The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.

Carl Jung said this and I concur.

Wowzer.

Friday is a hooooooover of a day for me.
I spend the morning with my collage coven in a studio class at IS-183.

Then, I attended the spring assembly at my daughter’s school where I heard her class offer a moving recitation dedicated to W.E.B. deBois, who was born here in our town and only in my daughter’s lifetime, she is 14, has this town claimed this fame.
deBois, the father of the civil rights movement, grew up ‘along the golden river’ that wends through my town. Our familiarity with deBois has grown due the powerful work of Rachel Fletcher, who with others, has stirred our town to mature enough to claim deBois as an important inhabitant. The Housatonic captures us all with it’s shimmering light. Stories and art abound about that river.

But, like the river, I drift.

I am following what I love today and that is art, my kids and writing. After posting this, I will find my husband, for whom I have been saving this Friday evening, as a way to end a busy week. A glass of wine and him. I am so happy to be able to walk this journey with my husband.

I am very excited about today’s guest blogger, Kathy Drue. She is my long lost sister by another mother. Close readers of the Laundry Line will recall Kathy and I have done a few play dates with art here on the Line. And, one of my favorite blogs of all time was a guest post I did on her site.

Today, I give you Kathy, in all her splendor. Do comment on her page here. And, consider subscribing to this website so you can participate in the drawing I am hosting here tomorrow. ( new cookbook, rice pudding recipe, letterpress art and more!)

Tomorrow is when you will be gifted with the next exciting blogger, Ali Smith, author of Momma Love. I posted a video by Ali 2 years ago, as part of my Mamafesto. I have since met and talked with her at the Museum of Motherhood in Manhattan. Momma Love, indeed.

Kathy and Ali represent a spectrum of my fascination with mothering. Kathy, deep in the woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and Ali, nestled in the East Village of Manhattan, both endeavor to live their lives as creative women who mother, who work, who seek to weave these realities together through their expression. Please welcome them warmly to the Laundry Line. I adore them both.

Someday, I would LOVE to toss a big party for the Laundry Line and have you all there, toasting each other, supping on bedtime snacks and telling tales. The long line of guest bloggers on ‘Out of the Mouths of Babes’ keeps getting longer. I hope you are enjoying this blog series and my posts. Your comments, emails and letters mean so much to me. It is my gift to get to share them with you.

All my love,
S

I’d be fooling you big time if I did not tell you I am having a hard time visualizing my success. I would be fooling you big time if I did not admit to you today that my creative process which so intricately lives within the organism we call Suzi Banks Baum, has led me to a field where I cannot see the way out, I cannot picture my desired outcomes, nor can I see that I am worthy or capable of venturing to the next higher ground.

I am not slipping back in to my own skin- the ‘me’ who was content to assist in other’s success, the ‘me’ that found ultimate satisfaction in being at home and unvoiced.

As my beloved friend Sandy told me on Sunday, there is no going back for me. I am playing bigger and moving to the next level of expression of my work in the world.

So, today, will you just sit with me not knowing what is next for ‘Out of the Mouths of Babes’? Or how that work will escalate the birthing of my book, Laundry Line Divine: A Wild Soul Book for Mothers? Or, how, as a full time Mom I can be present and engaged with my children and speaking in my full voice in the world?

Will you just sit with me here?

I am on retreat with a bevy of amazing women at Kripalu making collages and doing yoga and considering the impact of ‘Moon Salutation’ on my tender heart today.

Here is what I made today.

Tiny visionary collage by Suzi Banks Baum 3.13.12

Karen is sitting with me here, her arm around my shoulder.
I am so well loved and cared for here.
I am completely grateful for my whole life.
And for putting myself in the way of transformation.

Time to get back to class.
Love,
S

One of our youngest audience members, Michelena Mastriani, age 11

Favorite Frame from Friday March 2, 2012 ‘Out of the Mouths of Babes: An Evening of Mothers Reading to Others” is the audience.

Here is one of our youngest members, who sat at rapt attention all evening long. Michelena Mastriani was one of about 10 children in attendance on Friday. I was also thrilled and surprised to see that about one fifth of our audience was male, including my 17 year old son Ben. And there was an even younger person there, but that is another FF for later this week.

All photos of 'OUT' are by Christina Lahr Lane

I can only pray that by our children witnessing our collective steps of speaking our stories with a certain grace and attention- they will grow up valuing their own voices.

Today, Tuesday at 5pm at WBCR 97.7 fm you can live stream the replay of the interview Michelle Gillett and I did with Michelena’s Mom, Serene- who is an award winning advocate for women’s voices here in the Berkshires and across the internet. On their radio show called Radio2Women, Serene and Gabrielle Senza, oft mentioned here on LLD, spent an hour in conversation with us about ‘Out’ and about mothering.

Please tune in.

Until then, I am back to my art table. Then there is dinner to think about.
With love,
S

Today’s ‘Out’ post is by Dara McKinley of Volver Now,in Seattle. Dara’s post is viscerally charged with the passion of a mother witnessing loss. In it’s brief cut, like a neat split of the skin revealing hot red blood, Dara stands in grief witnessing the power of creativity.

The world is not divided into two groups, the creative people and the not creative people. If there’s a distinction, it’s between those who are creatively productive and those with unexpressed potential. We’re all creative by default. We’re genetically predisposed to create. Each of us, to varying degrees, is intrinsically motivated to be original and to solve challenging problems. The question to ask is not, “Am I creative?” but rather, “What inspires me and how can I share that?”
Creativity is not about intelligence or information. It’s about inspiration, from the Latin spiritus, meaning “breath, courage, the soul.” Creativity is about being fully alive, living courageously, or as the painter Joan Miro says, “Expressing with precision all the gold sparks the soul gives off.” We inspire each other when we dare to create. We open others’ hearts. We unlock their doors so their spirits can soar. And this is why it matters: because the path through the dark forest can be lit by our work. Others can find their courage in the creations we conjure. Our stories can help people see these times in a new way, understand that this chaos is only a local view of the cosmos evolving beautifully.

this is from Jan Phillips’ Huffington Post of 12.22.11

‘Out of the Mouths of Babes’ lights the path for us all, particularly women.

I found these words by Jan and this author I long to meet in person, Jay Griffiths. I read this quoted text from her article in the Orion Magazine, which is published here in my small town of Great Barrington, MA.

Griffiths writes:

Essential to our self-expression as individuals and as a species, art suggest something of the divine: humanity’s purpose is to “participate in the world-creator’s play of creation,” said Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore. …Art is a messenger carrying to its audience what Arthur Miller called “News of the inner world,” and he continued, if people “went too long without such news, they would go mad with the chaos of their lives.”

Mary Oliver, one of the greatest poets of our time, who lives on the other side of my state of Massachusetts, has been ill for a time. Thankfully, her health is improving. There was a call though, with news that this inspired woman was possibly fatally ill, to write tributes to Mary.
I beg you to read this poem, this one poem, and to know the comfort, the warmth, and the necessity of art in your life. Creativity is boundless. Allow yourself the indulgence of time to encounter that which is essential to all of us.

at the Provincetown Bookshop

To Begin with, the Sweet Grass

1.

Will the hungry ox stand in the field and not eat
of the sweet grass?
Will the owl bite off its own wings?
Will the lark forget to lift its body in the air or
forget to sing?
Will the rivers run upstream?

Behold, I say – behold
the reliability and the finery and the teachings
of this gritty earth gift.

2.

Eat bread and understand comfort.
Drink water, and understand delight.
Visit the garden where the scarlet trumpets
are opening their bodies for the hummingbirds
who are drinking the sweetness, who are
thrillingly gluttonous.

For one thing leads to another.
Soon you will notice how stones shine underfoot.
Eventually tides will be the only calendar you believe in.

And someone’s face, whom you love, will be as a star
both intimate and ultimate,
and you will be both heart-shaken and respectful.
And you will hear the air itself, like a beloved, whisper:
oh, let me, for a while longer, enter the two
beautiful bodies of your lungs….

4.

Someday I am going to ask my friend Paulus,
The dancer, the potter,
To make me a begging bowl
Which I believe
My soul needs.

And if I come to you,
To the door of your comfortable house
With unwashed clothes and unclean fingernails,
Will you put something into it?

I would like to take this chance.
I would like to give you this chance.

5.

We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we change.
Congratulations, if
You have changed.

6.

Let me ask you this.
Do you also think that beauty exists for some fabulous reason?

And if you have not been enchanted by this adventure-
Your life-
What would do for you?

7.

What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself.
Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to.
That was many years ago.
Since then I have gone out from my confinements,
through with difficulty.
I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart.
I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile.
They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment
somehow or another).
And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope.
I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is.
I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned,
I have become younger.

And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know?
Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.

May you love your own light.
And give thanks,
S

Walk to the well.
Turn as the earth and the moon turn,
circling what they love.

Whatever circles come from the center.

Rumi

There is a tumble of information flowing through me right now.
And, in the event of an emergency, please know, right now, that I love you coming to visit the Laundry Line. I am thrilled for all your support that is helping me birth my first book, “Laundry Line Divine: A Wild Soul Book for Mothers” and the ‘Out of the Mouths of Babes’ blog series and event.
I am not planning on dying any time soon, but it is important to me that you readers all know how vital you have become to my momentum. Not that I need you to write or create, but knowing you are out there improves my diction.

FeMail for KA-S 2008 by Suzi Banks Baum

This weekend, JNB and I visited the Norman Rockwell Museum, which is only about 20 minutes from my desk. Our friend Laurie Norton Moffat is the Museum Director. The museum houses the work of one of the wonders of the Berkshires, Norman Rockwell and also hosts a steady flow of intriguing exhibits highlighting illustration art and the people who make it.

this is part of a diorama the Reys created in visualizing a book.

This season NRM features “Curious George Saves the Day” which originated at The Jewish Museum in New York City. I am a huge fan of Curious George, having had those stories read to me, reading them to my little sister and to the kids I babysat, then lately, say in the last 17 years reading them and often quoting those passages to my kids for whom the ‘Man in the Yellow Hat’ and George himself stand for a certain kindness and rambunctiousness that is particular to that sweet faced monkey. Plus, we all share a fondness for bicycles, travel and paper hats.

I heard of this exhibit on my area NPR station, WAMC, where Joe Donohue hosts a daily interview show called The Roundtable. Joe is the best interviewer I have ever heard. Ever. I don’t know when he sleeps because he talks to his guests with such confidence about their work, having read or seen their creations. His personal experience and curiosity sets the guests at ease. So many of Joe’s guests say at some point in the interview, “Thanks Joe, great question, I never thought of that”. When I heard Joe talking to the curators of this exhibit, the story of the Rey’s life as it is reflected in the stories of Curious George and their other books fascinated me. I will tell you more about Joe another time, but if you’d like to hear him at his best, this interview of Michael Feinstein is quintessential Joe.

The exhibit of the work of H.A. and Margret Rey included personal papers, the few of which survived their swift immigration from Europe right ahead of the Nazi invasion of Paris in 1940. The paintings, illustration plates and photographs tell a story of great courage and enormous levity at a time where people like the Rey’s where loosing their lives, their livelihood and family members. I won’t tell you the whole story, because you must see the exhibit or see this timeline about their escape online here.

Something Joe said struck me. He reflected that though the stories and art of Curious George don’t tell the saga of the Reys fleeing Europe, their art stood as an antidote for what they were going through. Art does that. You may not actually depict the storms of your soul, but by expressing yourself, the passion of your inner life gains balance and equanimity or in the very least, your art work stands as a placeholder for your sense of self while all other aspects of your being are washed overboard by life events.

I love the handmade stamp Rey used over his signature.

I know most of you aren’t in a place to see this exhibit. But, you are near a bookstore, library or your own bookshelf, where that curious monkey is cooling his heels until you flip open the pages to see his lively and engaging antics. When you look at the pages knowing that the creators narrowly escaped Paris by bicycle and were assured exit visas by virtue of the illustrations and text they carried with them to prove they had gainful employment, you will realize that every work of art carries the heart and soul of it’s creator, no matter how cheerful or merry it appears.

During the next months here on the Laundry Line, we will be talking more and more about creativity.

Sending you splendid hours,
S

There is some kiss we want

There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives,
the touch of Spirit on the body.
Seawater begs the pearl
to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild Darling!
At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door
and open the love window.
The moon won’t use the door,
only the window.

Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I wish you a beautiful week.
The first week of Advent.
The week leading up to Alchemy Initiative’s Handmade Holiday Festival for me and FeMail.
A week that welcomes the Moon back in to the night sky.
Looking at you,
Love,
S

I just realized that all the visitors to this page today were termed Spam. That means that no one who really wanted to read stopped by.
Probably because there was nothing new to read.
Probably because you knew that I am six days away from the anniversary of Mom’s death and just a teensy bit gray and quiet today.
Probably because you, dear reader, know that I just got back from sharing my FeMail at the Museum of Motherhood in New York City on Monday.
Perhaps because you figured I’d be tired and tender and not write anything today.

Well, you are mostly right, as usual.
But, I have been writing.
I am on a self-imposed deadline to complete my non-fiction book proposal for Laundry Line Divine A Wild Soul Book for Mothers by next Tuesday.

A few minutes ago I wandered over to Paige Orloff’s blog, Tales from the Park Side. In a post about grieving the loss of her old boyfriend, Paige pointed me to Marion Roach’s Memoir Project. And then I headed to The Sister Project, to Marion’s post about writing about grief. In it Marion asks the writer, as a jump-start, to complete a set of three lists with these headings: What I brought. What I heard. What I said.

So I did.
I love lists.

What I brought:

1. My daughter.
2. My husband.
3. A black outfit.
4. Lavender oil.
5. Comfortable clothing to sit next to her in.
6. My camera.
7. A few photographs.
8. Phone numbers.
9. Surety of her release.
10. The calm of the oldest daughter about to become matriarch.

What I heard:

1. The raspy shallow breathes of my mother.
2. Incessant noise of the nursing home.
3. Sticky shoes padding along the hallway.
4. Other elders, once the pillars of this small town, moaning in the hallways, calling out for help.
5. My aunts saying my mom’s name in just that Chicagoan way- “Joanne?”
6. Resolve in my stepfathers’ voice.
7. Wind whipping fall leaves past the single story building, wind on the roof, teasing leaves into small tornadoes in the parking lot outside the window.
8. My own strong heartbeat.
9. The silence of my husband’s calm presence.
10. All the songs we sang- from the “Weenie Man” to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”, all the dear partings from the staff members as they came in to say farewell to Mom, and the absence of those who did not come for this moment of gray blue death swinging in to the room.

What I said:

1. What I wanted, which was to stay by her side as long as I could.
2. That it did not matter if I was not there for her last breath exactly.
3. That I needed a break, a rest and would sleep with my phone under my pillow.
4. Hello, I am here. I will be there in 5 minutes.
5. Will you come with me?
6. Do you want to sleep longer?
7. Mom is dying now.
8. She has gone.
9. No, she is still here.
10. Now, she is gone.

Gaining ground in handfuls today, all because of Paige and Marion and the desire to write it out for you, so you can know how it is for me and by the dearest chance that that will make a difference in your day.
All my love and thanks to my writing friends,
S

See the other on my new page.

Deliberation (2)

Constant slow movement teaches us

to keep working like a small creek

that stays clear, that does not stagnate,

but finds a way through numerous

details, deliberately.

Deliberation is born of joy

like a bird from an egg.

Birds do not resemble eggs.

Think how different the hatching out is.

A white leathery snake egg, a sparrow’s egg,

a quince seed, an apple seed.

Very different things look similar at one stage.

These leaves, our bodily personalities,

seem identical, but the globe

of soul fruit we make,

each is elaborately

unique.

 
Rumi

 

Sending you love for the last night of summer,
S

I find it so hard to be inside these days.

All I can think about is Mary Oliver and the moment she steps out on to her stoop every morning.

Morning glory.

This work is by my friend Jaq Belcher.

It is her birthday today.

I have begun a new page on Laundry Line Divine.

It is called “Do One New Thing Every Day”.

I post what I do and invite you to post yours. I will add your “One Things” to the list as we go along.

I dare you to try it. Sit in a different seat. Take a different route home.

Bend down to pick something up. There may be a secret message there for you under that red leaf.

See you around the Line,

S

Retreat.
4 days of yoga and art at Kripalu- just up the road from my desk here in Great Barrington, but hundreds of miles away. “Vibrant Visionary Collage” with Karen Arp Sandel and 11 other delicious women was a huge gift I received this week.

My roster of gratitudes would make a mile long list here, but I am going to share some with you all the same. At this Portal to this Mysterious Female, gratitude is the entrance fee. With it, you can enter your own garden of lush creativity and grace, finding all that you have been blessed with on any simple day.
I am so grateful for the time away at Kripalu.
IAG for the support of my fine husband for covering all he did this week with the kids, his work, our family, track practice and radio plans, meals and laundry.
IAG for my husband picking me up today.
IAG for the sun in my bedroom where I just took a nap to prepare for the homecoming of kids from school.
IAG for color.
IAG for the underside of the red tail hawk, it’s soft colors against the brilliant blue sky today at lunch.
IAG for the labyrinth at Kripalu.
IAG for the women I met this week and the collaboration we enjoyed.
IAG for our trip to see “Fe-Mail”.
IAG for my appetite for yoga.
IAG for my teacher Kaliji at Kripalu over the weekend.
IAG for my friend Martha’s alignments.
IAG for the bounty in my life on every level- support, abundance, safety, friendships, women and men, kids, community, color, texture, garden projects surfacing from under the snow, snowdrops, clean laundry and all the meals I enjoyed this week with my new friends.
IAG for my kid’s health.
IAG for my health.
IAG for all my desires floating out in the Universe, singing to me from across the pages of art that flow out of me.
IAG for breath.
IAG for time.
IAG for you reading these words.
IAG for the gratitudes you hold in your heart and the courage to share a few with me here.

I will share more of the art from my week here.
So glad you stopped by the Line.
Love and thanks, S