Spirits call

 

Really, muse?

It's 1:30 in the morning. 

Was it the wierd dinner? (A big bowl of cantaloupe chunks, pomegranate arils, topped with broken gingerbread cookies)

Maybe saying goodbye to Littlefeather? My Singer Featherweight has been languishing too long. As part of my Reconnection project a perfect destination was revealed. We'll be at FedEx later today. 

(Open yourself to change. Come down from your walls. )

Maybe it was this. I finished Vigil today with the intention of letting it go (if chosen) to the show and beyond. 

This was the piece I worked on during Jim's last weeks. Sweetie here is gone now as well.

Today marks twelves years without Jim. I take comfort in the knowledge that I've still had more life with him than without him.

Restless, strong spirits remind me of the business of life. Push the Wheel. 

States of mind

 Some are deeply concerned. 

Others have no fucks left to give.

Confounding the auto-wankers

Using up mostly blank pages in an old notebook just to spite data scrapers.

The chaos continues.

Now that I have an idea of what the exhibit space is for the show in January I have to choose a very small handful of pieces to offer the curator of the show.

I've unrolled a couple of these and thought, "What the fuck was she thinking?"

 And a few others have lifted my spirits and flown me away.

This is my Swedish Ivy, unhappy about having to come inside now that winter is here. 

 If I'm going to do this notebook thing on a regular basis I'm going to have to work on my penmanship. And I apologize. I just felt like annoying some data scraping program with an image that can't be parsed.