Today is reveal day for the April Art Elements theme challenge. The subject this month, chosen by contributor Niky Sayers, is BEES.
As a lover of honey, flowers, fruit, nuts, and vegetables, I'm a big fan of bees. Without their pollinating prowess, our world would be a drastically different place. Although most folks may only think of how we benefit from their industriousness, bees are pretty fascinating creatures in their own right.
I grew up with a mom who was terrified of bees, wasps and hornets. She'd been stung many times as a kid, and her fear was palpable whenever one buzzed nearby. Fascination outweighed dread for me despite being stung by a bumblebee when I was eight or nine years old. I still feel that way and often take the time to watch them at work, especially when roses are involved as you can see from the next few photos.
When this challenge was first announced, I had loads of ideas. Collage, jewelry, embellished fabric hearts, watercolor, and so on. As happens, time got away from me before I could create all that I imagined, but I did dig out lots of supplies and make a few bee-related things.
This necklace has bronze bee charms in the middle strand, and the color scheme came from thoughts of honey in its many shades from amber to dark brown.
These earrings were inspired by the typical coloring we associate with bees.
Hearts are kinda my thing. I collect them and sometimes create them in one medium or another. A good chunk of wall space in my craft room is dedicated to all things decorative and heart-shaped. Finding the bee fabric and buttons as well as the other items amongst my stash to make this particular heart was a big part of the fun in doing this challenge. The hand sewing, maybe a little less so. Ha Ha.
This is my first time participating in an Art Elements theme challenge after years of viewing what others have created from month to month. I enjoyed it and hope to take part again in future.
Please visit the links below to peruse the lovelies other folks have created. Enjoy!
AE team:
Guests:
I'm feeling a bit homesick for upstate New York these days. Spring has a way of reawakening memories of visiting a favorite rose garden and tulip festival despite now living over 4,000 miles away. Of course, I miss my family too. My sisters are in the medical field, and my parents have chronic health issues so I'm worried for them. Knowing they are vigilant and taking care of each other helps, however.
As the temperatures warm here in Alaska, we're still weeks away from seeing blooms on flowers and trees. Meanwhile, I'll share some photos from a few years ago and daydream about colorful gardens.
During these last several weeks while stay at home mandates have been in place, my travel has mostly been limited to taking walks through the neighborhood. I've noticed more chickadees flitting about and heard the occasional Steller's Jay making noise outside our home, but I'm very much longing to see the return of spring migratory birds. There is still snow on the ground and some waterways remain largely frozen here. However, warming temps are quickly melting the remnants of winter. Thankfully!
Many of my favorite spots to bird watch aren't currently ideal for maintaining a safe distance from others so I'm patiently awaiting mud season's passing. The hope is that clearer paths and the ability to step off trail will soon make exercising and bird watching easier. This might seem like a silly concern or ambition in the midst of a pandemic, but nature has always been my respite from stress and worry. It is my soother, a way to seek calm and peace, the literal path to joy and repose. Watching birds has become yet another way to attain tranquility while outdoors. (Confession: my husband and I have been watching YouTube videos of birds and The Cornell Lab webcams to both amuse our cat and to get our avian "fix.")
So until restrictions lift and risks are eliminated, I'll peruse and post photos from previous years (like those above), watch birds from my windows or yard, and enjoy glimpses caught while walking. Stay safe everyone.
At the back of our house, in our neighbor's yard, there lives a large evergreen tree. It is the dominant view from the windows of both my craft room and our bedroom. It's a place of refuge and source of food for several bird species and the occasional squirrel. Its year-round forest green color is something of a balm to me whether the branches are swaying in a breeze, still and steadfast, covered with snow, or accompanying vibrancy to surrounding leafed out trees. It is tall and strong and constant.
While watching Black-capped Chickadees fly in, out, and around this tree a few days ago, a strong memory from my childhood came to mind. From first through eighth grade, my family lived in an Italianate style building with four flats and a large shared yard. There were blackberry bushes intertwined with the rusty fence, a lawn divided by a concrete path, and a huge pine tree in this yard. At some point in my childhood, I inherited a snowmobile suit from an older cousin. Because it was so warm and toasty inside that suit, I could spend hours outside in the snow. I recall clearly how one winter the snow had fallen and begun to melt around this pine tree in such a way that it created a perfect icy bowl, ideal for jumping on my plastic sled (literally a sheet of plastic with a handle at one end) and circling around the tree a few times before slowing at the base of the trunk. It was similar, I guess, to how water drains from a sink. Round and round until it disappears, but in this case I simply would come to a stop and stare up at the tree before getting up to do it again. I loved this! I had discovered the best way to amuse myself and sled in what was essentially a flat yard and stay warm while doing it! I can almost hear the sound of the plastic as it glided and scraped over the somewhat crunchy snow, feel how my fingers held on tight to the plastic handle through my chunky mittens, remember fully how gleeful the movement felt.
My older sister tells me that I remember everything, and I think it's because I can sometimes recall things in detail that she doesn't remember at all. That goes both ways, however. I know that I too have gaping holes in my memory, the specifics of place and time forgotten - as happens to all of us with age. Perhaps a lot of these memories are just latent, awaiting a spark to rekindle the echo of an experience. Like how a pine tree that lives behind the house where I currently reside in Alaska could bring to the surface a vivid memory of a pine tree behind a house where I lived for the better part of the 1980s in upstate New York. Fascinating how the mind works.
