I think I am finally settled in and looking forward to more time in my new art space. This is quite a different view than I had at the ranch, but I can leave the door open without worrying about visitors. You know, mice, lizards and of course rattlesnakes. A bit hazy today but that gray area is the powerful Pacific which feeds my soul just as the mountains fed me for the last 14 years.
My "old" writers group friends helped me christen this space shortly after we moved in and last week my new painting pals added more mojo by joining me here for a day of Art Journal making. It feels good to be finding "my people". Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver, the other gold." My mother taught me that.
I wish I had taken photos of everyone's work. Some great books went out of here. This is the one I made with its crooked frog. These are large old wooden printing blocks from India originally used for fabric making. I always forget that the handles on top are a bit wonky.
It just didn't feel finished and later that night when I was sorting through the linens I brought with me I came across this old, old, old crocheted table cloth that belonged to my great aunt and had graced my table for many wonderful feasts. It is, heartbreakingly, falling apart. And I said to myself, hmmmmmm.
Now, I think the book is finished. I like the way it looks and it feels divine. All texturey and bumpy. And of course, there are threads and beads and things dangling out.
I can never wait, even though I have several yet unfilled journals, I always HAVE to do something in a new book to make it mine.
This is the inside back cover. See the great stamp my daughter, Laura Bray, gave me last year?
Did any of you feel the earth move last week? It wasn't an earthquake or some sort of Cosmic Shift. I COOKED! Made the chili that earned me a trophy two different times at Chili Cook Off events, back when I used to cook.
Last week I put up a photo on Facebook of this old guy all cozy on the couch. His idea of change is apparently moving from the couch to bed and back to the couch. He is the master of relaxing, when he's not terrifying visitors.
Then there is the kind of change that is the bedrock of life on this planet. See that little girl? Boy has she changed in the last 60+ years. And those two crazy kids who are her parents? One has made the BIG change and the other is 83 and waiting to catch up with him again. I wonder what has become of that car.
Here's what I'm thinking: Maybe change isn't real. Maybe we just move along, every year, every month, week, day, hour, minute, second through what is actually one continuous event. Maybe we have invented the concept of change to explain the magic of new friends becoming old friends, new places becoming familiar places, new adventures becoming old habits. Maybe my Dad is all settled in his "new" place thinking it feels like he's always lived there. Maybe there is only here and only now.