even if that means I have to rent a storage space somewhere, or gather materials to build something closer to home. I suppose if I was digging and drilling holes in the yard and in some nice 4x4s my husband at some point would say oh no, honey, you're doing that all wrong, and maybe a new shed would appear, with no holes in the roof and no rotting plywood floor, someplace with light and space to work. because I keep bumping into things, and twice now the sleeve of my shed coat has gotten singed by candles. I don't need a fancy space to work, but safe and warm would be nice.
I love my shed, there's no question about that. and I work outside of it, as often as I can, on the bigger pieces of plywood and so on. at the moment I'm painting a bamboo screen, it's coming along nicely, it's the cut-off bottom of the bamboo blind that's in our bedroom.
so I think I need to open my own bank account, and start selling some of the things I've made and don't need anymore now that I've learned whatever I needed to learn from the making/unmaking/remaking of them, unless of course I can give them away as gifts. I much prefer that. but I've been invited to put up some art for sale next week and who knows, someone might take a shine to something I've made and the more I let things go, the more room I make for something new.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
so perhaps it's more accurate to say my mind's a blur rather than a blank. I attribute this to the macy's thanksgiving day parade, or the little we managed to watch of it, the bloated shiny spectacle, the idle chatter, the endless stream of interchangeable overwrought singers.
bleh. it all leaves a bad taste in the mouth, or mine anyway. and a corresponding dullness in the brain. this is why I only watch tv three or four times a year. I'd much rather go paint something.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
what does this have to do with anything? I have no idea. it just popped into my head.
and whatever it has to do with something, it certainly has nothing to do with this poor dog.
though it did make us smile, the costume. and the dog suffered the delight of the crowd with calm disregard. and perhaps he even enjoyed the whole charade, the obvious pun, the clowning.
after all, who even vaguely recalls the man leading him down the street? but the dog is immortal now, as far as I'm concerned. anonymous as he is, as we all are.
Monday, November 17, 2008
as much as anything's ever accomplished. made some prints from carved/waxed/painted pieces of salvaged plywood. my husband says one of them looks like a cardinal's head, or an eye and a beak anyway. I didn't have a cardinal (or even a bird) in mind when I was carving them, but then again I do most things in a trance half the time anyway, lulled by the soothing repetive motions of the carving knife scooping out long curls of wood, or the sandpaper rasping away, smoothing the edges, the leftover bits of dollar store candles scraping softly back and forth aross the wood, and then a soft rag or the sleeve of my poor tattered spattered shed coat polishing.
power tools and faster, more efficient ways of doing things have a particular appeal. but you can't really lose yourself in birdsong when you're plugged in to something and you've got sharp loud machines going.
anyway. some groups of threes, stacked up in the basement the spools are still hanging in. these have nothing to do with birds either. (though the little niches in the bricks make me think of nests. or that hole in the concrete wall on ivy street with the moss coming out of it, the one I put that egg-shaped rock in one time.)
Friday, November 14, 2008
and it was a quiet, noisy day. I strung film spools on wire and hung it on a pillar in a basement and called it an installation of art. I went to two new places, met four new people and a very nice dog. didn't get lost, or flustered by exits or traffic. followed through on promises made, made more. came home, sat with a cup of coffee for twenty minutes and then made roast beef and mashed potatoes and diced carrots and gravy for supper, and chocolate chip cookies for a bedtime snack.
the girls are sleeping on the futon in the living room, a friday night tradition that's been going on for a few months now. they're watching a movie, in their pink pajamas, happy on blue sky flannel sheets with clouds and smiling suns on them. two cats are purring, there are crayons and playdoh all over the table and a basket of laundry to fold. and the weekend to look forward to, and next week, and all the days past that to whenever the days stop.
it was a good day. I'm thankful for it.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
but then again, I berate myself for thoughtlessness and cluelessness often. so I suppose it all balances out. what must it be like to think just enough, I wonder.
you think too much. you worry too much. you feel too much.
you get the picture. it's the excess, and then the veering back madly (blissfully, regretfully) to the not enough, the feast a famine of moderation, the plenty stretched thin and transparent.
oh blah blah blah. the words, always, waiting, tumbling over each other. pick me, pick me! the ideas, jostling for attention, all elbows and promises.
she's a bright and creative child, but I wish she'd work harder, apply herself, she shows such potential, she daydreams too much. she's too shy. she talks too much.
never enough, or too loud, feelings like ripe bright nerves, glistening, electric.
a cartoon I saw once and wish I'd kept. or kept and lost. or still have, but where? an artist, stereotypically french beret-wearing mustached man about to sit on a chair with a big obvious nail poking up on it.
the wife (?) and the horrified child, no pierre, don't sit. (seet, they say, in that cartoon text french.)
but I must, he says.
of course he must. I'd much rather have this purpose and clarity burning than the other, colder kind of away.
so I suppose I should stop searching in vain for something interesting or so dull it fascinates and just let him in, go to the store, and buy something or other for supper. it's a beautiful day, for november. the fallen leaves are wet from the rain of the last few days, and bright, especially the cherry leaves. I've started gathering them in bowls to perfume the shed, and the other night we had a nice fire outside and at the end when it was down to glowing coals, I piled wet cherry leaves on top and oh the sweet scent that floated up, in clouds, like the souls of leaves.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
apparently my fingers, cold and clumsy from painting in and on the shed, decided to hit some keys without letting me know about it and there you go, post done just like that, mid-sentence. mid-title even.
my fingers are clever editors.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
but this was the big one, with the mechanics of coition and reproduction tastefully and briefly described. apparently a helpful friend who's one grade ahead and oh so worldly decided to share some misinformation.
I handled it well, it was really no big deal. we've already talked openly about death, and profound doubts about divine plans and so on.
anyway. it's been an exhausting day, what with driving into the big city in the rain and missing an exit on the way home because of fuzzy thinking and the resulting 15 minute detour while I tried to figure out how to turn around and get going in the right direction. and then homework, supper, laundry, bathtime, more homework, cuddling, dishes and oh finally, lights out, and the dishes and clothes drying, the girls and cats sleeping, my husband at work and the house briefly still.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
not that I imagine it looks any different.
no pictures on this computer yet, but I've got 717 (the last couple weeks' worth) being unloaded from the camera right now. and then there's another card full, waiting.
believe it or not, I take fewer pictures these days. wait longer to click the button. but I still take far too many.
stayed up last night to watch the election results. sounds of joy are still echoing in our little brown house.