it is a sleepy monday. every one is in bed, warm and dreaming on their extra day off. the sun is up and bright. a good day for outdoor painting. but inga and i must go obey The Almighty Jog before getting wrapped up in anything else. lately, the canvas has held on to me for a straight 6 hours at a minimum. and once i start, i don't stop. today, we must go bounce through the green before anything else.
we didn't get out much this weekend and we both need the sweat. we were too busy hiding from the onslaught: our little town was chewed up by wine-hungry tourists this weekend. there is no doubt in my mind that a few new roadside memorials will be up soon. the sirens were going almost constantly for the past 3 days. this is where people come to drink and laugh and drive fast down the windy two-lane highways, pretending it's the french countryside, all fantasy and reverie. the reality of it is that this is the land of alcoholism and brutal car crashes, decapitations and mothers in mourning. not to mention the deep level of unnoticed (or shunned) poverty. there are small, white, handmade crosses around almost every bend in the road. little trinkets nestled at the base, signs, love letters, stuffed animals, and balloons. on big drinking weekends like memorial day and st. patrick's day, these crosses multiply. silently and in the middle of the night.
moving here has cured me of the everyday american alcoholism that tv promotes. i haven't had a drink in 9 months and i don't miss it. the allure is gone. i sleep better now than i have in years and i have such a high level of focus too. i have become a teetotaler. ha! much to the amazement of a great many friends.
maybe i should photograph them. the crosses. i always want to stop when i see them. to pay attention. to pay respect. these small shrines that mark a site of horrible loss have always caught my eye and heart. it makes me even sadder when they fall in to disrepair or are removed by whatever state agency is in charge of removing such things.
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.