Tag: winter

poem: sliver light

Silver light streamed
through clouds
pregnant with snow.
The fragile, warbling rays
were enough to turn
the white blanket
that so recently
conquered the landscape
into innumerable fallen stars.

Every tree branch
wore a coat of ice,
dazzling translucence.

The sight filled me
with profound joy.

For the first time
in weeks,
i felt the dance
of words and verse
move through my soul.


asha fenn, December 2017

quiet stillness

10731029_10204225210221949_8644308816572140696_n  10616601_10204225221222224_2448259781153986879_n 10430502_10204225226662360_7275952705031865008_n 10710920_10204225236582608_1751838363833920508_n 10703698_10204225279663685_4826561647674262182_nI have not had power since Saturday morning, about 9 am.

This has lead to a lot of meditation, art and other things.

I have to say, though, in between bouts of complaining and physical strain, the lack of electricity has been strangely soothing.  It has made me think about the pace of my life – the self-imposed stress and fear – and for at alone, I should be grateful.

And I am grateful.

Only, I have sat in this restaurant for nearly two hours letting my electronics charge and I should really get myself moving back home.  The fire needs to be fed.  Animals need to be cuddled.  There remains a lot of art to be made.

It looks like I will be back online before Thursday.  Maybe I have power at home and this errand was unnecessary.  Either way, I will blog again eventually.

IMG_5702 IMG_57041925352_10204225194941567_3284521442037720174_n

changes in the studio

A wonderful friend taught me a vivid expression this past spring: I am up to my eyeballs in alligators. Right now, they have gone far past the eyeballs. The pesky gators are actually dragging me by my hair toward the river.

I had thought I wouldn’t be writing this blog for another month, but events have conspired against me.  Thank God, I have a website design job, but that will be taking a huge chunk of my time in September.  Indeed, I am closing mytimchin_may2014_0009 gallery/studio next Monday and all of the week of September 15th so that I can do the work for which I have been hired.

In addition, the gallery/studio will be closed this coming Saturday so that I can do a demo at the Penobscot Marine Museum – dragging my treadle wheel and some finished pottery those crucial six miles up the road.  I believe I will be making mugs.

A week later, I will be closing the studio on Saturday for the Garlic Festival.  This is the only outdoor show I’ll be doing in 2014, which should tell you how much I enjoy it.  Please, come if you can.  The food is incredible, the music always good and the entire event helps Kids Peace.

At any rate, I have known for the past couple of weeks that I will be closing the studio completely – for lessons and events – in the dead of winter this year. Unless there is a fiscal miracle, I will not have an orifice from which I can pull the money to heat the studio and the house January through April.  Heating the house will be challenging enough.  In a fit of madness, I am reorganizing my living-room and spare bedroom downstairs so I can keep making art in the house.

At first, I was terribly resentful of all the the time and effort I am having to put into the other work – not just web-design, computer lessons, social media lessons but also the bookkeeping, advertising and other chores necessary to run a business.  The engine of art that runs within me is greedy for my time.  I descend into every greater weirdness if I do not write every day, much less work with visual arts.  Thankfully, I have had an epiphany this summer.  I have spent so many days barely functional as a human being, and yet I have still been writing, drawing with pen and ink, organizing my life as much as I can to facilitate the creative process.  As despondent as I have gotten, I have continued to get up every morning and make art.  Words have flowed from me even when I didn’t have the cognitive ability to handle work on my books.

I am no longer afraid that if I divert my attention for a time that I will somehow stop being an artist.  Working in the studio is glorious and wonderful, but if I work from the house that will not make me less of an artist.  This is who I am.  Whether the studio is open or closed for customers, I am still going to make art.

When I made that decision, I knew that the time in the fall, before everything freezes, will become a spasm of frantic transition.  Since I am not actually suicidal, I have to close the normal hours of the studio and be open by appointment or chance.  As much as I would like to think I am able to do everything with grace and splendor, I’m not. To get ready for winter, make the pots I need to before weather kicks me out of that space, and get the new web-design work done, I have to give myself a more flexible schedule. If I am there, I will open up the studio, but you will need to check ahead if you are traveling specifically for me.

While I expected these changes, I did not expect is that this would start immediately after Labor Day.  Yet here I am, on September 4th, writing this blog.

As of this moment: the studio/gallery will be open by appointment or chance.  Tuesday’s Clayful Evening will occur next week, not the week after (the 16th) and from the 30th on it will be completely dependent upon the temperature.  Please, I beg you, call ahead or check my twitter/facebook/google+ feeds.  After December 1st, the Clayful Evenings will cease until April.

timchin_may2014_0039Both Monday and Tuesday’s deals – Multiple Mondays (20% off if you buy more than one item) and Triple Tuesday (30% off if you buy 3 or more) will continue, if I am open.  Check my twitter feed, google+ page and  facebook page (like the pages, too, why don’t you!) to see if I am in the studio/gallery on a given day – I will post in my status if I am opening the studio – or contact me directly if you want to make an appointment.

Meanwhile, check my website for the other places where you can buy my art – I have a full list.  I will be updating it today after posting this blog! I am adding more possibilities for online buying this week – those will get their own blog entries, though.

Thank you for your patience and patronage as I make these changes.  I have never been more grateful for those who buy my art and encourage my madness.


a sweet pause

A quick note, before I start on my topic: this is written the day after Martin’s adventure avoiding flea treatment – and as I type he is on my lap, practicing his acupuncture skills and purring. I am forgiven!

Today has become a sweet pause in the blurry mess of life. This morning I had hoped to visit a dear friend in Portland, but the weather worked against us.

Once I accepted that those plans had been thwarted, I ran a few errands. I couldn’t help but smile as I threw a woman off her game at the grocery store. She nearly walked into a display looking at cans of dog food, a tub of cottage cheese, a fresh pineapple and AA batteries in my cart. Not the bread and milk she expected. Before the weather began, I was back home with the dog beating the wall with his tail as I stacked a week’s worth of food.

Since then, I have been taking it easy. I have been given this opportunity, so I am making sure my back is not taxed one iota. Reading, napping, cuddling with the animals, watching PBS and daydreaming have filled these hours. All traffic sounds from Route 1 have stopped. The world quiets and I have grown still with it. Sublime bliss fills the house, along with the snores and sighs of the sleeping dog and the rumbling contentment of the cats.

None of the unreasonable angst that haunted the past few days matters in this wondrous moment.

I am grateful to my bones.


Long before I got baptized, the practice of Lent intrigued me.  In some ways, this is the hardest time of the year – winter creeps toward spring, but not always with the speed we would like.  Whatever reserves – psychological, financial and physical – that had been gathered to get through the season have begun to run very thin indeed. While this applied more to our ancestors more than we fortunate people gifted with modern conveniences, the end of winter requires both discipline and courage to get through. Mortality confronts us in the naked branches and frozen ground, mitigated by fantasies of warmth and flowers.

Driving back from Bangor this morning, I followed the frozen river.  Chunks of ice had worked their way through the level layer of ice over the water.  Underneath, the river continues to flow, it’s waves and movement invisible underneath the impassive smoothness.  It seemed like an appropriate allegory to me – the cold of winter incubating the change and growth and ebullience that will be spring.

Hopefully people are like that as well – holding pattern in one state before bursting forth with transformation.

the cold seeps into my bones

The cold seeps into my bones,
quieting me,
lulling me into stillness,
convincing my muscles
that there is no merit in moving.
No fear enters my heart,
nor any lonely angst,
for my frozen blood
can carry nothing
but silence.
The winter has settled in,
altering the rhythm of life
to something slow and magical.
Everything centers around
the gentle lifting
of my dog’s breath,
the sighing hush
of his exhale
as he sleeps beside me,
and the softness of the blankets
that wrap around me.


Usually, I find myself writing the keywords after I have written the blog, but tonight they came first. I think the last few in particular are more of a request for my life than a goal for the blog: loneliness, creativity, hope, endurance. Those are my prayers tonight – may the latter two help ease the first and stoke the second.

I had been feeling lost – the weather and my health cobbled me. All these days without power would have been bad enough, but having my vision impaired has not helped. My main solaces when I am housebound, writing and drawing, became unreasonably difficult. I have been thinking a lot about the other generations of people that lived in this house, how completely wimpy we must seem to them, complaining about what they would have seen as charmed lives of abundance. I could recognize that I have no reason to complain, and yet, I struggled. My mind restlessly churned over story and sculpture the whole time the weather, power and my physical weakness kept me from work. Again, it was proved that the words, clay and paint are the foundation for my sanity. Separation from them involves pain.

Today, the blackout lifted (and returned, and lifted, and returned, and lifted,) I went to the studio. I was able to sculpt. As my hands moved over the clay, I marveled. A deep, opaque veil had formed around my spirit – my inner light had been blocked by this stress and fear and frozen darkness. As her curves came to life under my fingertips, I started burning bright once more.

Creativity, hope and endurance.

.Here is a link to the sculpture’s preview video, if you have access to Facebook