Lisa Snellings

Thursday

2012-02-02T19:35:00.000-08:00

January went by in a blur, mostly caused by cold meds and the general misery of bronchitis. I wrote this on facebook:

Lisa Snellings What I've had is a tanked economy that squeezed my business into a one-woman juggling act, single parenthood and all that goes with and a psychotic ex boyfriend that's stalked and harassed and even broke into my house. Not too many warm fuzzies, no safety net. But I know this--I laugh with my kid every day and eventually, I'll work it all out in the work. Two Constants for me - love and making stuff. Everything else can just suck it.
January 26 at 10:40am · LikeUnlike · 9

Thought I was coming around and it knocked me back a good one. Silly virus! But now I'm digging out, catching up. Orders are getting mailed out, the studio got swept, trash taken out, bills paid and ducks jostled into rows. Some of them, anyway.

We all have time to be sick, don't we? Tose 'smell the roses' kinds of things we've been meaning to do get put aside because we're too busy. Or even taking a break with a good book or getting some fresh air and exercise. It takes a virus and a good ass-kicking to get me to spend a day on the sofa watching classic science fiction movies and reading. Two days. Likely, if I'd slowed down sooner I would've resisted the bug better. Silly human.

But now I'm coming around, catching up and this weekend, hope to be back to writing.

Last week was a good reminder not to invest so much in the future that I don't enjoy my day. The future is uncertain, but certainly would be better with some good memories from today.

Enjoy your day.

Things doing when under the weather

2012-01-25T19:48:00.000-08:00

A week of bronchitis for Orion and me. Finally, though still coughing a bit, we begin to feel like humans again. Finally patiently waiting poppets are on their ways to new places. I caught up on some reading, some television and while sitting with O as he did homework from missed days, I sculpted some new little creatures that need no painting.

Lots of sleep for Orion. Lots of soup for me.

I could sure use a week or so with no new hurdles, but for now will be content to breathe through my nose. I think the hardest part of it was that my brain really wanted to be creative. There my muse was at my door and I didn't have the energy to entertain her. But I made her some tea and gave her a cookie and she promised to come back soon.

I suspect she's never very far away at all.

Hope you're avoiding nasty viruses out there in the real world.

Air

2012-01-21T13:11:00.001-08:00

It's Saturday. The wind is howling and the air is full of sand and bits of bark and leaves. Other debris is caught up in it too, plastic bags that zip around and change directions in the chaos, crows struggling for forward motion and brightly colored bits of paper. Some of it lands in the pool. Occasionally there's a pretty good thud when a limb bangs against the roof. There's a crash as the recycling bin falls and spills its bottles. Everything is seen through a violent confetti.
I've got an edge that comes with not enough sleep. If you've spent a night with a congested child, you know that they wake up panicked because they can't breathe through their noses. And you feel powerless because it's a virus and all you can do is treat the symptoms and offer comfort. And steam. A hot shower or sitting in the steamy bathroom helps him get the air he needs.
Wow. I haven't seen wind like this in awhile. It just ripped a board off our fence and the bottom of the pool is black with dirt and leaves. There's someone else's rug on the deck and now it's loud, loud, loud. I decided to peek out the front door. There are several really large limbs - one too big to be moved without cutting, and the carport shade is nearly ripped away. Funny, the temperature is spring-like. Welcome to the desert.

Aubrey just sent me a beautiful, serene photo of snow. It's as opposite as opposite can be.

Orion and I sit inside, cozy and quiet so he gets enough air. We watch the maelstrom outside, shadows chasing after the clouds so it's dark and light in turn. Not enough air for him, too much outside.

This is our Saturday, so far.

Not today

2012-01-18T16:47:00.000-08:00

Some days, you won't.

Dr. Seuss was good. Dr. Seuss was wise.

This is the day I won't. Again. I'm still reeling a little from new psychoex weirdness that resulted in a restraining order, then even more weirdness on serving the thing. I'm told that reeling is an appropriate response. It's been somewhat traumatic . And all that goes with.

Add to that a couple of wicked colds for Orion and me and a printer that suddenly died this morning and you've got a day when it

just isn't happening.

I wasted a couple of hours trying to force myself to punch through it. Then I messaged the people who were waiting on things and asked them to wait a little longer. Better at least than spinning wheels the whole day. Now simple things and rest.

I've discovered my favorite cold med is Ferrara Pan RED HOTS. The classics stay with us for a reason.

Don't forget to speak up: Important.

At sunset, I did manage to catch the light playing with my toys. So I know I'm still in here, somewhere. Orion is coughing again. I'm off.

Take care.

Nuts and Bolts

2012-01-12T21:37:00.000-08:00

Today I have a wicked cold and so does Orion, so we're slogging through it at home. He's playing video games in his room and I'm working on things that need my brain and don't require any sort of bending or moving faster than a snail.

Fortunately, my brain seems to be working fine. Or at least, fine enough.

This is an advantage of working at home. I can fit the task to the day, at least most of the time.

A good enough day to put up these photos I took as I made some clear poppets. Above is what's called an envelope mold. Basically, it's a mold with a cut on one plane that folds shut.

I haven't use the mold in awhile, so I clean it up. I'm out of mold release and right now, it just isn't in the budget, so I use some Chapstick. (I know, it's technically Blistex but that's an exception.)

I could likely write an entire blog on the uses of Chapstick in the studio and out. But I won't, because I'd bet without looking it's already been done.

In this case though, it makes a good mold release, which is pretty much wax in a spray can.

With the stick though, I have to smooth it out so there are no lumps.

Now I mix about an ounce of clear casting resin (nasty stuff---do not attempt without good ventilation, or with a cold) with the appropriate drops of catalyst. Which for me means 4 drops over in compensation for the cold temps and that I want it to cure fast.

I pour the resin to just above the poppet's ruff, which means just under - we're upside down. The fifth space I filled with glass balls as an experiment because I'm a child at heart and can't stand not to play while I work.

While that sets, I hand sculpt some tiny hearts and fire them in the toaster oven. I wouldn't consider larger works in there, but this takes about three minutes at 300 degrees.

Then I paint them.

I'll use a bit of Shoe Goo to affix the hearts inside the mold. Have to make sure the paint on the hearts is absolutely dry and use a tiny amount. Also, have to remember to put them in upside down. :)

I find Shoe Goo to be extremely handy in the studio. While we're on handy studio stuff - rings cut from old stockings make a great substitute for rubber bands. For delicate molds, they can be cut to custom widths to distribute pressure evenly.

They also make good hair ties, bracelets. Or handcuffs.

...

So. Here are the poppets, freshly de-molded. They'll have flash - the thin bits of resin that seeped into the seams.

Their surfaces will be slightly sticky.

All that has to be cleaned away with the Dremmel and some hand sanding.

While I Dremmel, I drill a hole for the balloon string using a micro drill bit.

I'll put on the first layer of clear glaze and while that dries, I sculpt, fire and paint the heart for the balloon.

Before I fire it, I'll put a small hole in the heart with wire. Saves drilling later.

And here's the finished piece. I don't have any listed right now because, as you can see, they take a lot of time and aren't the sort of thing I can make with a cold. But now you can see how they're made. I like questions, and promise not to think any are silly, unless they are. And if they are, I'll like them anyway.

Sunshine

2012-01-07T20:46:00.001-08:00

Sunshine brought us to the park.

It wasn't the palms I wanted, when Orion ran off to play,

but the perfect sycamore,

under which to read

from a book with a made-up map.

I recognize my mother's face in mine,

and the singular light of nine.

And that was a bit of this day. Hope yours was good.

g'night

Before There Were Trees

2012-01-06T22:16:00.000-08:00

Much of the work today was spent getting to here.

It seems a place worth exploring. I hope to return soon.

There's no alarm in the morning and now I intend to fall asleep reading. Maybe I'll dream of home.

g'night

Three Hours

2012-01-04T21:07:00.000-08:00

Starting a new assemblage. I took notes as I worked and some photos.

My first choice was a different work, but I'd misplaced the seed pods I wanted for it and, having only limited studio time, I opted to shift gears instead of searching. (I found them later on.)

Every piece begins with an idea.

At this moment, it's more like the pupae of an idea, as yet not named and not fully developed. But I have a good sense of what I want to say. I'll have to trust the details and words to come later. I can, because that's usually the case.
So with that in mind, I gather objects. I have a lot to choose from. I pick things up wherever I go. People send me things too, odd little bits. I'm always thrilled to find a little box or envelope in the mailbox with a bug, bone or odd bit of metal or wood.

Next I'll start to sort the objects into groups. The sorting can be challenging.

My first instinct will be to treat them like specimens, ordered by physical properties/shape/materials.

When I collected seashells as a child, I tended to sort them this way.

The sorting is also governed by visual aesthetics - color and form.

And finally by metaphor, emotion, story.
The sorting isn't so much a means to an end as an exercise. Sorting and handling these things, placing them in relation to other things is part of the process. I find connections between them, become aware of the history behind the objects, some of which are to memories of people and places. Finally I'm able to see them out of context, having no relation to anything I know. That's a tricky part. I can best describe it as being similar to "seeing" an optical illusion. This is the "real" work.
Once stripped of assigned values, the objects become an alphabet, capable of visual stories. It can be overwhelming, but I keep my focus in place. A title would help but I don't have to have one yet. For the moment, I begin to know what fits and what doesn't.

I have to trust my feelings, Luke.

God, I'm such a nerd.

I keep the objects in motion. Eventually groups form- things that want to work together.

It's a process that isn't at all...linear.

I begin to add two dimensional bits to the whole. Bits of hand painted paper.

Prints of paintings, pages from old cookbooks and Galaxy.

All these things are spread over years and geography and exist for various reasons.

The stuff that does it for me, that makes the work feel like play, is finding a way to put these things together so that they make some kind of sense as a whole. Eventually (if I do it right) it will be an odd sort of story. If I do it right, other people will be able to "read" it.

That's it for today. It has to be. It's what I did in the time I had. I reluctantly let it go. There are other things that must be done. I've put this work off for far too long, hoping for a big block of time to devote to it.

That's not my present reality. Those blocks of time don't exist.

So for three hours I completely immersed myself in an embryo of an idea. On the surface, there's nothing to show for the effort, but when I come back, the work will be evident and might even surprise me. We'll see.

January 2

2012-01-02T09:35:00.000-08:00

It's Monday but we're sort of half in and out of the holiday still. Tomorrow will start with the 6:30 am alarm and life might seem 'normal' again. I didn't get to read as much over the holidays as I'd hoped, so I'm feeling a little out of that loop too. But I'm always conscious of words. Our English language is ever changing. It should be. It's a living thing, after all. New words are invented with, well, inventions. Old ones become dusty and forgotten. I have my own pet peeves about words. I'm not sure I like how texting abbreviations are infiltrating other forms of communication, including everyday speech. It also seems to me that standards for usage and punctuation are largely ignored. They're there, already.

Possibly 'hear' and 'here' will become interchangeable? But I'm not thinking about that.

This morning I'm thinking of everyday speaking. What is your favorite affirmative? For instance, my number one is, "excellent." (Thank you, Montgomery Burns.) It came about because after nearly a decade of living in California I decided to train myself not to answer with "cool." It was harder than you might think.

What's your word? What it was before? Before that? Do you know when/why it changed?

It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme. But it's a good exercise to think about these little evolutions in communication. I'd like to know about yours. We might learn something.

That said, I'd like to pose an exercise. Substitute other words for your fallback. Yes indeed, this is the nerdiest thing I've asked you to do so far. Maybe.

So what? Your brain is fat and needs the exercise. Mine too. It got lazy over the holidays and might need a little poke in the Broca's.

So substitute another word for your usual fallback. Each time I'm inclined to say "excellent," I'll choose "splendid" or "transcendent" or "exemplary." Or something else that pops up. Which probably won't happen without a little practice, because I'm not quick in that way.

But even thinking of a synonym after the fact is exercise. More like a secret isometric under your desk sort of thing, but some exercise is better than none, even if you've had a candy bar.

I'll try it. Will you? I know. It's a little thing. But then, most of our days are made of little things. Why not this one?

Have an ex...quisite day.

December 31

2011-12-31T18:49:00.000-08:00

It's the last day of the year. This is good for us. Marking time. Humans need this. Every year a clean slate. Sometimes we need it every day. It's okay. So here I am, today, looking out at you and laughing at me. Silly human. Thank you for being here with me. It wouldn't have been the same journey at all without you.

I can't thank you enough, ever. But know at least that I sincerely do. Off we go into 2012. It's like time travel. I will always be your idiot artist, stumbling toward the light. xoxo

December 30

2011-12-30T22:45:00.001-08:00

Just so you know. I'm taking a break. A breath. I'm thinking you very likely are too.

We're gonna need it.

See you soon. xoxo

December 26 editing tastes like peas

2011-12-26T16:41:00.000-08:00

I push words around on the page like peas I don't want to eat.

Here, there and back again, I continue to move them around,
hoping a solution will eventually reveal itself or that my mother
will give up.

I was, and am, a tenacious little shit. This could go on for awhile.

December 21 Light

2011-12-21T23:17:00.000-08:00

Light is near.

December 20 Stop Spinning

2011-12-20T16:16:00.000-08:00

If you're stressed about the holidays, cut it out.

Before I type another letter, I should probably tell you that earlier today I failed to follow the suggestions I'm about to offer. I have a gift shop and it's gift season. I'm the head of a household. And there's the occasionally spectacular dynamic of the humans around me - those who are part of the solution and those who are part of the problem. And all that goes with. I have my list, you have yours.

Sometimes the clock is ticking, my brain is racing and a dozen things are competing for my attention. Sometimes I find myself slogging through the glue that is overload.

I did today, for sure. Thankfully, I stepped back before getting stuck. Still, if I were REALLY good at this, I'd have avoided that goo in the first place.

Wouldn't you think?

What I'm trying to say here is, beware. (see blog header) Don't follow me blindly. I might trip.

That said. It's the holidays. Prime season for stress. Very likely this is a good time to remind ourselves that at this time of year, we tend to try to live up to impossible standards. We have to remember that these standards are mostly created by marketers trying to make us feel we are lacking. Because, if we shop at Target, our holiday dinner will be perfect. If we shop at Zales, we can watch the game in peace. And so on.

Our memories do it too. Those fuzzy-edged, rose-colored pictures of perfect family dinners, softened by time. Who are we kidding? Our mothers were spinning. Grandmothers too. Possibly they popped a couple of Valium or sampled the cooking wine. Either way, you likely didn't see them spinning. Why not? Because your mind was elsewhere.

You're not as important to the people sitting at your table as you think you are. Or, at least, not in the way you think. They're not watching your every move. They're not going to judge you if you forgot to use the good salt shakers. They just don't care. They're not going to notice if the candles are vanilla instead of holiday spice or if the tree's a little dry. It's not that they don't appreciate you. It's just that they're living just as much in their heads as you are in yours.

That spotlight bearing down on you is yours. You put it there. Just turn it off. In a week, no one will care about the details or who gave them which present. If they do, it's their problem, not yours.

What they will remember is how they felt. What you will remember is how you felt.

I'm gonna suggest here that we think about cutting down our lists. Some of the details can go. Some of the deadlines are made-up. I'm going to suggest we simplify and spend a little more time being.

I'm just saying.

December 19 Lions in the Ruins

2011-12-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

December 19

The Plant House of Doom, Orion calls the sad remains of our greenhouse.

We laugh, a little.

It was a project of high aspirations that failed for lack of attention.

It was a joint venture, and when the humans fell out of joint, the desert elements began the forgetting.

The Untouchable Torti roams the ruins. Her kittens play there. They are feral and nearly unapproachable. If I stop feeding them, they will go away and find someone else in the neighborhood that will.
Probably.

In the mornings, they sit, the four of them in a row, watching through the glass as I wade through my own sea of cats to the coffee.

This is madness.

And the holidays. I can't get them into the clinic until after.

Neuter and release.

So here we are until then.

These cats are fierce and feral. Mine are toys. But that's environmental. Inside, they're the same.

Same, samey, same.

It's the hardwiring.

This structure looks like it was storm- torn and then abandoned.

It was actually more like a sandwich:abandoned, then storm-torn, then abandoned some more.

Just the sort of place for cats.

It lends something to them. They take that something and make it their own.

I've begun to view this mess as a ruin. Sure enough, I'd like to clean it up sooner than later.

It's on the list.

So here I am, until then.

I intended to write for 365 days. I don't know how many I wrote and how many I missed. I was living through all the days it took to turn a greenhouse into this.

Today is my birthday. December 19. It's a year since I decided to take a look at a year. Between you and me, I might've picked a different year.

But then, one can't really ever know when a shit storm is coming.

Pretty talk, for sure. There isn't a better word for it.

I thought I was broken. You might think you're broken too. But you're not. We're not.

I watch. There's movement now- sliding through sunlight.

As I watch the cats prowl, lounge and caper through these spaces, I began to notice the lines and textures.

If I remove the layers and see what is in front of me today, I see only form and weight, life.

365 days. We all lived through the same days. I wrote about some of it here. I didn't write a lot of it. Some things need time and perspective.

Some things persisted throughout my year. The relentless stream of repetitive crap required to survive.

Love didn't go away.

And making stuff. I did that.

I'm different than I was 365 days ago. It's a pretty good guess you are too.

It will be interesting to see where 2012 takes us.

happy birthday to me.

g'night to you

Day 357

2011-12-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken in yesterday's late afternoon sun. Two of Torti's kittens. We're still 2 weeks away from time for trap/fix/release.

This one was taken in this morning's early light. I closed the curtains after. I don't know how Orion and Ethan would react, but certainly it would've put a damper on their breakfast appetites. It didn't do mine much good.

It's been a long time since I worked in the morgue.

Still, I'm glad for the experience and Harlequin Valentine came out of it. There's a real mix of grim and sweet. Hmm. My birthday is almost here. I think I shall call the Neil and ask for a spoken word version. I'll bet it's really, really good.

Of course I'll have to clean this up in a bit.

Reality often bites the head right off of cuteness. I'm good with that. We can't have one without the other. We'd rot our teeth out.

But now it's time to wrap up poppets so they can be on their ways tomorrow. Holiday time means artists with shops like mine are working on their days off (whatever that is.)

I've made prints available on Etsy of several of the sketchbook drawings from the year. You can find them here. I'll be making greeting cards and framed versions available too. It's taken a while and I'm happy to finally be able to bring some of this work to light. So much is still tucked away in the studio, waiting patiently.

So I'm putting on my shoes (the floor back there is sooo cold) and will enjoy some music. Don't think the zone is available today with two boys in the house, but then, the zone has levels.

Hope your day is a good mix of real and fantasy, grim and cute, dark and light.

Day 354

2011-12-08T07:34:00.000-08:00

My days usually start pretty early. My alarm goes off before the sun comes up and this morning I beat it by about thirty seconds, having awoken from a rather scary alien invasion dream. It started like most, with unusual weather, then grew into something highly detailed and colored with that awful feeling that there's nothing to do but hide, helplessly hoping.

I woke with that, and then the alarm to assure me they weren't here yet, but it was cold in the house. It was a three-cat sort of night. Bilbo Cat was in his usual spot, curled up against Orion's back. After extricating Orion from his bed, we jumped through the usual morning hurdles and I dropped him off at school, picked up Helen and headed to the post office before it was overtaken by seniors. On the way back here, we passed a field of ravens. I stopped to take a few shots with my phone, regretting not having a better camera with me. (A second camera is definitely on my wish list---have a Power Shot sitting around?) Will trade for poppets.

It's not far, so we drove home and I snagged my camera and we headed back. I told Helen on the way that this wouldn't be our last side trip. I explained that there was a good chance the birds would be gone when we returned, but that if I didn't try there was no chance.

I've learned that I have to be willing to take these opportunities when they arise. I have to be willing to stop, or change course, or inconvenience myself a little. Art doesn't happen in a vacuum. It's more like water from the ground. The pump has to be primed.

By the time we returned, many of them were gone, but Budd was there. He approached me and we talked. I learned that he's eighty-seven years old and he likes ravens infinitely more than crows. I also learned that he feeds this flock every morning at sunrise and that they are particularly fond of dry cat food.

I'll be meeting him there sooner than later, with a bag of Friskies and my camera.

This was my morning. Now I'm off to work.

Day 346

2011-11-30T22:25:00.000-08:00

The evening flew by. They all have, lately. I seem to be moving forward, fast, while growing ever more aware that I'm approaching the end of this 365- day observation. I'm looking back too. I talked with Aubrey on the phone today. I miss her terribly, but I could hear the momentum and motivation in her voice, her fresh approach to the day. Change is good for us human types.

I'm spending more time on projects and less making poppets. In addition to a new something with the Neil, it looks like we'll be releasing a new "Strange" chapbook next year. I'm also chipping away at my own projects.

I hired a housekeeper.

The Untouchable Torti has taken residence in my back yard. With three kittens. Four cats inside, four cats outside. This will not do. Too many cats. The kittens are nearly old enough for spay and neuter. I don't know which are male or female. I can't get close enough. The cute little buggers become balls of teeth, claws and hisses if I get close.

Just what I needed.

This isn't much more than a laundry list. If I wait for eloquence, it may be another week before I write something. Spellcheck seems not to be functioning. Forgive me in advance then, for whatever I missed.

I'll say this---as I look back over the last 300 days or so I see a lot of stuff happening. A lot of things have changed, a lot of things haven't. The thing that's the most different is me. I didn't realize how different until I looked back. All in all, I'm going to say the days showed me what I was looking for, and a few things I didn't expect.

It will be good to finish this up and change gears a bit. In the meantime, we carry on, don't we?

Day 334

2011-11-18T23:07:00.000-08:00

Again and I'm gone from here for days. I've been working and the work has been good. I'm still struggling to balance the long-term projects with the daily 'have-to' list. It's a process.

It seems it's time for the Neil Gaiman and me to make something. We talked over some possibilities the other day. I'm thinking you'd probably enjoy a new collaboration. I've got some ideas that have been pestering me to no end. I'll keep you posted.

I burned my finger on a poppet. Ask me how many times I've done that. I've decided that multi-tasking was invented by someone who hates women. Men can't do it. They're just not hard-wired that way. Man must focus on one thing at a time: Kill food. Mate. Shit.
Woman must not let the fire go out, the Neanderthal-ings toddle out of sight, the skins go unscraped, etc.
Multitasking is bad for the brain and causes burned fingers and cussing.

I'm obviously still thinking of early humans. I look at these bones on my shelf, waiting for paint and other thoughts to turn them into something else. Indeed bones must've been toys for early Earth children. Early humans were constantly in contact with Death. Death was everywhere. Present at all the events of everyday life. Welcomed and accepted as part of life.
Until, of course, religions were invented. But that's another post. It's eleven thirty and I don't even mean to be up. I'm waiting for laundry to pack for leaving tomorrow.

Currently, we play video games and watch cartoons and movies and Death is no longer welcome. In fact, its very existence is often denied. When we run out of lives, we earn more. We die over and over again. We have fewer reminders, generally speaking, as health care is better and people live longer. And are less often killed by bears. On the one hand, the information age brings us instant news of far away disasters. But that news is on screens just like the games and shows. It's not real. Does tragedy have to hit us in our own back yards for us to acknowledge Death? Have we un-friended Death?

If this is so, is there an underlying sociological movement behind this shunning of our once-beloved Grim?

It's what I'm thinking of tonight, waiting for laundry, which has just buzzed. I'm outta here for now. Hope you have a great weekend.
g'night

Day 329

2011-11-13T00:29:00.000-08:00

It's 12:33 on a Sunday morning. Finally, I've ribboned the Royal.

And all that goes with...

g'night

Day 326

2011-11-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

A little slow to get moving this morning. I woke with a familiar devil in my gut. Fortunately for me, I have tools at hand to banish it, at least to a corner. It will likely squat there for awhile, glaring at me and growling to get back in. It will stay in that corner until it evaporates from lack of attention. I'm a wizard. My tools are internal, summoned silently and instantaneously.

Except when they're not. Occasionally I dig into that other bag. Its tools are a little more cumbersome but just as effective and only a little slower. Music and work.

Technology is beautiful. Pandora and "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. If you haven't read these lyrics, or haven't in awhile, you might want to. No one loves this song more than me, and in the back of my mind I hear a soft protest against ripping the words away from the music. But doing so adds another layer. Reading is different from listening. Not better or worse, just different. Your brain knows this. So I read the lyrics, again. These words center me. They're in my bag of tools and might not fit yours.

So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from Hell,blue skies from pain.

Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?

And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,

year after year,

Running over the same old ground.

What have you found?

The same old fears.

But there they are. Powerful words for me. Find yours and keep them close. I pour a cup of coffee. I tie my apron. I'm going to work, happy to be wherever this is. Yup. I'm a wizard. And so are you.

I've tied my morning apron on about 7,480 times, so far.

Hope your day is good. Thanks for being here with me.

Day 322

2011-11-06T17:07:00.001-08:00

Again off to the high desert, this time with Orion and his friend Ethan in tow. I can't convey the scents, the arresting height and breadth of the view or the feel of the crisp, cold air. But I can tell you at least, that the light was like silk. It touched every stone, every living thing with a gentle fluidity. I don't know that I captured any of that, but I brought some of it back with me. I can already feel this influence on my work and I'm look forward to watching it integrate itself into what I make in the next months. We'd hoped to catch the snow, but not this trip. Still, it was beautiful and supports the notion that to make good art, an artist must move things into her mind. It's a good notion and it rings true at every turn. I hope you enjoy these views. It will be interesting, likely, to recall them later on. I know if you've been following me here, you already have a sense of where this place is taking me. Thank you to Paul, for opening your home to us and guiding us through this amazing bit of Earth you know so well.

Day 317

2011-11-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

I took some time for quiet. I looked around from a mountain. The mountain made me not much bigger than a mote, relatively.

I gave my attention to the wind, which took it playfully and carried it off to the clouds.

I studied the remains of things that once were very much alive and that now are art, shaped by time and the elements.

I studied them closely and found worlds there as large as the sky, full of detail, at least at this proximity.

Way up here, troubles have small voices. Up here, the invisible can be visible. It can fill our vision if we allow it.

All of this I took inside and, wrapped in the gracious hospitality of my good friend, I worked it in pencils, wood and clay.

It's sound and sane to embrace quiet. It allows things to fall silently into their places, where they make more sense.

It was a good place from which to approach Halloween. I came back down the hill and celebrated with children and candy, with greetings to others in masks. I celebrated also in a quiet inner place, where Halloween feels right and real.

Hope yours was good.

Day 314

2011-10-29T19:16:00.000-07:00

I've stepped away, into higher elevations and lower temperatures. A change of scenery does a world of good. The high desert is beautiful and I'm finding inspiration everywhere I turn. When I get back, I'll share some of it with you.

Your artist is taking a rest and a deep breath of fresh air.

Day 313

2011-10-28T07:23:00.000-07:00

Sunrise. Not nearly enough sleep. I stayed up way too late editing photos from the festival. Shouldn't have had coffee after six, but I did.

The alarm goes off and I recognize that raw feeling. I know the drill. Break it down into bits. It's cold in the house, so robe. And coffee. Yes, I know. Too much coffee. Can't fix everything at once.

For the moment, it will get me through. Then a PTG meeting and after, end of session awards program.

I'm going to be making some small prints and notecards available. I've been gathering them for a book, but I can't make that happen just yet. I don't know how many people still send physical notes, but I really like paper, textures and small bits of art. Was thinking to use images from larger work as well. I'll put them out and see what sort of feedback I get. I'd welcome your suggestions. Some of the images I'm considering are on the page. Let me know if there's something you remember and would like to see again.

I've amassed images from over twenty years of art.

It's like time travel.

I'm heading into the day. Hope your's is good.

Day 312

2011-10-27T07:53:00.001-07:00

Thank you for yesterday.

Fell asleep listening to Mushi Shi. If you don't know it, you might want to.

This morning, sure enough, sunlight paints the view outside my windows. Color magic. I like the grey too. Dusk and Dawn are my favorite times of day. I've painted Dawn. I imagine Dusk will come in its own time.

Still, I don't plan to wait for inspiration to come to me today. I'm going looking..never mind, she's already arrived.
Whatever happens, I'll do my best to step over it to keep pace with her. It's the least I can do to show my appreciation.

Hope she comes to you when you call.

Day 311

2011-10-26T22:07:00.000-07:00

Sigh.

Spencer, Stop commenting here. It serves no one. If you're doing so to embarrass me, you've succeeded. You say the people who'll read this aren't my 'real' friends. I had an exchange with one of them today. She's real to me. She's not words on a page. She has a life and troubles of her own. I haven't met her "in person."

Technology is forcing us to redefine many things, including art, books, friendship and conversation. Eventually, we'll have to redefine what is human. You know this. The last three years have been really difficult. The last one in particular. You know this too. I don't know what I would've done without these friends. If that's not real, I don't know what is.

That said, here we are, in this space with these friends. Let's get to it then, shall we? Here we are, airing it out in their presence. Great. Well, they seem pretty damned real to me at the moment. I'm embarrassed. Yup. I'm just loving this. Spencer, the difference between you and me is that I don't attack your character in front of your family or your friends. Your dark secrets are safe with me. They always were. We didn't make it. It didn't work. It hurt. We have two different versions that don't agree. Instead, let's call it and move on. No one is a victim. You have no claim on me.

Of course, there's this bit:

The things you left here, you dumped in my front yard as I yelled at you to stop. I gave you three weeks to make arrangements to have someone pick them up. I don't know what your circumstances were, but I know you went surfing in Malibu. I held on to the things I thought meant the most to you. They're still available for someone else to get for you, but not for much longer. I'm not responsible for your things. I didn't throw them away, you did. This the sum and total of our unfinished business.

The best we can do is go forward and live the rest of our lives, finding what happiness we can. Either way, it will all go by really, really fast. I like to think that time isn't real and that somewhere we're laughing about being human. You and me and all those other humans we know. I didn't say I quite believe it, but I sure do like to imagine it. Silly humans. In that elsewhere, we understand how tiny all this is.

But we're in this here and now. You dumped your things on my lawn. You refused to remove them. You came to my home and destroyed my property. Then you invaded this space with negative comments. Did I mention WTF?

I'm very much homo sapiens. And all that goes with. You said all you want is closure. Here it is. Stay the hell off my lawn. I won't address you again. You can count on that too. I will, however, defend my space. All of it.

To all of you, tomorrow is another day. G'night

Day 310

2011-10-26T06:35:00.000-07:00

Today is another day. Day 310 of the 365. I'm closing in on this year. Encapsulated, it's a colorful gem. You have one too. When I started at Day 1, I didn't know at all what the rest of the days would hold. Some were real surprises. But I'm not done yet. I'm going to see the year through, then there will be something else. I haven't read back through the entries yet. I suspect that will need a glass of wine, or three. Or maybe I'll not try to sum it up other than to say I'm grateful for the experience. That one, I can be sure of. Dark and light, I love life.

No hint of the sun yet. Orion is still sleeping. Bilbo's found a tidbit and is batting it around.

Today is another day. Let's go see what this one's about.

Mine begins with studies of Old Souls.

Hope yours is good.

Day 306

2011-10-22T11:30:00.001-07:00

Poppet is murdered.

Last night was the school's fall festival. Yesterday was full of errands in preparation. This time, I was gone for inside of an hour. I returned to find her lying on the ground, her shattered wand thrown into the street. She lay in the sunlight, in a litter of smashed pots and cigarette butts.
The gate was kicked open, the small lock broken. Around the house were angry stories---vines torn from the windows, the grill tumbled on its side, other pieces broken. There were no signs of attempts to enter the house. This house can't be entered so easily. At least there's that.
But Poppet lay brutally broken. This was personal.
I know who did this. Breaking up is hard to do, the song says. Breaking up with an unstable person can be dangerous. I've learned that most creative people have oddities. That seems to go with the territory. But some of those people have oddities that run deep. They aren't revealed until they have no more reason to hide them. I've acquired a new phone, changed my other numbers, secured my house.
His oddities include violently blaming others for troubles he created. Now it appears to be my turn to shoulder this blame. In his heart of hearts, I'm not the one he's angry at. This is the stuff at the center of many stories of demons and monsters. A human at war with himself.
And now poor poppet is murdered.

Be careful, dear readers, whom you let into your lives. Some things cannot be uncovered even with background checking. They must be found by other methods, beginning with looking past the glamour of love. I saw signs. In retrospect, I see they were flashing neon ones. I rationalized past them. It's me, after all. Things are different with me. Yes, be careful. Otherwise you'll be where I am now, deeply shamed for my gullibility, blaming myself for someone else's actions.
Or worse.
Poor Poppet.
I carried her back to the spot where she'd stood under the trees and laid her gently down. Her spirit very likely still lives and now I must create a new place for it and see if it moves in.

Take care. Really, take care.

Day 303

2011-10-19T06:38:00.000-07:00

I'm up in the semi-darkness. It drains the balls in the pool of their color, so they look like strange guardians sliding over the surface. Watching, searching.
Another six a.m. morning, dragging myself up after having stayed up too late working. School will be off track for November. I'll sleep then. The sounds of the coffee maker tell me it's nearly done. That last gurgle and hiss was close enough to Pavlov's bells. I'm an addict.
It's worth it to me, to have this quiet time before I wake Orion and begin this day. I outlined it last night, as I nearly always do, in a list of reminders and plans. I have work to do for the school's fall festival. It's the people who are already too busy who seem to get things done. I see it on their faces. The committee could use some sleep too.
I smell the coffee. I wonder where I'll find inspiration today. Possibly I should take Jack London's words to heart and 'go after it with a club.' The balls glide past, one, two...three, and off again, caught in the current. They're just toys after all. If I'm seeing them as dark sentinels, possibly I won't need the club today.
It's dawn. Here comes the light and color and birdsong. Just like that.

Hope your day is inspired.

Day 298

2011-10-14T18:31:00.000-07:00

I went to sleep at midnight, having stayed awake long enough to put clothes in the dryer and cobble together the bones of another chapter. The moon was bright and round. I wished it a good night.

When the alarm went off at six I hit the snooze and got up anyway. Orion was there beside me, having come in around three. Bad dreams. I waded blearily through a pool of hungry cats to the coffee maker and stepped outside to dispose of the grounds. The moon was bright and round. I wished it a good morning.

I roused Orion with waffles from the toaster and strawberry milk from Nestle. Everyone in my generation knows how to spell 'Nestle.' It's that song. Like the other name my b o l o g n a has.

My heels clicked across the floor. It's a sound I'm getting used to. I've worn stockings more often in the past two months than in the past two years. There's the business of life and the business of art. Both require armour. Sometimes the armour is heels, jewelry and makeup. Remember this one girls-- that makeup isn't about beauty. You're very likely more beautiful without it. Makeup is about power.

I'm off to a PTG meeting at school, but dressed for court, which I'll head to after. The meeting is to plan the October festival. Court is for Pete and me to clean up the mess we made three years ago. It's all good stuff. It all requires energy, and sometimes, heels.

I spritz on a bit of Ralph Lauren, feeling very polished indeed. Not to last overly long--as I'm opening the first can of Flavorful Salmon and Rice, I get a spritz of Flavorful Salmon and Rice juice. Oh good. Now I'm ready to face the world.

I'll be in charge of the photo booth for the festival. Now to decide what sort of image I'll make with holes for fresh little faces. The first ideas to come to mind delight me, but would be sure to make parents unhappy and me no longer welcome at PTG. So to find a balance of sweet and funny. I'll have to leave creepy at home for this one.

In court I had two interesting talks with the DA, who looks distractingly like actor John Hamm. Eye to eye, there was that moment when I knew that he knew that I knew what his concerns really were. We had an understanding. It was a good moment. All in all things went well. We have peace, and two parents choosing the higher road. This is good. Respect can be resurrected from these sorts of efforts.

After was a lovely dinner with my friend Paul. And wine with James Burke explaining how human inventions are connected. He speaks from decades ago, wearing a leisure suit that was in high fashion at the time. His dimples are timeless. Technology allows us this time travel and the programs are as relevant and entertaining as they were then. It's good to feed the brain.

Finally I feed the wild bunch and go outside to enjoy the desert air. The moon is bright and beautiful and I wish it a good night.

That was my Friday. Hope yours was good.

Day 296

2011-10-12T07:12:00.000-07:00

It's early morning. Soon the light will come sliding down the backyard fence. The autumn weather of last week is gone. This week reminds us that the desert is still in charge. For now.

I'm working, working, working. Little time to manage other things. I'm grateful for the help of friends.

October is here. I hear her whisper, just softly. Perhaps she knows I'm tired and in need of more sleep than I'm getting. I'll need it too, because soon enough she'll not be whispering, she'll be yelling. She'll want me to run with her and I know I will, to wherever she takes me.

I've been thinking a lot about early humans. Their lives were very different from ours, but there's every reason to believe they felt the change of seasons, laughed at each other, played with toys. Possibly I'm trying to find a connection from there to the human connected to its devices. Possibly I'm sensing that the definition of what it is to be human is going to change, sooner than later.

That wouldn't be so off the mark. Artists throughout history have predicted things to come. I could write pages and pages on that. But I'll leave that work to Leonard Shlain and others. My work is to make art.

I've begun to put art up on Ebay and new pieces for October in the Etsy store. POPPETSLIKEBRAINS is the coupon code. I have to find homes for this work and funds so I can keep doing what I do. Please pass this on to anyone you think might be interested. I'll take all help offered. I thank all of you who adopt poppets and art. What would I do without you? I don't even want to think about that one.

That said. Go outside today. What do you see? Is it rolling hills, a city street? Look way back to what it was before. Look way forward to what it might be in the future. Who will we be? What will we be? And around again, to where we came from. Primitive human was intelligent, inventive and as real as you and me. If I see creatures in bones, you can bet they did too.

Think about it. It's like time travel. It can be full of inspiration for your day, which I hope is a good one.

Day 292

2011-10-07T18:05:00.001-07:00

Little Pink and Bunny had a windy day.

I had an inside day, working and listening to music. Here we go into a weekend. Today Orion didn't wear shorts to school.
October is good.

Day 291

2011-10-06T21:27:00.000-07:00

Just when I said I should at least show up, I didn't. It's not that I don't think about showing up. Of course I do, usually when my hands are dirty with the dirty work of sculpting, or I'm in the car doing the driving work of a mom.
I'm in survival mode. I wonder how well I'm doing, because sometimes I think I'm not doing it at all. I wonder how other single mom/artist types are getting along. I'm guessing if they're out there (and I'd assume they are) they're sort of like me and don't spend the time to seek each other out.
If you're struggling, tell me how you're doing it. I'd like to know more about the company I'm in. It's difficult enough to be an artist. More so in a time when art gets usurped by the immediacy of other concerns. We must step back, we artists (and writers too) and look at our collective long term contributions to this human experience. We may not feel very needed right now, but we are. Don't think for one minute that we're not.

That said, there have been good moments. There are always good moments, even when things are difficult. It serves us well to focus on those and on other people. Eventually, some day in the future, today may make a bit more sense.

On Wednesday, Orion and I got up early, watched the sunrise together in the chilly morning air and joined his fellow students, teachers, parents and city officials for our Walk to School Wednesday.
On Tuesday before that, we jumped into the pool and climbed out as quickly as possible. What a difference a week of cooler weather can make! We stuffed ourselves into neoprene and tried it again with more success.
I'm adjusting to life without Aubrey here. Not only do I miss her company but I miss all her help with Poppet Planet. I haven't decided how to fill the gap yet. In the meantime I'm getting a bit of help from friends here and there. She posted some lovely photos on facebook of herself and Jordan at a lake. It looked chilly, green and beautiful there.

It's very easy to get discouraged, especially after a week of getting up too early and working too late. But when I got in tonight there was a box waiting by my front door. I saw David Kirkpatrick's name on the return and a little spark went off in my brain. I haven't opened it yet, but I know it contains bits of laboratory discards. They'll be packed in protective material, and secreting inspirations and little stories.

I want to be done surviving. I want to disappear into other places and bring back stories. But it's not my time, not just yet. Just like it may not be yours. Don't give up. When the time comes, it will be all the better for the wait. I didn't make this up. It's just the way it works. Trick is, to believe it now. In the meantime, don't forget to laugh. Silly humans.

Is this reason, or faith? Talk to me.

Day 283

2011-09-28T22:27:00.000-07:00

Aubrey has officially and literally flown the coup for new adventures in other lattitudes and time zones. She will, without a doubt, create wonder wherever she goes. She is Aubrey, Fair-Haired Ruler of the Elves. And all that goes with.

And here, her magic lingers though we miss her already.

g'night Aubrey. Tomorrow, wake up and fly.

Day 280

2011-09-25T20:40:00.000-07:00

Eclectic

are my tastes. My life is mix of new and old, simple and ornate. Furnishings, clothing, art, books, music, friends and ideas came from discordant decades, styles and places.

What is it that ties these things together? How is it that they fit? Perhaps the connections can't be seen by others, though I'm told it's an interesting place to visit, full of subtle surprises. I see it very clearly, but I can't define it.
Over time, this life has translated itself into my work. My work is made of collections of oddments, bits and pieces in little cabinets. Nightmarish figures with bits of kindness, old bones in bright toy colors, dead insects wearing tutus and tuxedos.

I begin to understand the thread.
This is the good stuff. It's the kind of stuff that begins to happen after twenty years of studying a subject.

About that many years ago Harlan Ellison told me I was a true- to- life monomaniac. He was right. I don't have to tell Harlan he was right. He knew, even then. But I didn't. I didn't know what the word meant. Not twenty years ago.
All this time I've been looking at the absolute absurdity of being human through a specific lens. Through eyes distant and amused, kind and dangerous. I've been teaching myself a language I'm creating as I go.

Some of my earlier works have codes engraved or painted or sculpted into them. Other's have the cipher.
I've tended to amuse myself in odd ways...
It's like time travel.
(I've told you this before.)

Such discoveries are hard won. Possibly you've had some and you're smiling. Possibly you haven't yet. Not to worry. The difficult stuff is also the best stuff.

Tonight the desert is burning to the west of us. My son is safely asleep in his bed. Another Hellish Summer is over and it's time to laugh, seriously.
g'night

Day 274

2011-09-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

Sitting here, starting to write, I realize I was so eager to get Red to her new owner that I forgot to finish her photographs. No matter, I'll catch the next incarnation.

This morning I was hardly aware of a deep rumbling before I became acutely aware of a great hissing, cat-wise. It was Soosi, behind me at the kitchen window, staring wild-eyed at the crane and cup of a tree trimming truck passing on the street behind our house. I can't imagine what was going on in her brain, but mortal fear was in every other cell of her body. I've never seen a cat in such full bloom. Her tail was huge--seen that before--but every hair on her head and body were standing at end. Her pupils were like olives. This was a cat staring Death in the face. Or at least Death's tree-trimming truck. I didn't dare touch her, but I kept repeating soothing things, it's alright, Soosi, you're okay, it won't hurt you. I could've said anything, I know. It's not the words, but the tone that matters. Presently, she...deflated. And that face on her! Just...hanging. I'm not exaggerating. I thought I'd cry. I spent the next twenty minutes holding her until finally she purred and fell asleep. I've never seen an animal so scared. I can't say I'd like to again.

The rest of the day was quietly productive. I had the great pleasure of hearing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, uninterrupted. It never fails me. That particular work might be my constant. I first heard it when I was no more than six. When I hear it, when I listen, there is no time.

I'm the last one awake now, Orion and kitties all snoring together, including Soosi.

Hope your day was good.

g'night

Day 269

2011-09-14T22:08:00.001-07:00

Here's where I left off with "Red."

Skin is made of a lot of different colors. I make a palette of antique white, canyon orange, king's gold, white, red and even a bit of navy. I use a soft brush and stipple until I'm happy with the results, both color and texture.

Blocked in the mouth and tattoo.

Softening and cleaning up between lines where colors meet.

Gaining on it here. Still a bit of detailing and clean up, but she's starting to gain some life.

The first wash of Alazaran Crimson over the red. It's still transparent enough to let the texture and color show through, but adds a great deal of richness to the red.

Have to use some restraint here. Too many layers will make the color opaque and the depth could be lost. Live and learn.

Lots of clouds and changing lights today. Loved it, but not so good for photographing. Will get her finished portrait up tomorrow. But I'll miss the clouds, for sure.

Kitties in late afternoon sunlight.

It seeks Bilbo out and changes him into a storybook kitty.

At least, I see it that way. Then, my vision is affected by love for both cat and sunlight.

Hope your night is good and you wake up ready to go again, dear human.

Day 268

2011-09-13T20:51:00.000-07:00

This morning Orion and I woke at 4am to booming thunder and great, jagged columns of lightning. He climbed in with me and we watched for a while. It was an awesome and spectacular show. (I'm not one use the word 'awesome' lightly. When I use it, I refer to actual awe, you know, mouth opened, heart humbled awe.) The kitties joined us and soon it was just me watching, with boy and felines sleeping around me.
I enjoyed it as long as I could before drifting off again. When the alarm went off two hours later, rain was pouring and there were flash flood watches. I needed real coffee.
Red is finished and lovely and I'll get the photos up tomorrow. Tonight I'm going to sleep reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" by Robert M. Pirsig. It's a loan and I promised my friend I'd try not to drool on his copy. I'll do my best to get Little Pink between the pages and set it aside before my eyes close for the night. I wonder where I'll go when I sleep. I suppose I'll know when I get there.

g'night

Day 265

2011-09-10T23:11:00.001-07:00

Painting "Red" today. (I'll be amazed if the captions line up with the photos. stoopid blogger.)

If not, I'll trust you to figure it out. I R sleepy.

After cleaning up the casting and sanding, a thin layer of black primer (spray) then a painted layer of acrylic after the primer's fully dried at least 24 hours.

First layer of drybrushing is very, very, very...dry. Drybrushing is a real discipline for me. It has to be done in layers to be done well. The first coat is a fine all over brushing. After that is a little less dry and, using a very flat brush, touching fewer hightlights. Easy to screw up. Lots of cussing.

Boys in the pool, me working outside. The poppet bird house is made by John Baucum. I'm hoping he'll make some for the Etsy store in the fall. It's held up wonderfully, even in this desert heat.

Full dry brush.

Back, fully dry-brushed.

Detail of drybrush. This is after several rounds of drybrushing, each lighter, touching fewer highlights than the previous. It's a subtle thing, but in the end, adds a luminosity that just isn't there without it.

I don't buy palettes or palette paper. I use old phone books for dry brushing and magazines for other painting. The pages are slicker and don't dry the paint. For dry brush, the newsprint leeching the water out is a benefit.

Red's a transparent color. I start with this bright red layer, undiluted but applied thinly so the lights and shadows of the drybrush show through.

Red dress. Stage the 1st. Sunlight is great for photographing such bright colors.

Self-snapshot of the artist, Saturday afternoon.
Tomorrow is the 10th anniversary of the events of 9/11/2001. I feel as I did on 9/11/2006:

I'm not a patriot. I'm a human being.

Tomorrow I'll finish up this piece and photo as I go. Please ask me anything about the painting process. Or anything else for that matter.

I hope you're sleeping well. I wish us all a good day.

g'night

Day 262

2011-09-07T17:00:00.000-07:00

Let's think about color.

Once, many years ago and many miles from here, I was a student with little money and a budding aesthetic. I learned to dye natural fabrics with coffee, tea and certain dark vegetables. I learned that a set of mismatched solid and striped towels could be unified with an application of powdered dye in black, turning them into coordinating deeper shades of themselves with black flecks.

Probably should've been a clue to rethink that biology major.

Wasn't.

Possibly I found my palette there. Reds were deep, orange was burnt and yellow was gold. Purple became eggplant, Blue muted by winter, French and midnight. Green shades of sage, moss and Charleston. Rare touches of pink dampened into deeper shades found in varieties of flesh.

Possibly it goes way deeper.

It rained the other night and I turned everything off so I could listen to the sounds. As I lay there, Bilbo bit at my toes. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to ride. He climbed on and hung on tightly while I bounced my foot up and down, up and down. I imagined the spring-based tot rides at the park. How about a giant foot to bounce on? Bilbo is getting too big for this. Soon it won't work anymore.

I can no longer throw Orion in the pool.

In a way, it's like shrinking.

But I was talking about color. As I lay there listening to thunder and bouncing Bilbo I looked at the art on my walls. My work and that of others, all in the palette I'm drawn to. The same colors that followed me to and from all the places I've lived.

My furnishings fall within these shades.

As do the clothes in my closet.

Basic colors with undertones of black. It makes perfect sense for me.

Shades, not tints. Is my palette made up of ghosts of other colors?

Children ask each other, "What's your favorite color?" It is, after all, a completely logical question.

What's your favorite color then, and why might that be? Let's talk about color.

Day 261

2011-09-06T21:27:00.000-07:00

September 6th. Labor Day has come and gone, signaling the end of summer. Or, at least the end of white shoes. As if. I'm calling it anyway. End of summer. Because of all the suckass summers I've spent in this desert, this was the suckassiest. I curled myself up into a little ball. Then I rolled on the floor. Back and forth, up and down, side to side, for a few months. It sort of feels that way. But I figured some things out too. Some of the things I figured out were worth the effort.
Possibly it's time to let Poppet do the talking. I'm preoccupied, thinking, which is significantly better than rolling.

Summer is over for me because I say it is. I'm not up, but awake, before the alarm.

Day 255

2011-08-31T07:00:00.000-07:00

Inertia

I walk toward the building. My shoes clop, clop, clop on the empty sidewalk. They grow heavy.

This is not where I want to be.
This is not what I want to do.

The task ahead frightens me and my shoes fill with dread. They are lead shoes. Cement shoes. I could drown in my hesitation. Lose my way. Fail in my task.

My legs are heavy. Retreat whispers behind me, a compelling call. Should I turn, I could run away as on air, scampering like a rabbit back to its hole.

Inertia is a weight on my chest. My breath is short. My feet are clay. I stop. I close my eyes and connect with the child I was. Wise child. Test, dental appointment, scolding. Back then, I knew that looking just past the thing would get me through it. I'd visualize handing my paper in, closing a door behind me, walking away. After. After.
Look ahead, just a little, silly grown-up. The girl sends a message to the woman.
Message received. This is time travel.

My task matters. Others count on my success. Should I fail, I'd rather it not be because I failed to try. Every plodding step leads me to putting this task behind me. I move not toward the task but toward the moment beyond it. My shoes are made of leather. They pinch a little, but they take me to where I want to be.

-----
I wrote this a few days ago. I know from your earlier comments that you're familiar with the concept. I hope it resonates true. I hope it puts one more tool at your disposal, or reminds you that you have it, this looking ahead, tucked away somewhere.

And I hope your Wednesday is good. Let me know what you discover today. Out there.

Day 252

2011-08-28T21:47:00.000-07:00

A few photos as I finish "Blue."
Casting and painting were slowed by the extreme heat and humidity this week. In time, everything set and dried.

Primer coat + 2 black layers + 1 white dry brush coat.
Then I block out main areas of color.

Define the mask area with a thin black line--paint thinned with water.

I paint the heart tattoo with thinned blue, then blot with my hand to let the skin tone show through., just a little.

A very dry brush of bright white over the light grey 'make up.'

This black line will be softened later. I add highlights and texture to the blue by dry brushing with the blue mixed with white.

Just beginning to define the eyes with black.

Adding blues, a layer at a time, from darkest to lightest.

The two, nearly identical, but not so with a closer look.

They do make a pair, don't they?

This weekend was hot and humid with clouds, thunder and a bit of lightning. Plenty of news of Irene on. Glad the storm wasn't worse, empathy for those affected. Have called a number of friends to check in. Have more to call tomorrow.

I'm still affected by the inertia we talked about last post. Slogging through, not sad, but not energetic. There were a lot of frank and insightful comments. I'm going to spend the next few days catching up orders for Poppet Planet and thinking more about 'the accuser.' Seems many of us know this character. I don't think we're done yet.

Hope your Monday is good. Be safe.

Day 250

2011-08-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

William Blake's accuser is my accuser too. The Accuser the guardian of the gate. He bars the way forward by diminishing us, throwing a blanket of contempt over our visions. I know this, because he's here now, barring my way into the direction I've chosen. I don't flatter myself by saying Blake's demon is my demon too. The accuser gets around. I'll bet you know him too.

I start my day by jumping that particular hurdle, even though I may not be aware of doing so. These are not necessarily conscious thoughts. The accuser is skilled, can weigh us down with invisible baggage, words whispered that only we can understand.
And comrades, he knows what scares us.
The accuser tells me first of all that my work, and therefore I, am not essential. Art is not important. How do I feel otherwise when all around us libraries and galleries are closing, school programs are losing funding and the arts are the first items struck from household budgets.
Art is supremely important in the longer run, the larger picture, but not so much for the short term, leaner, getting-through-the-week times.

Although I'm working, mostly functional, the accuser has taken a toll this week. No indeed, I'm not flattered by his attentions. The best thing I can do is to learn to face him, recognize him, ridicule him and try to send him away. Possibly he's like any other bully, if I don't react, he'll get bored and move on. Demons often do.
So far, no good. But I find strength here. Because I know you know him too. That puts me in excellent company.
Let's compare notes. Maybe we can help each other. What does your accuser tell you, what voice does it use and how do you fight back?

I'm ready to push back today, starting with reminding myself that you're here with me. If I figure something out, you'll be the first to know.

Day 244

2011-08-14T23:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes change slips in through the side door and politely takes a seat at the edge of things.

I've felt lighter these days. Less worried. More hopeful. Why? It's still hot as fuck outside. My situation isn't different. The world looks the same---at least on my screen it does. It occurs to me that I'm different. I didn't realize how much until I started thinking about it. I'm thinking that if this is true for me, it must be true for you too. It seems to me that the best plan is to forget whatever sense of security I used to have. It was always just that, a sense.

It seems that many of use would do well to forget how things were. We have to stop measuring ourselves against what we had, were or did then. We don't live then, we live now.

We're calling these hard times. Sure enough, I've had to reach far past my comfort zone on several levels. There's not much good news. This may mean we need to adapt our expectations, our priorities. It's evolution, baby.

It's okay to celebrate getting through another week. In fact, it's better than okay, it's called for. Sometimes all we can do is get by. We're in a transition. I know I'm different than I was. Sure enough, change is hard. I'd like less work and more play. Less worry and more creating. I'm going to have to find a way to make that happen in this reality. Because the one I had five years ago isn't coming back.

Nor would I want it to. It's not human nature to go back. It's human nature to evolve, whether we're aware of it or not. We have to. We don't know what's coming next. Mostly we have to trust ourselves to handle it. And to, for the love of Mike, have some fun along the way.

Your silly human needs sleep, for sure. g'night

Day 240

2011-08-10T20:51:00.000-07:00

I'm reading The Diaries of Paul Klee, 1898 - 1918. Klee had a bit of the compulsive in him and each of his entries is uniquely numbered though some numbers are missing. He mentions the new music he hears; Schubert's No. 6, the Pastoral and "a newly discovered so-called Mozart Violin Concerto No. 7 with too large an orchestra. A doubtful pleasure, to be truthful about it."

He describes various experimental techniques he tries as he labors to pull his unique style from his training in art from nature. Even now I feel a bit of the voyeur as he writes about his frustrations, the birth of his son, his fears and his discoveries.

A few favorite entries:

Today they took my cat away from me and I had to look on while it disappeared in a sack. I understood at last what words had not succeeded in making clear to me. It was a cat that had been borrowed to catch mice for a period of time. And I had already given away my heart.

Too bad that the early Van Gogh was so fine a human being, but not so good as a painter, and that the later, wonderful artist is such a marked man. A mean should be found between these four points of comparison; then, yes! Then one would want to be like that oneself.

He has found his style, when he cannot do otherwise.

Armed with binoculars, went hunting in the fields outside town. This is the best way to outwit one's models. They suspect nothing, and their poses and faces are natural.

I cannot find sleep. In me the fire still glows, in me it still burns here and there. Seeking a breath of fresh air, I go to the window and see all the lights darkened outside. Only very far away a small window is still lit. Is not another like me sitting there? There must be some place where I am not completely alone! And now the strains of an old piano reach me, the moans of the other wounded person.

For, in art, everything is best said once and in the simplest way.

Otherwise, I'm working and doing mom stuff, thinking when there's quiet, not thinking when I can swing it. Hope your week is going well.

g'night

Day 233

2011-08-07T11:04:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday and about time I showed up. I've got nothing to offer but an update. I'm winging it this morning, just talking as I would to any other friend. True enough, it's been a tough week. A friend told me yesterday that I've sounded a lot lately like the wolves were at my door. It does feel that way sometimes when I wake, especially in the middle of the night. But it's more like I've moved to the advance class. Oh yeah, these last three years have been an education. I feel that I've brought my C- up to a solid B, but it takes a toll, this curriculum.

I continue to write things down and to look at things as openly as I'm able, employing the generous grace of Poppet Vision. There's a fair enough chance that my hard schooling will parlay itself into art and writing that will be 'worth the cost.' That's what every artist wants, is it not? Then it may not. In my earlier years, when my older children were tots, I invested a lot into my art career. In my earnest, eager, hollywood-fueled heart I believed that 'in the end' the work would help me create a life for them and they'd see it was all

worth the cost.

Really, there is no end and we must learn to balance what we invest in our futures with what we devote to our presents. It seems the only way to learn this balance is to live until our futures are smaller than our pasts. So I'm going to say to you, dear reader, put effort into your future. Climb a tree and see where you're headed. But keep your heart in the present. It's fleeting, for sure. Here we are. Now. And now that moment is gone. These words I've written are in our pasts. We can never retrieve time we didn't spend well.

Practice living in the now. Love your today. If even one of you benefits from this message I'll feel a bit less of a fool.

Have a good Sunday. I'm off to work today, so that tomorrow I can play with Orion. Fortunate that we humans sleep and can, like Finnigan, begin again.

Day 229

2011-08-03T22:43:00.000-07:00

The raccoon put fish sticks in the pool.

The fish sticks lay on the bottom all night.

Retrieving them without turning them into murk is both an exercise and an art form.

I started this blog in the winter of 2004. I remember that well because we were in a monsoon and for the first few days I thought the water might make its way into the house. Orion was toddling around in diapers. Each year I write about summer in the desert. This year is different. I'm not writing. I'm watching. Just watching. As always, we swim at night. I lie on my back and look up at the stars. I look out there.

Let's talk about the weather. I don't find many people talking about this when I'm out and about. I really want to know what you think. Where are we headed?

Day 225

2011-07-31T22:36:00.000-07:00

I'm on the ferry. It's a broad ferry and it's nearly full of passengers, including Aubrey. I see her in the distance. The driver wants exact change. There are slots in a metal bank, dark green and shining. I'm putting in quarter after quarter, every nickel or dime I can find. I reach the rough bottom of my bag. I can feel the coins, cold and scrambling away from my probing fingers. Aubrey waves and smiles. She's in a fluffy scarf and hat. I can see her breath. Hurry up, she signals. I find more coins in my pocket. These are fat with wax or glue. They won't go in the slots. The glue won't come off. I glance at the driver, who is now more porcine than human. She shakes her head. I can see her breath. There's ice on the fine hairs of her snout. It's melting. Tiny droplets fall into darkness. Her eyes are pink. I open mine.
It's not the first stress dream I've had this week. I don't mind too much. These are the dreams that work things out for me, clean my brain while I sleep. Still, I'm happy to step out of this one.
Outside the sky is grey and the light has edges. Not at all normal for 8 A. M. in July in Palm Springs. We have weather. It will be a good day. We like weather.
Orion and I have breakfast with Ben at Elmers. It's loud, nearly full of people, the noise is energetic and happy. The warm scents of coffee and pancakes evoke friendly sorts of ghosts.
Outside, the rain begins.
Goodbye to Ben. Orion and I swim in the rain. We dive under to sit at the bottom and watch the rain from underneath. It's another world sometimes, here in our back yard.
I study the pair of old yellow Adirondack chairs. They want to be red. It will take some work. It would be much easier to replace them. Once I wrote a character who found uses for nearly everything she came into contact with. Made wonders from castaways. Consumed little. Wasted nothing.
Good for the soul, not so much for society. Here, as in most things, I decide the solution lies in the creamy center.
When the weather cools, and eventually it will, then I'll paint the chairs. There's a lot of texture there, inviting me to play and study RED.
That will be a good day.

g'night

Day 221

2011-07-27T00:06:00.000-07:00

On my way home I see two people on the sidewalk near the light. They're holding homemade signs. The signs ask for money.

It's two in the afternoon. It's shockingly hot, the sidewalk is blindingly white, one of them has no hat.

I have some cash but today, I need it. I have an old beach unbrella, I could give it.

They have a cart full of items I didn't get a good look at. They each hold large cups with straws.

A few yards behind them is a park area, with shade and soft grass.

I wonder why they both remain in the punishing heat? Why don't they wait for evening, for more people and cooler air? Why don't they take turns, half the sun, share the hat? I'm astounded. I'm beyond that. I'm... non-plussed.

The light changes and I drive on, having donated neither money nor unbrella. Puzzling over why they sat there on sizzling concrete. It's the desert. The air is dry. The sky is clear. The sun is a hammer.

I see snapshots of primitive life, both plant and animal, pulling back from heat. I know I'll ponder this later. These two people on the sidewalk, in the killing light with shade so close.

I see cows standing in the rain. Turkeys drowning. I'm getting a headache.

I'll think about this again, this strange behavior I saw today. But the people are ghosts.

Day 218

2011-07-24T23:49:00.000-07:00

Day 190. Really? I mean really? I worked all freaking day. All day. I woke with ambition. A list of things both artistic and practical. The hours peeled away like petals. I worked steadily, but the list is still there.
I'm still in angry mode. Well, semi angry. I'm so sick of this recession. I can't blame the Christians for that one. I'm sick of worrying. Then, when I step back I feel guilty for being sick. I'm in a house with a pool in Palm fucking Springs.
I am the privileged poor. At least if I step back far enough I am. In PS, up close, not so much. Luckily I'm an artist. Artists are rarely considered poor. Artists tend to be in a class of their own. Tell that to SoCal Edison.
I'm going to make a 'really' poppet and put it on my desk, pointed at me. Perhaps I should put it on a lanyard and wear it around my neck.
Wait a minute. It's the end of July. Summer here always sucks. So far, without fail. It's oppressive. It seems more than just the heat. It always does. Cabin fever? It's too hot to go outside.
Then, I hear it's ridiculously hot in Minnesota. And to think I've considered moving there.

I'm giving it up for today. Leaving the brushes to soak. Opening a bottle of wine. Putting on a movie, setting the alarm, hitting the water first thing, before coffee. I'll get up and try this again tomorrow. You can count on me for that, at least.
I'm in the mood to make something big. And scary. Where's my patron? Gone the way of princes? No worries. I shall save myself. I'm no Cinderella.

Day 217

2011-07-23T22:03:00.000-07:00

Tonight, monster movies on television, kitties curled up with me on the sofa, feet on the ottoman, drink in my hand. Yesterday was preparing Poppets for travel all day. All day.

Bad news on the internet. Bombing in Norway, continued fighting in the desert. Humans behaving badly.

There may be other causes for this behavior but mostly, I blame religion.

Sam Harris:

"We can no longer ignore the fact that billions of our neighbors believe in the metaphysics of martyrdom, or in the literal truth of the book of Revelation, or any of the other fantastical notions that have lurked in the minds of the faithful for millennia--because our neighbors are now armed with chemical, biological and nuclear weapons...words like 'God' and 'Allah' must go the way of 'Apollo' and 'Baal,' or they will unmake our world."

I was sure George W. Bush was going to end the world. I think he may have come closer than we know. When I feel most powerless, I remind myself that the best I can do is my bit. To work well and sincerely, be kind to others, teach my children to think for themselves and to stop giving power to religion by 'respecting' it. Why should I respect religion? I respect certain individuals. I've met one or two people in my life who were devout, reasonable persons. But on the whole, I'm sick of being polite. Who respects my request to be free of religion? I want it out of the White House and off American currency.

That said. I will swim, think, gather up calm and energy for a day in the studio. Maybe I'll work out some of this frustration in the work.

I hope you have a great Sunday.

Day 214

2011-07-20T21:23:00.000-07:00

As of yesterday, our adoptable kittens are all adopted.

Maggie went with a lovely lady named Karen to Desert Hot Springs.

Frodo and Beverly went together, to join a nice family of four in Banning. We'll miss them and hope to hear from them from time to time. Now we have Bilbo, Mystro and Shonni, who are as different from each other, it seems, as three kittens could be.

I kept things as simple as possible today. Sometimes we have to do this to keep focused, especially when things seem most complex.

It's become a good tool, to focus on the practical issues of the day.

Some call this 'soldiering on.'

I haven't really thought it through yet, but it seems to me that emoticons are one more indication of how simple things are, once we can stop long enough to sort them and throw out irrelevant details.

These poppets make me want M&M's.

Life has certainly seemed complex these last months. Breakups seem extremely complicated things until they get sorted out. And that takes time. This is likely true of all sorts of changes, but the interactions of human beings can get really, really tangled. It's a consequence of brain size, for one thing. After all, it's the size of our brains that allow us to be 'bigger inside than out' for one thing, and gives us our myriad perspectives. Perspective apparently operates outside of the space-time continuum. Hmm, that explains a lot. It also makes communication between humans very difficult.

It seems that even though we can hone emotions down to simple representations of complex facial expressions, we can't count on two human beings to be in agreement about any particular thing.

What do you think?

Day 211

2011-07-17T21:03:00.000-07:00

I'm slicing through the water at dusk. It's cool silk and I'm traveling on the bottom, the little squares of blue passing fast beneath me.
I'm on my own. I swim up to a grey sky already claimed by darting bats. The crows fly slow and steady toward their night nests. The wind picks up.
It's the shift change up there and down here, I'm on my own.

It'll take some getting used to, this. The usual suspects, though I've already waded through most of the stages on the way. It became a hard choice. It became a call of will and a set jaw. It hurt. It cost.
I could think lots of thoughts. I could try to shape this breakup into a piece that would fit the whole. I could speculate on the curriculum. On silver linings and better days.

But I don't. I don't need to. I've been here before, and then some. It is what it is. And it is done. I have no desire to look past now.

So I swim, as I have every day for about a month. I feel strength returning. My strokes are firmer, they take me farther. My breath lasts longer. Today is a clean day with sharp edges.
I'm focused on practical things. Mostly. Just...in the back of my mind an idea moves closer, silently on cat feet. I slide through the water, it's a tiger keeping pace through the tall grass, seen only in glimpses.
I tell myself I'm okay. I'm on my own.
And the grass whispers of freedom.

Day 209

2011-07-15T22:31:00.001-07:00

If the world is reeling and everyone is against you and not a thing is going your way, you're probably hungry, or your shoes pinch, or you're worried about a bill,or something like that.

Sometimes things are astonishingly simple.

Tonight was for taking Aubrey and Orion out for Harry Potter's last adventure.

Now for sleep, kittens allowing. They are full-blown crazy tonight.

It seems to be going around. Must be the moon.

Yet another astonishingly simple thing.

Oh, silly humans all.

g'night

Day 207

2011-07-13T21:46:00.001-07:00

Here are two kittens, in a blur of motion, as usual.

And Orion, learning to balance his punch, with Sensei John.

Soosi, nursing Beverly, who begins to look just like her.

A new Poppet, "Cat and Mice."

Mystro, his magnificent whiskers, and all his white parts dirty because he got into the fireplace.

Clever, naughty boy.

And proceeded to make enough dirty prints on the white tiles for at least a dozen cats.

And these poppet 'friends.'

I'm working on books, between Poppet Planet, Mom stuff, kitten stuff and...

I are tired.

Aubrey was here until 9:30, took great photos and kept STNG running all day. Netflix, you bastards. We are addicted.

g'night

Day 205

2011-07-11T22:17:00.000-07:00

Tonight in this quiet house, my son sleeps surrounded by kittens. I lie here in the soft darkness, not sleeping, thinking of things to eat, of the pain in my shoulders, of love lost and love gained and of everything we can imagine hurtling by in a great arc, and bits of understanding tucked away like pressed petals in the folds of my pillow.

g'night

Day 203

2011-07-09T21:41:00.000-07:00

Ever look at a word long enough that it becomes alien?

I arrive at a familiar intersection somewhere late in the golden hour. It's the peak of dusk, just before the day clatters down the track to night. In this shadowless moment, any corner could be north. Things look strange.
This town has changed over time. I realize that usually, I see this corner as a mosiac of all the times I've seen it. Back to when there was more sand and tumbleweed than anything else.

For the rest of the drive I look with that 'new' view. Interesting, for sure.

We see people that way too. As mosiacs. As collections of experiences.
Humans don't function well without context. Still, moments without it allow vision and presence.

It's a good exercise to stop and look at something familiar as though seeing it for the first time. ith effort, humans are capable of doing just that. Filmmakers and other creatives must have this vision.

If we take another look at things, I wonder what we'll see?

Day 201

2011-07-07T21:44:00.000-07:00

just photos today. tired, hungry, feet tell me we're done.

g'night

Day 199

2011-07-05T18:57:00.000-07:00

Twisting wire to make wings.

Learning to roll better. With punches, I mean. Last minute changes could've thrown me off today but didn't. Had a great night swim. Played with kittens. Now I'm twisting and bending wire to make wings for a creature who wants them.

Orion is visiting away tonight. I feel his absence and the house is extra quiet. But the fan is going and I have loads of SNL--am I a total grandma if Ithink Helen Mirren is amazingly sexy?---anyway. making wings and making notes.

Aubrey will be here tomorrow, with camera. The kitties are little fuzzy springs. I'm an artist and a woman about to forage for chocolate, apparently.

g'night

Day 197

2011-07-03T09:32:00.001-07:00

It's morning. No alarm clock. Summer has its good points. The light is strange. I look outside to see the mountains have vanished and the sky is a solid pale grey. All of it. It fills me with contentment. I don't know why. It's extremely humid, which is, well, weird for the desert.

Ah. I get it. It feels like home. The other home. This is coastal weather. South Carolina-ish.

But not quite.

It's supposed to be 113 today and humid. A sauna then. In here, it's cool and dark.

Last night we're finally into The Two Towers. We've followed our heroes a long way now, and have longer to go. We press on. Just when I think Orion is asleep, he asks a question. He's really into this adventure. He always knows just where we left our heros. And now, the Company has broken. I looked up during the reading to see six pairs of little eyes lined up at the foot of the bed, watching attentively.

Today I must finish a wedding cake sculpture. It's for Natasha, whose wedding dress I painted. Here's the sculpted pair. Will post pictures later tonight. Until then, I'll enjoy this strange light, and being with Orion in it.

Hope your day is especially good.

Day 196

2011-07-02T00:07:00.000-07:00

The greenhouse with the roof ripped away--still. This happened a month ago. It's on the list. This can be the 'before' picture.

The pool drained low for repairs. The skimmer was leaking. The motor growled like a bear then died.

It's still about 5 feet at the deep end. I can stand on the drain. Orion and I 'swam' anyway.

The birdhouses are neglected. The lizards are mostly the same as always.

It's too hot to think about working outside. Still, it was nice outside tonight, in the way only nights in the hot desert air can be. I've been buried in the studio.

Today I stopped at 4 and closed the door. If I do this more often, I might start to pick the place up a bit.

And inside, there are kittens. Only six now. One has been adopted.

It's after midnight. I should sleep, but I want some down time first.

So a bit of television and tomorrow is another day.

Nothing profound today. I'm okay with that.

I'm headed east, to the refrigerator, then north, to the sofa.

g'night

Day 194

2011-06-29T22:39:00.000-07:00

When I was deep into creating the carnival works for Dark Caravan, I would tell people that I liked 'working on the edge of failure.' What I meant was that I liked pushing my abilities past my comfort level. I was traveling with the pieces quite a bit, and talking in various programming. So I said that a number of times. I sure didn't know what I was headed for.

I finished Dark Caravan years ago and it's comfortably housed at the museum. But the last three years have been more like a carnival act than any of the time building the carnival. Every day I'm a juggler and a clown. Most days I feel I'm walking a tightrope and on what seems like a fairly regular basis, I must pull a rabbit from my hat to get by. Some days I think I missed disaster "by this much."

It's not at all the edge I'd hoped for. I wanted to be hacking away at some colossal chunk of marble or wood. Or building a full sized carousel.
This is a different sort of edge entirely. It's living in these circumstances, at this age, swinging from day to day without a net.
I'm not done learning this lesson, if I hold to my belief that there's a human curriculum. If I were, I wouldn't wake up with a stone of anxiety in my gut. I take a step back, do a little digging. I'm not alone, I see.

Is this how I look to Poppet? My eyes wacky with panic, every little thing a big ! deal? Am I overwhelmed with my job at panic central? I wouldn't have to work quite as hard at finding peace. So I'm still stumbling, but not falling.

It starts with breathing--simple to do, takes discipline to do well. Breathing well leads to calm. Calm leads to better choices. And so on.

No, this is not at all the edge I planned on, but it's the one I've got. It's up to me to find ways to survive here. I start with a look at my own anxiety. Poppets don't have anxiety. They simply watch and mirror ours. They imitate us, so we can see ourselves. Some people find that scary. But not me.

Are you more anxious now than you were, say, three years ago? What are you doing about it?

Day 192

2011-06-27T20:38:00.000-07:00

Karate. They breathe and stretch. I breathe and sketch. The sounds of the class trigger my desire to draw. After months of sketching as they train, my brain is becoming trained to the association. It wants to draw. Doesn't matter what. It seems better not to plan ahead for this bit. To draw (or write) what comes. To let it flow.

Mini Chill Poppet. Let it flow, let it flow.

Day 190

2011-06-25T22:17:00.000-07:00

Here we are, with some friendly (and excellently handsome) Palm Springs Firemen.

Day 163

2011-06-25T11:12:00.000-07:00

I tend not to blog when I don't feel I can do it 'well.' I've felt I owed it to you to do this and I've felt for some time that I wasn't offering anything useful. I seem to want to turn everything into art. Yes, it's part of the machine that is me. Just like everyone else, the parts that are best are sometimes the parts that are worst. Silly humans.

I'm stupid in this way. Because really, if I were treating you like the friends you are---and if you continue to show up here, you must be--I'd know that all you really want me to do is show up. Another part of this human, insecurity.

So I'm showing up to say that, well, I'm sorry. What I really want to do for you right now is show up. Because, really, if I owe you anything, it's that.

That said, with shame and possibly blushing, a quick catch up:

Orion and I went to his end of the year school party yesterday. It was really, really hot outside. the fire department showed up.

I photographed a couple of kitties in their little hammock this morning.

I don't know why Blogger is inserting these huge spaces between texts. It's annoying but I have no time to sort it out.

Spencer and I are getting the last of his stuff moved into his place. We feel really good about this. I thought we were done for , but it turns out we're both looking forward to working and playing together---and so very very not living together.

A lot is going on, and under it all, the struggle to survive in this economy. I begin to truly understand the concept of 'being schooled.' I have become a humble and appreciative student.

Please sir, may I have another?

Thanks for putting up with me. I love you for showing up. Not to get too mushy, I point to the banner at the top of this blog. "Idiot" and "stumbles." That makes me smile. In a way, I'm doing exactly what I said I would.

I'm off--back to the day at hand.

Day_____

2011-06-20T22:13:00.000-07:00

what the hell? I fell into a hole.
How many times must I fall into and climb out of holes before I learn to dance around them?
Right. As many times as it takes.
g'night

Day 154

2011-06-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

I started the day with a murder. I could call it something else. After all, it isn't a person I killed, but a black widow. But it wasn't the sort of situation where I was surprised and stepped on her. It was neat and methodical and even required preparation. I spotted her on a chair outside as I was having coffee. She was magnificent. I'll use her in art. But that's not why I killed her. I killed her because she was in the territory I've claimed for myself, Orion and Soosi (and now kittens, who wouldn't likely survive a bite.)

I've sworn fealty to the mammals. Therefore, the widow must die.

I watched her struggle. I used the smallest kill jar possible to make it faster. I covered her before introducing the acetone so she wouldn't panic. But she struggled a bit. As I said, she was magnificent. I didn't allow myself empathy. The decision was gained in advance, policy set long ago. Like locking the bathroom door, like not cheating. These things we do, we decide in advance and we always do them, without fail. It eliminates the hemming and the hawing. It eliminates mistakes. It leaves room for more important thoughts.

So the spider is dead and I am guilt-free.

It was 106 today. Something like that yesterday. Well, hello reality. This is the true desert, showing up a little late, sneering, sending the last of the snowbirds packing. Ah then. Here we are. How fickle, humans. We get used to things so quickly. I knew the cooler days were simply lingering, but I started to take them for granted too. The boss is back, the the wind is hot, the ground is baking and we've got our edges back.

Good. Because I have work to do and, kittens aside, I can't afford to get too soft.

Tomorrow is for Poppets. Saturday, for painting and writing. Sunday, for me.

Hope your weekend has good edges and soft breaks.

g'night

Day 151

2011-06-14T20:16:00.000-07:00

Orion double-advanced and is now the wearer of the orange. It looks good on him. The orange, yes - what's not to love about orange and black? What I mean is the concentration, intensity and 'the zone' that play across his face as he finds his balance, as he 'feels' it. Among my favorite movies are Enter the Dragon, Iron Monkey and Kung-Fu Hustle. Samauri Jack is one of my heros. Right. I know. They are what they are. But you know what I mean. I thought I had at least an appreciation of the martial arts. Until this year, watching these kids train, I didn't really appreciate the beauty of the art on this level. There's something about seeing it from the beginning.
I've seen it before. The look of a human being, learning an art form.
It's a truly beautiful thing.

Today was Tuesday. I got a great deal of work done on a painting for a book project.

I'll be honest with you. I was up at 6:30. Took Orion to school at 7:45. Back by 8. I didn't start until 11. I spent the first part of the morning finishing up some 'have-to's' for PP.
But. I showed up and the work was done.

It's a start. Feels pretty good.
Today, I did what it took.

g'night

Congratulations, Champions!

Day 149

2011-06-12T21:06:00.000-07:00

Not so many pretty words today. Plain words. This weekend was for plain stuff and lots of it. Fine if the mood suits. It didn't. I want to write. Again, short term wins. Another attempt at escape velocity last week didn't quite pan out. That won't stop me from trying again. I'm not complaining. Far from it. As day jobs go, making poppets fits me like a glove. There are plenty of days when making poppets doesn't feel like work at all. Fine if the mood suits. Some days you feel like a nut. Sometimes you are.

I did a lot of organizing in the studio. As a result I renewed quite a number of poppet listings on Etsy for those that haven't been seen for awhile. If there's a poppet you missed in the past, tell us and Aubrey or I will see if we have it.

I listened to music and did some thinking. What I thought about is that if I want to finish either book project or larger work, I have to take my own advice and show up. If I can't set aside a week to go off and work, I have to set aside a day, or even half a day at least once a week, then I have to show up, without fail, to work on that specific thing. It's such an easy concept to know, but so hard to put into practice.

Spencer moved more of his things out. The house already seems larger. These changes, rearrangements, seem the perfect time to modify the work schedule. Tuesday.

Can I put Tuesday aside for other work? Tuesday will show up. Will I? I hope so. Either way, I'll let you know and maybe we'll figure something out together. I don't envy myself, being in charge of me.

g'night

Day 147

2011-06-10T00:15:00.000-07:00

One hundred and forty seven is a good number. Now, I'm very nearly completely ignorant of numerology.

It's on the list. But I know, without a doubt, that 7 resonates with me. I don't know why and it doesn't matter, at least right now. It's tough for autodidacts--very hard not to pursue everything. One cannot pursue everything, at least, not while pursuing one's 'one thing.'

I have completely forgotten where I was going with this. Please forgive. Hey, at least I showed up.

I've been working in the studio for, um...16 hours. This isn't a thing I can do often but it's a thing that must happen sometimes.

Escape velocity--is where I make sure every poppet is on its way so that I can spend the weekend writing. Writing is the long term, which must wait patiently for the short term. Over and over and over. And, everything I do today frees a bit of swim time with the Orion.

Still, thank you so much. If you didn't collect poppets, I wouldn't be writing. Funny thing, I wouldn't be writing if it weren't for poppets.

I might be punch-drunk now. So I'll take my own advice and shut-the-hell-up.

Amongst all, I photo'd the Mini Bees, played with kitties.

g'night

Day 145

2011-06-07T22:42:00.000-07:00

This was the sort of day in which you eat standing up and hardly remember what it was you ate. Was the sort of day where eventually, you believe that if you stop for a moment, you won't be able to keep moving.

It was the sort of day where in the middle of the last errand for milk, the energy suddenly flows out of you and you know you've done enough.

Except to tuck in, kiss goodnight and read just a bit to one who counts on you to keep going, because that's what Frodo would do.

At the end of it, now, it's the sort of end where you're glad to be off your feet, where you know you'll be up at six to start again, and where you're content to be chugging along, alive, the little engine that does things.

And too, there is a kindle of kittens.

g'night

Day 142

2011-06-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

It's Saturday evening. Listening to Cage the Elephant and the blender.

It's Saturday evening and Spence and I will have dinner; Mexican, with frozen Margaritas.

We've agreed that living together was a terrible idea.

He's found a place of his own and we've spent several hours sorting things out, amiably and with a great deal of humor.

I get to keep the fridge with the door dispensers. I'll regain the floor hidden under recording equipment and amplifiers.

There were some real rough spots last week, and before. After all was said and done, it was decided that we still had things to learn together, as artists, musicians and old souls.

Apply a bit of W. Edward Deming and we can agree that it's the system that's broken, not the people.

It's Saturday evening. I can live with that.

In my own place.

Kitties all fine. Pictures soon.

g'night

Day 140

2011-06-02T21:01:00.000-07:00

Earth Maiden poppets for Summer Solstice had to come in every color. It's all about the light.

These poppets are like Skittles. Taste the rainbow. Or maybe not. Though quite a number of collectors have confessed that they've licked a poppet at some point in time, poppets tell me they tolerate licking, but don't particularly like it. So, I'd keep the poppet tasting to a minimum. Otherwise you may have a poppet coup. If you have a lot of poppets, this could be a problem.

I'm just saying.

Today I sort of swam with Orion. At least I got wet. I'm not as fearless as I was. A year too long out of the water and weather that isn't warming the pool. It will come back if I work at it. And I will.

g'night

Day 139

2011-06-01T22:14:00.001-07:00

Bilbo has revealed himself, crawling out of the nest and over the fuzzy mountains seeking adventure. It proved quite a task and after completing his journey, he lay down next to a star and dreamed.

Silly little kitty.

Orion has claimed Bilbo and Aubrey, Mystro.

So far, a very nice professor (poetry) waits for one of the girls. It's possible a kitten will claim me. But something tells me to wait. And see.

Though I haven't mentioned it in awhile, Orion and I still follow Frodo and his companions. Tonight, with heavy hearts, the weary troup marches on. Gandalf has fallen and hope seems a long way away, perhaps to be found in Lothlorien.

Day 138

2011-05-31T20:16:00.000-07:00

When you live in a house on your own, you just take care of whatever comes up, lawn-wise, garbage-wise, appliance-wise and other-wise. There is no need for thinking.

When you are newly alone in a house on your own, you notice sounds you may have dismissed before, even those you automatically blame on the cat. Especially those you automatically blame on the cat, when you spy her, out of the corner of your eye, sleeping nearby.

Orion is visiting his dad tonight, so I am the only human in this house. All the kitties are asleep.

So now, there is a raccoon staring at me through the window. (True enough, it startled me at first, proving once again that in these sorts of encounters I tend to freeze like a guinea pig for a few seconds before acting. I think well enough, but not so quickly I'd ever be mistaken for an action hero.) Then it scuttled away and is now back. I'm not particularly afraid of raccoons and, apparently, neither are they of me. Probably it wants some of my peanuts, which are boiled in the shell, and warm.

Another thing about being the only human in the house is that I can watch as much cheesy old science fiction as I like, while eating exactly what I want, in pajamas that don't at all match.

This evening is for taking a break from thinking about things, or myself, or anyone I know. Learning to do this is a required course as it's extremely useful. Soon, sleep in cool desert air. We'll see what this does for your artist's brain.

I'll let you know. g'night

Day 137

2011-05-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

I watch the clouds slide over the mountains like a shade being drawn. They are pushed by powerful winds that sculpt their edges into alien cathedrals. Down here the air slips cool and fast through my hair and on to rattle the jacaranda, scattering blossoms. For one crystalline moment I'm aware of the motion inherent in all things, from quarks to galaxies. Only for the briefest of moments, immeasurable, disorienting, dizzying.

Glimpses are all we get. Bits beyond any human equation, past understanding.

I close my eyes, feel the wind, hear it, wonder at all it carries along. A moment.

I have troubles, but they are mine. I have responsibilities, but I embrace them. I have a path that I will choose for myself at every turn, from this moment forward.

I am free.

Day 135

2011-05-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

The first kitty to be born is the first to open her eyes. We'll be watching them all weekend, for sure.

It's Saturday morning. When I open my eyes, I remember that Spencer isn't here, and all that goes with. I don't cry. I've cried enough. What's here is sadness. What's gone is the weight of dread. But not the weight of worry for him. That may take some time and willpower. Tough love is tough on both the giver and the receiver. I have to let go and he has to find his way.
Lesson learned.

This weekend I will spend with Orion, tying up loose ends, sending poppets out to collectors waiting. My art is my livelihood and I am surviving. I call that success, but I couldn't do it without those who've given homes to so many of my creations. I'm deeply grateful to each of you. I'll keep making things that make you think and smile and sometimes laugh out loud.

It's Saturday morning and Soosi, good mother that she is, has begun to play again. She's a young mother, and it's good to see her bat a toy around. I don't want her to lose the ability to play. We never should.

It's Saturday morning and I don't know when I'll play again, but in my heart of hearts I know that I will.

It's Saturday morning and my eyes are a little more open.

Day 132

2011-05-25T18:41:00.000-07:00

Flight at Dawn

Little is known about the history of poppets. Much of their story remains a mystery. I slowly piece it together from glimpses they offer. We know they're older than the Earth, that they call themselves something else and that their connection to humans began because of something to do with the crows.

There's more, of course, but this is the part, the beginning of the 'us' (humans and poppets,that is) that inspired the 'Dawn' painting and this sculpure. The book will come later- if it does -hopefully before the end of me.

Aubrey took this photo of three maidens dancing. Summer solstice will be here soon and hey, the rapture happened and we're still here. Son = Sun. Same, samey, same. Calls for dancing. Silly humans.

Here is the wedding cake under the Alice in Wonderland - themed poppet wedding topper. Cool-ass cake, for sure.

Kitten update. Their eyes aren't quite open yet, but soon. You'll be happy to hear that Soosi is proving to be an excellent mother. She was antsy and protective today, so we kept 'Kitteh Hall' very quiet and private.

And finally, your artist et al is going through a breakup. Everyone is behaving with as much grace and courtesy as possible. It's very good to have that. But difficult all the same. I continue to work because I must meet practical needs. In turn, the work supports me spiritually and keeps me centered. Poppets help me keep a longer view. Silly humans. And so do you. Thank you for being here, fellow travelers. I have sons, daughters, little dancers and kittens. And always my companion, work. Sadness comes in turns, like seasons and flu. Must be mine, again.

g'night

Day 128

2011-05-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

Last night I worked late on a crow piece. I didn't clean up after myself. Usually I do. At the end of the day I'll sweep up and put things away. I was tired. But the vibe was really good. The energy of the work lingered in the room even after I was spent. I could feel it. Maybe you can see it.

I usually use this room only for poppets and smaller pieces, but the windows were open and the air felt good.

I stayed for hours.

Gene Wolfe photo is by Mimi Ko

Crow piece in progress. All day the first layers dried in the sun so for the night I could start putting on the surface, applying individual 'feathers' cut from card stock and layered with paper mache paste brushed on to add strength and texture.

Soosi snuggles.

And now it's Saturday. I'll sweep up, mix new paste and start again. Hope yours is good.

Day 127

2011-05-19T21:03:00.000-07:00

New work: Night Sky is a paper mache globe, 13 inches tall.

Fox hardly needs explanation. Because of foxes.

A preliminary sketch for the current book project. The onion rings on the windowsill are rubber bands. Definitely a draft, but getting there.

And kitty photos of the day, thanks to Aubrey.

Thank you to Greg H, who spent the day here on Tuesday, doing lots of extremely helpful things and who was a joy to have around.

Day 126

2011-05-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I worked on a book project.

Last night, Soosi, aka "the soosi balloon," went into labor.

Now there are seven very small creatures that look only sort of like cats.

Each is different from every other, though in some ways, exactly the same.

By the end, Soosi was very tired and needed some help.

This is number 7, new in package.

I'm honored and grateful to have been here for this.

Soosi with her Seven.

After school, Orion meets kitty #2. We decided naming should wait until eyes are open and personalities revealed. And because Bilbo turns out to be a girl.

This mama and chicks were crossing our street in the middle of the day, heading for the ponds and grass nearby. I love the first one. He was really into the marching thing.

And here is Aubrey as a tot, because I felt oddly compelled to end this post with early Aubrey. When we know creatures from their beginnings, we tend to see them as mosaics of all the versions of themselves we've ever known. It makes for a rich and complex sense, true of creatures human and not.

Your artist is very tired. G'night.

Day 123

2011-05-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

I hold Soosi in my arms. I feel her babies moving under my fingers. Soft little turns and kicks. I watch the clouds slide over the mountains, which have lost nearly all of their snow. The oleanders are in full bloom and the view is lush. The air is full of bird sounds. Orion is still asleep. The smell of coffee brewing wafts in from the kitchen.

It's a beautiful, peaceful morning in Palm Springs but I'm troubled. I take a deep breath. These are uncertain times for humanity and tough times for me. I used to say, in reference to making the large kinetic works, that I loved the thrill of operating on the edge of failure. It's a thrill to push one's limits, stretch abilities past the level of comfort. An artist knows when she's in unknown territory and this inner exploration can be as exhilarating as mountain climbing to the mind suited to inner travels.

I didn't, at the time I talked about it, mean I'd enjoy several years of struggling to stay afloat. I find it interesting that struggling rhymes with juggling. And I feel like a clown. As happens, I sometimes see the deeper layers in a work only after it's finished.

I know now that this drawing, made late one night in a fit of emotion, is myself. I see all the symbols about loss and questions. I see the longing for the ocean under my eyes.

I believe I'm living the story that I might tell in the future, in programming lectures, or that I'll write in a book. It's not the sort of story we tell while we're in it. It's too raw and I have no idea what sort of story it will be until things change and this chapter is over.

I fear that things won't change, that I will only grow older and be trapped and fade into this cocoon.

But that's illogical. Things always change. I know myself. The one thing I don't do is give up. I hope that because I don't, others won't either. Tenacity and hope are as contagious as despair. I loathe despair and kick it away when it creeps up.

Fail! I thought, when I looked at the date. My goal to post every single day quite broken. But I've learned the difference between continual and continuous. I cling to my effort. I'm still in this year I set for myself to grow, started mid December.

I work it out in the work. I must exercise that mental muscle. To put aside my fears. That somehow we'll keep afloat if I keep working, if I remain kind. To hold to the belief that things will change for me and for you. That humans will wake up and find a better way. That Americans will change their minds. If not, I'll change mine and shut it out after all. If this is childish, then I'll be that. I don't have a better answer. I'm still looking.

I'm making art. Taking deep breaths. Making more art. It must be in there somewhere. Between the work, the mountains, the kittens and my son's sweet face. It must be there.

Day 118

2011-05-09T20:37:00.000-07:00

Still working like a fiend. I'm not sure how I feel. Quiet and sort of flat in a way, a little removed. I do responsible and kind things but feel distant. When sadness appears I wave it away like smoke.

It's like when you're walking through a large and very crowded place and you're in a hurry. You're in the zone, you're dodging and weaving and moving fast with your head down and little thought in it other than moving toward where you're going. Wherever that is.

The work is wholly visual, or tactile, or colors. I'll figure out what it means later. or not.
My desk is piled high with mail, bills, lists, messages, my pregnant cat. I've stepped away, it seems. But not far, and not for long. Not lost, but wandering.
g'night

Day 116 or two

2011-05-07T20:41:00.000-07:00

It's great to hear from you. Thanks for not thumping me about the kittens. Sheesh. I'm working intensely, sleeping and/or eating when I get tired or hungry. Wanted to wave and wish you well.
back to it then.

g'night

Day 115

2011-05-05T07:46:00.000-07:00

It's morning, 7:10. Invader Zim and pancakes. It's already bright outside. It will be hot today. I finished the Silly Humans sculpture.

Today is a big shipping day, so I'll likely be helping Aubrey. But later in the afternoon, I'll start framing up another paper mache piece. This is the season for it. Outside, the layers dry fast and strong.

I think I may have told you about Soosi getting out about three weeks ago. She pushed and pushed at the kitchen window screen until she could squeeze out over it. She came right back but we were worried. She still had one more booster to go before she could be spayed.

And now she is big as a basketball and full of kittens. I feel like an idiot. I know. Yes, I know the right thing would have been to abort them.

But I couldn't make myself do it.

Now we're faced with the inevitable basket of kittens.

There are many worse problems.

I'm taking another break from the news. Today is a gift and I intend to treat it that way. Honor it.

glitches and all.

I don't enjoy going to dark places, but I certainly seem to learn things there. It's where poppets speak things that make sense.

I will, of course, be counting on you to help me name kittens. sheesh. I am a fool. But then, we've established that.

have a good day.

Day 114

2011-05-03T23:21:00.000-07:00

Day 113

2011-05-02T22:05:00.000-07:00

Today was the sort of day where there was little time between having to be one place or another. It's a beautiful desert night. I plan to sleep right through it.

g'night

Day112

2011-04-30T22:56:00.001-07:00

Being in the hole seems slightly less awful than the fall into it.

Or something like that.

Day 111

2011-04-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

Day 111 technically, though it may not seem so. Poppets like time travel.

Here are photos of Poppets playing Miss Lupescu, Bod and Silas.

Poppets are quite good at playing and they do so like The Graveyard Book.

I would very much like to see a poppets play.

It would be a poppety production. A number of humans for such a thing.

stop motion? music only?

What do you think?

Day 110

2011-04-28T09:52:00.000-07:00

First there's the sound of the motor starting up. A few seconds later the scent comes over the wall like a wave, fresh cut grass. It's the smell of spring and contentment. I lie on my back in 'the thinking swing.' It's my refuge, the view is usually like the photo, and the sound is usually of birds. I'm not thinking a thing about the royal wedding, but I am thinking of tornadoes and the devastation in the southern states. And all that goes with. I'm grateful to be here, with the clean scents and birdsong, my own troubles put aside for the moment. They're not allowed here, as this isn't that kind of a thinking swing.

Miss Lupescu Poppet waits with contained impatience, tolerant of my need for a few minutes of quiet. I hear her anyway in my head. Finish me, you silly human, there is work to be done and I must get to it.

Miss Lupescu Poppet is right.

Day 109

2011-04-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today was mostly like taking a deep breath, picking up, taking steps forward.

Today I made it to both of my appointments.

Today the sky was very Dr. Seuss, with silly palms dancing.

The crows laugh at us constantly.

And now Orion and I shall follow the hobbits and Strider as they race to find help for their stricken Frodo.

wishing you well,
g'night

108

2011-04-25T21:17:00.000-07:00

I feel lousy today. Miserable. I carry on, getting kids where they need to go, getting work finished. I did miss an appointment I didn't want to miss. Once, a few years ago, I spouted off in a rant to someone I cared a great deal about. I told him the things I hated about him. It was a litany of what I saw as character flaws, with a list of ways he made me feel awful. It was blurted out in anger, it was cruel, unkind and withering. At the time I was surfing on my own emotions. I felt wronged and justified in my lashing out. I was wrong about that. I've felt ashamed of this thing many times since, but never so much as today. The tables were turned you see, and I was the recipient of such a list.
I was the one guilty of heinous crimes, missteps and misdemeanors. I had to take a hard look into an ugly mirror. And I had it coming.
I think that we don't always understand our own intentions. Sometimes we don't know we're flying blind until we crash into something. The something might be a truth about ourselves invisible until impact. I hope I grow. I hope the damage can be overcome. I hope these lessons will get easier instead of harder.
I'm very tired and very humbly human. And fairly miserable. It's only natural I should be.
I'll sleep and get up tomorrow and try again. I don't see any other option.

g'night

Day 107

2011-04-22T20:20:00.000-07:00

Many images of poppets. It's like time travel. Thought you might enjoy some of them. There are over 4000. Somebody sure made a lot of poppets.You may find one of yours in this group. Forgive the excess space. Freaking Blogger.
Off to rest now. g'night

Day 106

2011-04-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

True enough, They Live is somewhat campy. It's John Carpenter. Of course it is. Campy isn't necessarily a bad thing. Not a fan of zany, but a little camp is okay in my book.

They Live is also chilling, even more now than in the eighties, at least in my opinion. You don't have to be a conspiracy theorist to know we're living it on the edge of it, as I type this entry.

I don't recall reading "Eight O'clock in the Morning," the Ray Nelson short story the movie is based on and I haven't found a copy of it yet. though I hope to soon.

I watched the movie again this week. Almost immediately afterward I saw a commercial for a new family car with the latest in entertainment systems.

What the fuck, humans? Don't our children spend enough time staring at screens? Don't we?

I get that long trips can be boring and entertained kids are easier to travel with. Mom's on her blue tooth, the kids are glued to the screens as they travel through a world they're completely isolated from. I could be wrong. Maybe they're going camping. I'd bet the kids couldn't find the way to their own school. But they likely know Lady Gaga fell on her ass twice.

Nothing about this feels right to me.

I know this theme of sleepwalking humans has been explored many times, the parasitic elite few suppressing the masses.

I'm sick of caring about it. But I can't stop. Stupid humans. Poppets tell me to be patient, that humans are still very un-evolved. And not stupid, just young and silly.

Near the beginning of They Live, the protagonist, Nada, says he still believes in America. He only wants a chance to earn a living. Americans didn't lose their freedoms or their money. We gave them away, handed them right over for something shiny and a false sense of security. If we're asleep, it's because we swallowed the pill that was offered, with a nice glass of shut the fuck up.

I'm going to read to my son now, from a book, which doesn't require a power source owned by vampires.

g'night

Day 105

2011-04-19T22:42:00.000-07:00

It's always Something.

Otherwise, it's Nothing.

It's nearly eleven and I have to get up at 6. Soosi is sprawled all over the desk. I've been writing for about two hours. That felt good. I wolfed down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. They're great.

It occurs to me, just this moment, that a number of things I used to refer to as 'difficult,' I now call 'challenging.' A number of things I used to refer to as 'challenging,' I now refer to as 'inconvenient.' That will bear some processing, later.

The person I referred to last post is Mary, who is Orion's grandmother. I don't have this sorted out well enough yet to write about it. Mostly, my mind is on Orion who is nine and who's had little introduction to death before this.

The difficult things happen, but not in a vacuum. All around us, the challenging, the inconvenient, the silly and beautiful continue to dance with the shadows. This much feels right. As for the rest, understanding will come in it's own time, or not.

Day 104

2011-04-18T21:45:00.001-07:00

By the time I got to the shower, I really, really needed one. It was a long day of hard work. Not delicate or difficult problem solving, but hands-on, dirty, dusty physical labor.
It felt good and right to get so dirty.

I have some stuff going on, aside from the work, that's important to me. Someone I know died last night, and I'm processing it all. I want to tell you about it here because it's relevant to all that I tell you here. But not yet, every one in our small local circle (no one of which reads here, to my knowledge) hasn't been told.

In the meantime, there is work, and thank goodness for it. Now I am clean and must, must, must sleep. Tomorrow, the difficult work begins.

I am very glad you are with me, and very fortunate.

g'night