Speaking of dream states … this one was a total eclipse. Where was I, I meaning the conscious painter? I can’t tell you, any more than I can tell you where I was when I wrote half of my poems. It’s a good thing, mind you. I’m happy that I can translate these experiences straight from the deep onto paper where they can speak out loud.
So I see the Southeast coast of Georgia here, a Pelican in the upper left, a Dolphin is in there, a woman submerged, twisted, torqued, an eye, an ear, a mouth, ? beyond that it’s up to you and maybe you don’t see those things ? …
I remember thinking of fish and the sea when I was painting it, those colors, those feelings … and that is where I stayed …
This painting, among others, survived the hydroplaning car accident which totaled my nifty zippy uber sky blue Pontiac Grand Am into the woods triplicating bouncing not supposed to be bouncing and hitting the trees like that thank you very much! Compression fracture to the back and the glass of the frame of this painting came and zipped just under my chin for a little reminder of my thinny thin mortality yet again. As if we need a reminder. Apparently we all do. ‘Cause we forget how quickly we can go, just like that.
This painting had stripes and scratches and I cried but was so glad to be alive, and I retouched and ever so carefully mixed the colors to fix her right up. And so. She lived to see the Early Paintings Show. You’d never know if I hadn’t told you. Shhh.
Silly silly cold. Really. Give it up already. I’m ready for you to leave my body. Virus. Effing virus. argh. You don’t deserve the capital A. There. Even.
Today, as surreal as it seems to me now, I actually drove to the Modern Times Coffeehouse and was interviewed by a lovely young English major from Georgetown University, who now works for the Georgetowner. So. Linky to come when I have it. Was quite fun. Spoke the truth to power I suppose. ?
Got more meds on the way home to walk Chipper and back to bed. You know the drill.
Alas, I have NOT written a word on the novel, and feel thusly ashamed. Tomorrow my counseling appointment isn’t ’til three pm so there is hope for a dashing novel writing morning, cold or no. Yes. I feel it.