Read by the author
Why am I writing and illustrating the book Water Dancer.
Several years ago I became deeply curious as to what caused my great grand parents from the forests of Northern Europe, a hundred generations back to find the tremendous strengths to stay alive and thrive with a sense of joy in the face of tremendous difficulties. What thoughts did they possess that caused them to survive invaders, and also, celebrate every moment of their day developing bodies that archeologists describe as having the strength of Olympians and that Julius Caesar described as having greater amounts of fierce courage than any of his finest Legionaries. So I chose a place in history, 50 B.C.E. a time well documented by the Roman historians hired by Julius Caesar who was then a Roman General at war with my forest grandparents. Through reading his notes and those of archeologists, I have created a drama of historical fiction as accurate as I could to what occurred, to discover how my ancestors thought about subjects like family, love and marriage, the trees, the mountains, rivers, life, death, and war, and all the creatures within the vast network of their forest home. I discovered that their attitude was very similar to the American Natives as well as most Indigenous who live within the natural world. This is encouraging since my body carries, all of our bodies carry the strengths of our ancestors in the very D.N.A. of our muscles and memories. I believe that when we remember who we came from we tap into a power beyond our limited view of who we are now. I created the main characters, Roselyn and Seiglebert. But outside of that, the story is as close to the facts as I can say it. I believe that if they were alive now, sitting in front of me, they would want me to remember who they were, what outrageously amazing things they did. Not to bring them glory, but to bring me encouragement when I most need it. I think that time is now. I think my story is every person's story. Water, by the way, within communities who lived in the Natural world understood that water cleans not only the body, but the mind and heart of a person as well. In the western world, we call it forgiveness. In their world, it was called the Water Dance. So pour yourself a cup of tea, sit down and scroll through this gallery of illustrations, each with an attached vignette from a chapter in the book, Water Dancer.
To see more works by the artist go to these websites.
To contact the artist go to
Steve Brumme at Facebook and message me.
or send me an email
stevebrumme@icloud.com
The Meeting in the River
The images are brought into focus by adding transparent hues over a burnt umber surface. This is how the Water Dancer paintings begin.
The Meeting in the River
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The Meeting in the River
30 x 15
Acrylic on Canvas
$3,000
from the chapter,
The Secret Island
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"This is the place I told you about. You remember, right?"
She looked around again. This place, this conversation was familiar. She had been here before. But like a dream, the memory of it came in bits and pieces.
He went on. "My father taught me that every healer needs a secret place, kind of like a secret garden in his own mind. A place in which everything in that world is a friend. That world must be a place made of memories that causes one to feel happy, safe, and strong." He continued as he shifted his gaze to his left, looking at the river. "Do you remember that river we visited during the clan conference three summers ago? We swam and played with our horses in that river while our parents were off being busy learning, meeting clan members from every part of the forest. We swam, told stories, laughed and became better friends. That was the happiest time of my life. This is the river that I shared with you then. The Island here," he returned his gaze back to where she had just come on his right, "is the place we dried off and laughed as we told each other what caused us to enjoy life. This is the place where you told me about your friendship with Path Finder. This is the place I told you about my love of horses and my desire to work with my father creating the finest ranch in the forest. I re-created 'our' Island as a refuge surrounded by our river, as a kind of mote, a garden wall, surrounding a Secret Garden, so that I could always come here when I needed to figure out how to solve particularly difficult problems. Like now. Where you are right now is with me in my imagination. This is where I went to last night while you were sleeping under the light of the full moon.
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The Tree is Heaven and Earth
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This tree was teaching her something. She was a part of the earth and sky, and it was their strength, blending into this tree from which she was now taking her energy. It was as though she was merging into a triangular power, earth, sky and now her, were becoming one.
Her love for Seiglebert had generated this connection. This tree was already part of her. He had chosen her. Seiglebert, the heavens, the earth, and this tree were now a part of her deepest core. They could never be separated. This was the power of a forest warrior willing lay their life down for their friends and family. |
She Dreams of Seiglebert
It begins with a drawing.
The drawing in transferred to the painting surface.
The colors are added in clear transparent hues called "glazes."
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A Weapon is a Good Friend
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Desire is a Light
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Living in the Canopy
A note about technique for the curious.
When I was in college I had a mentor. Thomas Kinkade, the celebrated american painter who was considered during the early 80's as being a master within the realm of using light. His process was simple. Traditionally, he said, an artist will start with a white background and build the shadows, adding darker and darker layers of hues with each new layer of paint. Once the darker images are built and the form is defined, the artist begins to build the lighter colors. What if, he said, an artist starts with a dark canvas and builds the softest lights over it so that each brush stroke, no matter how dim, was still brighter than the surface it was laid upon. Imagine lighting a room, not with a flood light of neon over heads, but with the single small flame of a candle, that lights another candle, and then another. Each color, from darkest to brightest would bring more light to the canvas, and light an entire canvas as though the canvas is lit from within. It was a renovated approach which made his paintings famous.
You see here the beginning of a painting starting with the softest of white sketched out in a white grey paint with a fine sable brush defining Roselyn's form by the use of crosshatching. This painting called Living in the Canopy, from the chapter of The Art of Tree Jumping, from the book Water Dancer.
Tomorrow I will show the next step.
The next step. I added a glaze of red over her hair, and hints of peaches to her skin. .
Living in the Canopy
Acrylic on Panel
12 x 12
$1,500
For every member of her tribe, climbing trees was as normal as walking. Eventually, the reflex, speed and the strength of the grip became as comfortable as running. "Just as importantly," her mother and father both repeated this statement "in the same way that you ask your horse, any horse for permission to climb on his back, so too, acknowledge the relationship you have with these majestic beings before you climb. Do this with a touch of the hand to their skin. Be aware that the forest is filled with eyes who watch and protect. We are, every thing is, one living being. We are the Earth." It was a lesson that brought everything in her life back to her center and gave her tremendous reserves of strength, knowing that she had the Earth's power to draw on.
The Art of Tree Running
The Art of Tree Running
Acrylic on Panel
12 x 12
$1,500
Roselyn's first lesson started when she was four summers old. It began with teaching Roselyn to become comfortable with heights. Alexa strapped her daughter into a woven wicker basket which she strapped onto her back. Alexa would climb the branches of the tallest tree on the side of the hill like she was climbing up a ladder. When they reached the top, Alexa stood on the highest horizontal branch and stepped far enough out to get a view of the entire valley. Her daughter cooed with delight. Alexa smiled, and then climbed back down.
Each child of her forest village received similar tree climbing training. The first phase of this exercise was simply to climb up and then down carrying Roselyn on her back, so that Roselyn could get her senses familiar with the height. Then in the second cycle of the moon her mother would give her more high altitude experiences, jumping from branch to branch. She spoke to Roselyn as she climbed, with gentle words, reassuring her that this world in the canopy was as natural as living on the ground. Roselyn's mother climbed up and down once each day until her daughter felt comfortable with the heights and the feeling of weightlessness as they jumped from tree to tree. In the third cycle of the summer moon Roselyn started the process of learning to climb the small trees with own body. Her first lesson was simple strength training. Her mother lifted her to a low branch so that her toes were a hand length suspended from the ground. From that branch she would hang until her hand could not hold a moment longer. Each day Roselyn gained more strength until in a short cycle of the moon she was able to hold this branch for a hundred breaths. Eventually she could lift herself into the branch with both arms and then with just one arm. Then she would climb to the next branch. When Roselyn was six summers old she was able to climb up and down the trees as simple as climbing the ladder in her father's barn. By seven summers she could jump from tree to tree as her Mother had shown her two years previous. Her training as a Tree Runner had begun.
The Flight of a
Bird
The Flight of a Bird
Acrylic on Panel
12x12
$1,500
There was a game that her friends played called Tree Running. One that her parents learned as children and now passed on to their children, as she would with her own children when the time came. The object was to climb the tallest tree, and then traverse the length of a forest without touching the ground, jumping from tree to tree. The process involved climbing to the tallest strong limb, edge out to the tip of the branch, test its strength by bouncing up and down, still holding the limb above, stand into a crouching position, and then, jump toward the nearest neighboring tree. If the limbs of both trees were touching, then it was simply a matter of grabbing and climbing into the next tree, limb by limb. But if the perimeter of the nearest tree was a length of air away, then it required free falling for two or three body lengths until a neighboring limb came into reach and then with tremendous force and quick reflex, grip the branch and hold on as it sagged down breaking the momentum of the fall and within the next moment allow it to spring back up to the memory of its original position.
As with all athletic games, this was a vital curriculum in military strategy. Most of the forest clans tactics against the Roman intruders was shock and awe; appearing, attacking, and disappearing from the concealed direction of all points of the forest floor and canopy. Because the Roman legionaries had never seen a forest on the Italian peninsula, the dark cover of forest and fog was a terrifying place where roman troops would disappear in a moment. Roselyn understood how to encourage this fear in her enemies minds.
The Art of Stick Walking
The Art of Stick Walking
Acrylic on Panel
12x12
$1,500
She looked over to him. "Seiglebert, what thoughts do you have about your friend hopping around on crutches?"
He had been waiting for this moment. He looked up into her waiting blue eyes. "Let me start with the obvious Roselyn." He smiled. "There are two things about you that I notice, have always noticed. The first is your lovely form. The second is your spirit. Let me start with your body. You walk and move your body with the grace of a dancer. Whether it is the way you vault onto Path Finder's back, pull your bow, notch your arrow, counter and attack with your sword during practice, and run through the trees. Your every movement causes me to pause and wonder how you can do the most complicated things with a flow of movement I have seen only in the dancers around the fire light during the festivals. It has always been this way since we met as children. At first I thought that you had learned this skill from another and that you demonstrated it for the benefit of others eyes. But as time went on, when I would watch you working in the corrals alone, knowing that you thought you were alone, and still that dancers grace was in your each step, I realized that it came from a source inside of you. A source unconcerned about how others saw you. I realized that it was as natural as breathing for you. It was not practiced, not pretentious. It was your signature. When we talk, I feel that same poise in your words. This thing that you are, in my humble opinion, is a being who has learned perfect balance. Your every movement is poised and in balance and this is, in my eyes, the essence of your beauty. It is who you are. So, it is understandable that as you are learning the 'staccato steps of walking on these sticks,' as you put it, your essential nature has not changed. You are just learning a new form of mobility."
He turned his head up and peered into the canopy of the massive oak and then brought his attention back to her face. "Much like you did when you started to climb trees. When you started to climb, as I remember, you were not nearly as graceful as you are now. And yet, compared to the rest of us, your first attempts seemed more precise, more practiced, more fluid than all your friends. Now, as I watch you hop from place to place, I notice that your sense of balance and poise is there in each movement. Sometimes as I watch you hop from the doorway of your home, across the field, to the corral I feel that same sense of awe I have always experienced with you. It is as though you are learning the art of pole volting over fences as you walk, and each step seems to improve into your next step. It is like watching you learn tree running again. I find myself in awe of your hopping as I am of anything you do." He laughed. "So you see, I am having fun watching you. And this fun that I am having tells me something important. It says that the woman I am so attracted to is not the shape of your form, but the spirit who is moving that body. Roselyn, I am drawn to you not for the color of your hair, the strength your body, the look in those eyes, not the pattern of your words. Rather, I realize more than ever that I am pulled toward you because of the strength and the specific, very unique style of your spirit. I enjoy watching you transform every task, from running, climbing, riding, sword play, dance, and now walking on crutches into a near art form of great beauty. I think that this is what a soul mate is. To see a person from the inside out."
He did not notice but while he spoke everything in her awareness had become very quiet. The quiet was to her like a vast open plain of grass in which only she and Seiglebert faced each other. She heard and saw nothing but the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes.
Dawn's Light
Dawn's Light
Acrylic on Canvas
24 x 30
$1,500
Roselyn did not see this stallion as horse. She saw him as a living being, like her own parents, or any person in her village. But different. Part human, part horse. And perhaps this is why this horse did not feel anger. He did not want to chase her out as he had the ranchers who had entered this gate for many months previous.
This little girl was communicating with him as though she knew him. She walked directly to him in a way that made him relax. His mind told him that she was a human child. And yet, when she came close, memories of his own child surfaced. Memories of how earlier that year in the highlands his colt had died under an avalanche of snow and debris that had fallen from a mountain. Several young horses from his herd had been buried, and it was while he and other members of his herd where attempting to kick and gauge the snow free, trying to unbury the young ones that he was captured and pulled away from his child's rescue. Many of his herd were captured because they would not, they could not run away from their own buried children. That is why he hated these humans so deeply.
Yet, as she moved closer, he felt as though she was recalling the memory of his own lost son and helping him carry the weight of that loss. When her small fingers touched his leg the painful memory became calm.
Under the Full
Moon
Under the Full Moon
Acrylic on Canvas
24 x 30
$1,500
Once, while she and her father were tending to the horses under that full moon she asked him if it were true. Was that bright light really a home where souls of friends go? His reply was simple. He told her what his parents had told him. He picked her small form up and held her facing that moon.
"The monthly cycle of a moon is the promise that those we love always return. As it grows brighter each cycle the spirits of our loved ones are leaving to go there," her eyesight followed the direction of his arm and finger as he pointed at the moon. "And as the moon becomes a sliver of light they are returning in the form of babies, and colts and dogs and cats and all our friends." She laughed at that. He continued. "We live in a world filled with many beautiful and strange things. We become friends with this world by recognizing Her gifts to us. One of the strangest things in life is to watch everyone you know and love, leave you. I have seen most my child hood friends leave this earth through war and natural deaths. My friends were young and now they are gone. Or maybe they are not." He looked into her eyes as though he was looking beyond them, into a place deep inside her. She reminded him of her Grandmother, for whom she was named. The way this small beautiful child looked at him, as though she were studying the structure of his thoughts, his memories. He felt captivated to those eyes. He smiled, and said, "The moon is the gift of a promise that those we love always, always, return. The moon is the gift of hope."
They Dream When They Sleep
They Dream When They Sleep
Acrylic on Panel
12x12
$1,500
Every forest warrior understood that the bond between her and her horse lived in the center of their minds. In battle there could be no interruption between the thoughts of a rider and her horse. They had to move through the chaos as one being or they would perish. In order to achieve this symbiotic relationship her clan created small rituals that would help a rider and her horse think as one. One of those rituals was simple. Rider and horse would sleep under the stars side by side with the hope that their dreams would mingle. Roselyn, since she was a child had frequently slept at the feet of Path Finder. When she was 16 summers old on a predawn morning under a blanket of stars she had a dream. She and Path Finder, her constant guardian and friend where walking through that field of stars. When she woke, she was standing next to him. Later that morning while having breakfast at her parent's table she told the story of the dream of star walking with Path Finder. Her mom and dad smiled at that. The bond had formed.
They Move as One
They Move as One
Acrylic on Panel
12x12
$1,500
sold
Roselyn, as she trained all her warriors to do, developed the skill to ride a horse with an intelligence, a physical sensitivity so that she could feel Path Finder's body as her own. As though they both were one. As he moved in a rhythmic motion of full run, carrying her body on his she experienced his legs as her own. Because of this she could drop his reins, pick up her bow, notch an arrow. aim and release the arrow into the target from her saddle while she and Path Finder were in motion. It was in that experience of releasing her arrow into her target that she was overwhelmed by a deep peace so penetrating she had no thoughts other than what was occurring. Her teachers had told her that she would experience this as a 'sweet moment,' they had said. A moment of profound calm in the midst of tremendous motion.
The Prayer
The Prayer
Acrylic on Panel
45x45
$3,500
The spear had come from the left. It pierced the center of his body. His horse fell and he was trapped under the weight of his rolling tonnage. His leg was crushed. His ribs broken. Breath came with difficultly. His vision constricted to one point while the peripheral images blurred, and he realized that this was the end of a dream. His life as he had known it was over.
All he could think was her name. Roselyn. His wife, his friend, his love. In the mealy of battle one of his men put him on his horse's back and yelled, "home!" After that he recalled moving through forest paths with the starry night over head, and the continuous pounding of hooves on ground until they stopped outside his forest cabin door.
She had been waiting for him. She always knew where he was. It was as though she stepped into his world through his eyes and saw what he saw. "Where you go I will follow." She had said once. His focus was fading. She caught him as he fell to the ground and carefully lifted him over her shoulder the way she carried a sack of grain from the barn to the carriage. She slowly lowered his body to their bed and laid his head on the pillow. Blood was everywhere. Sadness filled her heart. She was a healer, but this body was mortally wounded. Soon his kidney would fail and then his heart and lungs. Yet, she whispered, "Remember the rendezvous. The island surrounded by a river. I will meet you there as often as you wish until you remember who you are and return to me. Return to this world."
He had breathed his last air. His body convulsed, and then his chest relaxed. Her fingers threaded through his in the way they had always held hands during the night when in and out of sleep. The way those fingers touched when first they met as children. The tears fell as she sat next to his form. It was here that she sat long enough to notice that the rising morning sun was hitting her eyes from the window. She squinted as she looked into the light. She looked up and saw Path Finder, her wedding gift to him, outside the window. A war horse and her best friend since she was a child of three. This horse had been her constant companion. He had been there when she grew to a woman, when she discovered that her childhood friend Sieglebert was the man she had always loved. Her horse had been her guide, her protector, and her wedding present to Sieglebert. On instinct she released her hand from his, stood and walked to the door to the out side. She walked to his horse, and pressed the hand that held her man's hand through out the night to the nostrils of his horse and then she whispered, "Find his spirit and carry him to the Island surrounded by a river. Tell him to wait. I will find him there."
The Water Dance: Joy
The Water Dance: Joy
Acrylic on Panel
15 x 12
$1,500
sold
"Water," her father would tell her around evening campfires after a days work moving the herd to newer pastures, "is pure. Water cleans, it energizes and it connects everything and everyone. Water is intelligent. It doesn't speak our words, but we know its language. When we are tired or feel the grit of the work day we gravitate toward the pools and wade into the falling streams. As they carry the dirt away, they relax the muscles. The sense of relief we feel eventually causes us happiness. The happiness is experienced as laughter. That laughter comes to you like a friend. Laughter is the language of water. Laughter vibrates through your entire being, much like water enters into every muscle, every pore of your body. You know this as joy."
The Water Dance: Forgiveness
The Water Dance: Forgiveness
Acrylic on Panel
12 x 15
$1,500
"Water also speaks the language of forgiveness. It removes aches and pains and the dirt of each day. The memories that harm a person are carried away under the gentle, enveloping touch of a bath. If you need laughter you can find it wherever there is water. Start and end each day learning the language of water. Step into the pool and allow it to surround you. The horses know this language well. They will understand you when you share it with them."
This was the mediation that her father called the Water Dance. He required that all his apprentices practice it twice each day. Before they stepped into the corral and after they left the horses. Just as he had been taught by Roselyn's grand mother when he was young.