inspired by jane davies class
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Now What?
december 3predawn, -4°C wind chill, first dusting of snow of the season. usually working with invisible ink,neighborhood night artists recognize a gift in a blink, rushing to use the season’s first dusting of snow at three a.m. to create a pop-up show: a rabbit works in tidy morse code, quickly tampinga precise diagonal streak of Continue reading
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The Grocery Store and the Church Fair
december 6evening, biting cold wind. tonight, grief is the canned soup sectionof the grocery store.she is happy to beout of the cold, happyfor good lighting and even footing, but whenshe notices a can of progresso minestrone on the shelfshe trips on an unexpected patch of loss,her eyes filling with the quickprick of tears even as Continue reading
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This Her Hymn
november 6430a, furnace just waking up. a mid-autumn morning’s waking begins,this mid-autumn morning’s waking,today’s waking. before she moves at allbefore auto-pilot kicks in with its robotic mindlessnessbefore reflexively jumping into go go go,instead,today,she chooseswakeful stillness first.here i am, she notices from withinand offers a silent prayer:slow. deep. quiet. in everything i do. instead of grinding Continue reading
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All Sweetly Satisfying
december 3evening, cloudy, 0°C. throughout the day, fixing this and repairing that with pleasure and success,cleaning up shattered glass and spilled shallot vinaigrettefrom the kitchen floor,removing blueberry stains from a cloth napkin,duct-taping a disintegrating book binding,replacing the battery in my hiking headlamp,all sweetly satisfying.now someone’s ripped a holein the cotton fabric of the clouds—or maybe Continue reading
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Experimental Escapades
december 2predawn, low sky of clouds, -3°C. i start out on the poëmof my prEdawn ^walkfeet tap-ping-the-type-wri-ter-keys-of-each-step i usually walk ] [ alonedo my own editingbut,, today,, e.e. cummings{joins me} co-optsthe white flag! of a deer’sraised tailas an exclamation pointthe—passing—headlightsof a vehicle as em dashesthe cottontails … of … rabbitsas … ellipsesthe lights on the Continue reading
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Question Exchange with Fellow Creative, Part 2
soup and salad gotta say, i never tire of watching my friend who writespoems and makes art.here she is in soup-and-salad mode in her creative space, no recipe i can see, no mise en place.she just grabs whatever mightserve her rough “plan” and begins with a turn of phrase, then maybe a simile. if she can’t find a word she Continue reading
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Inching My Way Out of My Zone
november 28predawn, cold and clear. in the grocery store of my neighborhood, a deer in aisle 7.the supermarket is otherwise near empty, full lighting won’t come onfor a while yet, it’s too early for most customers,and those one or two who have come through were in a rush, grabbing a single item to take to Continue reading
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Hiding in Plain Sight
november 26early evening, no wind. from nearby,under a dome of night skythe bark-like honksof a canada goose, followed by the collective honkingof many canada geese—all of them cutting loose,floating on a wetland stageunder cover of darknessand partially obscured bya ragged-edged curtain of dry scrub and milkweed,not a one feeling any needto hold back—like so many Continue reading
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Meeting What’s in Front of Me
november 19 predawn, -1 celsius, clear and still. my legs are pistonspumping reliablyand efficiently,my dan tiana combustion engine:intake compression ignition exhaust.soon the cabof my bodyis warm and cozy.i can seeas far as my inner light shinesand that is precisely enoughilluminationto navigate into this day —dotty seiter ===== ===== Notes on poem and art:• “november 19” Continue reading
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Backstage Mentors
november 20clear, cold, moonless. each lawn in the frostbitten november predawna sheet of construction papersprinkled with glitter thatwinks at the stars,the crystalsfirst cousins to firefliestwice removedfrom summer evenings —dotty seiter ===== ===== Notes about poem and art:• I am currently rereading Ted Kooser’s Winter Morning Walks: one hundred postcards to Jim Harrison for the 6th Continue reading
My Story
In 2014, I grab an unexpected opportunity to paint.
To make art.
I get hooked.
In 2015 I start a blog—a diary of my life as an artist.
I post my paintings and their stories. The good, the bad, the ugly.
My compass points: bust through fear, be playful, get messy, trust my gut.
dottyseiter: now playing 