I recently birthed a womyn’s red frame drum for a local curated art show that’s coming up through our local Arts Council and it took me a month to complete—over a full month’s moon phase… and completed it on International Women’s Day, March 8th, 2023.  

​It will be a part of a curated art show here on Gabriola, through the Triumph  program, Covid + Climate Change which opens the weekend of March 17th.
—> more to come, below is a slideshow of some of my process and my artist statement below that… i will add to this when i can… 

The Voice of Our Mother Earth
​mixed media; wood, rawhide, leather, plant dye/acrylics/gold leaf
size: 16-inch diameter x 2.75-inches high

I came into this world drumming and have been birthing drums for the last 30 years since I was apprenticed by my teacher.  How I approach my drum making art is through intuitive inquiry and contemplation.  I allow the elements of wood and skin to inform me of what wants to come through as art.  There is much spirit within the wood and skin; everything holds meaning for me and a big part of my spiritual practice.
​
The drum is universal and considered sacred in many cultures dating back to the neolithic age and beyond.  The drum represents the ‘voice of our Mother earth’ and She is the earth.

When I considered responding to this call, my first thought was; ‘We as a mass consciousness have truly lost our right relationship to our earth Mother.  For We are the earth and We are sick and broken—hence why we are now dealing with climate change and COVID, etc.  After a number of sleepless nights and insight received, I realized that our Mother earth wanted to be a part of this show, that She wanted ‘Her voice’ in the room.

My process:  I always paint something red in the inner hoop of the drum to honour the animal that gave its life to become a drum—also an honouring of the ‘blood of the Mother’, and a re-birthing to become a drum as wood + skin are in essence, living, breathing beings.  Also, in the inner hoop are over 350 burned-in prayers.
The ‘bones’ of the drum: Local yellow cedar is sacred to these lands: it offers protection, cleansing and is known as the ‘world tree’. 

The ‘voice’ of the drum: Goat spirit holds the energy of strength, trust and standing one’s ground for Mother earth.  I have dyed the goat skin in natural plant dyes and the gold leaf dot/poppy flower placed on the drum’s center represents ‘the compacted energy of the universe before the first sound’… or, the ‘point from which creation begins.’ It also represents renewal and remembrance and honours the Slavic half of my ancestry.  There is also a ‘wound’ that has showed up on Her face, within the hide.

The colour red is significant in ancient womyn’s frame drums which were often painted a red ochre representing the earth Mother, women’s blood mysteries, fertility and birth.  This drum is played with the hands/fingers and one’s voice.
​
I invite you to engage/play/sing with this drum and sound our Mother’s voice.  What does She have to say?  It is my hope that my drum birthing art helps us to reconnect to our earth Mother, to once again, hear Her sacred voice, as we once did. She is indeed our Source, not a resource, for we wouldn’t be here without Her!


I wish to thank all those within the beautiful community in which we live… who helped to bring this dear drum into being…
Joanie Wright, my life-long partner for her loving support + beautiful hands, Jan Pullinger, Louse Rebelle, Heather Menzies, Joke Mensink, Anita Jackel, Allannah Dow and Carol Ferguson and GAHC crew for saying yes — i couldn’t have done it without you!

​I’ve had another recent memory of my childhood—this time from grade one.

In our little two-room school-house i remember that i had to sit in the front room for grade because i was one of the few, if not the only one who wore glasses.  It seemed the teachers always made those of use who wore glasses, to sit at the front.
​
This particular day, we all were colouring and Mrs. D., our teacher, was standing at the front of the class reading from a storybook.  As she was reading, i was taken by and distracted by my classmate Billy who also colouring (he sat next to me at the front too)…

i thought what he was colouring, was beautiful.  And, so i simply leaned over to tell him saying something like, “that’s really pretty Billy—i like it’.

Right at the moment i had said that… Mrs. D., clouted me right over the head with the hardcover book she was reading from, shouting, 

“Don’t interrupt me when i’m reading to the class!’
“Ouch—that hurt”, i said to myself…

​I sometimes wonder if that’s perhaps why i deal with chronic neck + back pain to this day?

​I had a memory pop up recently—and that remembering can also be triggered from seeing someone wearing very thick ‘coke bottle’ lensed eye glasses. 

My recollection is from my early elementary school days, where i was probably in grade 5 or 6… The principal in that school was named Mr. P_____, who was a very tall well-dressed middle-aged white man with dark hair.  Mr. P_____ took his job as school principal very seriously.  I don’t remember seeing him smile much.  His dark-coloured rimmed glasses were definitely a part of who he was.  He would often tilt his head back and peer over them, as they often slipped  down his nose—probably from the sheer thick-weight of them.

During that time—it was probably around 1970 or so…and, the strap (corporal punishment) was still being used in schools until it was banned in about 1973.  And, Mr. P_____ seemed to like using the strap as a disciplinary action in our little school.  It certainly worked for him.

When some poor sod got into trouble and was sent to the principal’s office, fear would reign—as one would often get a strapping as a result.  I myself came very close to receiving the strap once—though managed to get out of it, some how, i have no idea how…

So, when a student was slated to receive the strap, what Mr. P_____ would do every time, was… He would go to every classroom one by one, open the door (he never knocked), rudely interrupt barging into the room, look over his thick black glasses and state very sternly: “I’m leaving the door open…” 

We soon learned what that meant…
​
He would then move on to the next room and do the same.  When he was done with each room, he would then go back to his office where the student was and, leave his office door open as well.  He would then proceed to strap that poor student.  

The whole school would go into a disturbed hush…

Needless to say, we as a student body were absolutely terrified…where we all ‘felt’ that strap together, ‘as one—while we were forced to listen to the cries streaming down the hall from his office.  

We were always relieved and breathed a big collective breath when it was finally over with.
​
Until, the next time.

I stumbled on this memory from 10 years ago—a posting i had posted, when we had lived in Burnaby…  something that taught me about impermanence… 

“I’m kind of sad to see our grand hosta heading off to sleep for the long winter... We have sooo enjoyed their strong presence in our humble garden.... Good night dear hosta—see you again in the spring... have fun hanging with our dear mother, during this dark half…” 

When we lived in Burnaby over 10 years ago, we had a shade garden where, we had many hosta plants that flourished—the photo above shows just one of them.

When we first rented this home, it came with a garden that had many plants that weren’t doing well because the canopy of the tall cedar trees had grown so high that they now shaded the garden.  So, over the eight years we lived there, we slowly transitioned the garden over to more shade and native plants that would grow and thrive in lower light.  Hostas are one great plant that do well in shade gardens!

When we moved off the lower mainland to a small gulf island, we moved our many hostas with us… it was quite a job—as many of them were in large ceramic pots and they were heavy to move.  However, they did survive the move—where they lived and thrived on our ‘shade deck’ in the forest, for six years.

Last January, we had to move once again—this time to a much smaller home… where we had to downsize considerably thus, giving away most of our beloved hosta plants to a dear friend.  They now live and thrive in her beloved garden.  

We truly miss them in many ways… We did keep a couple of hosta plants that live in pots outside our door—however, the local deer tend to nibble away at them and they (the hostas) never did get a chance to fully leaf out this year.  I think we’ll attempt to cage them in somehow, in the spring, so the deer can’t get at them—as they, the deer,  seem to think that our hostas are sweet candy!

Nothing ever stays the same… x (((💚)))

below, a fun video by John Denver on the Muppet Show, ‘The Garden Song’…

What’s the Story about the Repent Sinner Sticker that was sprinkled about the streets of East Vancouver…

I’m not sure I know the whole story though, here’s what I saw + learned back then.

When i lived + worked in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver during the mid 1980’s + 90s, I kept seeing a ‘Repent Sinner’ sticker plastered about the city and beyond. Every sticker I happened to see, was always hand-written in two colours:  the first word, Repent in red and the 2nd, Sinner in black with a jiffy marker.

These stickers were posted randomly, all over—on telephone poles, walls and benches—sprinkled about and throughout the eastside of Vancouver (DTES).  

​Rumour has it, that it was an elderly Jamaican woman who was the culprit—who definitely had made her message clear… Frankly, I thought it was a brilliant guerrilla marketing art project—which became a wee Vancouver urban legend!  We’ll never really know… though, i feel it’s very cool… x (((o)))

If you happen to know more about this legend of Vancouver, drop me a comment below…
​
Also, you’re invited to visit my ‘Repent Sinner’ Shop at Redbubble >>

​Feeling like the world is getting too much again—sometimes i forget to use the tools i’ve been given.

Re-membering that our dear Mother is always there for me… for us.

It’s a reciprocal relationship… me + She… as i feed Her... She feeds me.

What works good for me is, to just get outside and to simply connect with a big tree… one grand, rooted soul i can get my arms around and just hold on + say hello and perhaps offer a gift of my heart, my love—cuz i know i only breathe cuz trees breathe… i ground my self deep… letting go through my sacred breath deep down through Her stone layers—to the crystal core of our dear Mother, i connect with her resonant fire—Her flame of compassion that burns away all that no longer serves me.

Re-membering to just get outside—so my light-body can relax and expand, yet again….

​I let go of my ‘stuff’… all that dark + heavy stuff… and She lovingly composts it back into light—then i mindfully bring that fire of passion back up to feed me… into those places, the nooks + crannies that need lightening—so i can shine bright once again… so, now i can perhaps help others of need… we have to fill up first… thank you dear trees… dear Mother for your blessed gifts.

​—photo by jp wright/art by weaver…

We had a lovely gathering together on Wednesday evening, August 24, 2022 to celebrate the upcoming New Moon and sing together… It was wonderful for Allannah + i to have dear hearts ‘in the room’ for the first time in 2.5 years since the pandemic arrived…  it was sooo good to sing together once again!

We also dedicated this show to all those dear to us—that we lost, since the pandemic—who is remembered, lives!

So, thank you to all for coming to join us—we look forward to more in the future.

However, we were saddened that we experienced a technical issue regarding our face-time live that we usually offer.   I was only glad that i managed to video-record the show so we can share with our online audience… please scroll down page below to view…

If you would like to offer a donation towards our work, know it’s always appreciated… for it is our work, thank you!
• for paypal please use this link >>
• if you prefer interac e-transfer, pls email weaver for email address >>

Thank you for supporting live music xoxo (((💜)))

Click the video, photo links to view… show runs about 1 hour, 7-mins total… ​https://youtu.be/bPsXt-FHBtc

The other day i attended a poetry workshop during our annual ‘isle of the arts festival’…  i was glad i went as i learned some new ways with writing poetry… and i really enjoyed the day…

At one point the instructor asked us to  write a poem about an object… So,  i chose to write about my glasses.  

And, as i was writing, the process seemed to take me into a deep journey—suddenly remembering John Denver—who had been a big influence in my life growing up and continues to be…

He was a huge mentor for me in many ways… as i really connected to his sensitivity—his love of life and that really moved me… what he wrote about + shared with the world… those ‘things’ that mattered most in life, family, friendship + all things sacred including our environment—our mother earth… in another way, he taught me to sing—helping me find my true ‘voice’… I did get to see him perform live a couple of times and i always wanted to meet him—to have the chance to just thank him… I know we were all shocked the day he died… i guess i made the assumption that he’d live to be an old man…

He was only 53 when he perished—one very sad day for many of us…

As i continued to write, i also remembered a video i once saw… it was a tribute to him after his death… (i’m still attempting to find this video to post here)… It was a very poignant sharing of a few select ‘known’ musicians opening the case to Denver’s vintage round granny glasses, that he was so known for… While viewing this video i remembered being very moved and so touched—as i was being witness to a very sacred moment… wow, i wondered what it would be like to do just that—open that case + hold his glasses…

While writing my poem about my own glasses i was quite surprised…as to how this simple exercise moved me so quickly to another place… a place of honouring an amazing man who held such a huge impact in my own life… so, here’s my poem—as it is, at the moment, in its draft form…

nosedive

my glasses
round and purple
considerable
uncomfortable
not scratched quite yet
teeth marks cut
into one right temple arm
helps keep my hands free…

in abruptness of a recent power outage
they slipped off the top of my head
when we fumbled in the dark
making tea
on a propane burner
cracked when they hit 
the frigid concrete floor
i guess they’re
not new anymore…
​
recalling that day
shocked
when i learned you died
tragically
over Monterery Bay
you were off to visit your daughter
when you fell right
out of the sky
decapitated

mother ocean swallowed you

they only knew it was you
when Annie identified your two missing toes
from your right found leg
​
far out.
​

…
© 2022 all rights reserved… carol weaver x (((💜)))
—rest in peace dear sir, born December 31, 1943—died October 12, 1997…
​—thank you dear John, for everything! (33/6)… 
—and, when or if i find that beautiful video, i’ll post here…  in the meantime, here’s another, below… xxx

​every morning i bow down
first thing
to prepare the day’s fire
knees tough 
square on the floor

i lean back
stretching out

bending
my eyes close
calling
gently
dear shining one
daughter of dagda
come nearer

our hearth’s
heart.

bright goddess 
of wisdom
poetry
music
healing
protection
blacksmithing
your love of gentle beasts

keeper of 
unending flame

shelter us
within your
clear green
cloak of care

together, 
let us kindle our
heart’s flame
of infinite 
spark

may i
breathe your
sacred song

upon the wind.
​

—poem/photo © 2021 by weaver…
brightest blessings x (((💜))) 🔥🙏🏼🔥

​a poem........

yesterday...
i was nudged to journey...
while drawing + painting...
​
something ‘drew’ me in...

go deeper... 
to a rooted place...
buried... threads fragiled...
thin multi-coloured mark-making...
revealing... what?

i tracked...
ever so lightly... tenderly...
my slanted hand steered...
“just go”..........

i offered a wee hello while...
i migrated... wandered... hunted... chased...
that perhaps...

i was on to something......

travelling alongside washed...
black-ink-penned...
shaky-handed....
painted threads of...

my own weave...

she is...

very fine, dazzling tapestry path of filament light...
capturing a glimpse......
my tender glittered strength...
​torn-worn tangles... grief... joy... pain... celebrations...
ancient... new........
​
now...

grief drops...
splashing upon my soaked page...
blending abstract... accident... of be-ing...
inside...
​my owned inked hues...
becoming......

perhaps...
​... a re-weaving?

i will definitely call again soon..... x (((💜)))