Day 11 -- hmm

Generic tombstones?

here this is the one I qualify for...

Tom Thumb's tomb stone...ah, my life is complete. ? Hmmm.

I have reached my quota of social tourism. The company was great but I am not much of a tourist. Sitting out in the shade of a tree at the edge of a grassy green glade or hikng in the forest, or counting fireflies in the meadow at dusk, these are more up my stream (ha) and I will leave the alley to another.

like a loaf of wonder...bread.

Day 12 -- artists' road trip

Barnum museum in Bridgeport.

This was available for purchase at garage sale. ?

Location:Main St,Bridgeport,United States

Day 11 -- filled with sewing

Sewing all day and nice end of day conversation with fellow resident, Lalie. I like Lalie and these other artists--all thinkers, slightly skewed sense of humor and way of seeing the world around them, hard workers, considerate of others, and good at what they do. I like these artists.

probably should pick up some pulleys and cabling tomorrow so i can hoist this puppy up on site to finish her and abandon the temporary rigging.

Day 11 -- slow start

Each day the lillies of the lake easy out acros the lakes surface a little further, a little denser. Sitting here ech morning has allowed me to see the process--the stems slowly easy up from the lakes subterranean.  I can see the lillies two to three feet under the placide mirror surface days before they float it's surface.

OMG. HE IS BIG AND ICKY! Picture doesn't reveal his size. His skin and shell are covered over with some algae like growth. If he were a rock used to cross a creek, surely you would become wet when you slipped from hus back. And he had big white claws, the only aspect from head to toe not over grown with ick.

Day 10 -- closes with a meadow filled with fireflies

Day 10 -- afternoon showers

Good. I am physically exhausted. Who would ever imagine sewing old tire tubes would be so strenuous. My girl hands are spent!!

The floppy ends are temporarily attached to cables (to left). So pardon the unresolved elements = in process. Holes for dappling, dancing light are working out as I had hoped.

To be continued. I had hoped to sew five; but at this pace with 18 days left, including install, I just physically can't do five. "Hmmm. maybe I'll just stay an extra month," she said with a silly grin knowing that a real bed, hot showers, beautiful environment, awesome team of hosts and fellow artists, well, and a chef might be influencing her silly whimsical wish. Awe yes. The time I do have here is absolutely exactly what I need for my soul and could not have asked for more.

Day 10 -- growing, flowing, light dappling through

Syrup

My righting, oops, I mean writing, either works since my writing is my attempt to right the capsizing of my boat, my life. So I write to right. Original point before Freudian typo and tangent was that my words are laden with excessive physical descriptors for my internal need to focus on the present, to dwell mentally and emotionally where I am physically. I am righting my boat with the written word by being present where I truly dwell--here and now, today in this moment.

Day 10 -- the fog clings moistly this morning

i am afraid the sun will not burn through, the leaves are laden with moisture. The slightest breeze sends a cascade of liquid crystals spilling down. The air clings thickly with the a barely audiable chill.

My fellow I-Park artists in residence

Lalie Douglas
Jeannie Harkleroad
Anthony Ingrisano
Shireen Madon, poet
Nathaniel Sullivan

Day 9 -- ouchy!

Hmmm! I've learned not to poke my fingertips with sharply cut (functions as needle and thread) baling wire. Occasionally I have forgotten and must relearn. OUCH!

And it is a bit strange working out here with a forest as my studio workspace with all of its noises--birds, insects, the breeze rustling through the leaves AND THE RANDOM TREE FALLING. That is the second tree I heard fall since just yesterday. No strong wind, no storm approaching, just a crystal clear blue day and all seems in order. Then this groan lets loose, twigs and branch beginning snapping as the tree suddenly gives way to the call of gravity and down she plummets with a vibrant thud! Perhaps no squirrels (wait i haven't seen any) were harmed in this event...

I am hoping that doesn't happen when we start cabling up trees to install this work. Or of it does we all move out of its descent path quickly...enough :)

Day 9. -- a shift in her being to allow the dappling light dance down and enter her soul

She'll stream down from the roof tops of the forest high, where the light streams in. Spreading out, funnel-like, she will spill down across the glade, as her mouth opens up for her grief poured out, her form will contain more and more openings like these allowing the light to dance and dapple through the canopy of her opening spreading soul releasing her sorrows and deep grief as she is filled with the life and light.

"I am still trying to find out" Thomas Merton

"'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

Day 9 -- ladened with dew

The morning, dripping with dew as  each web is respun.

The slightest of wisps softly lifts from the surface as the sun clears a crystal path of warmth across this pond. Yes, the warm day already encroaches, as i pop open the top of my morning coffee* here in my nest whose sticks surround me with the lithe movement and grace of Matisse's ringed dancers upon the blue painted surface.

*diet coke

Day 8 -- I wandered back out after she'd come and gone only to be caught by her sister.

Still slick with what she spilled during her rumble...

...magnificent and slightly frightening things catch my eye as I wandered back down to my work site. Naturally this site is out of doors...well because of doors and the limited scope of their orifices. Though this does not bother me a bit because I prefer, and actually love, working outside (even in Houston's sweltering heat. Of course I am in Connecticut, so much the better).

I arrived at my work site, straight back to work. Sewed several tire tube veins when I heard her sister rumble. Right when I thought this one, she'd pass me by, she gave me a good hard soak. Hunching up against the dry side of my shade tree, back pressed tightly, tools in hand, seriously hoping that is not poison ivy I am standing in...

Finally a mad dash to my studio, sacrificing my fresh diet coke to this rumbly wet sister.

Day 8 -- the thunder, she dances and rumbles

I felt her an hour before she arrived. I listened to the hum of her low distant rumbles draw near. I smelled her moments before she was on top of me. Not as strongly as some, just faint as though she would not last long. And I heard her through the tree tops when she began to spill. Now I wait for her here just inside, sitting with the door opened wide and my seat pulled to its threshold. She rumbles on as she hovers here. I think she plans to stay awhile.

Day 8 -- OMG

I am out of diet coke!!!

I sit here this misty morning on the lake with the slightest of moist chills upon the air, I know there is hope for today. It is grocery day! Soon my diet coke stash shall be replenished. Plus bagels and fresh arrugala.

Chef Bob came back from his holiday last night to cook for us. While he was away volunteers came and prepared our evening meals. Oh we artists are going to get so spoiled!!