Rips Journal

Dear Mother Earth

2010-05-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Mother Earth,

From the beginning you have given to us. You provide us with food and water, shelter and resources to keep us warm and safe. You provide medicine and heal your children when they were sick. You inspire artists, writers and poets by your beauty.

Mother Earth, you offer teaching and advice, but in our ignorance we ignore you. You offer us a bounty, plenty for all your children to live in abundance. But we are greedy. We worship our individuality; we build idols to our ego. We fight and kill our fellow man for dominance and power. We are hoarders of your gifts.

Mother Earth, we take you for granted; ignoring your examples of generosity. And still, you are faithful to us. You are steady as the seasons and the tides. From generation to generation you provide for our needs, but in our greed we consume the abundance and worry not about the rare and fragile. We point fingers at our brothers and sisters and say it is their fault when we hurt you. It is their fault we don’t have enough. We probe to the depths of your soul and pull the life blood from your veins and in our greed we hoard what you have so freely offered to us. Like a cancer taking over, our greed and destruction has maimed your beauty and has spread over your body into your womb and still we take from you.

Mother Earth, forgive me; forgive my brothers, my sisters and all your sons and daughter; we who have disfigured your beauty. Forgive our arrogance and the greed that has caused you pain and sadness. Some of us are angry. Some are saddened and many are scared. We have done a terrible thing to you and many of us want to help but feel helpless. Many of your children are praying, many are shouting and many are crying. Let us comfort one another; let us work together. Let us join together in prayer before it’s too late.

We pray to you, Father, that we would right our wrongs; that we would begin to act in love for you and your children. We pray that our brothers and sisters would come together as family and once again sit at the table in love, sharing with one another. Let us celebrate in our relatives’ successes, let us mourn with them in their losses. Let us all give thanks for your gifts. Father, let us live in harmony, respect and honor with our fellow man; with our animals, with Mother Earth and with you in the way it was intended from the beginning.

expressive art

2010-03-28T12:01:00.001-07:00

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=30571588&id=1427940872

Picasso said "there is no purer artist than that of a child at play."
Children are uninhibited, they understand expression of emotion; they are free to cry, laugh and be angry. Children are expressive in all they do; they feel the moment and live in the present. Uninhibited, their spirits are free to speak through color, shapes, music and dance. In purity and innocence we all lived once; when hope and all possibilities were infinite, without the constraints of judgment, we danced with joy, sang aloud and colored outside of the lines.

If only we could return to that childhood. We can’t, but we can overcome inhibition and heal. I hear people all the time telling me they have no artistic ability, that they can’t draw a straight line. I truly believe anyone can express themselves with abstract forms, shapes and color. It just takes boldness to try. Creativity is a healing freedom and our choice of expression is our spirit reaching out to be heard. Through expressive creativity we can be reunited once again with the child inside. I'm no psychologist, but I discovered these truths through experience and accident. Art has always been there for me; a companion in the dark, a motivator in the mundane and a confidant when I needed to be heard, a willing participant in celebrations of joy. At 10 years old, and after the death of my brother, art and inspiration was there for me. I found clay on the banks of a river and through that clay I healed.

In 2002 my world was rocked again by a loss. I don't know why…but I walked into an art supply store that day and I left with paints and canvas, much like how I don’t know why I scooped that first handful of clay. But, I did never less and a new medium with color entered my world. My soul desired to be free from the years of perfection pursued; the science, the anatomy of animals and people. My soul was calling me, compelling me, to express itself in a new way, trying to release me from the boundary of the natural world. But I fought it.

The night I gave in to it, was in anger, I was mad. I couldn't sleep, and wandering the empty house I entered my studio. There sat a blank canvas on an easel, which Id been avoiding for months, afraid to mess up the perfect white. But with passionate strokes I attacked the canvas with paint that night! My choice of color was black and darkness consumed the white until there was no reminder of its purity. Tears formed in my eyes as the symbolic realization hit me. Emotions of grief swept over me as unconsciously my brush and hands moved over its surface. I don't recall but lighter colors eventually began to form on the canvas. Shapes of circles formed something was taking shape out of the darkness and I felt hope enter my mind. I called it "Genesis" when I finished. I felt so free from the pain I had experienced just hours earlier. Again and again I’d return to the white canvas and now, with a room full of paintings, I’ve decided to share them.

It is scary to reveal this to the world as an artist, to be so exposed, so vulnerable. To symbolically rip open my chest and show my heart to the world can frighten an artist beyond words. But I’ve realized it is the next step and is part of the healing process and what I must do.

Even in writing this I expose myself. I’ve shared and painted along side with a few close friends and they too have enjoyed the freedom of painting expressively. We have shared wine and music and I’ve walked them through boldly confronting the canvas. These friends’ lives and emotions fill the blank canvases and in all of them a beautiful vibrant colorful life was revealed.

Returning Home

2010-02-01T16:10:00.000-08:00

On returning home.
The newly remodeled building is finished with a wonderful facelift; her age still shows in the character of the weathered beams but it all adds to the wonderful history that makes it feel welcoming and homelike.
I am pleased to announce we are also returning to basics and what has been successful in the past. We have heard our loyal clients and are responding to you. I want to personally thank each of you for your honesty and your insight.
I am so grateful for all of you who have supported my company over the years. On your return to the Gallery most likely you will be greeted by myself, Kathy Toynbee or Pattie Shields. Both Kathy and Pattie have a long loyal history with the artists and customers, going back to the early years when Caswell Gallery was a hub for artists and was well known for the synergistic collaboration that made us unique.
We are happily reuniting with new and past artists who will be displaying their art. Once again we are offering our customers variety and choices in their art viewing and purchasing. We have searched our records for our top selling artists to bring back into the gallery as we also continue to search for new talents to present.
Local artist Gayle Weisfield has poured her heart out producing a huge collection of works for the Gallery. A favorite of Caswell Gallery customers in the past, Gayle creates beautifully vibrant watercolors of the Columbia River Gorge and beyond. She has reached a new level in her artwork and has recently received major awards and recognition.
Eric Bowman, also a local favorite, has a large presence in the gallery through rich and lush oils which radiate warmth and depth of expression. His subjects are those that North Westerners can deeply relate to. His work is so loved and respected even I couldn't resist owning one of his originals.
These are just two artists in what will soon be a well rounded gallery of the most highly sought after artists from our region.
Kathy is also returning some of the top choices of NW wines for each First Friday art walk. On these special evenings our featured artists will be on-site to meet and greet and to discuss their latest inspirations while you sample these NW offerings.
We are also opening up the newly remodeled Gallery space to our clients to use for special events and gatherings.
My vision for the property is that it will serve once again as a hub for creativity and inspiration, to be enjoyed and used by a family of clients, artists and friends. My home is open and I welcome you to enjoy!

See you soon,
Rip

Check out our events page for our First Friday Updates!

Wyoming trip

2009-10-25T09:39:00.000-07:00

I was thinking on the 2th day of the 4 day backpacking trip that was part of a two week hunting/camping adventure in some of the most rugged mountains of Wyoming. Why am I doing this? There were no trails, we were bush whacking cross country. Maneuvering around cliffs and trying to gingerly find a way to descend from the top of a granite peak as night was approaching and we needed to make camp. We found a flat spot and with flashlights made dinner. My feet blistered on the heals from climbing, blisters on the bottoms from side hilling, the tops of my toes blistered and toenails cutting into the other toes from going down hill. The boots were to small and the constant jamming into the front of the boot had bruised my big toe. I was in pain, so bad I questioned could I really make it back the 15 plus miles to base camp. I removed my shoes to inspect the damage, I took my knife out and began carving down my toenails, wishing Id cut them before we'd left. I had discovered Its really difficult to trim them with a pocket knife. They were jagged now, so I found a flat rock and used it as a file to groom them down smooth. With a sense of accomplishment that at least that problem was solved, with the wind howling around us, and visions of the deer, elk and big horn sheep we had seen,I fell asleep.On the 3rd day we boiled snow for water and pumped water from small pools in the rocks. We ran out of fuel to cook, which didn't really matter cause we were also out of food. But I wanted a fire so I found pitch from a tree that was scared and placed it and some dry tender into a empty baggy. We headed for lower country to make camp in the creek bottom of the next drainage. planning to ascend the next mountain. Hungry, hurting feet, shoulders aching from the weight of the backpack, cold and vulnerable to the changing elements mother nature was throwing at us, from warmth to thunder showers to snow. I wondered in that moment why am I here? why did I plan, organized and willingly leave the comforts of home to do this? Am I crazy? why do people choose to put themselves into hardship? What is the draw? Making camp that night, I found fish in the creek and went about making a trap, I damned up the creek, took the netted bag that held part of my tent, cut some willows and placed it strategically to catch the fish. I went up stream to scare the fish down into my trap as I beat the water trying to make them flee into my trap. I found out they would rather go up stream. After falling in a few times and no success, I decided to get Little more violent in my attempts, I fashioned a spear and went about trying to stab one, no luck! So I reverted to throwing big rocks at them in my frustration. I couldn't hit them. But it was a good release of anger. I decide the cave man approach wasn't working well I need to use my mind again.So then I started looking through my pack and found some rope, I unraveled it into thread, carved a hook out of some hard plastic, attached the rope to a wood stick. Took a few pieces of left over spaghetti noodle from the reminance of our last freeze dried meal and cast my line into the pool that held the hiding trout I just traumatized. On my 4th cast I hooked one! So proud and excited as I pulled him into shore but just as I was landing him, mouth watering as I could already see myself frying him over the open fire I'd built, he fell off. As I watched dinner swim away, my pride departed too.
I returned to the little camp we had made for the night and we boiled some water and made a soup from all the left over bags of freeze dried packages, from spaghetti to eggs, A concocted I deemed dinner, It seamed alittle sparse so I picked bitter brush and we shared the meager meal.That night we slept as rain soaked the tent and again I thought why am I doing this? Then I thought of all the other times in nature Id experienced. Hypothermia as a child, lost in the wilderness of north eastern Washington, snow up to my waist and dad building a fire to keep me alive, striping off my wet cloths and wrapping me into his snowmobile suit to bring my temperature back up. Why did he do it? Why does any man or women consciously put them self's into positions of hard ship or adversity? even near death experiences. Is it the challenge? We must enjoy for some reason to test our self's, I presumed. but for what? why? It doesn't make sense in this moment. Now sitting in the comfort of home writing this, for some odd reason I look back over the experience with some weird sense of accomplishment and pride of surviving. What is that about? A good friend I once sculpted his portrait who has sense passed on said to me "A man afraid to die is afraid to live." It was his motto and we carved it in the back of the bronze to be a lasting reminder to his family of the way he lived his life. But why does it take adversity to appreciate the little things? Running hot and cold water, electricity, a soft bed on and on? To be so cold, I am so appreciative of warmth. To be hungry, I'm so appreciative of food. To be vulnerable in the elements, I feel so appreciative for the safety of home. But the same is true in the opposite. To be content and safe, makes me appreciate adventure. I guess we need the contrast to relay appreciate any thing. We need dark to appreciate the suns light. We need cold to appreciate warmth. Isn't it amazing how the universe is set up that way. Its all a changing circle of contrast, from the seasons, to the days. Even the environment and landscape, from flat barren deserts to the lush mountains of the pacific rain forest. All a beautiful contrast, that allows such variety in our life's. I guess I realized we need adversity, challenges and contrast in our life to feel really alive. And if we arnt experiencing enough of it, we find the need to self induce it by competition, sports, the outdoors. My friend Roger said after fighting off cancer and surviving he now appreciates life so much more, even the pain he said is good, because pain is apart of being alive. It reminds him he still has seances. Some are pleasant and some not, but he'd rather have feeling than not. He did change his tune a little when he sat on a cactus! He said a real friend would pull them out! I told him he was going to have to suffer and feel it to its fullest!lol.
Seriously though,I guess we really do need the ups and downs of life. To really be alive, is to be able to feel it all. Pain and joy, sorrow and gladness, love and anger. That to the extent a person can feel the depths of sorrow is the heights we can feel joy and is the measure of being fully alive. Those that live in mediocrity really have limited there capacity to experience the fullness of life. Well all the philosophy bull aside, My feet still hurt!

Tribute to a rancher

2009-09-21T03:06:00.001-07:00

Sun rises on the backs of labor, feeding stock, were a man can fix, ride, make and grow things. Sun up to sun down is the work day, responsibility and honor aren’t just discussed it is a life style. There is a rhythm, you work with the seasons and the day dictates what’s to be done. There are those counting on you and letting them down is not an option. Whether beast or child, there is duty and you are proud to deliver. A hand shake cant be broken. Callused and weathered they may be, But filled in firmness of commitment. Eyes look into eyes and it is known you will go to battle for one another. Talk is small because actions are the measure. You work to finish, not for pay. You work for honor, not glory. You toil and preserver just because its what’s needed. You are grateful and filled with pride, not arrogance. The work taught humility, a job well done taught pride, suffering taught appreciation. Death is not sad, It is a the way of life. A spirit strong in purpose, a resolve un wavering and character guided when no ones watching. It is simple, it is defined, and there is right and wrong. Ingenuity and awareness are necessities. Survival is for the fittest, but the week are nurtured with compassion. Patience is a mandate, perseverance the only way, service is strength and purpose is given from above.

Inspired

2009-09-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

"The dark always comes, the mundane and predictable lulls us to sleep. But some times there is electricity in the air, the quiet serenity of the night changes as a distant storm collides into the calm. The friction ignites and sparks fly. The void becomes alive. A cauldron of ciaos consumes and fractures the dark depths of our soul. The stillness changes to a vortex of upward movement, forging a resounding response! Natures wrath will not stand still any longer, she must erupt and splinter the indifference. Complacency will be forced to peruse. The prisoner is freed and hearts will beat with adrenaline, pumping life into the veins of the dead. Pulsating, pounding, radiating into action. The darkness will flee, in a moment, inspiration shatters and penetrates the heavens of our mind. Releasing a primordial instinct deep with in. It must take fight across time to eternity and back again. The rains wash over, breathing life into all it touches. As the dawns light shines its warmth, the passion must burst forth in a glorious display, unfolding its beauty for all to see."

Trip to Paris

2009-09-06T04:46:00.000-07:00

My recent trip to Paris was an inspiring time for both my son and I. Before he makes his choice for his life's work. I wanted him to have a larger view of the world than the safety of the small town he grew up in. He has just graduated high school and is interested in fashion design. He chose to my delight Paris France. I enjoy taking myself out of the day to day, to travel with my son and share my love of adventure was an added pleasure. Absorbing variety and beauty, plunging our spirits into a new culture. Sounds, sites and smells stimulate the creative spirit. As the sun rose on Paris and the dawn cracked open its glory on all it touched, we strolled down a hidden cobble stone street with wonderment. You understood this is another day unchanged for a hundred years or more, shopkeepers opening for the day, colorful fresh fruits, vegetables and flowers line the side walks and the smell of morning pastries linger through the streets luring me in for an espresso and a sweet taste. Bikes, small cars and pedestrians, bustling by as people start there day. The feeling though, is quiet and contentment, unpretentious and real. Young men sit with their grand fathers for morning coffee, an old women rides by with the days groceries in her basket, bread protrudes and I wonder what she has planned for her family. What is a meal like with them? What would the conversations be if I could listen in? Stories are every where and I contemplate them. We travel the Metro under ground in darkness and when we emerge into the light I'm over whelmed as I gaze upon the city's grandeur. Paris is a super charge of creative energy, you can feel the centuries of creativity that has converged on the city, monuments stand high giving testament, architecture resonates the passions of those before, foods breath flavor into our body's and fashion makes each person a responding piece of art. Each uniquely expressing self. The feeling of Love rains down over the city and there is no way to escape being affected by the resounding call to respond to her beauty. On top of the Eiffel tower at night looking out over the city scape, a distant lighting storm approaches and magic is in the air, emotions stir in me Ive never experience and I feel intoxicated with joy. The city is alive and resonates the collective synergy of millions now and gone by. Strolling through an ancient cathedral where its so quiet you can hear your thoughts echoing to heaven. A small garden where we sit and reflect soaking in all our spirits can absorb, baskets of glowing flowers hang from the balconies and everywhere you turn is a new discovery of beauty, Small hidden restaurants where the owner is the cook and waiter, sharing with you his family wines and recipes, he sits and tries to communicate, he gifts us with the labor of his hands and the love of his art presented with pride. There is no language needed to understand. Fresh flavorful foods, with rich bold wines you can taste the passion. Stone walls placed by masons centuries back, worn and weather from time. You realize you are connected to something lasting and solid. Musicians play in the streets and people stop to move with the beat. Artists displaying their inspirations, Museums live as testaments, documenting and telling the story’s of the creativity felt from the beginning of time. From monuments, to gardens, castles, bridges and cathedrals,food and fashion all exhibiting a pride of excellence, igniting a fire in us both to participate and dream of the future possibilities. passion continues to live and breath in it all. I see it blossoming forth in this young man who will forever be my son, but now a friend and fellow creative. We feel so alive in the presence of the beauty around us, I want to freeze time and live forever in this moment. I take pictures to remember, write the days events in my journal for posterity, but what we are really left with is our spirits and minds expanded, dreams and aspiration reaching farther, and our hearts were captivated and nourished by the experience. Memories to ponder and inspiration to release. But for sure no distance or time from Paris will erase our found love for her.