Lots of work to do!

It is cold outside and I am working away in the studio. Those are detail shots of two pieces in-progress. I've also been trying to set time aside every week to write... 

Getting ready for my show in April at Nahcotta and my solo show in July at the MacRostie Art Center. 

End of summer textures and thoughts

 

It is Fall again. It is darkness seeping into both sides of the day. Rain and scents of things that are slowly turning brown. Clouds that are low in the sky and heavy above the buildings.

I am in between. Waiting to move. Big projects pending on the packing of boxes. It feels yucky to have clean hands. I am itching to be settled and working. 

This is the shape my heart makes

Last night I dreamt that I was diving into a pool over and over again. I stood on the side with my toes hanging over the ledge and made an incredible jump up, a turn, and a deep plunge down, down, down into the water. While I was underwater I kept moving downward, it grew increasingly dark and light colored bubbles moved past me with a popping texture. If I kept my form underwater my body would create a kind of pressure that pushed me back up toward the surface with incredible force. 

Things about today

I'm holding Coil XV print

Today was snow flurries moving sideways and upward as much as they fell. It was heavy eyelids, and beneath a grey sky it was a big dome packed full of light. Inside it were legs moving quickly over artificial grass. Today regret held me, it shone its light on the things that are most dear and made them feel incredibly tender and pliable and delicate. Today my hands are dry and the water is frozen and feels like a burden on top of everything. How many cycles of freezing and thawing can a person take? I know, even as I ask, that I will take what needs taking.

Here it is winter...

... and it's hard to remember that there is water moving in other places of the world. These photos are from another time and place and season.

I woke up early last week. Night was still hanging onto everything and I wrote this:

I move apart -
joints floating away from their sockets,
skin draped with flails of muscle rippling,
blood has to move a mile from my hands to my heart,
cells orbit slowly around bones.
My dreams are fire far off in the distance
and wolves who pull animal noises from my throat.
Even the moon follows me here,
its path a twisted helix along the horizon.
My stomach turns over.
The body knows.

This morning...

...I woke up with a vivid dream and these words in my head:

The dream cracked open and both halves rolled away from me.

P.S. Luis took this photo

My hands hurt. I have cuts that are healing and drying and cracking back open. Bending my fingers feels like grinding my teeth. I never want to live in Miami again. Time and distance has strengthened my assurance. I have all of these words knocking together inside of me and there is water in the streets of New York City. It crashes against the buildings. How many great storms will it take? Restless. Running makes me feel strong. Pounding, pushing myself back down into my body. Why am I always leaving when it feels so good to be right here in this very moment? Blue and black ink. Lines. Lots of space to fill. Hours and hours and hours. Work. More hand aches. Body aches. The cold gets in between my bones. Hardens my muscles. Piano keys in my ears. Bheetoven... Beethoven... how the hell do you spell his name? Moonlight Sonata grabs these pieces inside of me and pulls on them. That matters more than spelling. More than words and names and order. I am shuffled into place sometimes.

Writing sketches:
When I walk there is a tunnel above me.
It spirals up off of my shoulders.
I cannot pass through it.
I stop and look up,
the day drying out my open mouth.
I wonder at its purpose
beckoning me up, up!