THE SUN! THE SUN! THE SUN!!!!

Ohhhh, the sun is out! This morning I walked wolfie under a sky that was trying to shake off its shroud and finally--it has! Snow falls like glitter from tree branches making me feel like I live in a snow globe (one with a kennel in the back yard).

This morning I'm going to get a long awaited haircut, then make copies for the first week of class. I've got music on, I'm drinking a good cup of coffee. Wow--amazing how just a little bit of sun makes even "every day" seem extraordinary.

taking advice

Today my horoscope in the Star Tribune reads: "It'll be your choice today as to whether you want to roll up your sleeves and get the jobs on the table done or rest on your laurels and let things pile up even further. Take your pick."

Before reading that I had already decided on the rolling-up-the-sleeves bit, my horoscope just confirmed it. And since, at this point, I need to feel at least a small sense of accomplishment I'm going to get my class planned. I have so far already written this semester's syllabus. Now it's on to writing up the first assignment and the big research assignment.

I want to write about the challenges in making this semester a success and about how I find personal satisfaction in getting people to enjoy writing (especially if they hated it in the past). I want to write about how I hope to someday feel like this at the beginning of each semester and about the way I hope it gets a little easier when I can focus on just teaching instead of juggling my energies between both teaching and being a student. Teaching energizes me. Being a student, lately, drains me.

I want to write about my goals for the coming semester, the way I found peace walking through fresh snow this morning, and the way it felt like going to church--only better. I want to write about finding a balance in my life--physically, mentally, spiritually.

I want to write about a lot of things--but first I'm going to take the advice of my horoscope so I can breathe a little easier and maybe even experience some of that balance first-hand.

nine pounds of luggage and a banjo...

Today the coffee is bitter. And it tastes good that way. It's brewed dark enough so that even with unhealthy amounts of cream it changes only a few shades--the color of cinnamon. I am hiding in my writing room in an orange glow of light. It is still grey outside--for so many days now that I've lost count. And although I never sewed any curtains over break, I did buy 2 yards of fabric for a dollar...a sheer golden/yellow/orange that hangs doubled over with rough edges from a curtain rod. With candles burning it gives the perfect illusion of sunlight--warm and soft. I've shut the door and put music on. I like this room and, in a way, never want to leave it.

Then again, I've started reading a book, Maiden Voyages: Writings of Women Travelers, that makes me want to leave immediately. I'm reading from the memoir of Maud Parrish, Nine Pounds of Luggage. This book makes me feel a little trapped; it makes me wish I felt a little more alive--directly, and not through a book.

At the turn of the (20th) century Maud Parrish left her ill-fated marriage and set off to the Yukon with "nine pounds of luggage" and a banjo. She writes:

"Some see life in black and white; others--and they're the lucky ones--in old-gold hues. But the life I knew then made me see red. Wanderlust can be the most glorious thing in the world sometimes, but when it knaws and pricks at your innards, especially in spring, with your hands and feet tied, it's awful. So I left. Without telling a soul."

She writes about Alaska as being an exhilarating atmosphere where "the air was electric, and the people were electric too, one hundred per cent alive..." And for a second I fall 11 years back in time--when I hopped freights from Minnesota to Alaska, bathed in wild rivers and jumped moving trains--life was bigger than any ailments of the head or heart. I look up from the book and can't help but feel a little trapped by the glass in the window.

Sometimes I am amazed by the "normal" turn my life has taken--and sometimes, yes, it feels awful.

Looking for Inspiration...

It's been a frustrating day of non-writing. As promised to myself, I've definitely put in the hours sitting here in front of my computer, but without luck. In search of inspiration I picked up this book. I bought it in India and it traveled in my backpack much of the way. It is well worn with thin, yellowish pages, printed and bound in Calcutta.

However, I am not reading it. I'm smelling it. (yes, really).

Page 117 smells like the white marble floors and aluminum cups of a restaurant I frequented in Delhi--the one that was 2 steps down from a busy street where endless streams of pedestrians, beggars, bicycle rickshaws, and even an elephant went by. There was a high ceiling with fans going constantly round and round, everything in constant motion. There was marble on the walls as well, grey veins breaking the monotany of white. I often went there to write, would order a mango lassi or chai. Across the street was another restaurant with the best samosas, but populated only with men--I would order them to go. And a little further away, was the bookstand where I found this book.

Page 243 smells like a small shop in Mysore where I tried on my first sari. They too had white marble floors, but the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in every color imaginable. Fuscia, teal, blue, green, orange, purple, red. Yards upon yards of fabric some embellished with gold thread, sometimes sequins. Two women helped me clumsily wrap the fabric round and round then fold, fold, fold into small pleats before tucking it at the waist and finally bringing it around my shoulders.

Page 166 smells like the air in the foothills of the Himalayas. An equal combination of the Ganges, cow shit, and sand.

Page 57 smells like the guest house I spent my first week in after arriving. Fluorescent lights, Gold Flake cigarettes, brushing teeth with bottled water, an empty backpack yet to be broken in.

Page 213 smells like Kota, Rajasthan--of incense and women behind veiled windows and dark doors. It smells like the museum where I gazed at miniature oil paintings, all in a row, hanging on dark wooden walls. Historical treasures slowly, slowly rotting in the humid heat. Lower on the page, it smells like young boys running down narrow, dirt streets.

Page 282 smells like not wanting to return home.

Page 3 smells like wishing I could be there now.


So this is what I have...image after image after image. A quilt whose pieces are haphazard, random, and small--pieces I have not yet made sense of.

Ganesha: The Elephant God of success, Destroyer of Obstacles

Ganesha has won himself a place of honor on my desk. Why? Because Ganesha understands writing.



"Ganesha's head symbolizes the Atman or the soul, which is the ultimate supreme reality of human existence, and his human body signifies Maya or the earthly existence of human beings. The elephant head denotes wisdom and its trunk represents Om, the sound symbol of cosmic reality. In his upper right hand Ganesha holds a goad, which helps him propel mankind forward on the eternal path and remove obstacles from the way. The noose in Ganesha's left hand is a gentle implement to capture all difficulties.

The broken tusk that Ganesha holds like a pen in his lower right hand is a symbol of sacrifice, which he broke for writing the Mahabharata. The rosary in his other hand suggests that the pursuit of knowledge should be continuous. The laddoo (sweet) he holds in his trunk indicates that one must discover the sweetness of the Atman. His fan-like ears convey that he is all ears to our petition. The snake that runs round his waist represents energy in all forms. And he is humble enough to ride the lowest of creatures, a mouse."
(http://hinduism.about.com/library/weekly/aa083000a.htm)

I especially like the explanation of the goad (to help "propel mankind forward on the eternal path and remove obstacles from the way") and noose ("a gentle implement to capture all difficulties."), the pen ("a symbol of sacrifice") that he broke for writing the Mahabharata (he's a writer himself!), and the ladoo (reminding us that one must discover the sweetness of the soul). These are important aspects of the writing life. It's good to have a god on your side. I'll leave offerings.

Ok...back to work!

another early morning...

This morning, when I got up, this lightlessness felt just right. But now, already, the sky is beginning to turn from a dusky non-color to white. There are clouds again, but there was snow during the night. When it was darker out, I felt momentarily connected--but now it is starting to feel like the day is moving on without me. I've left the shades drawn in order to hold myself in this warm cocoon just a little longer. Perhaps just until it feels like it's time to take a shower, get dressed, go outside and walk the dog.

In the meantime I am sitting here at my desk in self-created half-light drinking an oh-so-tasty cup of coffee. I got the coffee maker ready last night and this morning only had to press GO. This preparedness reminds me that I have something worth accomplishing today. Viscosa, my little black cat, weaves herself in figure 8's around my legs.

At the moment I am trying to decide how to move forward. I'm thinking about structure--the structure my writing should/wants to take. Chronological order seems like the logical choice, but the story I want to tell feels more complex than that...more like a patchwork quilt. I'm just not yet sure how to fit the pieces together--or for that matter, what kind of stitches to use to hold it in place.

It's time for a second cup of coffee.

Self Portrait Tuesday: Sisters

This month's theme is personal history.

So here it is. That's me on the left with the blonde hair and my sister on the right. Her name is Jackie and she's two years older than me.

It's one of my favorite (and the few) photos of my sister and I--just the two of us. I like it because it shows the relationship even we didn't know we had. For the most part, we grew up in conflict. Or so we thought-- mostly because our parents somehow made us think we didn't like each other, that we were irreconcilable opposites. My mom wanted silence. My dad protected that at all costs. Therefore, even the most minor of sisterly arguments were blown out of proportion.

It wasn't until my sister had kids of her own, six years ago, that we realized just how important we are to each other. We began to understand that although we were always told we were opposites, in reality there is no else in the world that holds as many similarities.

Looking back I realize that my sister and I would have done anything to protect the other--and just like the photograph reveals--we did. Growing up, we were not close in a typical way. But as adults we make up for the lost time. There is no one that could ever replace her. And because we share a life-long history--we are different, but we are the same.

It's time.

Dog is walked. Coffee is made. Blogs have been read. Now--it's time to write.

When preparing for a show in painting I am easily able to let my world turn inside out; I am able to dissolve myself, focus completely, until the rest falls away. It is an odd and wonderful phenomenon. But it's been a long time since I've taken on a creative writing project... let's hope that it works the same.

There are a few writers I've always been inspired by--One is Isabel Allende and the other Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Allende has a separate guest house she writes in. She begins each new book on the full moon. And lights candles for the spirits before sitting down to write everyday day. Sometimes she loses herself so completely in the writing that she is not sure if it is her story or if she's become merely a medium. Marquez becomes a recluse when writing a book, shuts himself off from the world completely--only seeing his wife when she brings him his meals. He speaks to no one. He has a lot of friends, but they all understand this about him. When his book is finished and he finally emerges, they are happy to spend time with him once again.

Today I've shut the door and lit a candle. But the rest... is up to me. This, today, is where my writing begins.

Dearest friends,

One week left of winter break and I have not yet written one word for my thesis. I have drawn an elaborate cluster-brainstorming-thing with extensive doodling, but other than that--nilch. I spent the day on the verge of panic, feeling a little swallowed by the enormous amount of work that threatens my existence in the coming semester.

Starting tomorrow morning at 8am--I do not exist--not in person anyway.

I am unplugging the phone and refraining from any and all social activity. Please understand. It's not because I don't want to talk to you. Actually, I love you dearly and have enjoyed the many conversations we've had. But for now, it must be this way.

I've left the planet. Will blog.

Love,
Jessie

Skyscapes...

I feel a connection with people who paint these sorts of things. Sometimes it surpises me when someone else sees the world a little like I do.



"First Dusk of 2006" by Duane Keiser

i've always loved art nouveau...

You are a Rose:

You are creative, sensual, passionate, and bold.
You pour your heart into everything that you
do. Alluring and gifted with strong sex appeal,
you very easily draw people in with your animal
magnetism.

Symbolsim: The rose has always been a flower
heavily loaded with symbolism. In general it
symbolizes desire, passion, beauty, and
enchantment.


Which Flower are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

First Day of 2006

Relatively uneventful. Slept in late (between early morning phone calls). Babied a rather hung-over husband. Took a nice long shower. Mom came over for coffee and lunch. Took down the Christmas tree. Talked to half my family on the phone. Took a couple walks. Cleaned and rearranged the living room. Did a load of laundry in my brand new washing machine (ooh-how exciting!). Ate and excellent supper (something Italian that I've already forgotten how to pronounce). Relaxed in the "new" living room with candles. Watched a little TV. Cleaned out my van for the first time since we moved (inside and out--it needed it!). Stopped by my dad's for a visit.

And now it's time for desert and a mocha.

I thought I might start planning my class for spring or write today--yeah right. Welcome to 2006.
But let me not get glum... there's always espresso.

Last Day of 2005

Well, this year ranks up there with the single worst year in the life of Jessie. However-- it is the New Year and therefore, a time to celebrate. Rather than obsess over what went wrong or what I wish was different about myself or my life--it's a good time to think about what did go right and to recognize the things I actually did accomplish.

So in the spirit of a tradition I started 9 years ago...

My List of Accomplishments in 2005:

1. Survived teaching the research paper last spring and gained confidence in knowing that I can do it again.
2. Had an incredibly talented class of writers this fall--and was inspired by them all.
3. Realized that no matter how bad everything else was--I love teaching, every minute of it.
4. Sold my house.
5. Paid off 7 years worth of debt.
6. Moved...found a place where all of us--Vinny, myself, Anu, and the cats are all happy. And it is exactly the type of place I imagined living in.
7. Got settled in the new place--almost completely.
8. Acquired some of the best neighbors I've ever had.
9. Got active again--perpetual walking. Living in town allows me this.
10. Finally wrote my thesis proposal.
11. Had a painting exhibition in the big city of Minneapolis.
12. Currently have a show hanging in the BCAC.
13. Attempted (with some success) abstract landscapes. Loosened up my painting style and became more expressive in the process.
14. Sold a painting for a nice sum of $$.
15. Wrote several essays and a few poems that I feel good about.
16. Traveled to Texas to spend time with my grandparents last spring.
17. Went to Mexico for the first time.
18. Traveled parts of Canada I had never seen before.
19. Spend time with my sister's family.
20. Made artist's books for the first time.
21. Celebrated 2 years of marriage with my husband.
22. Gained a few new friends.
23. Painted my new writing room lime green.
24. After a year of thinking about it, finally sat down to write my old painting instructor a long letter. I miss her dearly.
25. Filled a couple journals.
26. Started spending more time with friends.
    
27. Decided to take a year off from school next year--I'm folllowing my heart--something I haven't done in too long.

And in the next couple days maybe I'll think of more to add. But what I'm realizing in making this list is that even some of the hardest aspects of this past year have led to some of the best rewards. Things are funny that way.

Friends and family--Happy New Year to all of you! May you find happiness and creative inspiration in every day.

Here's to a new year and new beginnings!

Another lake walk and more dream houses...

Although I do not fish--I could live here. I grew up in a too large, too fancy house and have ever since been attracted to small, simple, lived-in spaces--yep, even ice-houses.

I heard on the radio a couple years ago of an artists' community that took up residency in the middle of the lake. When the artists converted their ice-houses into studios and started working and living out there the police tried to get rid of them--but the town wanted them to stay. The artists would get visitors from all over--there to see their art and to watch them make it. One guy did paintings on large sheets of ice. It looked like watercolor. He did ice-house landscapes and odd still lives of found items--fish, boots, lures, garbage. Eventually they'd melt (or break)--but he'd make more. There were potters, painters, sculptors...and yes, even people fishing.

Polar Expeditions...

Hangover or not, it turned out to be a pretty good day. I peeled myself off of the floor by late morning and suited up for the outdoors for a long walk with Anu. I was determined to work off any remaining alcohol in my system with physical activity regardless of the drumming in my head. I don't know if it worked or not, but the wind and white was enough to keep me happily occupied. We walked the long way to Diamond Point, then headed out onto the lake. And although I'm a Northern Minnesotan, I was surprised to realize that it had been a long time since I had been on any major (or minor) ice excursions. All the nothingness was refreshing--and did wonders to clear my ever-rattling head. I found an ice cave formed by buckled ice and drifted snow along the shore and decided that it would make a perfect fort for reading. Anu and I crawled in and took a rest inside where it was amazingly silent and warm. If only I had brought a book.

Eventually we resumed forward motion on our polar expedition. Conditions were perfect. The snow was hard and crusted over with enough glare ice to keep us entertained. Runnnn....slide....walk a little...runnnn....slide. I thought of my old dog Abe and about how much fun he would have had. His favorite thing in the whole world (besides tuna fish) was ice. Anu and I stopped for a moment to miss him and honor his spirit before moving on to another patch of ice. I thought about how much I would like to live in a fish house--and spent a good deal of our walk daydreaming how I'd make it work. I figured 4 months of rent free living, close enough to campus to walk and shower at the Rec. Center, a computer lab nearby--what more could I want? I imagined a bed to one side with lots of comforters, a propane tank outside hooked up to an indoor heater to keep the place toasty and warm, oil lamps, cups of hot chocolate, good books, and nothing but wide open sky above us. Oh, to be so connected to my surroundings! I thought about how good the stars look at night in the middle of a frozen lake. I imaged having lawn chairs positioned outside for soaking up sun during the day. Students would look out Hagg-Sauer windows wondering: Is someone living out there??? The whole idea started looking pretty comical--but desirable nonetheless!

We came home hot and tired. But happy. Very happy.
And tomorrow--I think we'll do it again. :)

Next Morning...

No contact. Just a very serious headache.

Ouch. Sorry, Writing.

Dear Writing,

In order to make contact with you I have hereby resorted to the Higher Power of Bloody Marys.
May peace be with you.

Love,
Jessie

Self Portrait Tuesday: Dog Face

December's theme for Self Portrait Tuesday is (still) reflective surfaces. The last couple Tuesdays I've posted reflections of myself in mirrors and glass...

But there's one thing that reflects who I am more than anything-- and that is the dogs I love most in my life-- because it is them that reflect my best side.

Happy Dogs...

Ahh...that romp in the woods is what all of us needed.

Anu running at breakneck speeds...so happy to run free!

Coca's (my dad's dog) happy to roll in the snow. Mmmmm--yeah.

My beautiful wolfie--actually standing still.

And Coca...fat is beautiful too! :)

Action shots: snow dogs playing in the snow!

Could life get any better???

Let's start over.

wow--so that last post is a little more depressing than I had anticipated. I should delete it, but as a general rule of thumb I don't allow myself such mass editing with this blog. If I did I'm pretty sure my entries would be nearly nonexistant.

Anyway, it's another grey day. For some reason it's quiet outside. I have a fresh cup of coffee in front of me from a place I do not know how to spell. This morning I'll write in my paper journal while curled up on the couch with the cats. Then take a quick shower and drive out to the woods with Anu. She needs a good run. And so do I. This afternoon (I promise myself) I'm going to sit down and begin work on my India stories. Vinny will be at work and the distractions few.

This is the day I begin.

I've always been a dreamer...

...so where's my big dream for what's next?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what we'll do and where we'll go this summer when our lease runs out. Since putting the house up for sale I've been saying over and over "because we have to move away...for school...for jobs....we have to move away...." Occasionally I'll be walking down the street with wolfie and we'll see someone I know, but haven't talked to in awhile. Every time they are surprised to see me in town with my dog. So I explain, "Well, we sold our house. I live in town now..." Then I get a slightly shocked/confused/disappointed look and I revert back to the explanation that "we're moving next year...school...jobs..." Every time I walk away feeling like shit. I walk away, Anu pulling me down the street, thinking, mumbling under my breath...I had to sell it because I'm a fucking loser and no one's filling my bank account with magic money you fucking idiot. Basically, I walk away feeling a whole lot more depressed than I did the moment before I ran into them and was barraged with questions.

So the thought has been on my mind: Where will we be next year?

After this last year, neither of us is ready to tackle an MFA or PhD. We decided to take a year off from school and collect ourselves. We need to reenergize. We need to: a lot of things.

What we want to do is have mental space to work on our writing. But we all know how easily "life" gets in the way--so we've talked about doing a few writing workshops together or separately to keep us on track and actively writing. We want to use the year to work on getting published. And we also need to work. After graduating I would also like to return to India--and if I have the time, I have a good chance of getting grants to get me there.

But with all of these things we want to spend our energy on...where does moving fit into the picture? Does it help? Or hinder? Will it help us get better jobs? Or will a move just cost money? I feel like I've backed myself into a corner by telling everyone we're moving next year. I like it here, but damnit!...(unsorted thoughts go here)...

I don't know--and this is too complicated to blog about. (confusing thoughts go here)

I think I need to learn how to dream again. I used to listen to my dreams--and follow them. I have lived a good life that way--but somewhere along the lines it seems that I lost that talent. I want it back.

He'll bake cookies and she'll build stuff.

For Christmas I got my husband kitchen gear...and he got me tools.

Are we made for each other, or what?!

Merry Christmas Everyone!!!

bloggerville updates

I've been keeping an eye on this painter's blog for about a year now. What most impresses me is that he never misses a day! Now that's dedication. I've added his link to my sidebar and in doing so started thinking that my own blog needs some updates. What--I'm not sure.

First day of Christmas vacation.

It's been a slow unwinding, but today marks the first "official" day of break: revised thesis proposal turned in, student grades turned in, evaluations turned in, no more meetings, no more anything until I'm ready for it.

Lastnight, after (honestly) the best meal I have ever had, my husband and I came home; I walked the dog, then laid in bed reading (for enjoyment!) until I fell asleep. It felt like the best sleep of my life. This morning I woke up feeling rested and with a smile on my face. I feel relaxed and satisfied. It's warm out, almost 30 degrees above zero. Later I'll take Anu and Coca, my dad's husky-chow-mutt, for a long romp in the woods. The relaxed pace of the day feels like good nutrition--and every pore of my body is thankful for it.

The things I want to do during break:

• Since moving I've really wanted to get my sewing machine out. Mostly I want to sew curtains for the living room and my writing room. Something simple and inexpensive. Something colorful. I'd also like to sew a duvet for the bedroom and a couple pillows.
• A couple months ago my husband picked out a 48"x 48" canvas for me to paint something on for his room. I've been wanting to work on that since the day he got it.
• Read, Read, Read! Oh, I can't wait to read! Right now I'm working on Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake. My reading list also includes: Anne Tyler's Celestial Navigations; A Sense of Place: Great Travel Writers Talk About their Craft, their Lives, and Inspiration, edited by Michael Shapiro; An Area of Darkness by V.S. Naipaul; Karma Cola by Gita Mehta... list continues on forever (how many books can I read in one break?) . I want to read books in preparation for my thesis (books about travel, India or by Indian authors), but mostly I want to read books that inspire my own writing!
• Unpack the few remaining boxes from the move. Maybe even accomplish a little bit of reorganization.
• Paint the bedroom dresser (it's a purple dresser in sage, white, and butterscotch room--ugh!)
  
• Hang out in my studio doing nothing demanding...just creating--doodles, book making, doing whatever and nothing in particular. :)
• Enjoy relaxed and extended morning cups of coffee while blogging or journal writing.

And while these are all things I want to do...there is one thing that I really must do: begin work on my thesis. Luckily this is also something I want to do. Somewhere along the line--after moving, after getting settled, after the opening of my art show--writing mind returned. I once again find myself thinking in terms of words, not just colors. There wasn't room for writing before. But now a space has opened. I am--finally--ready to start this project.

I'm looking forward to the the coming winter weeks of break. I think I need it. Don't we all.

Little Viscosa

My little cat, Vico, crawled up into my lap and is now stretched out in my arms causing me to type one handed because she looks up at me with such love and trust--purring, purring, purring. I still have to rewrite my thesis proposal and comment on 2 student essays...but she makes me so very, very sleepy. I can feel her heart beating next to mine.

A good day to make journals...

(sorry-- poor image quality)

Tonight's project included making journals for my brother and his girlfriend. I painted big sheets of nice, thick paper; collaged on some. After tearing the large sheets to size and to give them rough edges I ended up with enough material to make 2 smaller journals as well (a 100 pages each!). They are a lot of work--but will go to good homes. Not to mention, it feels good to get "crafty." Tomorrow I'll bind them and make hardcovers for them. My fingers still have smudges of glue and turquoise blue--hence, it's been a good day.

If you could only see me...

Well, actually, it's a good thing that you can't cuz I look a little like this except I have more energy and the room I sit in is filled with sun (ahh!). My hair, now a good 5 inches long at the top, has somehow morphed into a mohawk during the course of the night with a nice rat's nest at the back. I'm wearing a knee-length flannel nightgown with cardinals and birdhouses at the bottom (a gift from my mom several years ago) and, underneath, a pair of thick fleece pants that I sewed myself (and not very well). I wear poofy, black Hello Kitty slippers and a fuzzy blanket around my shoulders. My eyeliner is slightly smudged, but I have brushed my teeth. My nose is a little runny from playing outside with Anu in -10 degree weather. I think I'm gonna sneeze.
If you could see me now...you could say that you truly know me. Anyone want to come over for coffee? haha.

hmmm--I love Sundays.

You know you live in Northern Minnesota when:

snowmobiles driving past your house in the middle of town are a daily occurrence.

in this new home

Today, after an hour of hacking at ice and shoveling the sidewalk, I looked up to an orange/blue/yellow/grey/pink sky and realized that I am happy here.
I guess today is the first day that I've had the peace of mind to realize that.

Yes, I like this place.

I'm done, I did it.

No longer enough energy for enthusiasm, but I accomplished the goal of finishing my thesis proposal. I sent it off as an attachment in an e-mail at midnight exactly. Now I'll just wait and see if I need to make any revisions. I can handle that.

It's weird that so much time and energy can go into a measly 5 pages. But those 5 pages are going to be my life for the next 5 months.

The only thing left to do now is to grade essays--and then Christmas break is mine!

still working on the thesis proposal...

I have a cup of fresh coffee sitting directly in front of me. I've just returned from a walk in the snow with wolfie. I have not one, but two paragraphs of my thesis proposal written.

I want to write something here--but I have dedicated myself to finishing a draft of my proposal today. It doesn't need to be this difficult. I wrote 2 paragraphs in 2 days. Let's hope the rest comes easier.

On the bright side, I feel good about what I'm writing. No matter how hard it might be or become. It's time to write this story.

(...need more coffee)

Self Portrait Tuesday: (oops--it's Wednesday--no, it's Thursday!)

Tuesday's come and gone, a few minutes ago it was Wednesday, and now it's Thursday. Who needs sleep when there's so much living to do?

When I was little people would ask what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be lots of things, but mostly I wanted to be either a piano teacher or a Solid Gold Dancer. ha! I will never become either.

But sometimes, secretly, I sill wish I was a ballerina.

Thoughts on Comfort and Inspiration...

Midnight, and finally I am starting to relax. I feel the tension in my back, in my neck, in my jaw loosening--bit by bit. I still have a thesis proposal to write and one more round of essays to grade, but at this point it is beginning to feel manageable. Ah--*deep breath*--a momentary break in the storm.

Speaking of storms--it is beautiful outside. I just returned from a late night walk with wolfie. The wind is warm enough that the snow has turned into a slight drizzle. By morning it might create more hazardous conditions, but for now, it feels heavenly. It's amazing how anything above 10 degrees starts to feel warm this time of year. We walked slow. Anu stopped often to sniff the air. I stopped along with her because I was in no hurry.

Last week I read a post that's had me thinking all week. And I've been waiting for a short break from the grind to post some of my own musings...

1. What brings you comfort?

scratchy cat kisses, the smell of fresh ground coffee, the taste of fresh brewed coffee, snuggling with Anu, the sound of wind in pine trees, long walks, occasional grey days, puddles of sunshine, the smell of oil paints, carnations, and books; potato chips, quiet mornings with a journal, the sound of 25 students with pen to paper, flannel sheets, new socks, warm water, rain, snow, green olive soup, burning candles and incense, the time to lay around with a good book, slow dancing with V., the smell of sage, deep vibrant colors, sheepskin, the sound of the heat turning on, watching my cats sleep, connecting with friends, samosas, old journals, my red coffee cup, listening to Jackson Browne (don't ask me why), making art, skyscapes, mist, frost, getting my hands dirty, my old red and black flannel, ravens...

2. What is one quote that has left a profound impact on your life?

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." ~Henry David Thoreau

3. What are 3 things on your life-list?

-to (continue) teaching writing
-to win the Pulitzer (ha!) ok--how about to write (and publish) at least one book
-to return to India

4. What inspires you?

all of the above, people that follow their heart (even when it's difficult or risky), travel, color, good teachers, good music, fresh air, the energy of fellow writers and artists, honesty, determination, my students, coffee!

Ahh--that little break felt good.

Goodnight, and sweet dreams.

The Green Machine

Powering me through the home stretch:

Spirulina, Chlorella, Green Tea, Broccoli, Spinach, Blue Green Algae, Garlic, Echinacea, Barley Grass, Wheat Grass, Apples, Kiwi, Banana, Pineapple, and Mango.

Want some?

Random thought instead of writing...

Had the house sold just a little earlier, I would have been on a plane to India this week.

Had I been on a plane to India, I would have finished my work already. As it is, I am neither on a plane or finished with my work.

Damn.

Feeling At Home

Yesterday was good. And I've decided that it feels pretty good being 31. When I woke up the first thought to go through my conscious mind was that I've reached a plateau in life, a level place--those non-years between the age of 31 and oh, 39. It's those years that you never hear much about. The years that people just work hard, do what needs to be done, struggle, question their lives, work more, start aging, blah, blah, blah.

I imagined this plateau to look like somewhere that I've driven through, somewhere dry and in- the-distance; somewhere that I wished I could climb to the top of and see forever, dissolve into the vastness. But it's also somewhere dusty and beige. It's a nondescript place that looks good in the distance, but is boring once you get there.

However, being fond of open places, I've decided that having reached a level place isn't all bad. A couple years ago I took a cross country bike trip from my driveway in Becida to the Rockies. It required pedaling through hundreds of miles of plains--those open places that stretch out forever and we think of being flat, flat, flat. But what I remember most from the trip is the rolling hills, unexpected contours, the beauty of the landscape. And if the 30's are like North Dakota, then I think I'll take the road less traveled. The one that runs, not straight, but diagonally across the state.

Yesterday V. spoiled me, he spoiled me, he spoiled me. We spent the day bumming around town, ate lunch at the Wild Hare, bummed around some more, decorated the Christmas tree, went out for dinner and then a movie. After midnight we stood outside under a dark sky of fat snowflakes. They drifted down slow. The tree glowed through the window. There was quiet. And for the first time in a long while--I felt comfortable in my own skin. Nothing's changed overnight but, surprisingly, I am enjoying my view from the plateau.

A sense of community

Something I've been thinking about for a few days now is how and why and to what extent we use blogs as a way to communicate. I've also been thinking about community--in the classroom, in my neighborhood, in cyber-world... Oh, if only I had more time to write. We live in a world where we (wisely) keep ourselves guarded--but in the end, how cut off do we become? It is a world filled with strangers, but through blogs I am (recently) enjoying the evolution of community. And I'll admit--I like the change.

All work for the day: CANCELLED

Today ranks right up there with the first day of snow. But for now it's time to get out of my pajamas. Afternoon just started for chrissakes. I love it. Loud music, hot shower, strong coffee. Then maybe go out for a late lunch? Yes.

Yesterday's Fortune

"Stop searching
happiness is inside of you."

Today, on the other hand, I haven't been looking for anything except to get things done. Luckily there is enough to do that it is an easily self-satisfying goal. Am I talking in English? Last night I dreamt that a strange woman slipped two hits of acid in my coffee. I've been feeling the effects all day--but I think it's actually a cold that I've been fighting all week. Although it is important to mention that I do not get sick. No, never. There's an intricate mind game I play with myself to keep illness at bay and it usually works. This time, however, I feel like I am fighting an uphill battle. Or maybe there's a small part of me that wants it this time--that heaviness, the calm, the excuse to lay down and not feel guilty about it. Oh yeah, but that's the other reason I never let myself get sick. I have an incredible guilt complex that does not allow me to "do nothing." I think I acquired it from my parents a long, long time ago. Chronic workaholics. Nature or nurture? I don't know. All I do know is that my dad never let me sleep in and my mom never sat still. So here I am, at 31 (tomorrow--hint, hint), a horrible, guilt-ridden product of my parents and their parents and their parents...

Good god. Am I floating?

Self Portrait Tuesday: (please sing along) ho-ho-ho-home depot is a rip off...

Geez, is it Tuesday again already? Ok, so December's "challenge" is a self-portrait in a reflective surface. So here it is--the Christmas tree! The one we spent way too much money for at Home Depot because we have legitimately become "city folk" and no longer have the swamp to tromp around in to find free "Charlie Brown" trees. Oh, but she's a beauty. And one of these days we might even get her decorated!

Tonight big, fat snowflakes fall slowly, slowly from the sky. Woodsmoke drifts into the yard like incense from someone else's chimney. And the tree...well, she waits very impatiently--and so do I!

I think I might have even missed my office.

It feels like a long time since I've been here. But that's not true. It's just that it's been a long time since I've been in here, not for office hours, but with the intention of getting something done. The door is shut, I have a latte at my side, a nice hot bowl of chili for when I get hungry, a stack of books, papers to grade. This place feels like the most organized and least distracting space available--so here I am.

Until now I've been avoiding my office except for when I needed to be here. I think I over used and abused the space last year with all those 12 even 14 hour days. Looking back I can honestly say: Last year sucked. Maybe all that horrible stressed out energy has finally dissipated from these windowless walls. It actually, I'll admit, feels good to be back.

I spent almost the entire morning outside taking care of my sick pooch and searching for a Christmas tree. And at the moment I am content to sit in this warm, dark office listening to a Christmas CD made by my husband (an early present).

Life feels fine. Things are about to get done.

art folk photos

my mom and i in the "Fragmented Forest." (er--can you say metaphor?)

fellow art makers

and ashleigh and i at our opening!

Today I'm going to get a lot done.

This is a promise to myself.

This morning I got up (not as early as I would have liked) and took wolfie for a long walk. We went as far as the art's center then back along the lake trail. The snow was deep, but it felt good to trudge through it. I've learned to, like Anu, keep an eye out for squirrels. It makes her happy when I play along. By the time we got home my scarf and eyelashes were thickly frosted over. Anu's chin had icicles hanging from it. After feeding her and playing some more I came inside and made coffee. Oh--the aroma of coffee on a cold winter morning. Perfect. Outside every window, my world is covered in snow.

I find myself wanting to decorate for Christmas more than doing much of anything else. We got lights last night and today we'll get a tree. Whether or not we decorate it today, I'm not sure. There is too much to do. And once we have the tree set up, then damnit, I want to lay on the couch reading books, sipping hot chocolate, and enjoying it. Either way--we're almost to the end. Even though it feels absolutely, 100% impossible to accomplish it all. Miracles DO happen.

Since finishing the show, hanging it, and living (happily) through the opening...I feel a deep sense of calm. It is strange. Even though there's still a lot of stress in finishing out the semester, I have that "going-with-the-flow" feeling. I still miss Abe, and my grandpa, and my home in Becida...but now it's time to move on. Now if I cry it doesn't have to be about something I lost, but about something I was lucky enough to experience.

The rest, well-- the rest will fall into place.

The opening was a raging success and THANK YOU everyone that came!!!

that's all.
:)

You're Invited!!!...

OPEN SPACES

"Somewhere in Canada"
Oil on Canvas
60"x 48"x 2"

...to an opening reception at the BCAC (old Carnegie Library on 5th and Bemdiji Ave.)

Friday, December 2nd 5-7pm.

Main Gallery: Vivianne Morgan, Marlon Davidson, and Terry Garret
X2: Ashleigh Buck
X3: Me!

Hope to see you!!

Artist Statement:
We are all affected by color and my recent work is an attempt to express emotional experience through color. I read somewhere, “Look for a long time at what pleases you, and for a longer time at what pains you.” In many ways this has been the hardest year of my life. Within two weeks both my best friend and my grandfather passed away. Shortly after, I put my house up for sale and moved. It became important for me to communicate the deep sense of loss I was experiencing. When I began the project I thought that, for the first time, my work might become tremendously dark. But darkness, each time, was interrupted by light—and, as often, the feeling of loss was replaced by hope.

Working intuitively, I allowed my subconscious to be the primary motivation for artistic vision and I found myself returning to the open spaces of land and skyscapes for healing and inspiration. My paintings are meditations on thoughts and memories that have been transformed into associations and articulated through color. For me, painting is a form of writing when words are not enough. In using color as a narrative tool, it is my hope that the personal experiences of viewers will merge with my own, thereby creating a dialogue, a shared moment—one that goes beyond words—and is felt deeply.

snow shovels and ice scrapers...

Today winter sounds like "sshhh-ssshhhk-ssshhh" and "chop-cchhk-chhop!" It's rather peaceful.

Self Portrait Tuesday: I should really get something done.

I've been doing more math because it's the end of the semester and I've lost my equilibrium as well as my sense of time and place. What it breaks down to is 15 days + 8 if you include finals week. My life has deteriorated into a mathematical equation.

I like this self portrait that I took early this morning, not because I actually feel as bad as I look, but because it captures my utter sense of exasperation and some of the dread of feel towards writing (and the passage of time). It looks like me every night at about midnight when I'm still looking at a blank computer screen and checking blogs too often. Don't get me wrong--I love writing. In a sick and twisted way, I do always look forward to it.

Happy Snow Dog

poems for a stormy night...

"A Single Seed Reveals Them"
An apple on the table
hides its seeds
so neatly
under seamless skin.

But we talk and talk and talk
to let somebody
in.

~Naomi Shihab Nye from 19 Varieties of Gazelle


Or how about:

"Jerusalem Headlines 2000"
HOLY LAND EXPERIENCES BIGGEST SNOWFALL IN 50 YEARS

If someone's lemon tree
disappears under a drift

If your auto with the blue license plates
your goat or my aged donkey
If the clay jar in which your mother
hauled water for sixty years

If the snow piles up past everyone's windows
all of the windows

PALESTINIANS AND ISRAELIS WORKED TOGETHER
IN THE WEST BANK TO RESCUE...

a sweeter sentence than baklava

than all the oranges of Jericho
offered up to God!

~Naomi Shihab Nye from 19 Varieties of Gazelle

ICE

This morning I did not "walk" Anu, I "skated" her. Glare ice. The best part was when she saw a squirrel. I held on to the leash, knees bent, and got pulled till we hit an incline. Good sled dog. (I wonder if the people in my neighborhood think I'm wierd???)

Today's a good day to stay home and eat leftover mushroom rissotto (my new favorite comfort food). I think I might even get back into my pajamas--cuz I'm not going anywhere.

doing the math...

If I write approximately a half a page a day (or 3.75 pages a week) for the next 16 weeks I will have generated enough material for my thesis by late March (leaving me time for revision). I don't mean a half a page of junk, but of USABLE material.

.5 pages a day including 3 solid weeks of X-mas vacation time. Yes--I can do this. I think I might even be looking forward to it.

writing as art according to ernest

I was trying to write then and I found the greatest difficulty was to put down what really happened in action; what the actual things were which produced the emotion that you experienced…the real thing, the sequence of motion and fact which made the emotion and which would be as valid in a year or ten years or, with luck and if you stated it purely enough, always.

-Ernest Hemingway

Not that I need anything more to do, but...

Self Portrait Tuesday looks pretty cool. Oh to have just one, small creative endeavor every day of the week. And Wednesday-Monday?...so many possibilities.

You know, I'm really looking forward to break this year. There are so many thing I want to do!!!

Today the freezing lake water sounds like rain...

...a nice, soft, gentle rain. I pretended that I was in an Asian, tropical place. Across the street bamboo chimes rattled in the wind. But it only lasted a moment because I returned to pretending that I was in the cold, white tundra of Alaska (but that's only cuz I was wearing V's parka). I was returned to reality when I saw a turquoise blue flip flop tangled in a tree with bittersweet. Otherwise a fairly uneventful morning walk.

Anu is still happy from yesterday's hike in the woods. By late afternoon I was ready to do nothing, but forced myself to go. We're both glad. It felt good to return to our element. Deer crashed through the woods in front of us. We spooked at least a dozen grouse. Anu got to snack on a few gut piles :(- The air was cold. There were leaves and snow and ice and winter wheat that crunched under our feet. Needless to say, we went home happy.

Today is Thanksgiving #2. This time with V's parents and my dad and his girlfriend. I made the curried squash soup. The professional is in charge of the rest: Cornish hens stuffed with mushroom risotto and wrapped in grape leaves, string beans with roasted red peppers, sweet potatoes, fresh bread, pecan pie, and an antipasto platter. And I'd like to make a announcement: I like being married to an Italian! Ok, so they're crabby and unpredictable--but they are really good cooks!

My contribution is to clean the house (today I am living in Vinny's shadow).

Oh yeah-- and last night I dreamed I went to India...or at least I was trying to...except my passport had expired! And for real--it is. I think I better get that thing renewed. But for now what I really need--is coffee.

firework finale and a peaceful Saturday...life is good.

I can tell by the temperature of the floorboards by the door that it's cold outside. I have slippers on and am drinking a cup of French roast in my favorite cup with cream and sugar. I've given up the blanket I had around my shoulders to the kitten who isn't really a kitten at all, but a cat who is treated like a baby. My generosity of warmth is paid back in loud purring that would last all morning if I had time to remain sitting here.

But alas, I don't. Instead, shortly, I will head down to the gallery for the afternoon. I almost forgot it's Saturday. I planned on writing all day with maybe an intermission for the hunterless woods with Anu. She hasn't been off her leash since we moved. Nor, I feel, have I. Ok, but first the gallery.

It doesn't matter--because today I feel relaxed. Last night I finished my show. Yes, finished. There was a lot of activity outside my studio windows because of the parade. I sat painting and wished Vinny would show up. Just as I put the last brush strokes on my last painting I heard a rap-rap-rap on the glass. It was my mind-reading husband! I let him in, showed him my work, and two seconds later... BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!! Yes!! What an excellent finale to finishing this show--FIREWORKS! Perfect timing. I aM DoNE!

These past several weeks my life has been absolutely committed to my painting. It felt good and I can only compare it to the amount of focus I had in preparing for my Senior show. I will admit that I don't care that I fell behind in my other work--because I needed to do this. And now--ahh--sigh of relief--I feel good. I feel like, finally, I can focus on everything else that needs to get done. And mostly, I'm relieved and excited to give my energy to writing. I'm ready now to express myself in words (slow, creaky start).

But I'm thankful for paint--because without it I think I would still be floundering.

thanksgiving @ grandma's

at least a dozen appetizers
bloody marys
wine
wild rice
homemade stuffing
mashed potatoes and gravy
wild cranberries (picked from the bog)
homemade bread
a variety of vegetables
marshmallow salad of some sort (what's a holiday without it?)
ham
turkey
fruit
coffee
pumpkin pie
berry pie
cheesecake

needless to say, i'm stuffed, but satisfied. completely. my sister's strolling the beaches of the atlantic in 70 degree weather...i'd say she's missing out.

ok, point taken...

a paraphrase: you've gotta be able to create your own energy, not rely on others for it.

yes, it's true--and good to be reminded. anyway, today some writers blew yesterday's complaint out of the water. i need to quit complaining and start creating. 'nuf said.

little landscapes, mail, and other rambling thoughts...

After several months of thinking big (48"x 60" oil on canvas) I took an exciting detour and painted a little-iddy-biddy 6"x 6" landscape with acyrlic. It was wonderful. I painted sitting on a stool holding the canvas in my hand. I was rough with it and painted quickly. Normally I hate painting small. It makes me feel constricted. But not today. Today's painting felt a little like hiding out. I shut the door to the studio (something I never do), listened to music, drank coffee from a to-go cup, and indulged myself in a miniaturized world.

Afterwards I went to Nina's Senior show in the Talley, "On the Line," where I chatted with friends and began to notice that the more I paint and am surrounded by interesting people, the more alive I feel.

Which leads to my next thought: mail. Today I received a package of sorts. Package meaning it was big, flat, rigid, and didn't fit in the mailbox. It was a packet from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago (ooh--that's a mouthful!) on their MFA in Writing. I've gotten stuff from them before, but today it especially pleased me because I have been thinking a lot about what the hell I want to do with myself next. Art or writing? Art or writing? Art? Writing? artwritingartwritingartwriting???? I've also been thinking a lot about the defunct energy that seems to be pervading the English department lately. No matter where you go there are highs and there are lows. As an undergrad I was surrounded by some extremely talented writers who were serious about their art. And I still am. But where's the energy? I know I don't have it. Nor am I getting it from others (generally speaking). I'm trying not to step on toes here because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. There are truly incredible people here. But man, I feel a deep need to move on. Actually, I don't even want to. In many ways I love it here. But it's hard to grow in (what feels like) a stagnant environment.

After long deliberation--I'm taking next year off. It's been an intense year and a half both in my personal and academic life. I need a break and I'm going to take one-- a year to work on my writing as an art form rather than an expectation, to experiment and travel and to work without the usual pressures.

Oh yeah, so back to getting mail...a program that allows me to write and to paint at the same time. Good god, could there be anything better? I've looked into interdisciplinary programs before and some seem a little hokey, but this one, not half bad. The problem lately is that I feel caught in a box. A big, fat, lethargic, dumb box.

And damnit--I want out.

roofers next door

ugh.

hi roofers!! i think i need to rig up some curtains.

and then on sunday...

I feel a little bit like I could sleep forever. Living in town, I've gotten in the habit of staying up all night, then sleeping late. This morning it felt good to sleep in, with sunshine spread across the bedroom. I'm still tired, or rather, exhausted. But today fits in with my definition of a good morning: sleeping in, drinking coffee, the pool of sunshine covering my desk, time to write, blue sky, a walk with not one dog but 2, a visit from my mom and brother, "brunch" with my husband and the neighbors. Yes, the definition of a good morning is when morning stretches all the way into evening.

This is the way Sundays should always be.

the life of a delirious painter on a saturday night...

i should be at a party right now celebrating nina's opening for her senior show in the talley gallery this coming monday. but i just can't bring myself to be around any more people right now. tonight when i got home from the studio i laid on the kitchen floor with my hands over my eyes and waited for water to boil. i desired nothing but darkness, quiet, and solitude. it's been an overwhelming weekend filled with many hours of painting and many, many people. wonderful people actually. a weekend full of artists. but ever since i've moved to town i feel overwhelmed easily. over stimulated always.

i ate supper and went back to the studio, finished another painting, and considered where i'm going with the next one. afterwards (late), i came home, laid on the couch, and numbed out with the tv. which is when it happened. nothing noticeable on the outside, but first a sinking feeling, then a tidal wave on the inside. i realized that i am almost done with putting this show together. i realized that in the past week i have painted myself inside out. i'm almost done expressing what has been the most difficult time of my life. and fuck-- i feel dry on the inside. raw. it's time to move on. but man, i think i could use just one last cry. a good one.

i feel a little bit like a bird that's just been given her freedom. i'm not sure what to do with it. caught in a strong wind, evenly, between sadness and starting over.

the small details...

so many things to write about lately. but it's 3am and i just returned from a bout of midnight painting. i want to write about walking home through a deserted town, everything silent except for the swish of perfectly powdered snow; i want to write about the lake water freezing at 6am this morning, the way it sounded like whale songs or dolphins, and how anu and i stood absolutely still with ears cocked for several minutes, just listening; i want to write about the sky and painting and and all the life that has returned to the studio.

i want to write about a lot of things... but man, i'm tired.

Ladies, if you're looking for a man, try shopping at Fleet n' Farm

In search of weather stripping, boots, an outdoor extention cord and a dog house door I was showered by more looks from men than I have in quite some time. I thought of my single women friends and how easy it would be for them to pick up guys at Fleet n' Farm. Yeah, except that every time I turned around I heard a husband talking to a wife like she was an idiot. I guess the deals aren't so hot after all.

Woodsmoke {and other thoughts}

ice...wind...frozen dog fur...coffee...latte...tea...warm smelling lotion...television...sideways snow out window...drafts...rattles...snow in shoe...frozen car doors...accomplished homework...brittle branches...introspection...cheese...breaks go tap/tap/tap...curled up on couch with 2 cats and husband...heater vents blowing...words...candles...hibernation...wish i were a bear.

{p.s. i love you winter.}

Yesterday...

...the sky was so blue that it turned into an ocean





...and dolphins fell to the earth.














Even the humans started acting strange. Go figure.

Because it's dark outside...

I want to go home and curl up with the cats on our big, fat couch. These dark days make for introspective times. Good also, for accomplishing what really needs to get done:

• Write Artist's Statement
• Continue work on "Breath" painting and start another.

Too bad I didn't get my bike tires aired up in time. I wanted to ride, but now it's raining. I think the weather might be turning into winter soon.

But this is not the post I intended. My thoughts are flimsy and quiet... I sit in silence.

22 degrees Fahrenheit...

today i walked the dog thinking that it is a coffee with cream, sugar and cinnamon day. 2 pots of coffee later and now even the windows are rattling. last night the wind brought down branches in our yard and neighborhood. it kicked open two windows that were formally painted shut. crash-bang. ghosts in the house and cats meowing. i ended up un-peacefully sleeping in the basement with round black balls of fur purring and pressed deep into the curves of my belly and legs.

and now it's already afternoon. i'v accomplished little-to-nothing. my feet are cold. there's a draft. but still, i love days like this. they give me an excuse to drink more coffee with cream, to light a few more candles, and to snuggle into the only chair in the house and start grading papers--before it gets dark.

"Blue Story" continued...

After workshopping a short piece I wrote last night and this morning about Mexico, I'm embarrassed to say that I was only vaguely aware of the Juarez murders--400 women kidnapped, raped, and killed. Indra and Pol wondered if this had been on my mind while I wrote. No, it wasn't. But tonight, after reading more about it, I realize that I now have more to say--much more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue Story

In Mexico men dress in jeans and dirty polo shirts. They wait on street corners clutching business cards in their cracked hands—hands held out to slow my progress from one curb to the other, “Ay, Señorita…Dentist? Do you need a dentist? Low prices…this way. Por favor.” I practice blindness, but am caught off guard by an inadvertent brush of an arm—I hesitate, blink to the street, then slip forward, back into the crowd.

It’s now been many months, but still, Mexico reminds me of dentists—and the color blue. Azure, the sky presses down on me. Morning sinks into the white of my winter skin in shifting patterns of coolness and warmth—sinking into bone and blood until even the dogs become blue—mangy and ragged, with sagging tits; they trot down alleyways with garbage in their mouths. The alleys, stinking of shit, stretch out like paths behind houses saddled side by side, stuck one to the other. But in my memory it is the dusty, thin-aired quality of light and a profusion of color that prevails. The blue dogs shine beneath a soft sun where everything is made brighter. I think to myself, to the dogs, to the men, and the women too, “I want you forever.” I feel Mexico low in my belly where blue turns to red and then back again. Children chant and women tease, their smooth necks exposed. “Ay, puta,” an old man yells from across the street. Not so innocent, not even the girls—except for one naive, but budding seductress—standing alone in a blue dress like the virgin robes of La Virgen de Guadalupe. Nuestra madre, saint, protectress of purity—standing in the dark, candle lit shadow of a doorway. But she’s not safe, not any of us—not even through marriage or faith—because in Mexico, sometimes, even the devil wears blue—swallowing women like water—leaving them covered in only blankets of stars.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

life is good.

living in town aint so bad when the neighbor comes over with a plate of freshly made fudge. and, oh man, it tastes sooooo goooooood!

paintable nature

autumn: when walking the dog becomes a hallucinogenic experience.

landscapes numero 2 and 3

last night I started another large painting, 60"x 48". This morning when I returned, it still wasn't dry (not even close)... so I started another, 24"x 24". They are going well--and I am quickly beginning to realize that these abstracts do not require the same amount of nitpicking that portraits do. That doesn't mean they're easier. In one sense, I have to trust my instincts more--they're easy to screw up. Anyway, they're not pure abstractions since they are landscapes--most existing only in my memory. I work with my fingers crossed and hope that, in the end, it will all hang well together.

This morning I walked to the studio and painted in a sun filled room with coffee and music. Bliss. At the moment the only thing I'm waiting for are these layers to dry so I can move onto the next. I'm impatient--but glad that things are progressing smoothly.

good medicine

lots of ibrueprophen and fettucinni alfredo with artichoke hearts made the migraine go away. hurray. hurray. now i can look forward to a late night of painting.

at the moment i'm listening to the velvet underground and drinking strong, black coffee. remembering long afternoons spent at mildred's--a cafe in madison that i frequented because i liked their sandwhiches and coffee served in old-school greasy diner white cups. i could have sat there drinking, eating, writing--forever. the velvet underground playing--forever. i would walk the 7 blocks home afterwards in the cold, along the way stopping at the liquor store for wine or sake. at midnight i'd take my old black dog japhy with me down to skate at the park, on the pond, in the dark. japhy--named after japhy rider in dharma bums by jack kerouac. i miss japhy and cold walks and dark nights and mildred's, sake, and white coffee cups.

it makes me sad to think: life here in bemidji is boring. or is it me?

extended blog thoughts...

Last night I updated my sidebar links and in doing so spent more time than usual checking out the links of others. I found J*me's links especially interesting. I enjoy finding and reading blogs that are intelligent, thoughtful, and well written. This one I especially like. Lately I've been feeling like my blog could be so much more than it is. What it boils down to is that I don't give enough time to writing in my life. Funny, considering that is exactly what my life is supposed to be about right now. Still, I am grateful for inspiration--where ever it is to be found.

Last night, I laid in bed reading student essays. For once I decided not to grade but just read. I ended up in fits of laughter and then nearly in tears. This time around they got to write about whatever they wanted. They are turning out to be some of their most powerful pieces of writing so far. One essay in particular made me stop. It made me want to get up right then and there--and write. Instead I sat there for probably a half hour in awe of my students' abililty to get ideas and thinking about how I've changed as a writer since my Freshman year in college. I found myself wishing that I could once again be a beginning writer--without all the worries I've gained along the way. I sat there asking myself, "what is holding me back?"; "why is it so much harder to come up with ideas?" I think the answer is fear of failure. I've somewhere along the lines acquired a fear of producing "minor" writing and, in the end, it's keeping me from producing any writing at all.

I told my class that I would be doing the writing right along with them. And some of it I have. But the essays I haven't written-- I feel like I'm not only letting them down, I'm letting myself down. This semester I have a group of incredibly inspiring students. I don't want to miss my opportunity to write along with such an remarkable group. Lately I've been finding inspiration in many places. But I keep waiting for the dam to burst. Until it does, I guess there's only one thing left to do: write. I think I've heard myself say that before.

things to do:

Today:
drink lots of coffee (did that)
go for a long, long walk with wolfie (did that)
then go for another (did that)
clean up the mess i've already made of my writing room (not gonna do that)
grade essays (nope, not yet)
read advanced writing essays (not that either)
go to alicia's art opening @ the BCAC (ouch. got cancelled. long story.)
drink wine (drinking more coffee instead)
write (i wish)
listen to good music (the best of carly simon. ha!)

Things I did instead:
hauled canvases
cleaned and rearranged studio
ran errands
watched tv
took a really long shower
where the hell did today go??? (oohhhh...it's only 6pm. but so dark!)

Tomorrow. Sunday. Monday:
paint
paint
paint
paint
paint
paint
paint
paint
and write.

(oh, i suppose there's plenty of other things i should be doing too. if i ignore it will it go away? yeah right.)

Road Trip!

A beautiful cold, grey, almost winter day to put on my big black turtle neck sweater, go through the coffee shop drive thru... and hit the road!

A short trip to the cities for over-sized art materials (and maybe some greek food!). There are a few things I really love. Cold weather, travel, and art supplies are definately towards the top of the list.

"fall back"

take anu for a walk... or go back to bed? grey day. so hard to decide.

news from a small world

3 bombs exploded on Saturday in Delhi--one of them in Paharganj--where I stayed each time in Delhi. I'm reminded, once again, that this world is not only fragile, but small.

Today, from my journal:
Paharganj. The street outside has been breathing with motion all day. Not like the antiseptic and methodical business I know of home. No, the movements of Paharganj are filled with dust, and life, and color. Coming home from the market, I was swept away by the tide--a swell of pressing, human current that brought me to the heels of a small woman wrapped in a python. Its cold strength close enough to murder me. Nothing like the charmed cobra that entranced me earlier today. A tide of sensation--—assaulted by life and death, beauty and apprehension in each step. This is Paharganj, where the soft sounds of mixing flour and water for chapatis fill the air and drift through windows, delicately, before being dissolved by the commotion of a city filled with eight and a half million people...

(interesting what a tense shift will do to the mind.)

And a painting, so big I don't know what to do with it:



It is a culture that has changed very little, yet tremendously, in the last several thousand years. I wonder-- what will be different when I return?

my "writing room"

So here I am--
starting over with a less complicated life. It is my first time sitting down, in this new room, to write.

Outside my window grey skies filter through the green of pine needles; sporadic sunshine catches what is left of maple leaves. There is the occasional whir or rumble of traffic outside, but mostly it is only quiet. The bright red trim of Lauren and Sean's house is, for some reason, alive and comforting. And beyond their rooftop, another pine reaches farther into the sky. This is "city" life. But it aint all bad. In this room I feel surrounded not only by nature, but by India. I return to writing life--this time, without reluctance.

I have my candles and tea and a new journal for the new direction my life is about to take. On the inside cover it reads:

"Inspirations. In her dreamtime she found inspiration. She savored her sleep for the wealth of ideas, images and solutions that waited for her there."

In this place I will return to the dreamtime, long walks, lingering thoughts. Life has made me tired. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I am amazed by how much I've aged-- not just in the last couple years, but in the past several weeks. Exhausted-- there are times I barely recognize myself.

But this pine tree and all the walking--I do, believe it or not, feel myself returning to me. May life never run away from me again.

Saying goodbye.

Thank you to the South--for the brilliant colors and change of seasons.
Thank you to the West--for the most incredible sunsets I have ever seen.
Thank you to the North--for enough northern lights to fill a lifetime.
Thank you to the East--for an ocean of leaves, the sunrise... and new beginnings.

Thank you Anu--for teaching me adaptability.

The moving has seriously begun...

...considering the only thing we have left at our (old) house are the rugs, 2 cats, 1 dog, a refrigerator full of food, and 10 bags of garbage...ok, and a few misl. items as well (where the hell does all this misl. keep coming from???).

Anyway... no computer at (either) home for a couple of days. Life in a box is strange. I figure if I keep working hard, without too much rest, I'll exhaust myself enough that I won't bawl my head off the last time I close that door. Selling this place is probably the stupidest thing I have ever done. Necessary, but stupid.

People that inspire me:

Now this woman, she is really living.

Earthquake in India...

Listening to the radio as I drove home last night I heard about the earthquake in India. My hand flew to turn up the volume with "oh-my-god" speed. This is not the first time I've feared for the safety of my Ladakhi family. Nor will it probably be the last. While in India, I lived with a family in a remote village of the Himalayas. Over the course of a month and a half they became my real family. I love them and miss them. And am grateful beyond words that they are ok.

God I miss them!

"BIG" dreams

While surfing for a good deal on canvas...look what I found! 160" aluminum and wood stretcher bars (that won't warp!!!).

THAT'S 13 AND A HALF FEET! Oh-- can you imagine?!?! That much stretched canvas is an artist's dream (well mine anyway)! I'm drooling. But (for now) I might have to settle for the 48"-60" range.

Once again, all is quiet on the gallery homefront.

Oh blessed Saturday, how I love thee.

But I am soooo tired...soooo stiff... I would like to crawl under this desk and sleep like a cat. But I remain upright in my attempt to remain (at least slightly) professional. Needless to say, there is some pretty good art up this month. If I actually owned a digital camera I would post pictures of my favorites...but I don't. I would link to the BCAC site...but why bother? It hasn't been updated since last May. I wish I would have actually remembered something from Web Design class. I would update it myself. But my mind is a technological sieve... and I don't have a camera... or permission. blahblahblah. Yeah- I told you I was tired!

This evening I will unload another van-load of stuff. Then I'll paint our bedroom. "Whale." That's blue-gray to you humans. In the meantime... I'm beginning to feel like I'm floating.

Over and out.

Tonight the sky is a Turner painting. Tidal waves of black clouds washing away a blue sky only to break apart and reform themselves in new configurations of light and dark.

I just returned from hiking with wolfie. Several hours of tromping in the wet woods behind my house. Dang, how many people can literaly hike for hours and not see a soul-- in their back yard? I can. I didn't want to turn back home, thinking that it might be my last opportunity to walk these woods. Very soon it will no longer be my back yard. I force myself to return to the present...

It was cold and wet and wonderful. I kept finding myself stopped and trying to memorize the trees and skies. I couldn't do it. I had to give up and just breath it in. Eventually Anu and I got "unlost" and returned home where I just finished the best bowl of Indian style lentil soup with fresh tomatoes in my life. Mmmm--cold day, long walk, warm soup. I could be happy this way.

SnowSnow! I saw snow!

At 6:58 this morning, as I rounded the corner between Bridgeman and Hagg-Sauer, floating gently from the dark sky into the orange glow of an outdoor light-- was snow!

Oh today is a good. The first snow fall--my favorite day of the year!

aniversario numero dos

2 dozen apricot colored roses
dinner including:
candlelight,
champagne,
a shared meal,
and triple chocolate desert
the yearly photo
coffee
movie
and
dancing to our wedding song.

Life is good.

Happy Anniversary Vincenzo!
xoxoxo

Well, well--look what I found.

My first blog. Back when I went by the name of Iris Rain. I miss her.

and am reminded...
"Every time you don't follow your inner guidance, you feel a loss of energy, loss of power, a sense of spiritual deadness." -- Shakti Gawain

They're talking snow.

But I fear not.
We are as tough as last year's brussel sprouts.

Yellow Marigold and Oregano.

I've spent the last several days...uh... god, where to begin? I'm not sure it's interesting enough to recap.

The move has begun.

Friday involved moving the basement... or at least a load that reached from front to back, and top to bottom of the mini-van. That's only half of it and I'm amazed at the amount of stuff I have accumulated down there. But after reorganizing it is magically seeming to fit in 1/10 of the space. Plastic totes are a good thing (I suppose).

Saturday involved painting my new "Writing Room" Marigold Yellow. It took an entire day. I did the ceiling, the trim, the doors, the walls. And then when I was done I felt like I was going to have a heart attack from the intensity of the color. My eyes bugged out and I started talking faster and faster to all that visited. I went home that night and had nightmares... all involving Marigold Yellow. Bummer. It was such a beautiful color-- but it had to go.

Then came Sunday and V. and I spent half the day driving to Grand Rapids to sell a painting. I was hoping to come home with an $800.00 check, but instead only came home with a half a tank of gas and nothing to show for it except a beautiful new journal that I found (and should not have bought) from Brewed Awakenings. The guy that wanted to buy it is from the cities-- a professor of architecture at the U of M. He brought his art collector friend with to help him make the decision to buy or not-- and they decided that the brick color of his wall would not do my painting justice. I thought--fuck that-- $800 bucks would do my painting justice! But whatever. I was dealing with "the big guns"-- REAL art buffs. You know, the kind that know what they're talking about and know what they're looking at. The art collector told me that I was a good painter-- a really good painter-- and that is rare because there aren't many. Well thank you for the compliment. But I went home poor. The rich architect went on his merry way completely oblivious to our own busy schedule and the time we sacrificed just so he could "look" at the painting again. Argh. Ok... he's still interested. Who knows. Maybe I will still sell it. Geez, and we drove right through Deer River and couldn't even stop to say hi to Audrey cuz we didn't know her #. Damn. What a waste-- I tell you!

Instead, V. and I spent the drive home arguing about riduculous things--namely, my thesis. To be honest, I'm completely stressed and a little freaked out about the whole thing. So-- unable to cope with the complexites of graduating... after returning home I drove BACK into town and painted into the dark hours of the night a wonderful Oregano green. Oh yes-- this is the color of inspiration. I WILL write that thesis!

I slept not nearly enough and this morning rushed to town to deposit money to avoid impending bouncing of checks (reminder to self: balance your damn checkbook more often!). Then cleaned the new house with my mom for a few hours.

It smells like oranges now (verses old, spilled beer).

At the moment I should be grading papers... but instead I've just spent nearly a half hour filling you in on my oh so (not) interesting life! Oh----but the green is not boring!!!!

Did I mention that moving is a LOT of damn work?! Oh yeah, you all know that. And it will be a miracle if I graduate--but yes vinny, miracles DO happen-- so there.

By the way, tomorrow's our anniversary. :)