In Jerusalem I had my first cup of authentic Turkish coffee. Ok... so that was the name of a resteraunt somewhere down a side road of downtown Minneapolis. I drank it from a beautiful little cup-- white with triangular blue and gold patterning around its rim, with a saucer to match. I drank it with baklava and it was the most incredible experience my taste buds have had in a long time. There were 3 cardamom pods floating at its surface and it became gritty towards the bottom-- a frothy black sensation of pure beauty. And this I must remember to paint.
Paint the cup with its pretty little saucer and the Turkish serving thingamajig beside it. Remember this Jessie. Paint it.
I also came home with red hair. Color has got the best of me. I need to learn when to quit.
But one more thing: I decided to keep a journal of prompts for my painting. I have something in mind-- a painting of my inner psyche. The dreams and strange images the nestle themselves deep in my brain. The place where snakes of thought curl themselves and hide exept for odd moments. Full of color and life and dreamscape where nothing makes real sense but makes me who I am. I need a journal to help to capture these images long enough to make thier way to the canvas.
I am finally beginning to realize how writing and painting are a single entity for me... as the writing life slowly works its way back into my body and brain. Finally, I am beginning to feel whole once again.