Looking up

outside layers peel... old leaves fall... dead wood drops....

blossoms burst out, new shoots form, growth begins,

it all happened when i wasn't looking...

What did make it into the dye pot...

...got a lovely rusty orange colour brewing up weeping cherry leaves ...
fabric left in overnight on top the fire place, keeping the just below simmering.

India's words tattooed in my brain "Time is your friend".

and a deep purply charcoal from the bark in a cast iron pot... dyed over night.

This became a really thick rich dye, i keep replentishing it and re-using it

What didnt go in the dye pot...

...this moss has been growing on the roof of dads shed for years, it looks like tiny mountains...

very tempted to boil it up and see what colour it gives... but resisted... had to touch and explore ..... so velvety and soft.

A cluster of mini mushies...

fly agaric - Amanita muscaria

The mad monk tells me he boils them and eats them, the 'Fly' in fly agaric comes from the sensation of flying or delirium when ingested... Celtic druids, Indians, cultures from all over the planet have used them in some form in spiritual ceremonies.... witches and warlocks brewed them up to make a flying potion....

they do evoke a sense fairy like wonderment...

Tanjil Bren tales

The journey up to Tanjil Bren is one i have been doing for many years....

... loving every emerald green, fern encrusted bend and curve on that road.

and gems the forest has hidden away ... if you know where to look...

old loggers bridges... you can peep thru, and watch the waters beneath swirl and flow....

The Living Canvas

On a trip up to Tanjil Bren near Mt BawBaw, i was given a copy of "The Living Canvas" by John Yule, by a 'crazy monk artist'...

...i was fascinated by the stories he shared, by the fire, over a cup of sweet tea with manuka honey... about life, and living in The Czech Republic during the Russian occupation, his accent easily transported me into his tales.... we are truly blessed to live in a land where art, literature, music and thought can be enjoyed so freely.

Reading the book, i found this.... and felt it should be shared....

Art is essentially something which happens to the artist,

not something the artist makes happen.

to quote Jung again:

The creative urge lives and grows in him

like a tree in the earth from which it draws its nourishment.

We would do well therefore,

to think of the creative process as a living thing

implanted in the human psyche.