Mid day

empty nests under the bridge
a flock of large geese at dusk
the smell of campfire is still lodged in my brain.
Waves crashing onto rocks and the exact weight of your hand.

distracted, sidetracked, lack of interest.
daydreaming, reading, petting the cat, listening to music, feeling the sunlight, feeling the cold edge of the wind.
I can do these things for hours without accomplishing anything. I wish I was an avocado, wish I was a bicycle spoke, wish I was a tiny brown bird hopping around in pine needles, wish I was that branch stretching into the sun and bouncing in the breeze.

My 5th grade teacher told me I was so very arty and it was appropriate that I was teaching kids how to draw things. Nevermind that it is not them teaching me how to draw the things they love instead. I wish I could eat their scritchy wiggly lines across the pages, those lines that are light and shy, the lines that are dark and hard and never erase from the page; I wish I could eat them and take them in and draw with that kind of innocent heart.

I drew my own hands, sign languaging letters that I learned in 5th grade, LYL, and drew them in black ink onto a paper cut and pasted it to the railroad bridge, and walked away and when I looked at it from afar the lines did not seem like my own, but they made my heart swell . something was in the lines that I could not describe, only feel.

Tuesdays

Woke up late because I couldn't sleep at all last night.
Projects just keep rolling through like tanks.
paper cuts, small drawings, sewing hoops with gray wool sewn with all kinds of lovely.
These are the small projects, the large ones include the parachute that is just overwhelming sometimes, the slips, and the clothesline book.
Hoping to meet the art hop deadline and sell a lot of this on the streetcorner.
Not having camera and scanner power to show you is a bummer. come visit me instead. we can hide in my fort.

FRESNO!!

I woke up to rain this morning, yes I worried about the raisins, but it was just a few sprinkles.

New possibilities: slides, clotheslines, embroidery, working bigger, bigger BIGGER!
drawing class with kids, kitten purrs, letters in the post, long lost friends, biking in and outof traffic on shaw ave. watching grizzly bear documentaries with my brother, playing with the neighborhood kids.

I dare you!

til the wheels fall off

some things are just certain to happen. I'm starting a new chapter on wobbly legs,
feeling lost and messy and chaotic and scrambled.

Why does it seem to work out for everyone but me?
When someone else could say the same about my life I'm sure.

I'm thinking of going underground, hiding out in my deep nest of art making.
or moving to india to meditate and chant my life away in an ashram.

How could I hold your hand and tell you how proud I am that you have moved on , that you made things happen, that you're doing a good job?

Gems

I can't get these pieces out of my head. I'm coming to terms with the fact that in order to produce real work with integrity I need to have a space that is somewhat fixed, while everything else is chaos.

Clare Grill,



Chris Kenny



waterhalo makes me want to start a new journal.

I bought a bottle of cranberry juice and opened it on the way home, crossing 4 lanes of traffic swigging at the deep red bitter, because my body feels a little deep red bitter coming on.

And leaving this city means letting go, as if it was a past life and is no longer accessible. As if it were all just a watery dream.

Nothing is ever good or bad it all just is.

maybe it's sad...

but I keep having to remind myself that sometimes magic doesn't really exist.
Some times life is just scrabble-ass hard.

coordinating TB skin tests, running around the city, working, packing, cleaning, saying goodbyes, long drives,moving on, turning the page, starting fresh.
only it's not something I come to with glee and excitement, it's just something that has to happen, because staying would mean selling my soul just to pay my rent and going means living out of boxes and not knowing at all what will come and having to face everything that existed before all that happened.

Sitting at my desk, looking at the colors and all the blank pages. What is it that I want any more? I've convinced myself of so much, and so much seemed to have happened when I wasn't looking.

I had a dream that you left me on purpose at the record store.

I'm just gonna keep painting boats

Today while having a picnic I wished, well you know, somethings should just be secret.

Sometimes the possible seems on the brink of impossible.

Tomorrow I am having another picnic and going swimming at the La Fayette. Hot times.