Greyspace in Magnolia, NC
It's Sunday, and raining, and the black dog is at the door. There is an artist from New Zeland that introduced me to the black dog as a metaphor for depression, and I like that- I think others use it as well- but it links that black dog to the behinder, cadejo, hell hound and the like, all the black dogs that roam the world dodging our steps. They bring warnings, and guidance, sometimes fear, sometimes magic. They're ok.
You know, sometimes I am on top of things and sometimes I struggle- and that always seems to come to light on Sunday mornings for some reason. First off, I love to think, I love to work and sometimes I get distracted and obsessed by both of them- but there are few things I would rather do than play with ideas and create words, pictures, plans. Yesterday Melissa called and we got to work on our conference presentation for quite awhile- and even though it was the phone it was fun because of the ideas, the generation of thought that flows so easy between us- and it was a task that would baffle most people, linking the following things together: Jungian Archetypes, Tarot Cards, Quests, Art, famous Scientists. But for us together it was magic- same mindsets, same links. And I found out *exactly* how much she loves Ben Franklin, so we are planning an extra day on our New York conference trip to visit Philadelphia, see the Liberty Bell and the famous crack. (I am hoping for an indulgence of cheese steak and shoofly pie). I love to travel, have adventures and I am looking forward to this- I've never been to Philly either (in a walkabout way) and I haven't been to NYC in years and years. I want to smell the Pearl River Asian Market again (it is a huge multifloor store, and it has a unique scent that I remember but can't describe- something like lemongrass, something like sandalwood and tea... I just want to smell it again.) Strange.
And I worry because I am not drawing, not working in my sketchbook and I don't know why. Sometimes it is because I want to sew instead, but still and all this is very unusual for me- by now I am usually half through my first book of the year....but the pages are pale, white as the snow that never fell this winter. Strange non-winter with the flowers blooming now at the start of February, spring to early for the land, feels like something is wrong with the world, everything off pace and tired. I want to draw but I sit down and I just stop....it's like a great grey wall comes down and all I do is sit.... I don't know if I am tired, or the artistic tide is just out, or if there is something in me that needs reset that is waiting for the gears to tumble back into place. It disturbs me because I *always* draw, it's how I talk to myself best, work out things best, and now I can't. I don't know why....and that brings us to the end of an era.
Charles isn't working at the auction anymore- there was to much of a physical toll for not enough money, and there are some aspects of the work that he just cannot do anymore. And they had a 'difference of opinion' about that~ so the parting wasn't amicable and that makes me sad. We will be taking a break from there for awhile, and I miss it- our friends, the abundance of interesting things, sitting and drawing for hours. Acquiring things for school, collections, to resell... it was an important part of our life and I mourn it. That is probably why I am so out of sorts this morning, not at work yet, dog at the door. I like to think I'm good with change but the truth is that I am not. I like stability in everyday life with the occasional adventure thrown in. I like to know what I can count on and what I can't, that the things I love will remain constant- and when they change, it is very difficult for me to go back, even though I think of it often. The island, Johnstown, California~ other places, other people, other things. I tend to burn my bridges behind me, and I really wish I wouldn't- but there is a hollowness there and it is never the same. And all I can do is remember.
No comments:
Post a Comment