Monthly Archives: October 2014

Jet the Shapeshifter


Jet the Shape Shifter

Samhain at midnight I shape shifted to seek the Raven’s Trove. Only then would I gaze upon the mysteries of the Dark Lady Herself. I flew to the base of the Black-oak into the murder amassing to take flight.

“What is thy epithet?” croaked an ancient Raven. My ultra violet vision showed the crone in brilliant iridescent colors, I spoke with reverence to her etheric beauty:

“I am she who is carbon; I am coal and the hard caress of the earth, I am the blackness who is Jet.”

“What is thy quest?” a youngling with sapphire eyes inquired.

“It is you my Sister and you Grandmother and HERSELF.”

We flew past the moon; to the Mother of all trees from the beginning of time.

The Trove: surrounded by a thousand raven fore crones. Their wealth of knowledge: past present and future; the slow secrets of trees.

“Gather my words,” the grandmother chanted:


            “Listen to the Raven’s call, one to one and all to all, in the Black-oak acorns   fall, hear the Raven’s call”


We circled:


            “Red Madrone far and high; black of wing and bright of eye.

            Soar like midnight in the sky, see the Ravens fly.”


All was revealed, I beheld a crystal orb.


            “Nestled close in Cedar’s breast is hidden deep a treasure chest.

            Shiny magic is where they rest; seek the Raven’s nest.”


Midnight, the Goddess was afoot.


            “Rowan wand weaves enchantments, cast and spin and spell and craft

            In a circle in a trance; dance to the Ravens dance”


I circled in the center of the altar among a thousand and one ravens.

“You are revealed,” the ancient one pronounced and my glamour vanished. I, now a plain girl without flight or the gift of bird speak, lost in the woods. “Behold,” said Grandmother only her words were left to me. “Behold…” Grandmother’s words echoed in my soul as I gazed into the orb, in my reflection the face of She who is all Lightness and Dark.

Initiated, I found my treasure. I am Jet; I will never be just a plain girl again.




Murder of crows bursting forth from the orange orchard at midnight in the fog…

An illustration from the Charman Chronicles: the Book of Fire.”  Driving through the Haunted Dairy.


I’m re-posting this for Halloween, 2014










Mandalas, Altars, Labyrinths


Lately, my art work looks like either an altar, a mandala or a labyrinth…Changing Time color midnight ps copyB&W Raven horizon reverseblack sky bonesMidnight Altarswasp mandala reverse ps copy  Oops, can’t find the labyrinth right now, I’ll post it later.

My best friends are bones and the ghosts that haunt them; denizens of mirages  and whispers; I’ve collected desert legends like a pocket full of show and tell to share with anyone who had the nerve to hear.  I’ve searched out ghosts on the trails of dust devils but I can’t quite find what I’m looking for, or what’s looking for me?

 All I know is that I dream about fire and that when I wake up, I know something is out there!

My recent work to be on display at Gargoyles Statuary opening in October 17th will be part of a Day of the Dead group exhibition. My work is based on the illustrations for my book “The Char Man Chronicles: the Book of Fire”  I will also have my work on display with Seattle Indie Authors Alliance at Fantagraphic Book Store and Gallery in Georgetown Nov 8th for the second Saturday Art walk 6-9

raven glow reversebloody bride midnight color ps copy

Thanks for visiting, I’ll keep you posted on upcoming Lisa events


Dia de los Muertos


Dia de los Muertos

Did I learn about Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Dead while growing up in Southern California or from my Mexican step mother and dozens of step-in-laws? No; despite the fact that I was an honorary Mexican I had to come all the way north to Seattle Washington and work at the Seattle Art Museum and make friends with Carlos Contreras to discover this strange and wonderful tradition.

“Old World New World” was an exhibition of photography that explored how new traditions layered over ancient ways; this was my first exposure to the Day of the Dead during “film night”. At first I thought it was creepy-ew who wants to dwell on death, how sad and morbid!  But after being around the photos of iguana Goddesses and altar parades and picnics on graveyards, the idea of altars in remembrance began to grow on me.

“Altars of the Gods” was an exhibition of altars from different places and ideologies: Altars from Nigeria for Oshun, South America for Saints, and the West Indies for Santeria, to name a few.  We even had our own little beach at the back of the gallery where I took to spending my lunch breaks to ponder the universe. Visitors left offerings as a spontaneous reaction to this alternative world: parrot feathers, money, candy, crystals, rosaries, medals. Every where this traveling exhibition went, it changed and evolved according to how the people reacted to what they saw and felt.

Every October Carlos, who was once the curator of the Mexico City Museum would build a Day of the Dead altar in the front lobby for all to see. When I watched him work with such care, I began to understand his altars, they had skeletons and skulls and photos of dead people, and yet my friend was serene as he worked, he was full of love. Story has it that it was Carlos, who while working at El Cento de la Raza, began the tradition of building Dia de los Muertos in the Northwest; I like to think that is true. It was his way of helping people feel proud of who they were and where they came from.

When Carlos died, we built an altar on his desk, then we built an altar in the Garden Court, then there were sand paintings with hundreds of flickering votives, Mariachi music and a fiesta, a grand fiesta for our friend Carlos.

The following year a few of us got permission to build a Dia de los Muertos to carry on the tradition Carlos created. My father put together and donated a comprehensive notebook of research for our display.  Many people from the museum contributed to the display with remembrances of their own.  For my part I dedicated my portion of the table to the memory of my mother, Hendrika: her friends called her Rickey.  I decorated it with her art work and crafts and photos of her camping on her honeymoon, wearing a cowboy hat and smiling.  Rickey would have been proud to have her art in a museum on display for so many people.

Dia de los Muertos

We were proud of our altar and keeping Carlos’ tradition alive. I learned that the altars are not only built of sugar skulls and marigolds and photos, the foundation of our altars was pride in where we come from and who we are and the secret mortar the holds it together is a love beyond life and death that is a light in our heart for all time.