I think I'm trying to write about Mexico--about the colors, the smells, the sounds. But I was only there one day, last spring. Mexico holds magic over me. Spanish syllables weave a spell over my brain and body.
Trying to write about it, well, that just makes me incredibly sleepy. I wish I could capture, in words, the thoughts that sift through my head. But they are like water. Transluscent and evading capture. They become black muddles on paper... if even that.
Meanwhile, my little black Mexican cat, Viscosa, meows and nibbles at my toes wanting onto my lap to be pet and whispered to. Yes, she is my little Mexico. She makes me sleepy too.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
daily soap operas...
sometimes i'm amazed by the number of psychotic people i know. is there anywhere to hide?
Sunday, September 25, 2005
today's work:
just a start... an underpainting. i've considered being secretive until the "unvieling"... but i can't help myself. this one i'll title: "Visiting Georgia."
Home Sweet Home
fuck it. who needs a house?
my sister FINALLY sent photos from our Canada trip. a punk rock couple pulled up in this humble abode. i envisioned one belonging to v. and me.
cuz scampis make good dream homes.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
on the 267th day of 2005 the sun rose at 7:08am. it was hidden behind rain clouds, but i was sleeping anyway.
It's another tired day where I sit beneath grey clouds. The triple shot mocha that I sip on is making me sleepy rather then caffeinated. I'm sitting in the gallery, which has become my favorite place on earth, listening to public radio, and otherwise dreaming.
V. and I are now the proud tenants of a little house with a fenced in yard and nice neighbors. It still sits empty, and will until our house closes in October. Until then, the transition can be made slowly. I am relieved to know where we'll be living next. And maybe this sleepiness has a little to do with the sense of relaxation that washed over me as I walked out of the front door of our new home with a new key added to my key-ring.
Having an obsession with color, this morning, I found myself browsing through paint-chips at the local paint shop. I could sit here all week looking at these little squares of color. Really--I'm obsessed.
This morning I woke up crying from a dream I had about my old dog, Abe. I can't remember the dream. But I remember missing him, because I feel it now. Like I feel it everyday. The only thing our new place is missing, really, is him.
V. and I are now the proud tenants of a little house with a fenced in yard and nice neighbors. It still sits empty, and will until our house closes in October. Until then, the transition can be made slowly. I am relieved to know where we'll be living next. And maybe this sleepiness has a little to do with the sense of relaxation that washed over me as I walked out of the front door of our new home with a new key added to my key-ring.
Having an obsession with color, this morning, I found myself browsing through paint-chips at the local paint shop. I could sit here all week looking at these little squares of color. Really--I'm obsessed.
This morning I woke up crying from a dream I had about my old dog, Abe. I can't remember the dream. But I remember missing him, because I feel it now. Like I feel it everyday. The only thing our new place is missing, really, is him.
Friday, September 23, 2005
oh, the fertility of nature...
I never had allergies, but I'm afraid I have them now. It kinda feels like someone grabbed my ankles, swung me around, then bonked my head on the ground--repeatedly.
Anyway...
I feel the need to make a list of things to do this weekend.
Anyway...
I feel the need to make a list of things to do this weekend.
- Read thesis proposals/artist statements in hopes of coming up with one of my own.
- Plan class for next week.
- Work @ the gallery.
- Finish another painting.
- Look at graduate schools... try to find some direction for my future (hahaha). Take notes on what I find.
- Repot dying plant.
- Clean house.
- Mow lawn.
- Write a piece for class.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
a thought that crossed my mind while driving...
you know... i'm just glad that i'm finally doing what i've always wanted to do: teach writing.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
I want...
...a comfortable chair, peace and quiet, my laptop, and lots of time--
cuz my back hurts and my list of things to do is much too long.
cuz my back hurts and my list of things to do is much too long.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Today I went in search of words...
...but what I found instead was painterly inspiration. I'm not surprised. Secretly I think that is what I was looking for. I've got a good start on the December show and, to by honest, I don't want to stop. But I've been searching for words for a long time. And I guess, maybe, I'm beginning to fear I have nothing to say... at least not with words.
Yesterday I asked V. to come to the studio to critque my latest painting. It is an abstract landscape. I wasn't sure if it was finished until I explained to him what it was about. Explaining it, I burst into tears...and that's when I knew it was complete, that I had expressed what needed expressing.
This series of paintings that I'm working on--they are about color, but also about emotion. They are about the communication of emotion through color. During the process of conceptualizing this project I began to notice how deeply the landscape is connected to my sense of being. I am perpetually amazed by the way nature combines color, the way those colors are effected by light, and in turn the way it effects me. The night that Abe died I remember, vividly, the colors of that night. The dark sky, the grass, the dew. I remember just as vividly the colors a day, a week, a month later. My world, these past months, has been filled with both death and loss. But, at odd moments, it also becomes filled with hope.
When I began I thought that, for the first time, my work might become truly dark. I was willing to let it if it needed to be. But the light keeps sneaking in. Deep yellows, rich blues, vibrant greens. I also thought I would paint pure abstractions... but my inspiration for using colors keeps coming from the same source over and over-- the landscape, the sky. And every time I notice it, everyday, it takes my breath away. I clear another corner of my brain to make room to remember it, attempting to hold onto it just long enough for it to reach the canvas-- those colors, holding emotion--emotion that I cannot seem to write about, but that I still search for ways to express.
This open space...
...It is like breathe...
...found in combinations of color...
...everywhere.
And although I am still searching for words--
the bare canvas awaits...
Yesterday I asked V. to come to the studio to critque my latest painting. It is an abstract landscape. I wasn't sure if it was finished until I explained to him what it was about. Explaining it, I burst into tears...and that's when I knew it was complete, that I had expressed what needed expressing.
This series of paintings that I'm working on--they are about color, but also about emotion. They are about the communication of emotion through color. During the process of conceptualizing this project I began to notice how deeply the landscape is connected to my sense of being. I am perpetually amazed by the way nature combines color, the way those colors are effected by light, and in turn the way it effects me. The night that Abe died I remember, vividly, the colors of that night. The dark sky, the grass, the dew. I remember just as vividly the colors a day, a week, a month later. My world, these past months, has been filled with both death and loss. But, at odd moments, it also becomes filled with hope.
When I began I thought that, for the first time, my work might become truly dark. I was willing to let it if it needed to be. But the light keeps sneaking in. Deep yellows, rich blues, vibrant greens. I also thought I would paint pure abstractions... but my inspiration for using colors keeps coming from the same source over and over-- the landscape, the sky. And every time I notice it, everyday, it takes my breath away. I clear another corner of my brain to make room to remember it, attempting to hold onto it just long enough for it to reach the canvas-- those colors, holding emotion--emotion that I cannot seem to write about, but that I still search for ways to express.
This open space...
...It is like breathe...
...found in combinations of color...
...everywhere.
And although I am still searching for words--
the bare canvas awaits...
Thursday, September 15, 2005
yeah baaaby yeah...
check out my new ride...
oooh yeah, ain't she sweeeet...
I feel so sexxxy in my new mini van! I think I'll fill it up with babies.
uh-em... and there she is! baby #1 is making herself at home.
... ain't she sexxxy too!
yeah... we love our new mini van. (god help us). i feel so cool i can hardly stand it. oooh yeah...chic-a-chic-a-boom-boom!
oooh yeah, ain't she sweeeet...
I feel so sexxxy in my new mini van! I think I'll fill it up with babies.
uh-em... and there she is! baby #1 is making herself at home.
... ain't she sexxxy too!
yeah... we love our new mini van. (god help us). i feel so cool i can hardly stand it. oooh yeah...chic-a-chic-a-boom-boom!
At age 30:
- Mark Twain published his first short story, "Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog."
- Danish novelist Hans Christian Andersen published his book of fairy tales.
- Nat Turner led a slave rebellion.
- U.S. mariner Moses Rogers made the first ocean steamboat voyage.
- Donald Trump persuaded bankers to lend him $80 million so he could buy the Commodore Hotel.
- Samuel Morse's assistant, Alfred Lewis Vail, devised Morse code.
- Physicist Armand H. L. Fizeau measured the speed of light.
- Dr. Narinder Kapany invented fiber optics and designed a glass gastroscope which can be snaked down the throat for a detailed view of the stomach.
- Hank Williams overdosed on drugs and alcohol.
- Bill Gates was the first person ever to become a billionaire by age 30.
- Earl Vickers started the Dollar Project, in which dollar bills were rubber-stamped as being lost, with a reward offered for their safe return.
I find myself most interested in Mark Twain, Hans Christian Andersen, and Hank Williams.
Maybe there's still hope afterall.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
offer #2
We got another offer on the house today. That is what we were hoping for, but now that it's happened I think it's safe to say that it's all still a gamble. The first offer was from a girl that reminds me of myself and the second from a couple who have been looking for the last 3 years. By accepting an offer from couple #2, girl #1 has only 72 hours to come up with the financing. If she can't, then couple #2 gets it. But if their financing falls through they can still back out. If that happens we can start from scratch with girl #1, but who knows if she will still want it.
I like girl #1. I want her to live here. And I hope she knows that. But when it comes down to it, V. and I are in a bind. We need something to happen sooner than later. We need to sell. The sad part is that this selling of a house is a very impersonal thing. I want to give girl #1 a call and wish her luck and hope she hears the sincerity in my voice. As for couple #2... well, I just want whoever lives here next to be happy-- happy in love, happy in life. All of it. I want these walls to continue to be filled with love.
As for the rental, it looks like we're in competition with another group.
And so now something is happening...what is the question. I just want to know two things: 1) when is this going to happen? and 2) where will we be when it does??
oh, the world feels big and uncertain. One day, when I was walking down the driveway with girl #1, she looked at me and said, "It must be amazing not knowing where you're going next, knowing that you have so many options, so much freedom." She's right. But damn, it's scary.
I like girl #1. I want her to live here. And I hope she knows that. But when it comes down to it, V. and I are in a bind. We need something to happen sooner than later. We need to sell. The sad part is that this selling of a house is a very impersonal thing. I want to give girl #1 a call and wish her luck and hope she hears the sincerity in my voice. As for couple #2... well, I just want whoever lives here next to be happy-- happy in love, happy in life. All of it. I want these walls to continue to be filled with love.
As for the rental, it looks like we're in competition with another group.
And so now something is happening...what is the question. I just want to know two things: 1) when is this going to happen? and 2) where will we be when it does??
oh, the world feels big and uncertain. One day, when I was walking down the driveway with girl #1, she looked at me and said, "It must be amazing not knowing where you're going next, knowing that you have so many options, so much freedom." She's right. But damn, it's scary.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Ok...
... I've taken a nap. Now I feel like painting.
But I also feel like seeing my husband, at least briefly, before I go. And I feel like sleeping more. Or drinking coffee. Mostly I just want to go to the studio so I can listen to music. For some reason, the night time acoustics are especially nice in there. Maybe it's the streetlights, the age of the building, or the fact that I'm there alone. I don't know.
But it's calling me.
But I also feel like seeing my husband, at least briefly, before I go. And I feel like sleeping more. Or drinking coffee. Mostly I just want to go to the studio so I can listen to music. For some reason, the night time acoustics are especially nice in there. Maybe it's the streetlights, the age of the building, or the fact that I'm there alone. I don't know.
But it's calling me.
I feel...
...like this is a lame blog title.
...like what comes out of my mouth sounds too harsh.
...brittle on the edges.
...like I'm not "a writer."
...like I don't know what I'm doing.
...like I'm too hard on myself.
...like going for a walk, but it's cold, wet, and raining.
...like drinking hot chocolate.
...like crying.
...like giving up.
...like starting over.
...like shit.
Maybe I need more vitamin B complex.
Or something.
...like what comes out of my mouth sounds too harsh.
...brittle on the edges.
...like I'm not "a writer."
...like I don't know what I'm doing.
...like I'm too hard on myself.
...like going for a walk, but it's cold, wet, and raining.
...like drinking hot chocolate.
...like crying.
...like giving up.
...like starting over.
...like shit.
Maybe I need more vitamin B complex.
Or something.
Monday, September 12, 2005
After a trip to Fargo...
...my head is filled with deep yellows, rust, blue-grays, and greens. I try to hold the images of a shifting landscape in my mind long enough to get it onto canvas. But I know it's impossible--there's just too much.
Time moves quickly and steals the seasons. I want to paint outdoors because neither memory or photos can capture those subtle nuances of color. Perhaps I'll dedicate this week to words and paint--the merging of two projects. I'll load up the car and leave (no worry, I'll return for classes). I have nothing to lose. Except yes, I have everything to lose. Life needs to start somewhere.
Time moves quickly and steals the seasons. I want to paint outdoors because neither memory or photos can capture those subtle nuances of color. Perhaps I'll dedicate this week to words and paint--the merging of two projects. I'll load up the car and leave (no worry, I'll return for classes). I have nothing to lose. Except yes, I have everything to lose. Life needs to start somewhere.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
It's been a good day of painting when...
...you come home late with tired muscles and an energized mind. I think I may have just finished my first painting for the December show.
Feels good.
Feels good.
Day 11 broke my heart.
When you walk in the front door of the Uptown Cafe, at the end of the ledge, there is a stack of New York Times. Yesterday morning, while looking through them, I saw an image from the Katrina aftermath that affected me more than any other. Unfortunately I'm not able to post it, but the caption read, "Cherly Cook cried as she prepared to evactuate New Orleans and be separated from her dog, Trouble." The photograph, taken by Chang W. Lee of the New York Times, is of a middle aged woman bent with her arm around her dog's neck. A police officer stands in front of her telling her she must leave--without her dog. And the expression on the woman's face is of absolute pain. It is my face the day Abe died earlier this summer. The dog stands pressed against her leg-- a big, beautiful mix of brown and black. His fur is wet.
There was a week's worth of New York Times to look through while I waited for coffee, but it was that image that I kept returning to. I looked around for someone to show it to so I could say something like: "Can you imagine?!?." But really I didn't have words, only a welling of emotion for that woman and her dog... and all the women and their dogs...and for my dog. Because even the thought of leaving my own is enough to reduce me to tears.
I've been carrying that image around inside of me since. Day 12 (Saturday), the New York Times included images of dogs being rescued from New Orleans and being sent to Baton Rouge for treatment where they will also, hopefully, be reunited with their owners.
Today, while looking for more information on Cheryl Cook, I found that her story, in a way, has had a happy ending.
photo posted on www.post-gazette.com
There was a week's worth of New York Times to look through while I waited for coffee, but it was that image that I kept returning to. I looked around for someone to show it to so I could say something like: "Can you imagine?!?." But really I didn't have words, only a welling of emotion for that woman and her dog... and all the women and their dogs...and for my dog. Because even the thought of leaving my own is enough to reduce me to tears.
I've been carrying that image around inside of me since. Day 12 (Saturday), the New York Times included images of dogs being rescued from New Orleans and being sent to Baton Rouge for treatment where they will also, hopefully, be reunited with their owners.
Today, while looking for more information on Cheryl Cook, I found that her story, in a way, has had a happy ending.
photo posted on www.post-gazette.com
Mona Reeder, The Dallas Morning News via AP
"Despite orders to vacate the city, Cheryl Cook says she won't leave her
I wouldn't have left either.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
I should NOT have looked at that house. Now I want it. But we're still waiting for our deal to go through. I won't sign a lease until all is legit. Therefore, stuck in limbo.
Ok, so some of you have no idea what I'm talking about. Tonight I looked at a rental. It would be perfect for Anu, perfect for us. A 6 foot high fenced in yard, a slab for the kennel, a garage, 2 extra writing rooms (perfect), hardwood floors, sunlight, good neighbors.
I'm a centimeter away from begging. Begging who? For what? I don't know. Just PLLLLEEEASSSE! Let life go on.
Ok, so some of you have no idea what I'm talking about. Tonight I looked at a rental. It would be perfect for Anu, perfect for us. A 6 foot high fenced in yard, a slab for the kennel, a garage, 2 extra writing rooms (perfect), hardwood floors, sunlight, good neighbors.
I'm a centimeter away from begging. Begging who? For what? I don't know. Just PLLLLEEEASSSE! Let life go on.
Do you love me Lady Luck?
YES! Records has finally added my arranged course. That means that I'll actually get a financial aid check tomorrow. Fingers crossed.
Now it's time to write. One stress is crossed off the list.
Now it's time to write. One stress is crossed off the list.
Today's sunrise:
6:40 am... and beautiful. Walked across campus listening to strange birds in the trees. Heading south.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Monday, September 05, 2005
Katrina
I wonder sometimes if we realize just how fragile life is. I still have not been able to watch television footage of what has happened and is happening in New Orleans. But I've been listening and reading. What I struggle with the most is not the violence of nature, but of humanity. I have a friend, Eric, who was living there. He's still unaccounted for.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Lily Liver of the Orient...
...strikes again. India swallowed my liver. Therefore,
After 3 bottles of pinot grigio with a long-lost friend from Vegas (Calamity Kate) I will NEVER ever EVER drink the stuff again. Good god, what have I done to myself?
After 3 bottles of pinot grigio with a long-lost friend from Vegas (Calamity Kate) I will NEVER ever EVER drink the stuff again. Good god, what have I done to myself?
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Waiting
The girl that I'm selling the house to is here with her realtor. They're hiking the 40 and beyond. I sit here waiting, not knowing what to do with myself.
It feels mean sending them out into the woods without guiding them to each perfect, secret spot. But I guess I need to remember-- these are her discoveries now.
It feels mean sending them out into the woods without guiding them to each perfect, secret spot. But I guess I need to remember-- these are her discoveries now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)