Four years ago, if you had told me I would become a haiku poet, I would have mentally rolled my eyes. Back then I never read poetry, much less wrote it. The long, obscure poems I came across in the pages of the New Yorker seemed like far too much work to decipher, so I would skip them (to be honest, I still do). As for haiku, I was vaguely familiar with the form, but had not written one since elementary school (something about a deer in the woods, or was that my cinquain?).
Lights out
“what remains” is 5×7, painted with sumi ink and Japanese watercolors on textured paper.
My son Gabriel is an unusual kid: while other twelve-year old boys like to play video games, he prefers to watch BBC science documentaries. So much so, in fact, that his dreams have included a narrator with a British accent.
He has matter-of-factly explained to me that the average mammal species lasts about one million years. On a planet more than four billion years old, that’s the blink of an eye. This means that Homo sapiens, the clever species that tamed fire and invented the iPhone, could be gone before we know it.
lights out
we discuss
our extinction
What with all the grocery lists and oil changes of everyday life, it’s easy to lose the grand perspective. But the truth is that for all our striving, even the most influential and famous of our species—President Obama, Pope Francis, Oprah Winfrey—will be forgotten long before the pebbles on the beach turn to sand.
Yes, there is something sad about all this. Billions of people work hard every day to make it through this life and to leave something of lasting value. Yet in geological time, all this effort will amount to approximately nothing.
At the same time, I find some reassurance in taking the (very) long view. It puts our human insanities in perspective, and enables a sort of Zen detachment from the grim daily headlines. Keeping the big picture in mind helps me find a sense of lightness and acceptance of our predicament.
what remains
of the mountain
sand between my toes
OK, so nothing I can do in my time here will last longer than the flap of a butterfly’s wing. Ultimately, this helps clarify what’s really important. Not money, degrees, titles, or fame. Not even the amazing children my husband and I are raising: in a hundred years, we’ll all be history.
At the risk of sounding too woo-woo, I’ve come to feel that what matters—and what may be the only real and lasting thing—is the energy and intention that we put out in the world as we do our work. Call it spirit. Call it love. And no matter how much time we are given, no matter how long our species survives, let’s make the best of it, and call it good.
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“what remains” was first published as a haiku in With Cherries on Top, Ed. Michael Dylan Welch, Press Here (2012), and reprinted in this world:Haiku Society of America Members' Anthology (2013). The art was first published on Haigaonline (December 2013).
Makino Studios News
Wet Paint: Ten new haiga (haiku paintings) have been posted to the Current Work section of the Gallery on this site.
Red Moon Anthology: The poem below was selected for a just-published collection of the best haiku of 2013, fear of dancing: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2013, edited by Jim Kacian:
cowlick
some part of me
still wild
Annette’s Blog: For previous posts, including this one from June 2012 on Gabriel’s scientific perspectives, see Parallel Universes.
NaHaiWriMo: February is National Haiku Writing Month. Get daily prompts and share your efforts on the NaHaiWriMo Facebook page.
Stories you told me
“through sun and cloud” is 5×7, painted with sumi ink and Japanese watercolors on textured paper. It is also available as a print or card.
In the nonprofit world where I used to work, funders were always asking for “success stories,” examples of how their support was making a direct impact. While those kinds of stories could be hard to come by, in my current life as an artist and writer, I hear them all the time.
One reason I like to do fairs is to market-test new designs before I offer them widely to stores. Another reason is for the chance to talk directly with my customers. So let's say for a moment that you are a billionaire philanthropist and patron of the arts. These recent stories collected from my customers will serve as my year-end report to you.
• People have given the above painting of a jacaranda tree in bloom as a sympathy card, as an anniversary card, and to friends going through chemotherapy. A few weeks ago, a woman told me she had had a fight with her sister. She first called to apologize, and then sent her this card:
through sun and cloud
I hold you
in my heart
• At a holiday fair last month, a burly guy in a skydiving sweatshirt bought seven of my cards, all for his wife, who loves my art. He explained that whenever he goes out of town, he leaves her one card for every night he’ll be gone.
• Every year, two women friends who live far apart buy the same calendar so they can share the same image each month. For 2014, they chose my “Poetry & Honey” calendar.
• A 93-year-old woman who is housebound ordered ten of my calendars as thank you gifts for all the people who bring her meals and otherwise help her.
• A beekeeper in Hawaii received one of my handmade bee books for Christmas, and loved it so much she is ordering honeybee-themed prints and books for her honey store on the Big Island.
• A father sent his daughter off to college on the East Coast with this framed seashell print for her dorm room, to remind her to stay true to herself:
listen—
the song of your heart
is playing
“river flow” is 6×4, painted with sumi ink and Japanese watercolors on textured paper.
• An artist sent my “river flow” card to a family member who was going through a difficult but necessary divorce, and it was just the right message:
river flow
returning me
to myself
While I pass tedious January days counting up inventory and wrestling with year-end accounting, it’s stories like these that sustain me. The running thread is that my work is helping people to find joy and meaning in their day-to-day lives, and, through sun and cloud, to deepen their bonds with the people they love.
To you, my customers and friends, thanks for your support and for sharing your stories. And please keep them coming! You may not be in a position to give out six-figure grants, but you are surely rich in stories, and in spirit.
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Makino Studios News
New Art Featured: Eleven of my haiga (haiku art pieces) are appearing online for the first time in a web-based gallery on Haigaonline. (At the bottom left, click "online gallery," then click "Annette Makino.") I would love to know if you'd like to see any of these as cards, not necessarily with the same words.
New Store: The sparkling Holly Yashi Store in Arcata, CA now carries my cards, prints and handmade bee books. If you’re in town, you can also watch them making their beautiful jewelry.
Unfortunate Events Update: I appreciate all the sympathy and suggestions in response to my last post, “A series of unfortunate events.” I’m glad to report that the bizarre streak of misfortunes ended just before I wrote that account!
A series of unfortunate events
“merry & bright” is available as a print or card. It is based on an original 11×14 painting in sumi ink and Japanese watercolors on rice paper.
It was a very trying couple of weeks. The first thing to go wrong was that mice invaded our kitchen and bathroom, leaving their droppings in most of our drawers and cabinets. Just days after I finished cleaning and sterilizing everything from that episode, the dog did his business on the driveway, my husband stepped in it wearing hiking boots, and voilà— a trail all through the downstairs that even a human could track by smell.
After cleaning the evidence off the carpets and floors, I updated some software for my website—and much of the sidebar text disappeared. I naively thought it would be simple to restore it from the nightly backup, but my web guy said that what with the reconfiguring and testing, it would actually be faster for me to recreate the content. There went another big chunk of the day.
Next up, my digital security service notified me that my Gmail account had been compromised. As advised, I dutifully changed the password. But this foiled only me, as the account could then receive email, but no longer send.
A couple days later, the front door permanently locked while open. We spent 24 hours with blankets draped over the top and side of the door to keep out the chill until a locksmith came to replace the failed lock
During this period, I noticed that the house alarm system was indicating a low battery. When I called the company that had installed the system, they had no record of our account
The way my luck was going, it was just par for the course when I picked up the lid of a ceramic butter dish and part of it broke off in my hand.
As each new calamity arose, I got farther and farther behind on my to-do list, just at my busiest time of the year. Instead of painting and framing art, while my husband was off teaching and the kids were at school, I spent many long and tedious hours cleaning and fixing things that I usually take for granted, like front doors that close, email that both sends and receives, and kitchen cabinets where you can safely store food.
“peace on earth” is 5×7, painted in sumi ink and Japanese watercolors on textured paper. It is also available as a print or card.
It was a small mercy that this series of unfortunate events happened just before Thanksgiving. Even while lamenting all the time I was losing, a part of me remembered to be grateful to have a home at all. I told myself that many displaced people—from Syria to the Philippines to downtown Arcata—are facing situations far more dire than a little mouse poop in the silverware drawer.
Beyond that insight, I am not sure what else to take from this run of aggravations, except that sometimes in life, poop happens. Then you just clean it up as best you can and carry on.
With everything running smoothly in our household once more, this past week I found time to paint several new holiday pieces, including the persimmons shown here. I’m now busy catching up and preparing for holiday fairs over the next two weekends.
Who knows what else might go wrong (what is that weird sound coming from the dishwasher?). But the little white Christmas lights are up and the mood here is turning merry and bright. Here’s wishing you delightful and aggravation-free holidays
warmly, Annette
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Makino Studios News
Humboldt Holiday Fairs:
- Humboldt Artisans Crafts and Music Festival at Redwood Acres in Eureka, CA, Friday through Sunday, Dec. 6-8. I’ll be offering new paintings, prints and holiday cards. The Makino Studios booth will be in the sunroom of the Home Economics building.
- Arcata Holiday Crafts Market at the Arcata Community Center, Arcata, CA, Saturday and Sunday, Dec. 14-15.
- Pierson Christmas Fair in Eureka, CA, now through Dec. 24.
Poetry & Honey: My new 2014 wall calendar has been selling much faster than I expected and is currently on its third printing. You can order copies online at my Etsy shop, find them at select Humboldt County stores, or get them at the fairs above.
Holiday Cards: My newest designs can be found in the card section of the Makino Studios Etsy shop.
Arts Alive Holiday Show: Several of my framed prints and cards are in a group show at the Mateel Cooperative Gallery, 773 Redwood Drive, Garberville, CA through December.
New Retailers: I’m happy to share that you can now find a selection of my cards at Eureka Natural Foods (see the special card rack in the center of the candle section), and at St. Joseph’s Hospital Gift Shop, both in Eureka, CA.
Haigaonline Show: Eleven new haiga (haiku art pieces) will be featured in the next issue of Haigaonline, coming in late December.
The spiral path
A few weeks ago, I flew to Washington state for a three-day haiku conference. When I first attended the Seabeck Haiku Gathering a year ago, I was fairly new to the whole world of haiku, and it was very exciting to meet other serious haiku poets for the first time (see Finding My Tribe). This year, the conference deepened and expanded my understanding of this deceptively simple art form. Circling back to the same place a year later, I was also able to see how I have progressed as a poet and artist since then.
I was happy to be invited to do a poetry reading and present a digital slide show of my art, including the seashell painting at the top of this page. Following are a few of the conference activities, followed by my haiku.
The first morning, author and teacher Margaret McGee had us create large spiral labyrinths made of branches, autumn leaves, and oyster shells. She then led us on a contemplative walk into and out of the spirals, and over the weekend we dotted them with our haiku.
spiral labyrinth . . .
still hoping for a shortcut
to enlightenment
Terry Ann Carter, the president of Haiku Canada, led a workshop based on nature essays by Canadian writer and painter Emily Carr.
sleeping naked
all winter long
the maple
Jacqueline Pearce, the author of several historical novels for children and teens, gave a talk called “Time Travel with Haiku,” where we wrote historical haiku as well as “scifaiku” about the imagined future.
earthrise . . .
the world we left behind
so blue
Poet Alice Frampton led the group on a forest hike to the historic Seabeck cemetery, which inspired many poems.
eventually
we all arrive—
graveyard gate
The days were long and full, with some activities running past 11 p.m. I wrote the following haiku at the end of one such day. (It later tied for second place in the kukai, an anonymous haiku contest in which all participants vote on their favorites.)
flannel pajamas
my cell phone also
recharging
There was much more besides, including haiku bingo, a talent show, presentations by haiku poet Marco Fraticelli, and anonymous haiku workshops. On the last day, cartoonist-in-residence Jessica Tremblay of Old Pond Comics delightfully summarized the whole Seabeck gathering in cartoon form.
As with the labyrinths we made, the Seabeck conference left me reflecting that progress is rarely linear. It’s more like a spiral, where we repeat certain actions and experiences over and over, hopefully improving a little bit on each pass. The challenge is to stop looking for shortcuts, take a few breaths, and just enjoy the journey.
My thanks to Seabeck organizers Michael Dylan Welch and Angela Terry of Haiku Northwest for this fun and inspiring gathering, and to all the other participants who made it such a warm and rich experience.
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“listen—the song” is 5" x 7", painted with sumi ink and Japanese watercolors (gansai paint) on heavy textured paper. It is also available as a print or greeting card.
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Makino Studios News
Poetry & Honey: A new 2014 wall calendar features 12 of my paintings. This mini-calendar is now available online and at selected Humboldt County stores.
Humboldt Holiday Fairs: Look for my Makino Studios booth at: • Humboldt Artisans Crafts and Music Festival at Redwood Acres in Eureka, CA, Dec. 6-8 • Arcata Holiday Crafts Market at the Arcata Community Center, Arcata, CA, Dec. 14-15 • Pierson Christmas Fair, Eureka, CA, Nov. 19-Dec. 31
Arts Alive Holiday Show: I will have several pieces in a group show at the Mateel Cooperative Gallery, 773 Redwood Drive, Garberville, CA in December.
The truth about being an artist
I have been having trouble with frogs. Not actual frogs, which I kind of like, in their funny, damp way, but with trying to capture them on paper. To get the image I wanted for the piece shown here, in a long, frustrating process lasting two days, I painted a frog on a lily pad twenty-three times.
Still, each of my paintings fell short in some way. In many there was a problem with the neck, as my 12-year-old, an avid frog-catcher, helpfully pointed out. Others were out of proportion—froggy arms too long for the body, or feet too small. And in a couple, the ink ran in the all-important eyes, ruining the whole piece.
I wasn’t going for anatomical precision—that’s why God invented cameras—but I was still looking for that elusive “aha!” that tells me I’m done.
Exhausted by frogs, I put them away for a couple of weeks, letting the images percolate in my brain. And when I finally got up the gumption to tackle the piece again, I allowed myself to sketch it in pencil first, contrary to traditional Japanese technique.
Aha! Got it.
From the outside, being an artist may seem like a dream job. To have a career that is all about expressing your creativity, to enjoy the freedom of pursuing your passion however you choose, to share your talent with the admiring public, to leave your mark on the world in the most personal of ways . . .
A few of my failed frogs
There is truth to all of that, and I do appreciate the opportunity I have to walk this path. But the dirty little secret about being an artist is that it is also hard. Really hard.
First there is the overwhelming problem of trying to make a living as an artist, which deserves a whole separate discussion. Then there is the fact that—as rewarding as it is to create a successful painting—on any given morning, it is far easier to check email, Facebook, and Twitter, do laundry, or even (shudder) clean the bathroom, than sit down in the studio and paint.
It takes focused concentration and a mind uncluttered by the demands of a to-do list or a tight schedule. That's a tall order right there.
More fundamentally, although my creative vision is usually clear, my technical skills lag behind. In that gap lies self-doubt and frustration—not to mention a whole lot of wasted ink and paper. I’ve been involved with art and graphic design since childhood, yet some part of me still questions whether I can really call myself an artist. If so, would it really take me twenty-three tries to paint a simple frog? And must the whole process involve so much hair pulling?
And yet . . . I know that it's only by reaching beyond our comfort levels and throwing ourselves into the difficult and unknown that we leave open the possibility of grace. In the case of this particular painting, grace takes the form of a meditating frog, distracted by its many wandering thoughts, peeking an eye open.
Is this goofy painting to be part of my legacy to humanity? Well, so be it. Ribbit.
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“in meditation” is 5" x 7", painted with sumi ink and gansai paint (Japanese watercolors) on paper. It is also available as a print or greeting card.
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Makino Studios News
North Country Fair: Humboldt folks, please stop by and say hello at my booth at the 40th annual North Country Fair in Arcata, California this coming weekend, September 21-22, 10 a.m. – 6 p.m. The Makino Studios booth will be near the Hot Knots corner on G Street.
Seabeck Haiku Gathering: I will be presenting examples of my haiga (art with haiku) at this fun haiku retreat taking place in Seabeck, Washington October 10-13.
Hello, Oregon: As of this month, the independent bookstore Soundpeace in Ashland is the first retailer in Oregon to carry a selection of my cards.
Twenty golden years
In May, my husband Paul and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. While our wedding vows were “for better or for worse,” it’s been the best twenty years of our lives. We have had a lot of adventures since then. A year into our marriage, before Paul had even secured a tenure-track position at the university, we took a leap of faith and bought land near Arcata, then designed and built a unique house with a 25-foot wall of windows looking out onto redwoods and tree-covered hills.
We have had to contend with the many challenges of country living. At one point early on, our tap water showed high levels of e coli. Turned out our neighbor’s missing dog had chosen the spot just above our spring as his final resting place. (I’m happy to report that we’ve since dug a well.)
Our first child was born right on our sixth wedding anniversary . . . two and half weeks early . . . at home . . . by accident. After “catching” the baby, my cool-headed husband snapped a photo, and only then called our nurse-midwife for instructions! (Note: If you ever have an unplanned home birth, dry the baby very thoroughly, then cut the tip off an old sock and use it for a baby hat.)
When we were expecting our second child, we felt brave enough to actually plan a home birth. But because my labor only lasted two hours, the midwife was not yet on hand for the birth. So Paul delivered our second child too, by candlelight, in the birthing tub set up in our living room. Well, as he likes to point out, he is a doctor—of philosophy.
Given our growing family, in 2002 we built a two-story addition to our home including a studio apartment, home office, and art studio. My mother moved in to help with the kids while they were small. She brought along her two pack llamas, Shandy and Dancer, and we often joined them on hikes on the timberland that adjoins our property.
Paul and I at our wedding in 1993.
When the kids were 10 and 6, Paul took a year’s sabbatical. We rented out our home and lived in Maryland and then a small town in northern Italy, where Paul taught an overseas course on the sources of great civilizations.
The kids’ home-schooling lessons included trips to the Coliseum in Rome, the Acropolis in Athens, and the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Our six-year-old soaked it all up and drew these monuments again and again on restaurant placemats across Europe. Meanwhile, our ten-year-old liked the outdoor markets and the chance to hang out with college students, but was unimpressed with her immersion in European history, summing up, “I learned the history of a dusty old brick.”
In 2009, we embarked on yet another big adventure: after twenty years, I left my executive position in international media development, and Paul simultaneously began the process of semi-retiring from his teaching career. Since then, I have had the tremendous gift of being able to focus my time on painting, writing, and developing an art business. Meanwhile, Paul teaches just four months of the year. As for the rest of his time:
retired professor
spends his days in the hot tub
his one-man think tank
Through all these experiences and more over the past two decades, Paul has been my partner and best friend. The poppy painting above is for my darling husband, who loves California poppies, honeybees, and me. This brilliant, funny man with a heart of gold helps me savor the richness of life, and is the key to all my other blessings.
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“let us live” is 5" x 7", painted with sumi ink and Japanese gansai paint on paper. It is available as a print or greeting card.
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Makino Studios News
North Country Fair: Look for the Makino Studios booth at the 40th annual North Country Fair in Arcata, California the weekend of September 21-22. I’ll have some new art as well as cards, prints, tee shirts and books of my work.
Seabeck Haiku Gathering: I will be presenting on my haiga (art with haiku) at this fun and interesting haiku retreat in Seabeck, Washington October 10-13.
SoHum Art Show: My exhibit at Persimmons Garden Gallery, located at 1055 Redway Drive in Redway, California, has been extended through Sept. 11. Come on out and enjoy one of the last summer evenings with dinner and live music in the lovely garden.