I was mowing the lawn in the evening and was struck by the slanting light hitting a bicycle leaning on a white wall and flowers growing up around it. The mechanical intertwined with the natural shapes and forms. The Hard sharpness of the shiny metal among the bright greens and natural blue and yellow of the flowers. I have been playing around with the pictures.
We are all holding up pretty well, although Mary has a rough couple of weeks coming up and is ready to be done for the summer now. She will do just fine though. My youngest son cruises as always as though downhill in neutral, or wind driven. My Number One Son, I don’t see so much, but when I do he seems excited and confident. I know he is full of nervous doubt, but he also knows he can handle most anything. I am never sure about how my daughter is, but she seems to be getting through her classes with her usual crisis of the week. So all is well. I get 2 weeks off to sort a few things out before going into a summer of preschool with no paper work attached. Nice. Someday I will have a real vacation and then I will know what I am missing. I hope things are going well out there. The weather has been all big blue sky here, and we rush from building to building getting things done. What are we thinking?
I was looking through some pictures I took with my digital camera, and I came across one that was completely out of focus. I played with it and realized it had some nice balance and depth and interesting play of color. I love art that comes from just paying attention and playing around.
Accidental Abstract
Tension, wire, bloody ram
Maybe this is not the way I feel,
but the way I am.
I have not been able to find that mystical space where I find stories. It is lost in the fog of long hours of work and no silence, of dreams interrupted by my alarm at 6:00 in the morning. It is hidden by days busy with small chores and many very important jobs and lists of actions undone for lack of time. I need to tell myself some stories and write them down, even if they do not translate well into other peoples ideas of readable fiction. First it has to be for me and then I can fit it into a form that others can use. I have to find the space in time that allows me to create worlds in my head that I can put characters in and watch them move and interact. I will listen to their tales and passions and watch their faces and think thoughts that are theirs and mine. It’s only a little bit crazy, but it keeps me sane to use my mind in this way.
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