Just a quick mash-up of life on River Road. One of our girls passed on over the weekend. She was a buff orpington. One of a set of twins. No reason that we could see. She had a sluggish couple of days where she bunched herself up into a tight fluffy ball and sat in the corner of the yard. A good sign she was sick. She kept fooling me though by perking back up, stretching her neck out and bobbing around for bugs. I checked her out and could find nothing. It was a quick passing as chickens go. Two days, then she lay down in the corner and poof. That yew in the corner of our yard (ie. the chicken cemetery) is freakishly larger than all the rest.
Remember my recent posting Twenty Years and Still Farting? Well I’m sorry to say that the house has been painfully silent as of late. No, my spouse did not leave me, but she decided to try a wheat free diet. Fart free diet is more like it. Oddly enough, I have to admit I miss the midnight giggles from her rising bubbles as she turned over.
Spine? A natural progression from my most recent felted piece the pelvis. I have begun to felt a spine. This one is a mind bender. Turns out each vertebrae is different from the other. This is going to be a long-term project for sure. Here are the first three cervical vertebrae:
Lastly, I come to the subject of puppy love. My partner and son have been conspiring to get a second dog for over a year now and I have fully protested. I like my peaceful home which is challenging enough with a cranky pms partner, barking dog, puking old cat and a son who lives life bigger than broadway! They ignored me. For his tenth birthday my son got a puppy. He wanted a small dog he could hold. Great! A little shaky, yippy thing that like to sneak attack. Well, we found a mini long-haired dachshund mix at the shelter. 4 months old. Jo-Jo is his name, which we all agree is unfortunate but we make do with nicknames, joe, joey, joseph, goat(he eats anything). He has charmed his way deep into my heart. He is calm, smart, attentive, easy to house train, and totally dedicated to my son. This ten-year old boy has about faced when it comes to responsibility and accountability. The clincher and heart melter for me was when my son stopped me after saying goodnight and said: “You know how fun it is for you to get into bed with mama and snuggle while you fall asleep?” Withholding my sarcastic comments I said “Yeah”. “Well,” he said “now I get to snuggle with Jo-Jo at night and I’m not lonely anymore. I love going to bed now.” My knees just about buckled. Here he is helping me with laundry:
I’ve added new and improved pictures on my sculpture page. Also donated the Hands piece to my sons art auction. Sold to the very artist I met with a year ago seeking advice about working with wool. I very much admire her work and am pleased that she found my piece good enough to add to her incredible art collection. Now if I can only stay out of my own way and continue, as I have, back to path of my desires as an artist. That is my biggest challenge. Earplugs in and blinders on, I just keep plugging forward ignoring my other self that wants to remind me that I am wasting my time, that art is not a real job, that I have no business in this highfalutin field as a child of the back woods. Nope, I continue hum to myself and plow forth. The loft studio is almost together. I go up there now and can barely contain the urge to clap my hands and jump up and down giggling. No basement hovel with fleas, no horse stall without windows, but rather a great big beautiful loft in my barn with a huge old paned glass window about six feet square, high rafters and an old hay hook hanging from its track. I am nearly in paradise! A wood stove and lots of time is all I need.
I’ve been wondering lately (and therefore procrastinating) what is it that I want to say with this blog. Why do I feel the need to tell, write, express. I ponder this often. I chose the path of an artist. This is not the obvious path to financial stability, although finances are the dimension of my life by which I and many others judge my success. So, why be an artist? The drive of an artist is to express, communicate, question. For nearly forty-five years I have had this itch, an internal crawling to get it out. Just tell everyone. It is such an itch that I get an awful pit in my stomach when I try. The problem is I don’t know what it is that I need to express. When I face this dilemma head on and really dig deep, searching my inner quagmire for a reason, or purpose, or message I come up empty, or maybe short, or maybe I’m afraid of it. So I continue painting, sculpting and writing always of the human, be it the body or the mind. One thing has rung true throughout my life of art, that I am always searching for a better understanding of humans. Why are we here? What is our purpose? What is my purpose? Why did I meet her? Why didn’t I meet him? Why did I fall ill? Why did she die? Why do we persist despite great tragedies? Why are you rich? Why is she poor? Why was he beaten? Why was I abused? Why?
In all these years of searching, I have been writing, drawing, remembering. Trying at least to remember what little I do. I was happy. That’s what I remember. I remember that as a little girl I was happy and that mostly I forget. Here, I will remember as much as I can of Dot.