My tulips were quite nice this year.

Mind you, I can't take credit for them. I didn't put the bulbs in, they were here when we bought the house. They had done some work to the foundation and then were left with a bunch of bare dirt under the living room window, so they threw in some bulbs and now that we've been here two and a half years and I've pretty much let things spread how they felt like, the pattern is establishing itself and all I have to do is sit back and observe, and edit. I enjoy editing.

So almost as soon as the tulips bloomed they were plucked and taken to the shed. Flowers last a long time there, even without water. On days when I'm prone to fanciful notions I attribute this to magic; on days dominated by reason I come up with other answers. The real answer isn't of much concern to me, for the most part. I expect it's a mix of magic and science.

Been taking lots of pictures.

Pictures, video, yard work - and, of course, the ever-present laundry.

Sometimes, I must admit, I fling the wet clothes into the dryer so enthusiastically they bang the drum like a bell. This is usually when I'm a little irritated at someone for doing something or other. The reasons for irritation vary. It's me, of course, and my reaction, and not so much the events that transpire that are the problem. I realize this, even as I'm gritting my teeth against the sharp words and throwing wet socks like baseballs.

But I have such transcendent moments sometimes. And then even the mundane acts of duty are elevated by love into gifts, given and received. It all balances out. I just tend to cling to the extremes, but I believe I've got as much of the middle as I'm entitled to, if anyone's entitled to anything.

Inside the shed a night or two ago.

I've stopped painting on the shed for the moment. Actually, I haven't painted for days now. I've been taking lots of pictures, singing, recording bits of birdsong, hail, train whistles, things like that. The place I live is rich with them, church bells, lawnmowers, ship's horns/whistles, big dogs barking, planes, jets, frogs, wind chimes, and so on. It's been a dream of mine for some time to incorporate all these sounds into music of some sort, with images projected through/onto various things as accompaniment, some random and some planned juxtapositions.

Which has nothing to do with painting the shed, I suppose. But anyway. This is part of the wall I painted white in a video posted quite some time ago. It's nowhere near done, but what ever is?

Instantiation: a representation of an idea in the form of an instance of it.

This is the bottom piece of a cupcake display rack, re-purposed, though not in any sort of necessary or important way; it just seemed like an interesting diversion. It was fine as a display rack except for the fact that I don't make cupcakes often enough to need one. Maybe at your house baked goods are around long enough to be objects requiring that kind of care and attention. At my house it's pretty much: Hey, where did all the cupcakes go?

Anyway. I took it to the shed and disassembled it (and I hope the friend who gave it to me won't mind) and wound a thick piece of wire (some kind of Christmas lawn ornament hanger I got at a yard sale) around the bolt that sticks up on the right side of the workbench (the one I saved one hot trash day back in Texas) and stuck the bottom piece on there pretty good and now it's a Kinetic Sculpture, or so I've taken to calling it. I'll title it Boingy Metal Sculpture #1 or something arty like Impromptu #1: Extemporaneous Instantiation with Smoke.

Tired from the day's work. A good feeling.

So it's early to bed. Happy, working. Epiphanies.

I knew, when I was seventeen, what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, but I got busy with other things.

I became afraid. Some of those fears were valid, but some have done little more than hold me back from accomplishing what I knew I wanted to devote my life to. I lost myself on the sand around the fire the summer of my seventeenth birthday, listening to those so much older and worldweary talk about the inconsequentialities of existence, and art; now I see myself off in the distance. I look older than I remember, but I'm pretty sure it's me I'm looking at.

I think I'll go to the beach tomorrow. Don't expect I'll start a fire, as there are signs posted prohibiting such an action, and I'm mostly law-abiding. Mind you, by the charred wood here and there, it's obvious the rule hasn't been strictly adhered to. Maybe some late afternoon, a dusk fire. Might even be worth the fine, if it comes to that. (Though I expect my husband would think otherwise. He recalls the graffiti on the fence back in Texas.)

If I could, I'd run off and join the circus, but I've committed myself here so I suppose I'll just have to go to the beach in the meantime and wait for the circus train to roll into town. I hope there's a parade. It would be an ethical circus, of course, no rigged games at the carnival and the animals and the workers all happy and content.

Yes, the circus would be nice, but the beach is only ten minutes away, just past the thrift store and yesterday was payday. And I came into a few dollars of my own this week, for moving some boxes around, so I'm feeling flush. I'll see if there's anything interesting since the last time I rifled through the shelves and racks and listened to the ladies chatter kindly to the customers, and offer them free bread. They're sweet, and helpful, and unfailingly polite. Ladies, definitely. And then I'll pick myself up something for a little picnic and go play in the sand, take way too many pictures of fascinating waves, drag home some driftwood for the firepit or to lean up against the shed with the others leaning there.

And then it will be time to welcome the girls home from school and make supper and get my husband off to work and then go paint or do some yardwork, it's been good weather for both those activities lately. It's Spring.

battling pointlessness.

things seem to be getting brighter. painting helps. and sweet little notes like this.

the beginning of a mural in the garage.

I've started on the garage even though I haven't finished the shed yet. the shed's about two-thirds painted inside and out, except for the roof, though I did start on one corner of that (it's brown) to make it look mossy. I've done most of the ceiling, it's sort of like sky and flowers (roses and wisteria so far) and feathers, or leaves, I have no idea. could be fish scales. I just paint and don't worry about what it is I'm painting, I just enjoy the brush, and the stretch in my neck and back when I'm looking up. oil paint stays on the brush better; when I was using the latex enamel and the cheap craft acrylic paints I ended up getting speckled here and there.

eventually, all the places I've started painting will collide, and then I'll be done, and then I'll have to find another space, a real studio maybe, or maybe not. the bathroom needs some cheering up. I think it needs a mural, or maybe just a nice soft leafy dappled sort of effect on the walls. (my husband just shakes his head. I don't understand art, he says, but I'm happy you're so happy doing it.)

Well. This one has some odd colouring effects, as well.

I think my digital devices are in revolt.

I'm not, actually.

But now it would appear I'll have to plan my pictures around not just the spot on my lens (the camera's fingerprint) but also this garbling when I upload to my blog. It's not such a bad thing, really, learning to work within seemingly restrictive parameters.

my first sculpture.

no time for the rules of punctuation today - day five of spring break and things are going well - making lots of things.

this is the top piece of a mold for a bowl, it was a pretty hefty circle. I made short work of it with the pruning saw, and enthusiastically reduced it to about a third of its original bulk.

(I believe the memory card this was on has gone bad, as pictures from it seem to be garbled - not on the computer, but once uploaded. the camera's almost exhausted, poor thing. I don't take very good care of it, despite the fact that I love it dearly. then again, I expect a fair bit from myself, and the camera has no feelings that I am aware of, so I suppose I'm not doing a terrible harm by asking it to endure all it does. I don't carry it around my neck anymore, it was making my neck ache. so most of the time now it's in my pocket, the long loop of the cord hung out to catch on things.)

in any case, I'm pleased with the sculpture, and feel I've strayed enough from the original shape to call it my own. and I believe I could easily make a plaster circle, so I don't feel so bad about wrecking this one.

it's sort of like reinventing the wheel, I suppose. but I don't mind that so much.