Saturn Returns

Will another new planner band-aid my stress? Probably not, but it’s helping me whip stitch my life together. Slowly, I fill my empty notebooks with daily morning pages and lists of gratitude and goals. Working to close the gap between who I think I am and who I want to be. Practicing and honing and carving out the time to do the work. I acquired a new studio space in lieu of going to graduate school, and this unique claim was easily forgotten in the shuffle of life. I remember the insane pace of undergrad, and the growing pains that came with it. By contrast, the “school of life” is slow and steady and appears when you squint.

If Beyonce’s college was Destiny’s Child, then why can’t I name my own space as such?

Media Consumption

I was gifted a Kindle Paperwhite (hand-me-down from my father), and have taken full advantage of the LAPL’s ebook selection lately. We pay a monthly fee for Spotify, so I am revisiting music from my past and building playlists. In between, I fill silence with podcasts and emailed newsletters and the stack of books on my bedside table. I spend my time pondering the cracks in the parking lot while in line at the grocery store, observing the back-lit foliage outside our apartment, and endlessly brushing our three cats. Mending socks and crocheting a never-ending rug of scrap yarn, lost in my thoughts but never mired. Making time for all of these activities comes naturally, and I feel myself finally coming home.

Raised Arms

Last week I took 3 full days for realignment, all in the middle of the week. I rested the first day, dreamed a new reality on the second, and separated my affairs on the third and final day. Everyone should be keeping a daily journal - the Getty needs artifacts from the present. The first quarter is coming to a close today, one-fourth of 2020, scheduled and written. As someone who embraces routine and strives to meet set goals, I had to take time to rewrite my internal clock. It is still okay to ask for what one wants, even in the midst of chaos. There is value in recognizing hope and moving toward it even when one does not feel safe. So many have mentioned how they are able to slow down and realize what their life truly looks like lately. It is nice to cast out old methods of working and embrace the discernment of a new pace.

My wedding ring is from the early 1900s, an Art Deco beauty that has time traveled to me, an object that has lived over 100 years on planet Earth as a ring and seen many things on other hands.

On Restlessness

Open the jug, pour the liquid into a yogurt lid, swipe a few strokes and scrape the remaining liquid back into the jug. Move all the containers with fabric to one area of the room. Take the lid off of one with squares, find scissors, cut a length of wire and string five squares. Throw it down on the rug and move to the next grouping of containers. Lay a rectangle down in the white-walled room, throw colors and textures and a sense of self in a pile on the floor (maybe it will be a landscape). Start reading the sewing machine manual and change the needle, riffle through the boxes of coned thread and decide at least one cone is pure cotton. Back to the squares and then a touch more on the pile of fabric in the white-walled room and another few swipes of liquid and finally end at the table in front of the window.

Painting a White Wall

Painting is the step right after the contractors have finished mudding and taping the drywall, and it is best if the walls are bone-dry. A deliberate decision must be made to paint a wall oneself, weighing the options between spraying the room and rolling the layers on, one by one.

First, one must gather the correct and necessary tools: gallons of primer and paint, plenty of roller sponges, an extender rod, paint trays, drop-cloths and brown paper, angled brushes and, of course, Frog Tape. A partner must be enlisted to help with the initial priming of the thirsty walls, since it is an overwhelming task to roll primer by hand. The tape somehow is missing from the pile of collected tools, and the wall plates need to be taken down, but this does not deter from the project at hand. The coat of primer is uneven, covering the walls and ceiling enough, but the mud still shines through. The room sits empty for a month, housing tools and rags and a wet-dry vacuum, waiting for the white painting to begin.

Another partner is drawn into the project, and an afternoon is spent laying down the first coat of paint. It is long and hard work, and memories of painting other places come to the surface. The echo of the paint rollers fill the room. It is blinding to paint a gray wall white. It is a healing process.

The first coat is completed, and the walls need to dry. The rollers are wrapped in plastic for another day. This time, the second coat is easier and does not need a partner. The painter is psychologically whole.

Time Traveling

Years ago, I rented every theoretical physics book I could get my hands on at the local community college. I was taking biology and Western Civ II over the summer to help fulfill requirements for my double major. So much time was spent laying on my childhood room floor reading book after book for class and from that never-ending library stack. Most of the information rushed past me, despite my attempts to organize it all on paper. It was because I read to prove that I could. It didn’t matter whether the information stuck, as long as I could untangle what I was reading within the moment I was reading it. I feared the quiet, and sped up as an opposing reaction.

I now spend so much time in silence, and this fear seems so far from me. I remember my foundations professor guarding the silence, making sure we drew our boxes and bottles with plenty of room for thought. What a powerful lesson.

Issues Drawn

Facing down fear is the hardest part of life, I think. It hurts and it is scary. Why do it again and again? Comfort is found in routine and complacency. It is in that space where darkness sneaks in: doubt, suspicion, hatred, anger (all stemming from fear), and it clutters our soul. We all know it is long, arduous work to rid ourselves of demons. The pain reminds me of my favorite quote (from Beloved by Toni Morrison, of course): “Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”

And does it hurt! Days and nights spent healing ourselves from lies. The same imagery visiting over and over, relentlessly pursuing and forcing us to confront it all. And we know that surviving the fear is possible, but does it make the journey easier? Of course not. We’re in a deserted canyon with crumbling walls replacing our only way out. What we truly need is hope; the understanding that love will always conquer fear.

Building Process

Most of my days are split between activities - I have not had a long, eight-hour workday in studio in a month. The transition of summer to fall might have something to do with it. I am able to carve out three or four hour blocks to make art: I park my car, open the studio door, close it behind me and set my phone to “do not disturb.” I open the cap to the gallon of matte medium, pour it into a yogurt lid and un-crust my brush. Sometimes I sit in a metal folding chair, but most of the time I stand if I am listening to music. I like the freedom of dropping my tools and dancing when the song is right.

If there is a leftover page from the National Geographic that I didn’t finish the day before, I will pick it up and start tearing half-inch pieces. Otherwise, I will rip the first fresh page off of the stack. I am halfway done with my first magazine: January 1971. It is built with layers of paper, plenty of words and a finger on the collective unconscious. It is hard work, sorting through thoughts and intuitive impulses.

Here, Together

I pulled out the fleece-y skeleton blanket today, so the cat and I are in the living room, comfy on the couch and in the midst of clutter. I started rearranging and finalizing our bedroom last month, and I’ve moved on to the kitchen. Inspiration is slow to strike, and the boxes of tea and dishes and cookbooks have yet to annoy. I dropped off another carload of items to the new studio - a warping board, shuttles and bobbins, reeds, and boxes of my samples. I am re-learning sustained attention, and today is my first day practicing it in a long while (for my own work and practice). It is easier to work for someone else, justifying their needs above mine, an external drive to check off and fulfill. The work for myself seems unimportant and hard. It has been years since I’ve poured my all into myself, and maybe I am a little scared to go that deep again.

But I’ve made a promise, and found a space to match. The discipline for taking responsibility is what keeps me moving forward.

On Worth

The swell of fall seems to be taking all in its tide. Sprinting through hours and days, just to meet deadlines and maintain balance. Remember how to “let” ? I made a decision a few months ago that has changed a lot of things dramatically, but more importantly, it has changed my perspective on my own worth. I have dreams about my old self in high school, colliding with the person I am now, confused about making it to band practice and trying to boil water for my French press. I have dreams about screaming at a younger, more idealistic version of myself. I spend time weighing and judging and measuring opinions, trying to find a neutral equilibrium to step into.

Who are we to each other? And the most important advice I’ve heard: other people’s opinions are none of my business. Our day dreams should reign, not the balance of everything.