fish-shape objects in a variety of carved materials is similar to Yin or Yang of that iconic symbol. It is a shape that finds its way into my paintings. I can feel the smooth polished shape, that represents the soul, in the palm of my hand before I recognize it in paint.

Late one night in Kyoto at a public bath in the entertainment area of Gion, in a beautiful old bathhouse a wall was constructed down the middle, compliments of American occupying troops, to separate the men from the women. Some women must have recognized the voices of the local yakusa as they shout for them to come over to our side. After much taunting and conversation back and forth a couple of young gangsters came over in loincloths to display their ear-to-toe tattoos. Even the older women clapped and hooted in delight.

Japanese gangsters represent the underbelly of an ancient structure where exhibiting bravado with a particular flavor identifies oneself.  This ruthlessness is juxtaposed to the practice of traditional tea ceremonies where brush calligraphy and even sword work are said to embody the same principles. Today, arising from the warrior’s code, suicide can be considered a morally responsible decision. There is an archaic stance that can for a moment flash in a small boy, a shopkeeper, a policeman, or even an animal.

In this three-paneled painting, the bushido bravado that is ever present in Japan yet mostly invisible takes the shape of a raven opening his wings to expose amulets of power. The four-legged red creature is highlighted from outside the frame— young, innocent, and vulnerable. This creature has appeared in my painting for decades taking on various guises. This time a catalyst to the underbelly of the Raven-warrior.

Once more a spacious desert-like expanse, but this time, a net stretches to the horizon. This mysterious net connotes connection, but also emptiness. Could this net infer a game? The word tennis is said to be derived from the French “take this,” when one player would serve the other.

The horse, an animal in a willing relationship with humans amplifies power, speed, and beauty. This red horse responds to a ritual Hopi rattle, one of the oldest living cultures to have lived continuously on the same land. They are a people deeply religious, with ritual ceremonies guiding most aspects of their lives. This rattle was made for a baby to call for protection from the ancestors.

This painting arose from a family trip through the Southwest.

 

In a dream, I am invited into a hot bath, with no way of entering the tub except folded up as if entering a funeral urn. The tub is supported off the checkered floor by four green frogs. In the dream, shivering in a red towel I am shocked as to how this could happen and what I can do. In the space crouched are three dark menacing beings murmuring. They remind me of harpies symbols of death, fear, and the underworld. A small wild red horse is reminiscent of the light under a bushel basket. The harpies are held at bay by the horse.

The checkered floor always suggests the world of duality. It is promising in that frogs of transformation at the base of the tub are intermediaries of the bathing device on the floor, but I cannot enter the place of relaxation, cleansing, and ritual because it is divided. Still, the bath is asking for some action on my part.
 

This image arose from a family journey through a Southwest Navajo reservation when our daughter was small. The inhabitants there wondered about my husband’s tribe for his extreme height and facial features. He told them his tribe was the Japanese tribe and they nodded.

In the painting, we are positioned precariously on the top of a fruit ladder in the wind. We are considering moving across the country to construct a Zen Buddhist temple in Taos with local adobe and traditional Japanese temple carpentry. A decision of a radical life change. Again, a Hopi rattle flies through the air activating instinctual indigenous culture across time that feels more like a personal tutelar guide in the threat of modernity.