Mac's back

After a couple of days at the Apple store, a day or two searching through boxes for the CD to reinstall the scanner, and a few days unraveling in grief, exhaustion, and despair (not just computer related, but the accumulation of everything), we are back on the air!

Moving day

Moving makes you question everything. It starts by watching your seemingly "not that much stuff" turn into stacked boxes that spread like wildfire throughout the house. It's dirty and exhausting and leaves you feeling strangely vulnerable. What is this stuff anyway? Instead of having two hundred books why don't you just get one TV?

Art books, art supplies, papers saved for collage, art from the past that you shouldn't throw out for some reason, fabric because one day you will have the time to sew again, almost a year's worth of daily drawings. And the sad realization that as an artist you are simply a maker of more stuff. Even if you renounce making art altogether you still must live with the stuff in your mind that wonders why you are no longer making stuff.

Creating sand mandalas that blow away in the wind every day sounds more and more appealing. Moving makes you question everything.

Essence

Today I brought the first load of stuff over to the new apartment. Ceramics, glass and this stack of good paper, things that I worried might get crushed in the U-haul. I thought about all the promises one makes when they move into a new place. Like, "I will wash and chop veggies and put them in little storage containers as soon as I get home from the grocery store, instead of leaving them to die, forgotten, in their plastic bags". And, "I will write things down in a day planner instead of on index cards that end up scattered throughout the house" And of course, "I will dust more".

I received a delightful email from my friend Ilira who said that, in these "Moving" paintings of late, I'm really capturing the essence of the object. I loved that. Essence. It was the perfect way to put it. I had wondered why I'd been finding a perfectly fine drawing boring, needing to push it by letting its colors seep together and drip where they would. While I was capturing the shape of the object in the perfectly fine drawing, I wasn't content until I'd captured its essence.

Next

Juquila awaits her turn. I've been thinking so much about people who are facing foreclosure these days and are also going through divorce, or have little kids to take care of while packing. Or those who've had a health problem or disability affect their ability to pay their mortgage. Moving is really hard and my heart goes out to those who have to do so under such disheartening conditions. It's just amazing what people survive.

Limbo

I am in the extremely crabby phase of moving. No longer here but not yet there.

Bubble wrap

Hangers

Today I hit the crying phase of moving. It came on suddenly while taking clothes off their hangers.

Things

A few of my favorite things, waiting to be packed.

Salinas valley pueblos

Today was one of those unexpected mystical days. Louie and I set out to the mountains for breakfast and a short hike. One road led to another and we found ourselves at the ancient pueblo ruins of Quarai. In one of the high black windows near the altar there was a huge owl watching us.

The scent of wild roses filled the air along the trail surrounding the pueblo. As we walked I noticed my mind repeating "I hope we don't see a snake, I hope we don't see a snake". I suddenly remembered the law of attraction, The Secret, and the like. The idea that the Universe doesn't hear the word "Don't" and could only hear me saying "I hope we see a snake". I quickly changed my mind's mantra to "I want to see a beautiful flower" when BAM! An enormous bull snake lay on the path.

After I bolted I was able to observe something from my brain studies. My primitive brain noticed that snake before my conscious mind did. I remember bolting at the speed of light before I really knew why. As I was running I felt my conscious mind spell out S-N-A-K-E, then I heard the word SNAKE, then I saw the image of a snake in my mind, then turned around to see that that was indeed why I was running. Luckily bull snakes, while intimidating, are not poisonous.

Our day took us deeper into southern New Mexico, exploring old ruins neither of us had heard of. The water jug is from the pueblo of Gran Quivira. Lunch was in Mountainair, among cowboys who, arriving for brunch after church, hung their hats on the Texas longhorn mounted over the door.

Monk

Another thing about moving is finding old photos. Monk's real name was Skippy. He had an extra long tail, two inches longer than the average cat's when measured by ruler, and it had a white tip at the end. It looked like a monkey's tail, and through a metamorphosis of cute silly nicknames, he became better known as "Monk".

I recently heard a Buddhist teacher speak about relationships. He pointed out that all relationships end. They end either through death or estrangement. Once we fully understand and accept that, we are free to love. We spend so much time worrying that someone will leave us, or in fear of the day we will lose them. But all relationships end, either in death or estrangement. Knowing that gives us the freedom to truly love. It really helped to hear that. But I still wish Monk would just come back.

Typing tutorial

Well this is embarrassing but I'm going to admit it. I can't type. In eighth grade we had to take a class called Exploratory where we spent six or so weeks learning one subject, then we switched off to another. It was a way to show eighth graders a sample of what the world could offer. I think, because of the way schedules can be, we all ended up missing out on one of the subjects. Or maybe it was because my name is at the end of the alphabet. Anyway, the subject I missed out on was typing. I took German and cow judging, but I never got to type.

I wasn't worried about it at the time because I thought only secretaries typed and I wasn't going to be a secretary, I was going to be an artist. I went off to art school where we only wrote papers in the first year. It was back in the day where you brought what you needed to be typed to a typing service. I did get marked down a full letter grade the time I passed in a paper that was handwritten because I was too broke to hire the typing service. But I was an artist and the paper was handwritten in beautiful and careful print so I didn't see what the problem was.

I've never had a job that needed anything typed so I never addressed the issue. Which leads to now. For school I've written a few 40 page papers, and many shorter ones, in a contorted adaptive position. In the interest of alignment, and getting things done faster, I've started doing typing tutorials online. I'm still at the asdf, jkl; level, but I'm getting faster. The problem is that I revert back to the contorted position whenever I actually have to type something.

Button card

I love vintage button cards, but I'm not thrilled with this drawing. I had limited time today and couldn't calm down and concentrate. Sometimes (often) daily drawing is really, really hard. It doesn't fit easily into a busy life. And it's embarrassing when I have to post a drawing I don't think is good. 

Just a few days ago I started a new practice. I'd been getting overwhelmed by all the negativity that's going on in the world and in my own head. I decided that each time I think or hear something negative, I'll notice three positive things. It really has helped. I'm off to look at my three favorite drawings now.