|
Home
About the Artist
Originals
Limited Edition Fine Art Giclees
Poetic Captured Reflections Giclees
Links
Blog
Galleries
Contact the Artist
"A Prayer for the Waters"
|
Holly Kallie Fine Art
by Holly Kallie and Cristina M. R. Norcross on 8/14/2010 9:43:07 AM
A Prayer for the Waters
I have always been drawn to water and feel most at peace when I am near it. I recently moved back to a tiny cottage, on a lake that has been an important part of my life for as long as I can remember.
My parents built a little cabin on Golden Lake in WI when I was a 4 years old. My life has been shaped by the vivid memories of this idyllic time. I remember sun sparkling on water, learning to swim, fishing with my dad, roasting marshmallows over campfires and my mom's laughter trailing in the summer breeze as she sailed with her friends.
My mom, always being restless, became increasingly tired of driving to the cottage on weekends after 5 years and talked my dad into selling it and building a house in town with a large swimming pool. I had some good times growing up there, but never lost my deep love for the lake. As soon as I could drive, I often made my way to it's sandy shores to swim or just sit and gaze out over the water.
I married young and had 3 sons and a daughter. We often vacationed as a family on the lake in a tiny old cottage with no hot water, sagging beds and constant sand on the floor from little feet going in and out the old screen door to the beach. I was in heaven! After a 20 years of marriage, we were finally able to afford to move to the lake permanently. We found a large old Victorian cottage, built in the late 1800's, in need of much love and repair and bought it on the spot. Our home was constantly filled with young people enjoying the lake and more great memories were made. My husband and I divorced after 30 years of marriage, and the beloved old cottage was sold. The kids were grown and on their own, and I went on a different journey for a number of years that led me to the mountains of New Hampshire and back, but part of me always yearned for my lake as if it's water ran through my veins.
The opportunity to move back to the lake presented itself last year, and I divested myself of many years worth of collected stuff in order to live a simpler life. The tiny cottage that we had vacationed in, over 25 years ago, had been remodeled into a sweet little year-round home. I was back on my little beach with the sparkling lake outside my door. Now all of the family gathers once again, and it's the little feet of grandchildren that spread sand on my floor, as they race in and out to the beach. My former husband, always my lifetime friend and I just smile, and know that there are new memories being made. I am blessed.
The idea for the painting "A Prayer for the Waters" was born as I floated in my kayak in the marsh at sunset, amidst the lovely ecosystem that has existed there for longer than I can remember. This amazing place edged with cattails and waterlilies is home to many life forms. Besides the many kinds of fish, frogs and turtles, there are countless birds, including cranes, herons, ducks, geese and a variety of small birds. The marsh is also home to muskrats and deer. It is teaming with dragonflies, butterflies and tiny water bugs to name a few of the many insects. I go there whenever I want to feel completely at peace.
I sat there feeling appreciation for all of the beauty and balance of the marsh and then thought of the Gulf and all waters where wildlife is threatened by pollution. It hurt to think about it, and left me with a feeling of helpless despair. How could I make a difference when the sheer scope of it was something more than I could comprehend? If I feel love for the beauty of life in my marsh, then I would feel that for all of the life in all of the waters. If my marsh was threatened, I know that I would go to great lengths to protect it.
I decided to start by putting my feelings into my artwork. If all I could offer was a prayer to the universe for the damaged waters and struggling wildlife, then I would paint that prayer. I painted what it meant to me, but it didn't seem like enough. So, I asked my dear friend and author, Cristina, to put it into words also. The resulting poem that accompanies my painting made if feel complete.
In the process, I understood why I paint people in water so often. I see a connection between our spirits and the flowing, reflective, mysterious and ever changing qualities of water. I seek to understand and celebrate it by painting it, and how we are a part of it. I realize that some of the clear, clean water in my lake was possibly once in the Gulf or any of the oceans, lakes or rivers, as part of the constant journey of rain and water on this beautiful planet. I also realize that water is what we are mostly made of, and it's wounds are really our wounds. This painting is the humble expression of my deepest hope for healing of the waters and ultimately all of us.
In an effort to be of service, Cristina and I are offering fine art giclee reproductions of the painting and poem, suitable for framing with all profits going to the National Wildlife Federation, working to help endangered wildlife in the Gulf and elsewhere.
A Prayer for the Waters
(Inspired by the painting by Holly Kallie)
We are being called.
From the depths of indigo pain,
springs the glowing chakra of re-birth.
We have muddied the waters
with our disrespect -
our muddled minds.
With golden feather reverence,
create a new philosophy
by healing the now.
Leading the way of undisturbed skies,
eagles watch and wait.
Elders live in quiet hope.
Our arms hold the reflection -
a surface of untouched light.
Roots in waters reach.
We truly see ourselves and weep.
With this prayer for the waters.
raise your voice and be heard.
Lift up life with life -
spirit is healing.
Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2010
Comment on or Share this Article >>
by Holly Kallie on 6/18/2009 7:32:58 AM
Love Comes in Many Colors
The idea for this painting was taken from a trip to the seashore with my little granddaughter. Her mother and I dressed her in her new striped sun dress and polka dot sun hat and went out to capture some photos at sunset. "Daisy" is a bundle of curiosity and constant motion and it was humorous to follow her delighted and exuberant foray up and down the beach. Trying to capture a photo or two when she was not in motion was somewhat interesting. She temporarily became fascinated with the ebb and flow of the water at her feet before she got so delighted with the waves that she wound up wet from head to toe.
As I started this painting, I thought that it would be fun to paint the many colored dress and hat and that it would be "all about the outfit." As the painting unfolded, I played with different titles and found it impossible to come up with something that didn't sound silly or trite.
It has been hinted that perhaps the reoccurring themes in my work are somewhat saccharin. That may be the case to some of my viewers, but for me, it has become a stream of images that express some of the many colors of love in my world. It is what matters the most to me, and therefore I must paint it. I think back over the years, of the many faces of my loved ones, parents, brother, children, friends and lovers and now grandchildren. Each one holds a place in my heart, forever. Sometimes it seems too much for my heart to contain, but that is only when I mistakenly miss the physical presence of someone I love. Then I realize that love is forever. Even though I cannot see them, that love is alive and vibrant. I understand what a gift it is just to feel it.
Daisy came to us from the other side of the world. My daughter and her husband decided to adopt a little girl from China. We all waited 3 long years for her to join us. It was an uncertain, but hopeful and exciting time. Not much is known about her past, other than she was abandoned by her mother within a day of her birth and then had a foster mother for a year. When she came to us, she had to leave her foster mother, the only mother she had really known. It makes you wonder, at first, if there is a memory of abandonment deep inside. However, right from the start, she let everyone know that her path in this world was to grab every moment with complete joy and enthusiasm. She is a child who finds everything and everyone an occasion to laugh, play, explore and love. She is fearless and focused on the now.
Sometimes our best teachers come in small packages. I have been reminded by her and her journey, that the best approach to life is with a huge smile and a sense of adventure. It is a difficult path to follow at times, but she continues to show me the way, for love does come in many colors, and I think it will take me a lifetime to paint them all, because it is what I was meant to do.
Comment on or Share this Article >>
by Holly Kallie on 6/12/2009 9:02:38 AM
The Memory Keeper
This painting and following poem were created to honor a young man and his beautiful family. He was a dear friend of my youngest son and loved by our whole family. He passed into non-physical unexpectadly, 3 years ago, and is lovingly held in memory by all who knew him.
The stones that many of us collect often contain lovely memories for us. The idea for the title and also the poem came to me as I finished this piece. I hope that it will honor his beautiful spirit, the gentle strength of his wife and his sweet little son. The poem was written by Cristina R. M. Norcross.
"The Memory Keeper"
I will be the memory keeper of time ~
the way trees whisper history
with every wind blown leaf that falls,
Discovery will guide our fingers,
as your breath of wonder
and my breath of pride carry us forward.
I will be the memory keeper of dreams,
watching you find your footing amongst the stones.
After you offer up a prized rock,
we will ponder the crystallized gifts inside.
I will be the memory keeper of love,
sharing stories of the great love that brought you to me.
I will always hold dear that sacred union.
Thankfulness will spring forth,
like a fountain that showers down upon parched earth.
I will never be left wanting
inside the heart of memory.
Within these stones.
within your hands ~
you hold our stories.
We will be the memory keepers of living.
Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2009
by Holly Kallie on 2/9/2009 8:30:57 AM
I felt compelled to write about a piece of artwork that is rather different from my usual choice of subject matter. The story of this painting begins and ends with a poem.
There is no need to share the intimate details of how my story came about other than to say, I married quite young at the age of 20, proceeded to have 4 children within 10 years and led a fairly charmed, and I told myself, happy life with the usual stresses that most families have. For many reasons my life started to unravel around the age of 40. I had been on a private and personal quest for spiritual answers, reading anything I could get my hands on. My children were growing up and leaving home, and my husband was slowly becoming a stranger to me. During this time my beloved father passed away at the age of 65, my brother, 6 years my senior, took his life, and my mother, an extremely demanding woman, became my sole responsibility. Due to a series of events that led to what I now realize was the start of my "Phoenix Process," my husband of 31 years, filed for divorce, and I did not feel the desire to disagree with his choice. I personally had no idea who lived inside of me at that time and was terrified, but compelled to find out. I came upon a poem written by Mary Oliver called "The Journey" that closely describes how I felt at that crossroads of my life.
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice -
though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug
at your ankles,
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do -
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Mary Oliver~
For several years my restless spirit had failed to find solace in the religion which I was raised, and I began to find comfort and acceptance in a group of friends that followed a Native American spirituality. We had regular gatherings, many of which were full moon ceremonies. These were lovely times, sitting around campfires and sharing our love of "the Great Spirit", nature and each other. I was honored to be invited to a Sundance Ceremony which was a powerful experience beyond description.
Because of my connection to these wonderful friends, I took a trip to New Hampshire to attend a week long camp-out in the mountains. It included learning to make drums, sharing ceremonies, taking part in a sweatlodge and enjoying the breathtaking beauty of the White Mountains. While I was there, a ten acre parcel of land on the side of a forested mountain, was shown to me. I fell in love with it and bought it on the spot. Never being an impulsive person, I had no idea what had gotten into me, or what I was in for. Within 8 weeks, I had returned home to Wisconsin, sold my beloved home on Golden Lake, packed up all of my belongings, my two dogs, and left family and friends behind. It was the fall of 2000. Before I left, I received a beautiful red Sioux Star Blanket as a gift from one of my dear friends for my journey. When I reached New Hampshire, another friend allowed me to temporarily move into an old one room stilt house that she owned in the mountains, close to my land. It had no plumbing, no running water, no insulation and a small antique wood stove to keep me warm.
 |
|
I immediately hired the services of a local cabin builder to start constructing a log house for me to live in. That winter was an amazing adventure trying to keep warm, keep clean and learn how to live with very little. Besides finding firewood for heat, I had to drive up the mountain every few days to hand pump around 30 gallons of water into jugs and haul it back down the mountain in my truck to the stilt house. |
It then had to be hauled up the stairs and into my cramped space to keep it from freezing. This was my only water for drinking, cooking and bathing. Bathing was achieved by heating 1 1/2 gallons of water on a campstove, pouring it into a camping shower bag which was then hung over a rubbermaid watering trough I had purchased at the local feed store. The trough was kept under the bed until needed and then hauled out in front of the little woodburning stove for quick baths. It was hard work and an existence that was totally foreign to me, but seemed like a grand adventure at the time. The silence of that place was at first disconcerting, but slowly began to calm the many voices in my head, so that I could finally hear my own tiny voice starting to become more than a whisper. I began one painting that winter in the little house on stilts. I wasn't sure what I was trying to say and only painted part of it...putting it aside half-completed. By March my cabin was finished enough to move into, and I did so during a huge blizzard that left 3 feet of snow outside my door.
 |
|
Spring came and with it followed months of back breaking work to clean up the construction mess, cut and split massive amounts of firewood for two woodburning stoves...my main heat source, move tons of rocks from the yard and build gardens, stairs and walkways around the cabin. Luckily my four grown children, 3 sons and a daughter, were happy to visit and help out with some of the work.
|
Together we explored the forests and rivers in the surrounding area and had some amazing times, climbing nearby mountains, fishing the crystal clear streams and learning how differently the people lived in that remote and breathtakingly beautiful area.
By the time fall arrived, I realized it was time to focus on my artwork, the one sustaining passion that had remained constant all of my life. I spent hours each day pouring out my ideas on canvas and slowly saw that the opportunity to focus without distraction, was causing an improvement in my abilities. I can vividly remember the indescribable sense of joy I felt, as I sat near the woodburning stove and painted, while huge flakes of snow fell in the forest outside my cozy little cabin. I was experiencing a feeling of being completely at home inside myself, and it was a revelation. During my time spent there, I remained fond of my experiences with my Native American friends, but moved on to study many different types of spirituality and incorporated many of their live-giving philosophies into what worked for me.
I woke up one morning, 2 years later, knowing that it was time for me to move back to Wisconsin. I missed my children deeply and wanted to once again be a bigger part of their lives. In a short time my little cabin was sold, and again I packed up my belongings and my dogs and prepared to make the trek back to the midwest. Only this time it was with a deep peace and a stronger sense of myself....a self that knew I could be and do anything that I chose. I took all of my new paintings, along with the still unfinished piece I had started in the little stilt house, 2 years previous.
Getting used to the hustle and bustle of life back in the real world was at first a bit disconcerting. It's one thing to be peaceful in a quiet place, but quite another feat to maintain it when the demands of the real world are back in your face. But part of me carries that otherworldly place and what I learned there, inside of me always. Sometimes I wish that I could go back, but it is just a wistful and temporary thought. Especially when I look at my beautiful and unique grown children and now 3 little grandchildren. Spending time with them is a great gift....as is all of life. Life can go full cirlce in many ways, and my journey suprisingly, after 10 years has led me back to a tiny cottage on Golden Lake once agoin, where I spend my time appreciating the beauty of nature that surrounds me and creating my artwork. I needed to burn my old ideas and be born again just like the phoenix to appreciate fully the gift of this life.
A couple of years ago, I finally felt ready to finish the painting started in the stilt house in the winter of 2000. I did so, but was still feeling uncertain about it's meaning. I knew that in some way the Native American woman in the painting was me, but was still unable to put a voice to what her purpose was. Then a young woman walked into the gallery that I had become part of several years ago. She purchased a tile that bore the image of this painting on it, and mentioned to the person who sold it to her, that she had just moved from New Hampshire.
Of course, I heard about it and was interested in meeting her. I learned that she wrote ekphrastic poetry which is poetry written to go with an image, such as a painting, photo or piece of sculptor. Since then we have collaborated, much to my delight, on several projects. Cristina has written amazing poems for some of my favorite paintings and added a dimension to them that is very moving to me. I feel so honored to have had this experience, but also that my friend, Cristina, finally gave a voice to that painting started so long ago in my tiny stilt house in the snow. I feel that I have come full circle and that now, there are words to describe "my journey."
Thank you, Cristina, for giving me those words! Our paths were meant to cross. Here is Cristina's poem.
Sioux Star Blanket
(Inspired by the artwork of Holly Kallie)
Strike the match –
independence breathes.
Energy set alight –
leading the way with a lightning path.
Branches reach and stretch
like a dancer’s limbs.
Snow peaks melt
into the flurry of the river’s current,
just to touch the living heat
of the Sioux star blanket.
A firelight glows
from day until eventide,
singing the electric beat
of woman’s power.
Rushing waters flow past courage –
the solitary candle –
the spark of the search.
Brave Heart speaks:
Seeker, be still –
stay red.
Your time is coming –
your time is now.
Cristina M. R. Norcross
Copyright 2008
by Holly Kallie on 11/26/2008 7:17:04 AM
Imagine a Day
It seems appropriate to share this story on the day before Thanksgiving. There is something about the holidays, and this one especially, that causes us to pause and reflect on what we have to be thankful for at this particular time in our lives. I have spent nearly 50 years painting the human figure. It has been at times frustrating, but mostly an inexplicable source of joy for me. I have often asked myself the question, "Why this particular subject matter, when perhaps some other choice would be of more interest to the buying public?" I really didn't have an answer other than, "This is what feels right to me."
Recently I had the honor of being asked to paint a family portrait for a very special person. A message was left on my answering machine several weeks ago with a request for a portrait of several family members, who had passed away. He said that it was going to be "a gift to himself for Christmas." Being involved in several other art projects right now, and also knowing that finishing a portrait for this Christmas was, "out of the question," I waited a couple of days to call back. When I finally did, a pleasant sounding young man listened to all of the excuses I had for not being able to fulfill his request. He then assurred me quite nicely, that he was willing to wait. At this point he softly mentioned that it would be a portrait of his wife and unborn child that had died in a car crash this past April.
After a few moments of speechlessness on my part, I agreed to meet with him.
Even though I am one of those people who prefers not to listen to the news, I had heard of the death of Jennifer Bukosky, her unborn daughter, Sophia, and her ten year old daughter, Courtney Bella, in a car crash that took their lives prematurely. It would be impossible not to, in a small community such as Oconomowoc, and also because Jennifer Bukosky was a much loved teacher and associate principal at Oconomowoc High School. Michael Bukosky is a gentle soul, who immediately impressed me with his ability to remember the goodness, and to honor that memory, as he attempts to move forward in his life. He asked me to paint "the family portrait that would never be" of himself, Jennifer and Sophia, I, of course, agreed having no idea how this would come about. I simply hoped that they, (Jennifer, Sophia and Courtney) would help me out. For the next 2 weeks I painted pretty much non-stop, hoping that I could fulfill this lovely man's request.
It turned out to be a creative time, filled with great joy and satisfaction, that flowed through me and on to my canvas, as easily as breathing. It seems that "they" in fact were definitely helping me. It occurred to me that we, as artists, paint endlessly because we are, in fact, compelled to do so, but also because we are hoping in some way, that the images we create, will make a difference to someone who views them. Michael has given me this great gift, because I know, that in my small way, I did make a difference in a situation that is something most of us will never have to experience. So, to Michael, I say, "Thank you, more than words can express! For you have given me a gift and made a difference in my life." Whether or not anyone would judge my painting as good or mediocre does not matter. I have come to realize that it's not "how you paint," but "why you paint" that matters.
So on this Thanksgiving, I would like to remind all of us, that even though we may or may not always measure up to each other's expectations, in our hearts most of us have good intentions. My family which includes my partner, 4 grown children and now 3 grandchildren, quite often don't agree with each other. But in the long run.......how much does it really matter? We all still have each other, and the hope that love will matter more than any other differences we may have. So, I will leave you with the poem written by Jennifer Bukosky's daughter, Courtney Bella. She wrote this poem a couple of weeks before she passed on. It is the perfect poem to go with the portrait that I was so honored to create.
Imagine a Day
Imagine a day...
When nothing can hurt or scare you
Where everything impossible is possible.
Imagine a day...
When the beating of your heart
And your voice
Is all you hear.
Imagine a day...
When the twinkling
Of the nighttime stars
Is the only thing visible.
Imagine a day...
When you take a nap
Floating on the clouds
Dreaming about
All the good in life.
Imagine a day...
When, the only thing
You want to do,
Is fill an empty page with words
Writing your story.
Imagine a day...
When you become best friends
With the moon
Sharing its night time splendor.
Imagine a day...
When all you want to do
Is wonder and think
Wonder and think
Just imagine...
April 2008 Courtney B.
Related Journal/Sentinel article published 11/30/08
http://www.jsonline.com/news/waukesha/35235849.html
Related Oconomowoc Enterprise article published 12/08/08
http://www.gmtoday.com/news/local_stories/2008/Dec_08/12062008_05.asp
|
|
