Then it was time to be with Charlie. We spent a careful, long half-hour at the optometrist, selecting replacement glasses. His folks agreed he could have his choice. He had been chattering about Neon
Then there was this. Another attempt the next morning, while he was still asleep, it fell flat but pointed me back in the direction of color. I parked it and started over.
Jackson Pollock would have been proud. My studio looks like a cyclone hit it. If I had tried to make a video of my process like Dee's, people would have been screaming at the screen.
"What? Again with that damn shape? A quarter-inch to the right? Are you kidding? Put it back. No! " so the dialogue went.
Finally, Saturday morning early, the page is ready for the messages and I'm reminded that every choice- thread, needle, color, shape, line, spacing - have meaning and I want to say so much.
My thoughts reaching into the future are with the protesters in Portland and in terror for schoolchildren in red states. The GOP only wants strong, stupid cannon fodder.
Thoughts reaching into the past about a life of consequence. Rest in power, very honorable John Lewis. That bridge should have been renamed in his lifetime, but I can imagine he was not a man to hunger for that kind of acknowledgment.
ps. this bit of sweetness: