Morning. Signing the bottoms of Poppets. Catching up, finally, with orders waiting for my return from Baltimore, sending some out with apologies and gifts to wonderfully patient collectors. The light is interesting today through the remainder of storm clouds drifting away en masse, like some grand exodus. Giants fleeing the sun that, glaring, reminds us that we circle round it. Drawn to this brilliance that governs us and sustains us, knowing it will someday consume us.
Sheesh. Must everything be a story? The words are a ringing bell today.
Right. The words we humans mutter to ourselves at the rate of 300 to 1000 per minute. Oh yes. We do.
Is this madness? The short answer, MOO.
ok. just kidding. It's Mu, or something like it. The answer to a Zen koan that can't be answered simply. Because the question of madness can't easily be answered with a yes or no.
I don't know how many of my peers fight the endless mental drivel. Artists, writers, other creative types of humans tend to be isolated from others of the same ilk. Who has the time for comparing notes? If we have time, we're creating, because of or in spite of the endless chatter in our heads. So I don't know if other creatives struggle with this flood of thoughts and ideas that won't let up. And I don't care, because what difference would it make?
So I'm painting poppets and thinking about them fondly, knowing that I won't be spending many more days like this one.
Scared? You bet.
Saturday--whatever date this is--23rd? right. I copied the entry above word for word from my notebook. Would've scanned it but asking you to read the handwriting would just be cruel. True, it sounds a little cryptic. I don't mean to, it's just the way I write notes. I copied it here because I wanted you to be with me as I make this change, for good or worse. After all, that's why I started writing here, isn't it?
Trips to Madcon and to the museum ate up the month and I came home knowing that I'd turned a corner. It's time to work on books. I'm clearing the way now. I've just put a lot of art on Ebay. What doesn't sell there will be sent out to convention shows. I'll be putting more art up, clearing the space in my painting studio (which became a catch-all for art) and space in my head.
It's been over seven years since I made the first Poppet. I know! I can't believe it myself! But there it is. It's time to explore their 'bigger inside than out.'
I hope, I hope, I hope you'll come with me.
Don't worry. I'll still make Poppets, just not so many at once. There will also be prints and other art. So much waiting patiently for me while I make Poppets all day.
I can't make Poppets all day any more.
Later Poppets are very likely to come back in force, though not so many will have my signature on the bottoms. That's actually good news for your Poppets. They will be extra special.
I'm stepping off. This is a leap of faith for sure. I don't know what's coming, just that something is. It's the real-time, here and now, without the perspective that time will allow. I don't know what lessons will be learned. I may fail miserably. I may find something astounding. But I'm turning this corner now. Later on maybe I'll look back at this entry and hopefully, you will be there and...
(you know what I'm going to say) it will be like time travel.
My stat counter hasn't worked in forever. I have no idea if there are 20 or 200 of you. But thank you. I said I'd keep you posted along the way through thick and thin. (another soup metaphor. Told you--you can't beat a soup metaphor.) I'll do my best.
That said. the first thing Poppets told me is that it all started with the Crows.
Secretly, it feels like, maybe, I knew that all along. Hmm. Maybe you did too.
warm wishes to you, dear friends, and g'night.
As promised, prints are available now, on Etsy.