Tuesday, July 31, 2012

tried to camouflage a ziplock of food. she did

while riding home from Mondays free shower day at parental units (as I was awaiting water well repairman and desperately needed a shower*), the Dopt buried between seats and then she nosed like a bulldozer, snout down, forehead planted to the floor boards, with the contents of her truck section, couple of towels, grocery bag, etc. it actually worked. any evidence that there was once a bag of food back there was absolutely concealed. I've seen her do this many times before. she takes her time, is meticulously thorough. there are many hidden treasures buried in the mucroforest that no one would suspect. hopefully no bodies. I find it very interesting behavior. she must have been a hoarder or serial killer in a previous life.

ps will work on my blog structure! have gotten a thumbs down on its current usability.

Monday, July 30, 2012

yup sometimes most interesting solutions don't develop from intent

will have to contemplate the frames to face to sans. hmmm when totally different projects begin to accidentally merge simply cause I tossed one down as a drop clothe, head scratch, contemplation. obviously not final answer but leads to some potential.

tubeless. say it isn't so.

for those that have seen my stockpile, it will be hard to fathom, but I am about to slice up the last batch of my slightly large tubes. omg! frightening to think I am due for a tubular road trip! the Dopt guards the remnant from theft (bahahaaaa).

Sunday, July 29, 2012

more simply stated

there is a space between poetry and making
I've fallen into this gap
I need a light to better understand
how to explore its cavernous

I need to breathe again, soon

not much she can say about it!

I needed a drop cloth and well she has 12X15 feet of availability and not like I've allowed her voice. the Dopt just saw her as bed and chew toy and walked all over her. I figure I'll use her and she might improve!

"Not only must I summon the courage to be a bad writer – I must dare" -- Susan Sontag

plunge into the gap between writing and making; fleeing that which taints

artist, writer, professor of art, and a bit goober with a pinch of klutz - making it through one more day as gratefully as i can

I've had something similar to this posted on my blog for six or so years. in my mfa visual art thesis I repeatedly discuss writing as significant to not only who I am as artist but who I am as human. writing as a part of me surfaced while fulfilling the mandate to write art history papers and my compulsion at avoiding boring even myself with historical regurgitation. a more freeing writing began in prep for my mfa thesis. so terrified of its encroachment I began free writing to try and loosen up and prepare. this writing became the basis of my thesis and a new way of living.

here is what I know about me, the things I absolutely need, I need to make, this is raw and visceral, I need it's physicality, its release, I need to write, it anchors everything in me, it knits me anew, I need to mentor, I am hard wired that way, if only to teach another how to make their own life a tad more doable, a smidge more content, I need a small intimate tribe with proximity, a tether of camaraderie.

the making, writing, mentoring are happening. though I want to intentionally pursue, immerse into, the linked gap between making and writing. a new tribe will eventually come. I can do nothing about that in this place currently and simply will let go of its tentative butt smelling pursuit. dopty showed up when it was time. she choose for me to belong, I accepted her offer. never really believed in love at first sight, but that belief is now undermined by the Dopt. she also reopened me to that good things just happen (as does *#>^ but I already knew that!).

i redundantly recast this statement in hopes i will follow--I will continue the mentoring but more actively step into this gapping space between making and writing. I will plunge, immerse, jump. may end up fiscally poor, but that is absolutely a risk at this point I am willing myself into making. better fiscally poor than being 80 saying, I wish I had followed that tug built into me, the one where passion lairs where risk must be taken. I need to follow that tug. the learned tug of fiscal responsibility, the tug to stay safe, the tug to stay here to navigate the known is making me sick, sick of heart--it taints so many a moment, makes all things I am grateful for si very hard to see, to feel, to enjoy. and there is much for which I am grateful. cast I must.

"Poetry is more important than ever before because of its short broken space. It fits." -- Eileen Myles

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Friday, July 27, 2012

plopped down on my porch extension

break. watching the butterflies, the Dopt grass roll,and admiring my view, of course from a sliver of shade.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

for her; for me

scratch for her; grilled portabella mushrooms on healthy stuff for me. random.


I thrive on feeling safe
because of it, I wallow in the shallows
tolerating, bending over, settling
accepting the bottomness
mucky merky
even there I lock down, swallow


I've stood and stand at the edge of
which way, smelling the water's rise
the shallows recede with their thick undulating debris
I habitually follow
clinging closely even to the geological shoreline of real space, real history
wading in the laden muck


honestly this is not a safe place
a turbulent violence plays out in these shallows
at the fluctuating threshold of sea


toward and away
even in the cling

for god's sake let go

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

I step into the needle driven rain

the warm breeze sends the needles
cascading down like rain
clouds dilute the sun's penetrating lare
the crow screams out its mundane babble
talking to no one in particular
the squirrel gamely toys with the Dopt (dog)
who stands frozen a scant puppy lunge away
lowering to the grass and up again
again and then again
they stare eye to eye, and steady
longingly lullingly
Dopt no longer fully still, she blinks
dragon fly, her ear flicks, head tilts
the squirrel plunges to her left
through the tall grass
the next vertical route
upwardly embarked
just out of reach
the Dopt starts so belatedly
I laugh outloud
the squirrel begins her lulling practice
the Dopt bores, wanders off
the elevated canopy sings
I hover here in a hint of shade
trying to loosen the flow
by scratching pen to pad
thumbing my phone
into an odd physical presence
the cicadia hum, the sweat trickles
the stream fluidly moves
with the consistence of rituals regularity
I step in

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

dismembering old tubular carcasses

working her way into a morning nap

if she could just stop fidgeting. long walk. check. racoon stalked. check. rabbit chased. check. pond pounced. check. neighbor startled and jumped on. check. peer pups played with. check. dewy grass rolled in. check. breakfast munched. check. Kathy's peanut butter and honey English muffin plate licked clean. check. golf ball gnawed. check. tennis ball fuzz nuzzled. check. trouble sought. check. up and down stairs multiple times. check. fighting the mid morning nap with fidgets. check. I thumb up my todo list of operational function.

time for kathy to get to work. work.

Monday, July 23, 2012

2012 day 3 of settling | listening to the tree tops whisper their hot breath

I sit slightly curled up and just listen to the many life giving sounds that ripple in spite of the heat. I contemplate leaning back and closing my eyes a bit but am unusually aware that's dirt down there. from my dirty already grunge streaked self, the hesitation seems...odd. chair one, up. chair two, reassemble and dragged out into the penetrating direct sun's lare but still flat on its back. I hover partly paralyzed here in this heat trying to work my way through my todos. I am not a checker, but today, I need a list to be sure I am operational, a wee bit functional. i can't get to tomorrow without navigating this today and each of the days after.

I think about having titled this day as a SETTLING. i ponder the unintended sideways implications. have somehow latched onto the settling associated with a less than instead of the intent of a reacquainting or reestablishing. my habit of settling makes me nervous when I feel the tug of dream casting.

I don't cry so oft anymore but they do still swell from time to time, even still. I think I will just lay back in the dirt. it is my dirt (and whomever Fannie Mae sold it off to), my bugs, my shade. of course, I didn't make or earn any of it. it just is. i am grateful for this dirt, this green, this microcosm with its living hum. so I lay still, listening, flat on my back, thumbing my phone held overhead, salt stained, again. withdrawals I suppose.

perhaps the rivulets doing in the attempt at reengaging the one handed juggling of my multiple hatted living as looking ahead to the coming fall that knocks me flat and all dribbly. oh rivers of salt do go away. withdrawals or avoidance? lay flat just a little longer. it will be ok. won't it? trickles of sweat even here in the shade.

I need to make some more checks on my list. function. today's todos have play on what will come tomorrow. move from strength. run towards not away. run. but first get up kathy.

moving. pushing. sweating. but moving.

and sometimes throwing on the right frock with my well worn steel tips, comforts. so I do. I move. errands. driving. I move.

corners up.

2012 day 3 of settling | a day of tiding and chair assembly

I definitely need a Mason and a Lindsey to get my microforest up to snuff like I/Park. this could be beyond the scope of one handed juggling.

it definitely has potential just needs cultivated.

Sunday, July 22, 2012

2012 day 2 reaclimitizing | recovering nicely falling asleep face first on a plate that only recently served up a hot batch of toll house cookies

sleeping off her toll house cookie crumbs. yup. wouldn't trade her in. she's a good kind of trouble.

upon dismounting my baby tractor (lawn mower) she went ape crazy as though she hadn't seen me in five weeks. now that is the greeting I expect two days ago. guess I had to feed and walker her a few times first, showing her who is alpha, well, and letting her lick up toll house cookie crumbs may have been a significant variable in the joyful frolicking post mower greeting.

2012 day 2 or 3 of reaclimitizing | a slouchy hunkering down

the beast and I have to decided to slouch about and do nothing toward dream future casting or maintenance today. just slouch about, watch a movie, eat edamame until I pop...and laundry and dust and put away and... why is it hard to really take a day off without feeling I am doing something wrong? because it feels like numbing out (neg connotations) and juggling one handed always feels precarious as though its all about to crash down and I want to stay awake in the living, but I need a bit of numbing today (not num bum). perhaps long drive left over blah and still a bit of residual community withdrawal as I hunker down at the hermitage for first night back.

Saturday, July 21, 2012

2012 day 1 re... | I think hand coding should academically count as a foreign language

dang. what's up with my blog code. I don't mess with my template code so why is it out of wack. I find searching my code on an iPhone a tad problematic. obviously I just need to snag a another template. aggh. I really don't want to design or code my own stuff. I left that world for the hand made not the hand coded! besides its not like any phd programs in the creative arts accept computer language as a foreign language. darn. still can't figure out where my extra column came from. hmmmm. not to be solve thumbing my phone.

2012 day 1 of reaclimitizing | life folds back on itself

searing the remainder of scallops less tentatively tonight as I serve up a plate for mì madre and padre with my pup at my feet. we got to talking about my Connecticut adventure. ends up mì parental units began their wedded bliss (ok, well, mostly) dining on lobster at the Ferry Tavern at the edge of old saybrook and old lyme along the Connecticut river, just a hop skip and jump from the residency. so naturally I love lobster and connecticut. though when my mom pulled out her newly wed coat from the recesses of the guest room closet...well it might be a wee bit colder than I can imagine. hmmm. beautiful Audrey Hepburn styled coat. fits fine; doesn't work that well with the highly worn steel tips though and that is kathy requirement...even for dresses. really.

2012 day 1 of re-climitizing | gnawed and rope wrestled to death

she is good company, constantly forcing me to pull my head out of my head. "ouchy, that wasn't the rope you just clamped onto."

every now and again i glance over at her and she stirs my memory of peabeaux (a very sleek red golden retriever of 15 years) who passed in 2004 and still sits on the mantle of the old casa in ash form in his blue urn (as certified by a notarized certificate from the state of texas. really. they do that.). one of those weird things. at his 15, I thought I was pretty prepared for what was coming. figured logic and understanding somehow would neuter or circumvent grief. nope. it comes in waves and moves through my body and mind of its own accord with utter disregard for. my logic or preference. so when the vet asked what to do, did we want...I was so distraught, I thought I should say yes in case I actually did need some kind of ritual of release. I didn't, so he remained on the mantle with his master. grief came and went. it was not drawn out or long for the family beast, but a bit surprisingly intense. I had been lead to believe I didn't have good or deep attachments! ha, wrong-O. I definitely do not have a problem attaching. peabeaux was the beginning of my uncovering of the bunk of my supposed detachment issues. some social ill ease, yup, but no problem bonding. my problem is far more related to de-taching, in-bonding. I suppose this comes to mind as I settle back at the hermitage and my microforest experiencing a smidge of living community withdrawals. I do require alone time, down time and certain social settings exhaust me, but I am not a loner. I prefer a small tribe, perhaps it is even why I labeled my former group of 17+ years as such!

Thursday I podcast myself across the USA. I listened to an interview with t
a woman who leads the NEA for individual writer grants. she spoke of a previous position in a slightly altered field were her sense was "these are not my people." when she transitioned, she finally came into an awareness that "these are my people."

when I went to thinktank this summer, I got an inclination of this sensation because of a like mindedness and wiring with a hint of mutual field specific calling. again it tickled at I-park. I definitely get it with a handful of my grandgirls as I do with my brothers. with them, it's an innate chemistry and way of seeing life, not profession. I pick it up with individual souls as well. but I've not found a tribe or built one in which I overwhelmingly trust, "these are my people" (not in sameness, just in a visceral connectedness).

so I revisit more recent communal withdrawal as I continue to contemplate my dream casting and the role community will play (AND PROCRASTINATE UNLOADING THE BACK OF THE TRUCK).

back to the Dopt, she is a she, far more independent than the beaux, extremely forward in her demands for attention. she is a nibbler and gnawer--pillows, lawn furniture, garments, hands, legs, and arms. expect to be nuzzled, poked and prodded until your course follows her intent--she WILL herd you. she cannot be bribed with treats--if she diesnt want ti, she will overtly resist (and actually spit out the treat). she is stubborn. she is prone to attempts at licking arm pits! (yuck. stop). put if you put your foot down and go alpha, she'll absolutely adore you. fickle female! currently my dad is her current alpha and she is smitten with him.

oh now I remember why I am still procrastinating. note feels like temp. omg!

Friday, July 20, 2012

Thursday, July 19, 2012

2012 day 4 of 4 now 5 | don't tell my dad.

honestly 55. I don't know if I can do 55. thank you for my warning officer. yes sir, 55. will do.

2012 day 4 of 4 now 5 | Mississippi crossing

2012 day 4 of 4 but now 5 | I fling

driving, for me, is like that really long hot shower. I am just basking mindlessly in the flow. suddenly without warning or provocation, shazam! an idea, solution, a decision crystallizes and speaks directly into my mindlessness. instantly I become quite present, attentive, as I maul over this thing that has surfaced from the mist.

and so it is with this long solo drive. the decisions have come. they require change. will I go kicking and screaming, dragging my heals, or will I walk to the edge this time and just fling myself over? kicking, dragging, screaming almost always leads me in to a really dark space, depression, and the change comes anyway. I would like to do it differently this time. no, I don't know where I will land or what it will look like, but I am seriously up to the fling. I am up to hear the roar of wind in my ears, I am ready for the heart pounding unknown. I am willing to risk the fiscally responsible.

I suppose I am stronger now. i certainly don't try any longer to rationalize and vulcanize how this fulfills some kind of "ministry," i simply trust my maker. and that I still am who I am. perhaps just a little more naked in the flow.

I am ready to fling myself over this new edge.

2001 9/11
flying my hertz rent a car from Tampa to Texas. radio. people where jumping. it was horror. it was real. but in my mind, in my body, in my soul the decision came, a different kind of edge, a different kind of leap. it did alter me. it did not bring death but life. i would not have leapt without them. And so i drafted my resignation letter in my head. over course of next three months I applied to graduate school for an mfa. I didn't know I might not get in, i didnt know to be afraid. I just jumped.

I have reached that space in life where my strength of ego and self-will allow me, draw me, to take the risk of “becoming.” Becoming who I am, not that self defined by “shoulds.” Change is difficult. Self sabotage common. Yet, I am moving into that self that has been simmering below my surface for a very long time.
I am consumer, lover of stuff.
I am female, pink appeals.
I am forty-four, decay has begun.
I am visual, language challenged.
I am seeker, life teaches.
I am designer, anally fixated.
I am watcher, society astounds.
I am pattern seer, micro macro, macro micro.
I am dysfunction, I function.
I am spiritual, Christ calls.
I am tactile, let me touch it.
I am American, arrogance assumed.
This surfaced self binds together the fragments of my many selves into a unit, into a whole. And as I step into this whole/fragmented self...I find myself. Deep satisfaction. Maturation.

My should self has never known passion. My ... self has been safe. An electric current of fear courses through me as passion moves to the forefront. Art informs my design. Design informs my art. AND ALL THESE GOD USES TO INFORM AND TRANSFORM MY LIFE. I step to the edge of change and waiver there. The safe and unsafe are merging and I am becoming.

I step to the edge of change and wavier there until my own demons pull me back. No. I choose to follow them back. I give myself over. Change is screaming to me and I know it is what I need, what I want. What I CRAVE!

Simultaneously, the lure of safe sameness calls to me, beckoning me back from the edge, yet I find that my toes curl tightly to this edge. I am stretched, torn, yet, I am not returning to the safe sameness! I will process the fear, redirect it. I am not beating my head on the same wall, or at least it looks different, feels different...is different?

What is not different are the demons. They are not new. Every time I step into/toward change, they approach me—steal my thoughts, riveting them on old fears. I require, demand, to push through, not to give in, NOT TO BE SAFE.

I have chosen not to dream, but now they break over me in a rushing onslaught. Not the dream of sleep have I fled, but the dream of future-casting. And now I taste the dream rolling across the back of my tongue and it scares the hell out of me!

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

2012 the end is near day 2 of 4 | how could that possibly be legal?!

OMG! I mean maybe if I planned to aerate Mason and Lindsey's veggie garden, Mie's trail, or Ralph's forest floor. it would in fact extend my tubular reach sans a ladder. but surely they would attract gravity surges that'd throw me to the ground like a mobile home attracts tornadoes. I may be finding my feminine side with my recent girlie jean (bootcut naturally) acquisitions the past couple of years but no way I am succumbing to fashion stilts.

now this bling would look fine with my well worn steel tips. omg. the things one will do on a travel num bum break...besides eat. ..well in addition to eating!

Woodrow wilson crossing

floating the gap between Maryland and Virginia.

Monday, July 16, 2012

2012 day 25 | short morning on pond

key portions loaded, too much leave behind, totally lost concept of no trace with my remnant mostly tidied piles. it must mean I shall return to envision something new to dance in the forested breeze and add hints of alterations to the earthy scents.

many things bind me here but the one that swims to the surface on my heal dragging slow morning leave is the temporary reprieve from one handed juggling. in this place, I have one hat, and that one is gently nestled in community, a family of sorts where the spaces come alive. I thrive in this more connected wood tied environment. well and I do get totally pampered. perhaps far more complex, but these thoughts are on the surface of my morning.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

2012 day 24 | must be time

the Dopty has had her first and second ever indoor piddle incident. think she might be pretty mifted at how long i've been gone.

2012 day 24 | grrrrr undisclosed cursing

at my imaginary anti-installation-truck-loading-frazzle-me god! grrrrr. and damn (maybe a little strong) truck shells with their weight and binding limitations. shells are cute and all but really absolutely get in my way for loading and unloading.

I am just going to lay here flat on my back in the dirt and shake my fist at the sky. it must be the imaginary oh-you-should-stay god wrestling with my imaginary anti-installation-truck-loading-frazzle-me god! grrrrr. who will win, I do not know! guess i am staying. good thing I kept my key. aaaaggghh.

go a head and rain on my head, and bite me you big freaking blood sucking mosquito! sometimes I am a little ungrateful. this moment. think two year old flinging herself on the floor in the depatrment store for not getting her way. oh fling, fling, fling!! and with only 3% battery charge remain. oh fling tantrum while laying on my back in the dirt, in the rain. aaa grrrr

no wait. I am not quite through with this tantrum. almost. 1% battery charge.

sound of rain while laying flat on back in dirt = detantrafying. thank you very much.

2012 day 24 | I can't count, who's counting anyway? oh yeah. me.

since I already "decidedly so," I whole heartedly still concur again, this morning, this midday, and again this mosquito biting mid afternoon in the woods that ...

"i've quit my job, put hermitage on market, Dopty on plane, hired shipping crew to haul my things, blew texas and my grandgirls a kiss goodbye. texted my m&d a hug. I'll adjust to the season called winter.

I am keeping my key.

oh yes, and I will require more blue oar pan seared scallops...and that pizza with mushrooms and such, but no onions" we'll discuss my budget at a later date.

oh alright, alright. I know. not really. but I think it is a good idea. I mean I would miss my WASHers, grandgirls, and such.

obviously I need to work on my non -bucket bucket list and set my freaking course, quit noggin and cast into the next five or ten years.

dang blood sucking mosquito!

2012 day 24 | her under skirt stripped and rolled

gently and leisurely in under 30 minutes. she did not complain. she may creak and groan with the next phase of her dis-posing.

I know. I know. my play of language is so wrong and a wee demented, but it makes me laugh and, well, it is play. I see no reason to stop.

"We don’t think ourselves into a new way of living; we live ourselves into a new way of thinking" -- the Center for Action and Contemplation

true but I will need to ponder.

2012 day 24 | mapping her dis-posing + loading

___ remove tubular and rubber load from truck.
___ label parts.
___ take down interior rubber sheeting
___ roll up rubber sheeting
___ remove stitching between modular units
___ remove upper level rubber trim
___ prep to secure or counterbalance units

___ remove units alternating sides so as not to flip tabletop sections
___ perhaps roll rubber modular units
___ take down tabletop units
___ disassemble middle tt section
___ lower joists
___ remove fabricated hardware + secure to take home
___ lay chairs down

___ remove front to back lateral runs
___ lift of seat
___ collapse structure
___ load chair
___ determine tool bin travel location

___ load rubber modules
___ if weight accommodates, load rolled rubber sheeting

___ organize and load tools

UMMM leaving, a to do list for brian
___ relocate cinder blocks to JT
___ disassemble + relocate 2x4s to green tarped area near Woodstock
___ confirm no trace left behind

Saturday, July 14, 2012

2012 day 22 | sense of scale

total sense of scale while unfortunately caught making a face omg!

2012 day 23 | sitting on my door fabricated chair planted on the forestfloor.

so I subscribe to the enneagram (personality type thingy--Think Myers-Briggs but 1000x more useful) institute's daily email based on, you guessed it, my personality type. it's meant for the purpose of growing, stretching you. it usually nails me between the eyes. today is no different as I sit perched reading and blogging in my 11 foot door fabricated forest chair.

"Today, see if you can do the opposite of your ordinary personality pattern. Don't be submissive and disinterested. Become aware of what feelings arise in you when you do this. This energy is fodder for your transformation."


"don't be submissive and (appear) disinterested"

anyhow it is useful to ponder my habits.

more importantly i am revisiting Thomas merton's writing on writing and thinking about casting into my future and what direction to cast from this high perch of my domestic threshold fabricated 11' foot forest chair

"'then what do you know about our courage and our fear? Where do you come from? What is the basis of your statements about us? You say you wrote what you see, but no two men see the same street here. What do you see that you write? What do you mean when you talk about our courage and our fear?'

'i am still trying to find out: and that is why I write. '

'how will you find out by writing?'

'i will keep putting things down until they become clear.'

'and if they do not become clear?'

'i will have a hundred books, full of symbols, full of everything I ever knew or ever saw or ever thought.'

'If it never becomes clear, perhaps you will have more books than if it were all clear at once.'

'no doubt. But i say if it were all clear at once, I would not really understand it, either. Somethings are too clear to be understood, and what you think is your understanding of them is only a kind of charm, a kind of incantation in your mind concerning things. This is not understanding: it is something you remember. So much for definitions! We always have to go back and start from the beginning and make over all the definitions for ourselves. '"

Thomas Merton, from journal of my escape from the Nazis, 1941.

"i am not here to think about being a writer: except I am here to try to learn humility and how to do god's will and serve him the best way I can, and writing has something to do with all these things, accidentally, because it happens that I like to write, and try and know how."

Thomas Merton, 9/3/1941

'at the moment writing is the one thing that gives me access to some real silence and solitude. Also I find that it helps me to pray because, when I pause form my work (writing or making), I find that the mirror inside me is surprisingly clean and deep and serene and god shines there and is immediately found, without hunting as if he had come close to me while I was writing (and making) and I had not observed his coming (and therefore did not skitter away).'

Thomas Merton, 9/1/1949

Friday, July 13, 2012

Thursday, July 12, 2012

2012 day 21 | decidedly so

i quit my job, put hermitage on market, Dopty on plane, hired shipping crew to haul my things, blew texas and my grandgirls a kiss goodbye. I'll adjust to the season called winter.

I am keeping my key.

I probably should tell Ralph.
ummm, Ralph, the table's set, i promise not to leave my tubes in the road again, and I am keeping the key.

oh yes, and I will need more blue oar pan seared scallops...and that pizza with mushrooms and such, no onions.


Wednesday, July 11, 2012

2012 day 20 | all I need is...

this roll of wire, this shovel, this rake, these well worn steel tips, my painter blue taped bug gunked, once vomited in (I know all said before but it's so perfect it must be said again) cowgirl straw hat, this iPhone 4s (until 5 comes out or I break this one as well), 3G access, a battery not yet to 1% charge, my truck , my tubes, my plunge cutter, my new nail gun, my sweet Mikit drill, my, my, my...all I need...and those dang awesome pan seared scallops with acutraments and a glass of white wine (NO MORE GIN) and...oh no. so much for being low maintenance. 3% charge best to upload now.

2012 day 20 | today she hums to me

as I work from her belly. she's a few more things to speak into place to finish her off and hard to believe but I'll give her a smidge of fit and finish. I am pleased, though I find it a little disconcerting that her singing and silence can emotionally push me to and fro. but today she hums with delight, fickle female. ps. just so you know I don't hear anything audibly! am artist not loco!

I'd show you her skirt but nope! ok. well a peak under, but if you really wanna see her, you have to come to I-Park Artist Enclave on Saturday (7/14) for open studios and dinner (RSVP on their website if you wanna come dine!).

OH YES! that sits beautifully in my tube sewing tool holster. oh yes. as only a diet coke addict can gush!

2012 day 20 | agggh cutting commencing

I need the shears to acquire the shears. dang! ooooh awe, tar truck envy. lace dipped in tar would seriously be perfect for my fine dining experience. test when I get home--tubes and tar, they actually go well together.

STOP! yay! no cutting. thanks bird who splattered me while just missing my head pushed up through the core of my tabletop. ok alright! no cutting. new plan. I think she spoke to me this morning or at least the bird pooh did! got it. direction acquired, full scale testing begun!