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.