Leaving Gma’s 09.25.18
Right before the fall. 09.20.18
And here I am on the flight to Houston to see the great lady, Paula Rosebrugh. My love has just landed in New York City, on his way to Maine.
Doors open graciously
through the line.
Weaver...ah, it feels so good to long for you in the dark, darling.
I can taste again the salt of the 7 seas.
Two hands floating in the sky
Each holding a tiny black seed.
About to drop.
she is in the sky, with wings.
The moon is bright and happy in the web.
She flies over the bed of the two who have just made love.
What seed is she planting from that cinder? what creature What sort of Spirit will be borne from that seed...
The blankets fold over and an eye opens at the foot of the bed.
Covers floating on the face of the spirit.
Good morning, Malcolm...9.05.18
Malcolm: and you may look back at your life and sort of laugh. Thinking of what you thought you would have done and what you actually did. And sometimes what you actually did turned out better than what you would have done.”
“Can I draw you while you read your paper?”
No!” He says with a little shriek. “You think that when you draw me...represent me in 2D form, you will suck my soul, and you’ll look over and find nothing but a coffee cup and a pile of dust in the corner!”
Some random facts and opinions of malcolm: “The Swedes save 9% of their income! Most Americans don’t save anything...it’s a window into a completely different economy!”-he reads the Economist
“Also, about going out to eat, malcolm says, “if we spent our life doing what was most practical and economical, we would lead a pretty mean life. Going out to eat is one of the luxuries left, in my opinion.” 9-5-18
Funny Little Shadow 9.3.18
My shadow tips it’s hat, good morning! To the wind, the rocks, the blackberry branches, the shadows on the rocks. To the rock in the middle of my stomach. My shadow moves with the wind, is one with all things. The dead, the hollow tanzy, the thistle and the breeze. My shadow is my friend. By it, you know I have flesh and bone. Hair and skin. I have organs warm and pink. I have stories and memories. Places I go to in my mind. I have magic and love and power in my thought, in my prayers. I have power in my love. 9-4-2018.
Learn to love and to get to know your own darling, funny shadow.
Temperance and the seagull people 9-2-18
Went to the water at the old boat yard by the Studio. a windy evening. I brought a sleeping bag with me, and craw of course. I thought I caught the birds in their last flight. But I spoke too soon! the great heron flies and a sparrow, another seagull and 4 sparrows, high wind picks up. Two people walk up, climb the fence, Craw barks at them, I sing Van Morison and he listens.the first bird looks like a person with wings. Watching the sky fade. The clouds brighten with the setting sun. craw curled up with me in the sleeping bag, like old times.
like a wharf rat with sleeping bag. Gazing into the fading day over the water. my butt on the rocks. I feel more temperance today, she with wings and one foot on land and one on the water.
Ah and the birds come out to play again, with open wings. The stronger the wind, the better. I stretched my arms into the air, imagine one cup fill the next, and the bird flying from the chalice. Sky a pale green. Great heron. Waves turn into clouds, clouds into birds, waves into birds.
It does feel sacred out here. the water of my eyes. The coolness of my eyes in the wind feels like a cool fire.
The people, seagull and the seagull people 9-2-18
amateur: to love
First day of Spring, May 20th 2018
Sketch of the plum blossoms I sacrificed for the drawing group today. Writing during the small breaks during art modeling: 10 min. A single stand of hair before my eyes, in naked meditation. The light from the heat lamp lighting up my face. The strand becomes a rainbow, and I think about existence. Gazing into the lightbulb. Seeing a dark eye in the heart of it. Hanging from a string of several bulbs, surrounding me in a half crescent, a dozen artists and 24 eyes, each a stem, each a person, everyone existing is a wonder to me. Laying down for the twenty minute pose, seeing shapes emerge in the wood grain. A face of a man with a large protruding forehead. My eyes begin to tear up from the dryness of the heat lamp, a few large drops wash over my vision. The man disappeared for a moment. And the song on the classical radio begins to play. “Seeds of spring” the wood grain shape turns into two reflecting flowers.
Reflections. In the right frame is my grandma in cowgirl garb, some sixty years ago. The left is a mirror and my own face, in the present. Behind my face is my brother at age 10, in another frame within the frame. Then, now, then again...All in the little mirror now. Lives in my hand, so many stories...drawing opens many doors into the past. Looking in the mirror does the same...Reflecting many faces. And both drawing and reflecting in This moment, I am, I feel present with myself and vision. Sometimes while I drift to sleep, I have a vision. Sometimes when I wake I have some sight what to draw, maybe it’s a remembering of a dream. Here, when I seem to have forgotten the vision, I Look: To the hand and the eye. See and draw what is before me, in reflection...and the story goes on and on and on. May it be a story of a growing love for my family, although we are distant, May we see one another in the same mirror. A frame without frame again. 1-2-18