Joy In Life

Your missives are being answered (and my thanks for the lovely mail that has come my way this month):

I.  During a magnificent, sudden bout of illness, I heard the distinct song of an ice cream truck.  Thrice.  How strange, I mused, on a street absent of children and their playthings, where the porches are empty of people and the houses feature barred windows.  Since when does the ice cream man make his rounds in the small hours of the morning?  Interestingly, the acronym for the causes of delirium is “I WATCH DEATH.”

II.  In the midst of recovery, the Cemetery telephoned.

III.  Z and I have had an identical and recurring dream of a creek surrounded by concrete slabs.  We recently found that very place together, and the decision we forged in view of it has changed our lives…and the lives of others…for the better.

Point being, I shall continue to be a bit scarce.  All the best to you.

Image:  Berwind Monument (Sculptor Harriet Frishmuth)

Initial sketch of R after first session.  At moments, I glimpse her young daughter (a.k.a. The Firecracker, due both to her mother’s word choice and the child’s inquisitive & bright nature) in the clay.  R has a keen interest in photography, so I hope she’ll forgive the mergers.

1. Work.  The iconoclast resumes (thank you for your words, for which I have none).  Day one in stifling heat. Three models, a student, and an autumn show to contend with.  I am also deeply grateful to BW:  your kindness is a respite.

Detail of The Education, preliminary stage.  5 x 7,” mixed media.  Yes, Mr. Z, here are the animal crackers.  Or cookies, if you prefer.  A zebra herd resembling a firing squad…their sharp shadows will direct us to what you cannot yet see.  It isn’t the cage on the box that disturbs me, nor any lion aside a zebra.

2.  Traveling.  Can you name it?

And here?

3.  Playing Domestic Goddess, whether founding a cooking group or nurturing the herbs.  I stay in my nest and watch the drug addicts drift by the garden wall, shouting aloud.  One has a broken violin, and he slams it against the old stone horse post.  He leaves part of a string dangling from the iron ring.  Residue.  Imprint.  Everything leaves a mark.

Details from A Triumphant Thing, 5.5 x 7″ (found objects)

Yes, Robert, essential! And here I could pretend I was once more on your side of the pond. Happily, I am well aware of how green the grass can be on my side (or am determined enough to find an emerald patch here or there), and my companion led me to the most delightful, pale specimen (possessed of a subtle and divine scent). The heat is oppressive here, hence the haze.

If one lacks seating, find that which is already built-in. Similarly, if one is without window treatments, choose full folding wooden shutters. If one misses bookshelves, add three more massive, deep windows to these pictured four - and one has seven ready nests for tomes. If one hasn’t a dresser and other storage means, select a built-in armoire with mirrors. If one has lost personal belongings with which to decorate, secure a carved fireplace and mantel (albeit bricked up). If one longs for a garden, an impressive wrap-around porch surrounded by wild roses, yellow irises, etc. will certainly do - the perfect place to nurture the chocolate mint, basil, tomato, and parsley that have begun to thrive indoors. If one still seeks final touches to make a place rightly home…well, one can finally open those boxes of clay and christen the patient armatures. For diversion, add a house full of future doctors next door. A dangerous city, yes…but I’m finally home.

Through strange cities and obligations I now travel.  There is a quiet contemplation of each open door encountered - apertures found, not sought.  Soon I will be wholly occupied with the gathering of strong, golden twigs for a nest reinforced with clay. 

My companions take me along to Camden to hear Rachel Hadas, and we are delighted to encounter Hermes.  Beyond the hall of poets there are garbage-choked moats around bronze islands - one looks up to find herself surrounded by shattered or boarded entryways, where drifting sheets of debris mock the memories of pigeons.  Given a moment, one recognizes the power of this place - of any place - that houses whole and gleaming things despite a broken backdrop.

Article in The Oconomowoc Enterprise (not available online)

My thoughts on the project, Oconomowoc Focus

Time To Say Goodbye Details/Purchases/Donations

Article in the Oconomowoc Focus

3 x 3″ (graphite and white chalk on toned paper)