Yes. We’ve been much with the fairy dust and flight in these parts.
What can I say? It’s summer. There are heirloom tomatoes to be eaten on toast with sea salt and mayonnaise. Mornings that begin with birdsong. Evenings that close out with birdsong. And sunshine.
Today is the last day of June so I simply must jump in here and post as there is a statute of limitations on how long you can go without blogging in my world and one full month definitely takes me right to that edge. The thing is, there’s only so much happiness anyone wants to hear about. Happiness, let’s be honest, is boring.
Alas– I absolutely love being boring. It suits me extremely well. I just don’t want to wish it on any of you, and yet– I know we have this kind of kooky relationship, you and I– and so I have to show up. And so, here I am.
Yep. That’s what I painted onto my bookcase last night cause that is pretty much where I am at.
Best things I have read of late are Anatomy of Desire (which I kind of feel like I already told you about but am too lazy to go back and read through previous posts to see if that is true or not) and a couple of small volumes by Osho: Intuition and Creativity.
The thing about Osho is I find him to be a bit of a blowhard (I know, am so judge-y and clearly light years away from being enlightened). But if you ignore that part, there’s much to take away, or at least I have certainly scribbled down quite a bit.
the way you transform every small activity into a holy act,
into a prayer– your house becomes a temple, your body becomes the abode of God, and wherever you look and whatever you touch is tremendously beautiful, sacred–
then nirvana is freedom.
becomes luminous. It is possible.
I say so because I have lived it so,
I am living it so.
It has become possible for me;
it can become possible for you.”
– Osho, Creativity
Yep. You and me both, Osho. Welcome to the house of the bo-bo-BORING.
Yesterday I actually broke out the real cameras and took photos old school. I’ve already posted a bunch of them here and here, so will have to find some other way to tell my story because to tap from the same roll a third time might cause my redundancy meter to shatter the calm like a car alarm.
First, a question. Do I truly believe I am capable of keeping up with three blogs when I only ever have the one story? Hmm, hard to say.
Of course, that tale of the elephant and the three blind monks . . each of them described a very different animal seeing as each encountered the elephant from different perspectives– comes to mind. But then, I am not blind, a monk or catching up for drinks with an elephant at the local pub, so I don’t think this provides any answer.
Besides drowning myself sweetly in the nectar of summer, I have also been gently easing myself back into painting/writing mode.
The weekend before last I did a two-day workshop up in Boston with Sabrina Ward Harrison that really got the mojo rolling and I cannot wait for my new studio space to be set up this month. We were supposed to move in July 1st (omg, that’s tomorrow!) but fortunately for me, it got delayed as this is a brand new office space they are building and they won’t be done until the 15th.
I also splurged on some Ginny Sims ceramics from HERE which just arrived tonight and I am kind of delighted with how very rustic Portuguese goes Versailles they are. Roughly styled with naif blue strokes and yet the gold rims just take it to a whole new place. Handmade pottery is my weakness for sure. (hello non-sequitur!)
But hey! Now that I think about it, this is kind of a big night. Tomorrow marks my third year of moving to Providence: we arrived July 1 in a wild ass rainstorm. We were all feeling a bit shipwrecked and uncertain.
What a world apart from this moment.
Right now the air is soft and balmy. Bare feet in squishy green grass kind of weather. The windows and front door are open, a light breeze rolls through. The dogs are crashed. And after I hit send on this post, I’m gonna sit here a bit and reflect on all that has happened in these past 36 months and, perhaps, have a wonder about what tomorrow might bring.
|egret at the river on our afternoon walk|