Sunday, September 22, 2013

The Story Chair

   I took some video of the box sculpture and then it turned into this --

I learn new things every time I make a video short.  It's fun being at the beginning of something again.  Brain is happy.
And I fell in love with this image, so made it into a print:

I have to say that it works because of the music of Calexico.  They are astoundingly talented and great company in the studio.   More on John Convertino and Joey Burns of Calexico.

Friday, September 20, 2013

Leaves and a Queen

  I wanted ferns for a box sculpture.  I looked around and found these silk holly leaves.  The fabric shading  looked like it might work.  I took out the plastic spine (it just peeled right off) and used a very sharp Xacto blade.  Here are photos of that and where I used them.  The box will be traveling to the World Fantasy Convention in October.  I won't, but plan to be there next year.

finished leaves

VERY sharp blade only

Sculpture boxes are bigger inside than out.
The box is titled "Books are Magic"

This box measures about 9 inches tall.  I'm a little concerned about shipping, but I installed layers of thin, dense foam around the inside panels and usually have good luck shipping glass. 
And I made a Red Queen for Autumn


Friday, September 13, 2013

More About Holes

  The hole.  I started calling it that sometime in the blurry past.  Somewhere back there, I remember learning that was Nora's word for it.  Nora is my friend I rarely see anymore.  I have a few of those.  It happens.
  The hole.  Right.  Found one, fell in.  It was a long, slow fall.  In fact, I was already falling when I realized what was going on.  Before that was a clusterfuck of migranes, with a toothache between.  Even that seems blurry now. 

  But not summer.  No, summer is as clear as a bell.  No.  Not like a bell.  And not clear. 
More like a siren  through smoke. A squeal of tires  on asphalt.  A train bearing down.   The desert summer is always harsh, but this is an ugly heat, it  locks us indoors as sure as a snowstorm but  doesn't feel like nature. This isn't the desert I know.  This heat feels WRONG. 

Too much bad news and suffering among humans.  Too many oblivious, selfish dumbfucks. Sometimes I'm one of them.

I can't look at the sky.  It begins to look like a ceiling. It presses down.  My heartbeat - if I looked at my chest, I might see it just so faintly.  I don't look.  I've seen it before.  In my head, it's cartoony - a heart shape pounding against my shirt, stretching it to breaking. My skin prickles,  my hands sweat,  the floor tilts.  
 Then I hear it, in the wind or the whooshing pattern of a fan or the dishwasher's rhythm.  "Wake up human.  Wake up.  Wake up human wake up.  wakeup  human wakeup human wakeuphuman. It's late it's late itslate itslateitslateitslate. 

 I don't look at the sky because it is a ceiling.   I squint my eyes and look.
Ohhhhhhh. Un-see that.
  I can do this.
 I close my eyes and breathe.  I know what to do.  I have SKILLS.
 Breathe.  C'mon, girl, breathe.
 All is quiet.

There.  There, it's over.
there its over
there its over
there is no ver
there is no door
There is no door.
There is No Door.
The sky is a ceiling and there is no door.

Aw, shit.

  And I'm falling.  Falling, falling, falling.
It's not so much that darkness closes in.  It's not so much a darkness descending. 
It's more like the light receding.
I'm falling.  Damn.  And I forgot my tiny umbrella.

It's awfully quiet in here.  And so dark. Outside are monsters.

I could sleep all day.  Outside are dragons.
Everything I love is out there too. And not in here.  And I could sleep all day.

  Possibly we fall into these holes simply because we lean over and look into them.  There are dark places, probably best avoided, but then,  never looking in seems too much like denial.
  It's not the one thing that gets me, usually.  I can take the tragic news story, financial struggles, relationship stress or illness.  The anxiety.  It's the one-two punch - the combinations - that leave me feeling vulnerable, powerless and useless.

  Most times I avoid holes. I work stuff out in the work.  But this time I couldn't work.  Couldn't write. Couldn't hold on.  So I fell.  Thankfully, I had support and understanding at home.  And a gentle doctor still trying to convince me I'll always need Chemicals for Better Living.  Otherwise - and it has been otherwise before - I'd have stayed a lot longer.
 It gets awfully comfortable down there where we can just give up.

You are not alone, fellow traveler.  And neither am I.
We all fall down.