Weird day, post wind. Last week was a scramble to meet several project deadlines at once with wind tearing past the windows throughout. This morning was deadly still, in my head and out. Orion braved lunch outside amid the shambles of our sails. I cut away the shredded canopies and gave some thought to sculpting the metal framework into a papier mache piece.
Really, if I want to maintain focus, I shouldn't even contemplate starting that sort of project. Then, on the other hand, it's important for me to make art for us, for the fun of it.
So far, I haven't decided. Since John's accused me of honesty, I suppose if I take this one on I'll post as I go, pass or fail. For today I was content to do background work on the cover painting for Strange Roads.
I'll be having another small sale in early February. I should think of another name. They're not sales, per se--these days when art is finished and available. They're more like the FRESH DONUTS NOW sign at the corner bakery. "Fresh Poppets." Anyway, on the 30th there will be a couple of larger papier mache Poppet sculptures, a few unique Poppets and possibly a few Luck's Dancers for Valentines. So, consider this your official 'heads up.'
I'm writing more than reading, and sculpting. I've had this strange sort of unfocused... dread (?) for days. It's quiet, but persistant. Maybe it's from too much news, maybe it's the chilly dry air making everything seem fragile, maybe I need to take a day off. I've had that dream. Twice. Everyone has recurring dreams. Likely this one is fairly common. In it I'm very near to an answer after a long, intense mental process. It's an important answer--the key to unlock some sort of unifying theory. I'm lying on my side with my knees drawn up, my eyes closed and my hands over my ears. The key is right there, on the tip of my mind's tongue. I'm in terrible pain and I become aware that I must make a conscious choice.
I'm not willing to pay the price. I hear myself saying "No. I don't want this."
The moment I choose, the whole scenario is familiar to the last detail-- a terrible deja vu. Symbols, suddenly unrecognizable, fall away before my eyes and all is silent. I wake feeling sad and a little lost.
There you go. Sunday. Not profound. Not awful. Good enough.