I’ve spent most of the entire month of May writing a business plan for my art business.  I didn’t think it was going to be all that hard.  I’m pretty good at visualizing what I want and I’m a decent writer.  But figuring out every little detail of every expense that will propel me into a profitable art business… in this economy….. well, that’s hard.  Especially when you have to reconfigure every calculation whenever you change your mind on something.   So I’ve spent almost every waking moment of the last few weeks researching and writing, re-writing, visualizing, re-visualizing, editing, calculating, and re-calculating this thing.  Alas, I think I’m done and I’ve done a pretty thorough job.  My plan is in review right now, so I hope they’ll say I’m good to go and can get the money needed to start my business soon.

Here’s the basics of my plan: I am going to expand my current sales of my prints, cards and pendants into a wholesale business.  I’ll be targeting bookstores, boutiques, metaphysical shops, and card stores.  I’ll begin with 6 of my best-selling images to create offset runs of my cards,  prints and mounted prints (until now, all of this has been hand-produced, so limiting the number of images will allow me to get a larger number of prints done for each of the images, adding new images every few months as sales pick up).   There will be a focus on sustainability, using Portland companies that use recycled paper and soy inks.  And I’ll hire Portland artists to help me with the production on things that are more labor-intensive (mounted prints and pendants).  I’ll also improve the process of creating my pendant jewelry by wire-wrapping them instead of adding glue-on bails.

Now that I’m done with the biz plan, I’ve spent the last few days refocusing my attention towards making product and doing a couple of outdoor shows.  On Wednesday, I stayed up past 3 a.m., making mounted prints and glass pendant jewelry.  The following day was First Thursday in the Pearl district, so I packed up all my display stuff and put up my tent and gridwalls, and once I had everything set up, it started to rain. And it rained… and rained… and didn’t stop raining.  If I’d left 1/2 hour after setting up, I would’ve made all the money I was going to make for the night.

Yesterday was the first truly sunny day for weeks, so I thought, GREAT… everyone will be out and sales will be good for the First Anniversary Celebration of my Sellwood gallery (Love Art!).  So I set up a couple grid-walls in front of the gallery (minus the tent because I didn’t want to block the view of the bands that were setting up).  Once I got all my art up on my grid-walls, a wind came and knocked the whole thing down, damaging some of my mounted prints!  I put the whole thing up again (this time securing the walls to a huge metal sculpture).  Was there all day, enjoyed some great music and company of some friends… and got a sunburn (just to prove I got some sun).  Sold 2 things all day while I watched the traffic jam push past the gallery.  I think everyone was headed out of town because they knew it was their one day of sunshine for a while. 

I guess one thing I’m learning about all this is to take things more in my stride.  It used to be I would be totally pissed off at spending so much time prepping for and sitting shows.  Now I just figure, “You win some, you lose some”… and at least I’ve got some stock to put back in my stores (minus the ones that got damaged!)  I count the people I meet as part of the reward of doing these shows too.

Another thing that’s stimulated is that I’m thinking more about how I can create art that’s practically damage-proof, waterproof, ecologically sustainable, and light-weight (for reduced shipping and ease of transportation).  I have a few ideas and will see what ends up being the best solution.

It was hard to decide what would be the name of my new business.  I had several ideas but my brain went back and forth between several ideas.  So I put it out to a poll of my friends.  I thought it was interesting that, given 6 possible names, around 21 out of 30 responders picked the same name, “Dreambird Creations”, so I decided this was best because it gives a sense of the dreamy quality of my work.  Since I paint a lot of birds and my name is a bird, that’s fitting too.  After writing out ‘dreambirdcreations.com” in an email, I realized a shorter name of “dreambirdart.com” might be better (still deciding on this one).  So far, I’ve decided the 6 images heading this blog entry will be my first group of open editions.

My recent move to a new residence took the wind out of my sails for a bit, especially since I fell prey to a cold almost immediately following my landing. The necessity of making the bills always prevails, so there’s been more time catching up with web clients and planning classes than in the studio lately. Whenever I can’t get into the studio much, I set myself to achieve at least some small accomplishments there, so I finished this little self-portrait that I began earlier last year (above).  It’s not a perfect semblance, but it feels like me.  The little bird floats above the abstract patterning of dendrites (the branched projections of neurons that communicate with each other through electrochemical stimulation).   My father was a biologist, so I’ve always had a fascination with the subject, though my understanding of it is more mystical than scientific.  (Incidentally, it doesn’t bother me that tree branches are reflected in the glass of this photo, as it seems to add to the theme in this context).

Part of what forced me to complete this little painting is that a collector of my work wanted to purchase it. They also bought a painting that I created earlier in my career:

“The Captive Heart” was created shortly after I finished an artist’s residency in Colorado, so I think the date goes back to 1994-5. I have to admit that I’m a rather poor chronological-er of my own work. During my early career,  it was enough for me to remember to sign my artworks, much less put a date on them.

A little about “The Captive Heart”:

First of all, the theme (as one might guess) is one of emotional vulnerability, of feeling that one’s heart is exposed. The figure of the woman is inspired by an image of a Mexican sculpture of Mary… and I’ve place her in a room flooded with water (symbolic of swimming in an emotional space).  A mocking-bird flies within this captive space, delivering a flower.  The sticks with holes drilled in them are a reference to a little illustration I found in my father’s Scientific American magazine.  The referenced article was illustrating the path of a bird as it collected seeds in a controlled experiment (i.e., the flight-line represents the path the bird took when either collecting or depositing seeds within the branches).  As an added mystery to the story-line of this visual puzzle, a man is portrayed outside the window, collecting branches.  I leave it to the viewer to decipher the meaning of all this personal iconography.

Some of the things that continue to inspire me is the similarity of the patterning of branches and the branching of arteries/veins.   And birds… which are ever-present in my works, for reasons that are not entirely clear to my self.  I suppose I see them as messengers of spirit.

Another important note (for me) about this painting is that it was the piece that signaled a change in my way of working.  Though it is painted on illustration board, the “open heart” and window gave me the idea for painting on layers of plexiglass, which gave me a way of creating images behind images (or images above and below, on separate panels).  Today, I go back and forth between painting on wood panels and painting on plexi.  I love the 3-dimensional layering that’s created in my plexi-paintings, but it is also something that slows me down and forces me to be more precise.  For this reason, I’ve decided to limit its use to my smaller paintings in the future.  When I want to work more spontaneously, I’ll work on larger panels or canvases.

The couple who bought this piece also bought one other earlier piece of my work which was also a step in my development towards painting on different levels, rather than a singular flat surface.  “The Connection” was painted around 1993, while I was an artist-in-residence at Anderson Ranch, in Colorado.

I had a strong desire to break out of the picture plane, so I used a scroll-saw to cut the shapes of the tree , and the aveoli that makes up the woman’s body.  (Alveoli are tiny sacs in the lungs that perform gas exchange, allowing the body to get rid of carbon dioxide and convert it to oxygen).  Her lungs are actually fed by the tree (the branch on the left turns into her veins)… symbolizing this exchange of carbon dioxide to oxygen.  Behind them is a sky filled with stars and a red curtain (the theatre of life)…  a sculpture (borrowed from some cathedral?) that represents the idea that this life can be cut off at any time…. also a man witnessing the scene, and a couple doves with vegetation and flowers.  The woman’s face seems Victorian (if not Queenly).  I don’t even recall how I arrived at this theme.  I tend to be a gatherer of images… and even if I don’t glue them down into collages, I often borrow a “little of this, a little of that” from various sources, allowing myself to re-sort them in ways that make sense to my painter’s hand.  Thus, science, mythology and art history are synthesized within my aesthetic realm.

It’s been most of a month since my move, but the physical requirements of making it all happen put my body in such a state of exhaustion that it’s taken me this long to get back on track. First of all, I am not one who can live out of boxes for any amount of time. The aesthetics of place (and the sanity of knowing where everything is located) is simply too important to me to let myself rest. So the feathering of the nest began pretty much immediately… followed by a near-total collapse (and I’m still recovering).

I’ve only had few visitors since the move, but immediately upon seeing this little attic space, the word “sweet” always comes up. We are situated on the third floor of a lovely home west of Mt. Tabor, which is my new favorite Portland neighborhood. Here’s my favorite part: a panoramic view from the window of the enclosed porch that I’ve made into my office:

Below is an image of what’s currently on my easel. It’s not finished yet, but far enough to feel excited about sharing it. I’m continually amazed by how many of my paintings develop. Usually I begin without any real intention for what the imagery will become. Then ideas spring to me while I’m in the process of creating. Images fall into my hands at the appropriate moment… and then the magic happens.

This began with a panel that I found in someone’s free box. It had an abstract painting on it which I painted over with dripped paint and sponging. That sat for about a year as just a “nice background texture”. Once I moved into this studio, I pulled it out. After going through my folders of images, I selected a black-and-white image (around 1 1/2″ square) of a 5th century Indian sculpture. There was something in the expression that interested me, so I painted it. Then I came upon this image of these weird birds. Fortunately I kept enough of the original article to identify them as “hoatzins”. They were in an article I found called “The Strangest Birds on Earth” (I can’t remember the source I plucked it from, though perhaps a Natural History magazine). Why this woman is taking a regatta ride with these huge birds by her side is as much a mystery to me as anyone else. After committing myself to this theme, I learned that hoatzins are an “unusual species of tropical bird found in swamps, riverine forests of the Amazon and the Orinoco delta in South America” (Wikipedia). I also learned that they can’t swim and that they are poor fliers, so perhaps the idea of them taking a boat ride is not so unusual. What surprises me is that they are not (yet) an endangered species, since they are reported to be fairly unwary. Perhaps they have been saved by the fact that they give off a foul smell when threatened, and they don’t taste good (a common nickname for them is “stinkbird”). Now I have another reason to travel to the Amazon river forests. I am very interested in the indigenous cultures of this area, and now I’m totally fascinated by these birds!

Now that my studio move is nearly complete, I can now concentrate on packing, organizing and getting rid of some of my belongings. Moving every couple of years is the only thing that prevents me from becoming a total pack-rat! At the end of this month I’ll be moving into my new home at the base of Mt. Tabor. More updates will come after everything is in place!

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“Blooming Meditation” and “Aqua Bird Dream” have been some of my more popular sellers whenever I sell my prints or note-cards, so I guess it’s no surprise that these are the ones that caught the jurors’ attention.  What’s even more exciting is that “Aqua Bird Dream” will also be featured in the wall calendar.  Since only 12 images are chosen for this, it’s a special honor.  I’m so delighted to be included in this wonderful publication which has a far-reaching (and devoted) audience!

In celebration of this, I’ve decided to offer prints of these two images at a special low price, for anyone interested in collecting my prints before I hit the big time.    For a limited time, I’m offering prints of these images mounted on wood for a special low price of only $20 each! (normally $24-29 retail, depending on location).  These full-color prints are glued to a 1/2″ thick, quality plywood.  The edges are painted black, and the images are sealed with 2 layers of UV-protection varnish. “Blooming Meditation” is 8×8 inches, and “Aqua Bird Dream” is 8×10.  They’re both ready to hang, or they can also sit on a table or small easel. Or, if you prefer, for the same price you can get either of these images (same size as the mounted prints) on a thinner piece of wood with a glass front, sealed with copper edging.  Just send me an email if you’d like to order either of these.  I will apply $3-4 shipping cost (depending on weight)… or if local, we can arrange for free delivery!

One more offer.  If you’d like note-cards of these, I can also offer them for a special low price of only $3 each, or 4 for $10.

The above pieces measure 4 1/2″ x 6 1/2″. The beveled glass and copper edging adds to their physicality, and each have hangers on the back.. though you might prefer to sit them on a small table easel. I also did some slightly larger square prints that are 6 inch square. (You can get a clearer view by clicking on any of these pics to open the pic in a new page, then click on that image for an enlargement).

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The retail prices on these are $25 each, but if you’d like to order one before  Christmas, I’ll discount them to $20. Shipping cost will probably run $3-4. Email me if you’d like to make an order.

Many blessings for a beautiful Christmas!

I’ve just finished mounting a show of artworks with the artist Amy Livingstone.  The show is located at the Doll Gardner Gallery (within the West Hills Unitarian Universalist Fellowship). Here’s our blurb for the show:

Synchronicity brought Robin Urton and Amy Livingstone together, leading to an awareness of a shared artistic vision rooted in reverence for the earth. Drawing inspiration from a combination of personal reverie, sacred mythologies, and the world’s spiritual traditions, this exhibit reflects the sensibility of creating art as a sacred act. The intention of the work is to awaken hearts to beauty and the divine presence woven throughout the fabric of everyday life.

I was asked by the curator of the gallery if I’d be interested in having a show, and my only conflict was in having enough work to fill the spacious walls without taking work from my other 2 galleries. This problem solved itself rather miraculously when Amy called the day before my meeting with the gallery. She was looking for a “sanctuary space” to show her own artworks, but wasn’t expecting for an opening to be just a few weeks away. Her canvas paintings of mandalas and sacred artworks are the perfect compliment for my reverie-inspired plexiglass and panel paintings.  Here’s a photo of the 2 of us at the opening:

Though not a common subject for either of us, the artworks that we are pictured with happen to  be our individual responses to 911 and the aftermath of the Iraq War.  Amy’s painting was inspired by a vision she had on a train returning from a the Day of Remembrance ceremony on the 14th (a few days after the attacks), where she saw 2 hands caressing the earth, lifting it out of the ashes. In my painting, “False Liberator”, the blind-folded angel represents a false savior for a culture she knows little about.  Islamic buildings burn in the background while helicopters fly above the scene.

In an informal talk during the opening, we both expressed thoughts about the healing nature of art, and how creating art in itself can be likened to a sacred act. One of the more memorable questions from the audience was whether we felt that art had as much relevance in these times of economic recession.   Amy referred to a comment of a very young member of the congregation, who said that he felt that “the world would be a gray place without art”.  I responded that, even though fewer people can afford original art during an economic downturn, the need for art is perhaps even greater than usual. Art consoles and lifts our spirits.  Of course, it’s sometimes necessary for artists to find supplemental means of supporting themselves, but it’s increasingly important for us to keep the faith that’s required to continue creating our art, whether the sales support it or not.  (I know that I personally need to create art in order to maintain any optimism in my life, so I hope that when the economy returns I’ll have plenty of art stored up when the pendulum returns!)

One great thing about planning for art shows is that it does force me to complete artworks that were sitting dormant for a while.  In addition to “Primordial Slumber”, which graces the invitation, I also completed another painting that I started some time ago.  Here’s a photo of the latest version of my painting, “Deep River Dream”:

It’s usually the case that my favorite painting is whichever one I just finished, so right now, this and “Primordial Slumber” tie for being the closest to my heart.  This one definitely flowed out of me like a dream.  I started with acrylic on frosted mylar, letting the imagery suggest itself through the paint.  The bird was the first image to emerge, then the swirling sky, the star-flowers, then finally the reclining woman, who seems to have dreamed the entire scene into being.   As the swirling sky met the horizon, it became a river.  I decided to let it the river flow out of her ear.  This may seem too eerie for some, but who am I to argue with the suggestions of  my imagination?  (a preliminary version of this painting can be seen on this earlier post).  The painting was re-worked in oil glazes, then surrounded with a gold-leaf border.

If interested in reading more, Amy Livingstone has written a very enlightening article about the show on her blog: Reverence and Art as Prayer.

Months have led up to a recent “breakthrough painting” that I feel really proud of sharing with everyone. I feel like a lot of synchronistic events led up to the birthing of this one. A recent impulse led to taking a solo trip to the Oregon coast. As soon as I began walking the path through this particular forest, I felt this was the place that called me here. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is places like this that called me to move from magical Taos, to a place that was closer to my birth.

Soon after discovering this place, a friend from New Mexico came to visit me, and I just had to share this special forest with her. She had the same kind of magical response to it. When she saw this hollowed out tree covered with moss and ivy, she acted on her impulse to curl up underneath it. She settled into this most perfect pose within a minute. All I had to do was take the picture, and I knew immediately it would be a wonderful subject for a painting. In fact, it was SO perfect that my biggest challenge was how I would go about creating something that could rival the photo.

I decided I wanted to work on frosted mylar, as I love it’s smooth, translucent surface. First, I made a very general sketch on an 18 x24 sheet. After getting the basic composition in, I added the first layer of acrylic paint… and then a more specific sketch of my subject with colored pencils.

I decided to begin with glazes of paint, pressing plastic wrap into them to obtain a random texture. Once that’s done, I started adding more textured details using a combination of sponging and impasto texturing.

The detail below shows that at this point I am working in a very abstract manner, allowing the paint itself to suggest the texture of the leaves and moss:

I continue to add more layers, but eventually get to a point when I’m not sure where else to take it. Other than adding more detail, what can I do to bring this in a direction that’s more personal than copying the photo?

It was fortunate that I happened to take a collage class at this point. Creating a small collage helped me to decide that I needed to create a color shift of the branches, changing the grayish limbs to a purplish blue brought out more of the fantasy element that this scene inspired within me. (I make more specific mention of the collage process in a previous post).

Now that I’m on track with what the painting is asking of me, I have more energy to devote to its completion. It also happens that I’ve been asked to do a show and since I’ve decided that this piece will grace the invitation, it creates more energetic fire to stay up til 4 or 5 am for several nights. My creative juices always seem to flow much better in the evening.

I had a lot of fun adding details to the moss and leaves. “God(dess) is in the details”.

I also had a lot of fun with the patterns in her skirt.

I was amazed when I enlarged my photo of Olivia to discover that she had wrapped her prayer beads around her hand. This little detail adds more meaning to the picture. When I contemplate this pose, I think of nesting… resting in the womb of the earth. She feels sheltered, embraced by the roots that wrap around her.

It was hard for me to decide on a title for this painting. I had an idea of what it meant to me, but putting words to it were eluding me, so I queried many friends to see what they thought. It was enlightening to hear how many suggestions alluded to ideas of nesting, the womb, Gaia (mother earth), cocooning, and gestation. The image reminds me that deep within the forest I feel a natural home. Walking through an old growth forest, in particular, I feel awakened to a sense of magic… an awareness of how ALIVE the earth is. This awareness enlivens my senses, brings me out of the doldrum of (too much) activity…. and reminds me of my ancestral belonging.

For the past month, my energy has been consumed by creating websites, teaching classes, and cranking out jewelry and reproductions for art fairs. In the first week of August alone, I did 3 fairs (in Portland, Sellwood, and on the Oregon coast, in Yachats). Summer is the time for this and I’ve met lots of wonderful people through it, but production work is exhausting, so when the time came for my week of art camp at Menucha, I was ready for five days of focus on nothing but art!

I had learned about the Arts at Menucha programs through Susan Schenck, a student from last semester.  She was solving a color theory assignment with a remarkable collage technique that she said she learned from a class with Linda Berkley.  I knew Linda some 15 years ago when we were both “artists in residence” at Anderson Ranch Arts Center, in Colorado.  I decided to take Linda’s collage class offered through the Arts at Menucha program.  The workshops are located along the beautiful Columbia River Gorge, in Corbett, Oregon.  The name Menucha has Hebrew roots, meaning something similar to “place of still waters”, and the motto of the Menucha community is “Sacred Space, Purposeful Work”.  The place lives up to its motto, as the environment encourages both creative and spiritual growth.

One of my primary intentions in working with collage was to use it as a means of working out compositions for my paintings.  My first experiment was to try to resolve a nearly completed painting of a woman curled up at the roots of a mossy tree. (I’ll share more process photos of this as my painting reaches completion in another  post, since there were many steps involved in its creation before the collage exploration).  One of my dilemmas was that I felt that the painting was too similar to the photograph I had taken for its inspiration.  I wanted to add some more abstract elements, but didn’t know which direction to take it.  Linda suggested that I create a small thumbnail drawing of the painting, then do a quick collage using black and white paper, followed by a color collage of magazine scraps:

The operative word here was “quick”, as she wanted to push me towards my own expressed intention of making more spontaneous choices.  When she said I had “5 more minutes” to finish my color collage,  I hadn’t even found all the colors I needed to complete it.  It was partly from the frustration of not finding the right color that I ended up creating the purple branch that surrounds the shape of the figure.  This part of the painting originally had more grayish tones.  When I changed the branch to blue-purple in the painting, there was an “AHA” moment, in the realization that what it needed was a more saturated color in this area.  I feel that it brings out the yin-yang relationship between the upward-reaching (cool) blue branches vs. the downward flow of the (warmer) mossy green branches.

On the second day of class, it was suggested that we create a collage based on a thumbnail sketch of something drawn from observation.  Linda gave the example of using a plant in the room, looking out the window, or going outside into the landscape.  I decided to go outside since we were in such a beautiful natural setting.  I found a tree that interested me and made a few small thumbnails, followed by a longer study.  I then went about painting papers in the color scheme that I’d conceived (instead of hunting for specific colors in magazines).  Originally, the tree was going to be in blues and purples, with a reddish sky.  I started with the sky but was disappointed when I tried to build the tree with the blue papers.

By the next morning I had another idea when I saw some textured paper sitting on the top of my stack of collage materials.  It was actually a monoprint made with inked aluminum foil.  I didn’t have enough of this texture to complete my design, so I brought it to the copy machine, creating a range of values and magnifications of the texture.  I tinted the ground in green, to differentiate it from the roots somewhat.  I later added a photo of an owl (after creating another collage which included an owl).  It seems to complete the piece, suggesting more of  a narrative.

Our next assignment was to collaborate with a student in the writing class.  We were asked to give one of our collages to the writing department, where it would be randomly paired with a student. We were also given a randomly selected piece of writing to respond to.  We had 5 students, whereas the writing class had 4, so the teacher also participated.   I later found out that the poem that was given to me was by the writing teacher, Ann Staley.

“Ars Poetica” (on the nature of poetry)

It was all fading,
the dream hitchiked to Kansas.
Hot water, eyes closed -
everything too fast.
Six unknowns,
the refrain.
Lovefest in a sacred place.
But, of course,
the fragments in the desert:
broken down truck &
3-legged table,
bicycle tires, mismatched:
what is abandoned,
reclaimed by attention
and her cousin, purposeful work.

I took my direction from the dreamy feeling, and particularly the phrases, “eyes closed”, and “Lovefest in a sacred place”.  I had brought an image of a painting by one of my favorite artists, Odilon Redon, so I decided to quote it in my collage.   The suggestion of a desert prompted me to create a turban from magazine fragments of cloth.  I then made use of my painted papers and xeroxed fragments of my monoprint texture.  I played with putting a pressed flower in the corner opposite the face, but couldn’t commit to it, so off I went to the copy machine again.

At this time, I discovered that the laser copier was also capable of making color copies and reverse images, so I decided to play with a symmetrical composition.  The idea of adding an owl came from the fact that I had a dream that an owl flew at my face.  The dream occurred the morning I left for Menucha, and since I had a difficult time removing the owl from my face, I decided she had a strong desire to be included in my experiments.  I first painted the owl on vellum, then photocopied it in a few sizes to find the right relationship with the composition.  This is, for me, one of the most wonderful aspects of  using collage: the fact that you can choose to move things around, which is not possible once you’ve committed to an image in painting.

The pressed spray of Queene Anne’s lace flowers ended up being a “nest” for the baby owl crying for its mother.  (I realize that I need to add some color to differentiate this from its textured background). If I end up making a painted version of this collage, the 2 dreaming figures will have clasped hands holding the nest. They may transform into a man and a woman with similar features.

On the fourth day, we displayed our collaborative collages and writings where the rest of the Menucha community could see them, in the cafeteria.  My collage was placed underneath Ann’s poem.  Coincidentally, I found that the collage that I gave to the writing class was paired with a response by the same writer (Ann Staley).  Since my collage was not signed, she had no indicator as to its orientation, and ended up responding to the image on its side.  Once I saw it totally divorced from its relationship to my painting, I also saw it with new eyes.  I’ve included her poetic response below:

I was particularly struck by the fact that my absent figure became a rock, and that she even made mention of “who is missing from this collage, and why are they missing?”  I also contemplate the scraps and bits I didn’t use, and the fact that they might be reincarnated into yet another collage or painting.  Perhaps I’ll continue the process and create another collage based on her poem.  Maybe this time I’ll consider the presence of the wind.  Perhaps this is just another new beginning.

With 1/2 day of my class remaining,   I decided to make use of the leftover copies of the dreaming faces.  Again, I played with symmetry, this time creating a triangular composition.  The effect is a bit more abstract.  It takes a moment to even recognize that these are mirrored fragments of a person (it’s difficult to discern the gender, which is my preference).

Now home, I continue to play with my collage experiments by cropping and changing the hues of some of my compositions in Photoshop.  I went with the intention to finish some unresolved paintings, but instead came back with more ideas to generate into new paintings.  I also feel that I have found a new way of working, and a few more tools to explore.

On the morning that I left for art camp, there were a couple other dreams that bear mentioning.  In the first place, I knew within the dream that I was at Menucha , as I was surrounded by a group of people when the owl flew at me.  Although the owl would not get off of my face, I wasn’t horrified by it.  As I struggled to remove it, I told the others to throw some water on its head (I have a vague memory that someone at the center had instructed me to do this if ever the situation should occur, as if it were a likely possibility).  I then went out to my car and found a blue bird flying in it.  At this point, I remember  that that earlier in the day I’d seen a bird on my palette, on the table next to my easel. It was a dream within a dream… not too disimilar to the process of creating in collage.  I still ponder what it all means and what the birds have to say to me.  Rather than answering the question, I prefer to suggest the mystery.