A drop of water slides down the inside of my palm and as it traces it's delicate way along the inside of my wrist -I slap at it as I would a mosquito.
I am fidgeting; I am that kid -unthinkingly, unknowingly, popping their gum... over and over and over...
Be Present.
I chant this to myself whenever I am getting ready. Like at launch at Strawberry reservoir last week. I had built a 'wall' with my wing, lines in my hands and I considered the ground under my feet, the rock behind my left foot and the sky clear behind me...
I came back to my wing and looked at my wall. Mentally I pulled it up, watching for my check, tossing quick glances to assess my lines while turning, hands dancing -and then I came back; back to my wing, back to right now, to the moment and then I launched.
Returning to this right now- I am working on a painting that means something.
All of my work means something, of course. Some of them are expression of laughter, joy, wonder; while looking at a couple I hope you are a teeny bit tipsy like I was too.... Some are a memory, others are wishes and then there are the ones embodying my questions -
This one is a tribute-
-No, that is the wrong word.
This one is Remembrance.
That may be the word. Let me roll it around in my head for a minute.
A few nights ago, I had a dream.
I was sitting on the front lawn with Dee. We were scheming; our bright eyes and crooked grins lit with excitement as we planned out the 'Year-We-Both-Would-Be-Eighteen'. In this dream, at a pause between Dee and I; I reached over and squeezed my Grandmother's hand. She was standing slightly behind me and had leaned over to show me a bear.
As I started to ask her about her latest creation, Grandpa, gruffly, interrupted our conversation to tell me I looked all right. Light flickered in my eyes and I looked away from them to register that I was seeing Rinny's Dan, leaning against a tree, smiling at me. Bemused I waved and then my old lady, my beloved Sal, came over and settled half way onto my lap (not an easy feat; my Sally weighed in at 90 pounds in her hey days).
This piece is them and that they are still with me. I don't know what happens after Reader. I haven't any misconceptions about a God in a cloud or Angels at Golden Gates. I just feel they are still with me. Sending glimpses of what was and what is.
And maybe all I can catch are leaves and feathers from the other side but I am grateful for the damn feathers.
Be Present.
My hand hovers, nervous with need, that hungry driven ache in my eyes, my hand hovers over the blank white canvas.
And then the wind sighs outside; she sighs and I feel her breath in my bones, and I relax and begin...
I am fidgeting; I am that kid -unthinkingly, unknowingly, popping their gum... over and over and over...
Be Present.
I chant this to myself whenever I am getting ready. Like at launch at Strawberry reservoir last week. I had built a 'wall' with my wing, lines in my hands and I considered the ground under my feet, the rock behind my left foot and the sky clear behind me...
I came back to my wing and looked at my wall. Mentally I pulled it up, watching for my check, tossing quick glances to assess my lines while turning, hands dancing -and then I came back; back to my wing, back to right now, to the moment and then I launched.
Returning to this right now- I am working on a painting that means something.
All of my work means something, of course. Some of them are expression of laughter, joy, wonder; while looking at a couple I hope you are a teeny bit tipsy like I was too.... Some are a memory, others are wishes and then there are the ones embodying my questions -
This one is a tribute-
-No, that is the wrong word.
This one is Remembrance.
That may be the word. Let me roll it around in my head for a minute.
A few nights ago, I had a dream.
I was sitting on the front lawn with Dee. We were scheming; our bright eyes and crooked grins lit with excitement as we planned out the 'Year-We-Both-Would-Be-Eighteen'. In this dream, at a pause between Dee and I; I reached over and squeezed my Grandmother's hand. She was standing slightly behind me and had leaned over to show me a bear.
As I started to ask her about her latest creation, Grandpa, gruffly, interrupted our conversation to tell me I looked all right. Light flickered in my eyes and I looked away from them to register that I was seeing Rinny's Dan, leaning against a tree, smiling at me. Bemused I waved and then my old lady, my beloved Sal, came over and settled half way onto my lap (not an easy feat; my Sally weighed in at 90 pounds in her hey days).
This piece is them and that they are still with me. I don't know what happens after Reader. I haven't any misconceptions about a God in a cloud or Angels at Golden Gates. I just feel they are still with me. Sending glimpses of what was and what is.
And maybe all I can catch are leaves and feathers from the other side but I am grateful for the damn feathers.
Be Present.
My hand hovers, nervous with need, that hungry driven ache in my eyes, my hand hovers over the blank white canvas.
And then the wind sighs outside; she sighs and I feel her breath in my bones, and I relax and begin...
'Still Here'
16" X 20" X 1.5"
(Oil Pastel, Acrylic, Canvas)
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