Bucket List: Painting with Light

Last week's solar flares caused dramatic variations in the Northern Lights and left me longing to check off the number one item on my bucket list: a chance to see the Lights with my own two eyes. It's been an obsession of mine for most of my life, which is probably more than half over at this point...

When I was a little girl, my great-grandmother gave me a tiny tear-shaped stone that seemed to contain every color of the rainbow. It hung around my neck on delicate silver chain and I never wanted to take it off, especially after she told me what it was called: an Aurora Borealis crystal. Even the name sounded magic, and I listened with rapt attention as she told of the mysterious lights which appear in the northern sky. That crystal may have been nothing more than an irradiated bit of rock, but for me, it was the seed of a dream.

Certain dreams and mysteries shouldn't be explained away. For once, I really don't care about the scientific explanation of the phenomenon, that this display of lights is caused by charged particles colliding in the thermosphere. Let me have my childish belief in astronomical alchemy, of spirits dancing in the sky. And please, please let me witness them before I, in turn, become a spirit of the void.

photo, Daily Mail

The Empire of Light

Aeons ago, I went with a friend to see a Magritte exhibit at the SFMOMA. I love Magritte's whole body of work, the trompe l'oeil, the sense of humor. This particular image, one I hadn't seen before, struck me at the time and has stayed with me ever since. I was lucky enough to see it again a few years ago, hanging in its rightful place in the intimate setting of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice.

It's a painting I long to enter. I want to go around the corner, throw open the door, and skip steps as I run upstairs to the second floor. The light is warm and enticing, beckoning; there's something commonplace and comfortable about the scene, but it's magical too. Light is so hard to capture. I'm in awe of artists who truly get right, who can beautifully illuminate a scene from within. Magritte was one of them.

Please, leave the light on for me...

Un Peu de Mystère

Hundreds of times I have gone full circle 'round the roundabout at the end of our town, near the end of our peninsula, and I never ceased to be amazed at the sights I see at any given moment of the day. Mornings hold a particular glory, with the sun in its many costumes. San Francisco is just there, behind a dense wall of fog, as the Angel Island ranger's boat putters over on its morning run.

The nice folks who run the corner café must think I'm nuts, the way I jump out of my car and go running for the water's edge each time I drive by; there's always something new to capture: a leopard shark, a seal, a manta ray, a schooner, a skiff, a cloud front. The city skyline, dazzling in sunlight or shrouded in mystery. A scooter with a broken headlight, a penny on the pavement, an egret in flight.

Here's the secret: I refuse to see anything less than the spectacular in the everyday. It's my contest with myself. Just one amazing thing; it's not that big of a challenge, but it does mean you have to be waiting for something, expecting something. If you're looking for it, you're bound to find it. Believing is seeing.

Pearish the Thought

We received these gorgeous pears as a gift over holiday season, individually wrapped in gold-gilt circles of pale green tissue paper, each piece of fruit tinged with the loveliest blush. They were delicious and everyone was delighted to indulge in a luscious, special treat. It's the best kind of present; one that's beautiful and useful and enjoyable, and in this case, nourishing. One that can be shared and doesn't go to waste. We couldn't ask for anything better. Except maybe another case, since we're all out now, perish the thought...

Bright Ideas...

...I'm fresh out...

Cerulean Soul

One of the advantages of rising before dawn is the privilege of actually witnessing the sunrise each day. This morning's tableau was serenely spectacular; it's as though there's a clear-cut line between rosy day and dark night, with its crescent moon still hanging high in the sky.

If only life's transitions were so straightforward. Try as I might to greet each day with optimism and enthusiasm, there are times when my soul stays sunk in a deep blue funk, a sadness without solace. Sorrow, though, can be a profound creative well. Minds like mine don't travel in straight lines, and sometimes a detour into the deep and dark is required to throw some perspective on the quality of the light.

Torrential downpours are coming, probably tomorrow, and my mood may well reflect the weather. But it's impossible to watch the sun come up on a beautiful day like today and not believe that somehow, some way, things will turn out as they should. I'll save that thought for a rainy day.

Into the Light

Nothing like a steaming cuppa joe and a little bit 'o sunshine to get the day started right!

It Just Dawned on Me

Sometimes it pays to look up...

Color My World

I've been experimenting with food and light and tried to steal a page from More Magazine's September issue... I love the way the thinner edges of this cranberry relish ignite with the back lighting, how the seeds and pulp cast shadows, and the color reflects off the surface of the Pyrex dish. Glam!

A Beacon in Darkness

Alcatraz is, at best, a grim place: a reminder of all that is unfortunate in society. The cells and the bars made me shudder as we toured the erstwhile prison, but for me, this lone little lightbulb brightened the whole experience.

In a Certain Light

Our Associate Rector was just ordained and I was asked to photograph his first celebration of the Eucharist. While I'm not really one for all the pomp and circumstance (even after years of attending this Episcopal church), I can appreciate the mystery and history at the heart, the origin, of all these rites and rituals. My faith is just more freewheeling in form and expression.

Recently, a self-proclaimed atheist said to me, "I envy you your faith. It gives you something to fall back on." I just smiled and nodded, swallowing all the smart-mouthed comebacks that popped to mind, like: "Well, faith is free for the taking...", "You have faith in your convictions, right?", "Yeah, the empirical world isn't much of a comfort, is it?" Not very Christian of me, I know....

I wish I had my grandfather's brand of steadfast, unshakable faith; mine is more like quicksand, a candle in the wind. But it's there. Honestly, who can contemplate the Fibonacci sequence in the face of a sunflower and not believe in a higher power? Whether or not he's got my back every minute of the day, well, I'll have to get back to you on that one. The older I get, though, the more inclined I am to agree with Ralph Waldo Emerson: "All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen..."

The Golden Windows

One of my favorite stories for children is a fable called The Golden Windows, which goes something like this: A boy looks out across the valley each morning and sees a house with golden windows (the same phenomenon I often see when I glance across the bay towards Sausalito in the early hours). He longs for a home like it.

Finally one day, the boy decides to cross the valley to see this wonder for himself, and he arrives at the far-away house on the hill just as evening approaches. When he knocks on the door, a girl his age answers. "Excuse me," he says, "I've admired the house with the golden windows for so long; do you think I could have a look?"

"Of course," she replies, "it's right over there; I've long admired it, too." And she points back across the valley, where the setting sun is reflected in the windows of his own house...

Fiat Lux

Wynham is in the discernment phase of his confirmation year with the Episcopalian Church. It's truly amusing to see him try to contain his wild side within the confines of an acolyte's robes. The rector's wife and I placed bets on how long it will be until he sets something on fire. Will he see the light and mend his mischievous ways? I'll let you know...

Room With a View (Almost)

One of the disadvantages of traveling alone is that most of the single rooms are in the back of the hotel, as was the case with every single place I stayed on this trip, although it didn't really matter much, since I was rarely ever in any of them except for a few hours of sleep. As I was packing up on my last night (or should I say, earliest hours of the morning) in Paris, I noticed that one of the little half-sized windows in my room opened up to a tiny terrace, so I decided to climb out and have a look. And there, between the chimney pots, were the towers of Notre Dame. I love surprises, and Paris is always full of them...