i am smiling at you.

work work work work work. and with it, a return to my true self. an embrace of a previous piece. something i lost or was stolen or slipped away without my notice or was just plain ol' beat the fuck out of me during the passed few rough years. because haven't the passed few years been exceptionally rough for all of us? it sure seems like it. and there was some damage to acquire and then some damage to repair... and now, such a deep, soothing sigh in my day. and elation! i wake up and make myself a super hot english breakfast tea and head back to bed with my notebook. i wake up early just to luxuriate in the divinity of The Long Morning. i write and write and write.

there, on the page, is where i catch myself. it is where i create myself. those crisp blue lines have held me for years. ever since i learned to write. and even before that! as a very small child i use to scribble loops across the lines of my father's yellow legal pads. i'd pretend i was writing a magnificent novel. i'd daydream of waterfalls and falling stars and all those romantic things children daydream about as i scribbled my way across line after line, page after page.

paper is my birth place. it is my origin. and so i minimize the role The Long Morning plays by calling it a luxury. it is, in fact, a necessity. i need it and appreciate in ways i cannot even begin to describe. it is one of the few things i can simply not go without at this point in my life. and now, this season of busy labor and steep activity finds me, but i have not lost the pleasure/necessity of The Long Morning. i make time for it. always. i wake up as early as i need to. and that's where i am on days when i have nothing to say publicly here. on days when i put up a photo or video, know that i am still smiling at you and that these images are themselves an extension of my exploration. this Return i am experiencing... this Renewal (?????) is full of unknown corners and foreign sounds, songs, images, whispers, echos. my fingers are flying across pages and strings of yarn and sticks of graphite. i feel like i am in love with so many things. ecstatic and curious and unapologetic. it feels so damn good- this high level of freedom inside my practice. scribbling my way toward something better than what i've had. maybe... better than what i've allowed myself?


busy is good. i find a piece of myself that i haven't had in years. like a hug from an old friend, i rush toward this Return, this girl, this life. this! this! this!

so there!

the weatherman has been proven to be a charlatan and a liar. at least today. snow. thpbbb! right. lies. all lies! fantasy-land and LIES! and me with my hopes all up even though i know better. ha! the sky is bright and blue. the sun up and shining. the clouds are white and fluffy. it's cold cold cold but it looks like spring. and so i obeyed The Almighty Jog. inga, such a devote disciple, barked and rolled around when she realized her mama was un-resigning herself to a day spent holed up indoors. my paintings have been moved outside in to the fresh and true light. i will be good. i know that the time is here when i must make the most of my beautiful days. soon, they will be sparse and then, i'll be a hermit once again. a winter shut-in who waits on the mail-lady and drinks too much coffee and wears mittens all day long and reads fairy-tales while the rest of the world spins and spins out in the cold white day. not me. i've got big plans this winter. the best of which is to keep warm.