Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I know. I can hardly believe it myself.
So with a tinge of melancholy for the end of his stay-at-home years, I prepare for the changes in my own time and space by preparing space for the deluge of art I know will come soon.
I don't need to see the light at the end of a tunnel to know it's there.
And I don't have to hear the whistle to know the light is a train.
So I dust and paint, clean windows, put up new shelves and pegboard.
Everyone I've talked to in the past couple of days is in some weird sort of fugue. Not desperately unhappy, just restless and dissatisfied. As I'm not really interested in trading my friends for new ones, (and hopefully, vice versa) I suppose we'll just slog through it together.
Yesterday I had a flash of inspiration for a new piece and immediately spent some time working on it and ordering the other parts I'll need to finish. It always starts this way, (the deluge)with a flash here and there. Like labor pains, coming faster and faster, lasting longer each time, until I produce something I'm happy with. Or something I fall in love with and don't want to part with for a minute, though I know it must be released into the world...or kindergarten.
How is it that artists and writers can work so urgently in the present, yet at the same time always hold hope that our best work is in our futures?
This morning Pete woke me at 3:30 so we could see the lunar eclipse. It was eerie and beautiful. One night, when I was a wee tot and the moon was full, my mother (who was talented and smart and quite lune-y) whistpered in my ear that it was following me. I tried running from it and, damn, it did follow! I ran and ran and ran until I couldn't anymore. I can't begin to tell you how much that creeped me out. I sat in the grass and cried. I hid inside. I didn't sleep well for days. Then my brother, nerd that he is (which saved my butt more than once) explained about the illusion. And a bit about our mother.
(Hmm. I think I should phone my brother soon. )
But this morning I enjoyed the site with the wonder, thrill and affection felt by millions of other humans who watched too.
If you're interested, go to Shadow and Substance, where there's a fairly cool animation of the eclipse, which (after seeing the real thing) looks remarkably realistic.
After the eclipse, I slept, but not so well. Lots of weird dreams---and I awoke sort of tired, as though I'd been running...
If you haven't looked at the moon in awhile. Do. It's good for you. If you're slogging through, chin up. Everything changes.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Ain't no cure for the summertime blues.
Damn. Is it still summer? Yes. The last leg of it, the end vaguely in site, tiny and way off in the distance. I've survived so far without any real harm, with stories for later and with a bit of a scrubbing and cleaning of my summer-reluctant third eye. Ouch.
Did I mention, ouch?
Yes, I will tell the stories, likely on the forums, but not today.
Still, Ravyn and I got things sort of lined up for Halloween while she was here, and I made some strange poppets which I will post links to tomorrow at a more respectable hour.
In the meantime, for night owls and those on other continents, a photo of one Strange and Spotted Poppet.
And, at the risk of suggesting that I do indeed listen to Poppet requests:
Little Purple Poppets
The late Harry Chapin (Flowers are Red) sang, "There are so many colors in the rainbow and I see every one."
His song is about crayons, sort of, but mostly about how children see things and how they are sometimes taught not to see by people with narrow vision.
It's a sweet, sad song.
Tonight, I'm not swimming. I am sleeping.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Nora is visiting. We went for a short walk in the desert.
It's hot in the desert.
So we went to Ben's house for swimming and dinner.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Mostly what seems to be working during this last month of summer is dividing up the days into parts. Painting carousel, rats and other pieces that have been waiting in the studio for ages is a good thing. Now they won't be staring reproachfully at me from the shelves, and I get to re-discover details even I'd forgotten. I put some of them on ebay to look for new homes. Several people have emailed to tell me how glad they are to see Rats again. I tell them I agree.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Thursday, August 02, 2007
If I wasn't bothered enough by the book, I had but to go to the website to look deeper into The Secret's hole. Had I wanted to look even deeper, I could've paid the fee to become an Abundant Member. No need. It is even more excluding than the book.
I decided not to waste the time. I have other things to do.
I realize I'm not unique. There are over 1500 reviews of this book up on Amazon alone. Lots of those are angry reviews.
After a little while, I decided it wasn't worth being angry about. I'd try being amused.
Then, there's the fear of one's own thoughts. I think my favorite was here:
Nothing can come into your experience unless you summon it through persistent thoughts.
--page 28, which also suggests that events in history where masses of lives were lost were attracted by the thoughts of those people.
Yes, you brought that car accident upon yourself with your thoughts. (I'm not kidding, it's on page 27.)
Possibly a disclaimer would help. "For entertainment purposes only."
By the same token do those who buy into Byrnes program deserve to be duped? After all, not all of the reviews I read were against the book. Some were from people who were keeping The Secret by their beds, buying copies for friends and family. Well -meaning people looking for answers.
Whatever...it's not like I never bought sea monkeys
g'night and thanks for checking in