Woke to snow this morning. It’s since turned to rain.
Watched a gripping movie.
Then, while making another set of collages for the Paris Collage Collective weekly challenge, a spooky combination [of an old fabric layout and an Assisi interior] popped up. Sometimes I forget to “lock” one of the pictures and the random generator button makes for welcome surprises.
Today I find strength in others’ words and posts. From Mo’s exaltations of Pinkola Estes to Liz’s resolve to find beauty wherever she is to an NPR radio interview with Kimberle Crenshaw on the historic and catastrophic parallels to “finding unity” and “moving on.”
And, as is so often the case these days, Acey’s pictures and directions and catalogues of thought and image are rolling through my nervous system.
The sewer cap above is one of many answers to Liz’s question: can you find beauty in the suburbs? Look at the color of that brick! The rust! And the delicate shadow of a twig. They make my heart sing.
The magic green dots thrill me every time!
As I begin to explore yellow* — my cutting and piecing paper instincts want to be translated to cloth. Can I even remotely achieve the immediacy of paper collage with stitch and fabric? What a wonderful edge to open up the power of the will.
I might follow along with Roxane Gay’s reading list for the year. One book a month. I ordered the first one, which is getting a lot of buzz and I really wanted anyway. If this effort is like others, I’ll last until April.
I’ve finally attended to the minutiae involved in being able to borrow kindle books from my library. What a gift! Using the Libby app, I can reserve books and then they show up in my kindle reader without having to go anywhere! Black Futures looks like a beautiful coffee table book, though, so I ordered a copy. Here’s the full list in case you’re interested.
In other news, “we” are installing a gas fireplace. This old house’s current fireplace is very inefficient and sucks warm air out of the entire first floor. Plus, you know, because of the mess and effort, we just don’t have fires all that much. We already have gas in the house. I can’t wait to be able to start a fire with a click of a button. Don’t judge me!
By “we,” I mean my husband, of course. We save almost two grand this way.
I just discovered an Instagram group — @pariscollagecollective — that posts weekly image prompts. I may take part (again — will I last until late spring?) Here’s the first prompt for 2021.
I’ve put together one of my digital-collage slideshows (one minute, below), but I intend to work with paper this week. And then maybe, using a photo of the paper collage, create more layered exposures with the Diana app — my preferred method.
Some of my faves follow. Some of you will recognize collage images embedded from the Collage Challenge with Acey a year ago.
Snow to begin before sunset.
* tattooed torso is a dancer from recent remake of West Side Story and featured in the New York Times. Cloaked Egyptian and other smaller white cloaked figure from National Geographic. Cloth is my own. Virgin from photo I took in cathedral in Assisi. Black woman looking at lens, I don’t remember — but very possibly Vanity Fair.
A snowy day is a good day to put the kettle on or to make soup. There will be stuffed acorn squash for dinner. I’m thinking rice, pine nuts, and heirloom cranberry beans. Plus cheese!
Can you see K out there? Fluffy snow or no, he was glad to have a snow blower. There is A LOT of snow — at least eighteen inches. Under the snowy plowed roads, hides a skating rink. I fell flat on my ass walking Finn this morning — a real legs out, arms flailing cartoon-style fall. Two men clearing a neighbor’s drive came close — but not too close! — to show their concern. I gave them a thumbs up and continued on.
After a writing class where another contemporary scene set in Boulder spilled onto the page, I made cut outs.
And then noodled.
They’re like paper dolls. They’re reminiscent of Jane Maxwell’s work. But I’m gonna keep going with them until something new arrives.
This mouse — shame on her! — not wearing her mask properly.
Which reminds me — I had such an unpleasant experience at the Highlands post office yesterday — an encounter with a woman who just could not abide by the stickers on the floor. She was so weird about it. There was a glass entry door between her sticker and mine. After pushing past me to grab an envelope that she could have easily grabbed three minutes later when the line moved forward, she propped the door open on her hip, and stood there. Humming. She was three feet from me. It was senseless, aggressive rule-breaking. That’s when I shrieked that she wasn’t wearing a mask and I might’ve called her a fucking bitch. She slunk back and let the door close but couldn’t resist giving me a hostile Queen’s wave later out on the street. That’s when it occurred to me that she might be mentally ill.
Did I mention that covering her lower face was a single layer of some crap polyester organza? Not even a bandana!
Telling K about it later, I had to remind him that the stranger was the aggressive one and not me.
Ah well. Off to try felting up a fox head to go with the pretty orange silk party skirt on my mantel.
PS I meant to make the MAIL story include a delightful ornament gift from Nancy. Got distracted by grievance, I guess.
So let me end with gratitude. How glorious the gift that comes in the mail and surprises you. Thank you Nancy!
In the past, the chakra work I’ve done was in-person and not just in-person, but in-person with people I knew and trusted over a span of many years.
We called it Sacred Meditation, as devised by Richard Moss. It both started and ended with the heart center.
A very different enterprise! I wasn’t quite prepared for how an unbounded exercise working from the root up would go. And even more, I wasn’t sure how much to share about what was arising. This is a public forum, after all.
Meanwhile, out in the world, a new confederacy was forming and the number of bodies falling from Covid kept escalating. Both staggered the mind.
I’ve emailed Acey. Let her know. Also suggested that my overwhelm was a testament to her intuitive power and how she communicates.
Would it make a difference if there weren’t absolutely catastrophic news stories unfolding like tidal waves? Perhaps.
After some more thought, however, I realized that I am brave and curious enough to keep doing these exercises.
Hear that? I’m pretty brave.
What I’m not prepared to do with any amount of ease or elegance right now is talk about any of it. So what? I’ll dip in and out and share the pictures. See how that goes.