I can’t get lost. Did you know? I have a talent for direction, particularly in a forest, & I’ve always been Dissatisfied. Full of angst about life and living it. I’m convinced these two things go together.
I was a 4 year old philosopher -having thoughts like: When I’m older I’ll be able to get lost, run into a wood and have enough land covered in trees. I’ll go so far I won’t be able to find home. Won’t that be comforting, enough space to be lost in? And I’ll find the missing piece that will shut up that needling little creature of consternation and discontent.
I’ve been in a row with some missing piece and a disquiet my whole life. Some folks seek God, or stillness, or a damn good explanation. Man, I’ve done it all. I’ve paid a lot of good money to get it all explained. My latest explainer says – just let it be. Life is quicksand and your thrashing isn’t doing you a damn bit of good.
Grief is the only forest I’ve ever been lost in.
Sometimes I go into my grief forest unaware. I, half-asleep, climb those trees. Look for miles around at the leaves of loss in life. The leaves of growth. The inevitable slow reach to hold them, and the certain sadness at their crumbling. The constant dissatisfaction teaching the body over and over what it means to hold without guarantees and how to feel empty without bitterness.
2 poems on love & loss & renewal:
A Pretty Song
From the complications of loving you
I think there is no end or return.
No answer, no coming out of it.
Which is the only way to love, isn’t it?
This isn’t a playground, this is
earth, our heaven, for a while.
Therefore I have given precedence
to all my sudden, sullen, dark moods
that hold you in the center of my world.
And I say to my body: grow thinner still.
And I say to my fingers, type me a pretty song,
And I say to my heart: rave on.
And this one too:
Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,
what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so
utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment
by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,
as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.
It’s a Human condition – living with empty. Living with grief . It’s a bit of bravery -continuing to reach towards joy.
Sometimes being a one woman show means things get a little messy and delayed.
I have projects draped Everywhere. I have heard, “Um, can I have one clean surface for my stuff that doesn’t change?” -the sweetheart.
I’ve gone wild: Embroidery thread, clay, tools, glaze, glaze pencils, sketch books, pottery waiting to be shipped, pottery waiting to be high fired, yards and yards of fabric. Draped pieces, pieces that need to get pre washed, pieces that have been pre washed – a sweater I didn’t like the look of after it was made, buttons, ribbons that need to be returned to their home, oh and the inventory closet has exploded.
I’m maniacal in my head-plans. There are so many things that want to be made. I keep having visions of Bashful finally coming to fruition & lovely pals must sense it because they’ve sent me photos of their babes in Bashful ware.
The there’s the doorway full of the fanciest dresses, waiting for the debut of a magazine article that’s supposed to come out… someday. I understand somedays.
Pottery is sold out. Which is great. Because there is more coming. Like these two whiskey tumblers:
I even hand carved some pottery tools from driftwood. Always wanted to. I love em.
But they too have been scattered around the living space…
So many ideas. I’m telling ya. & I have to share this.
It’s my favorite dress ever. I’ve wanted to make it for a while. It takes yards of fabric – because it’s floor length & cut on the bias. Hours of fancy beading. It didn’t photograph well on our crazy windy photoshoot because the high gusting winds plastered the silk/cotton onto my Marlana – and whilst she has a lovely body – it didn’t show the dress doing what it’s been draped & cut & sewn to do – which is skim the body with gorgeous wavy wrinkles. Mmmgood.
And this bad billy can travel. This is how you store it after washing it:
It’s practically installation art when you unwrap it:
I’m going to have to have one for keeps.