Day 255

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

g'night

Day 199

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

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.