Starved

I am addicted to re-reorganizing the boxes of things I own. It is hard enough to stay hydrated in the sudden heat, let alone finding the headspace to take a break. I am high, I am low, I am just about ready to burst waiting to listen to Florence + the Machine's new album. And waiting for the Los Angeles journey plans to solidify.

I have a plane ticket for the end of June, a prayer for a place to live in July, a feeling that I will have some kind of work to sustain. 

Forget the days that have passed without my studio work in mind. Forget that I haven't picked up a book, sadly, in months. And yet to color-correct the images from my recent exhibition...

Abundant

Apologies for the absence; school ended and I made a quick escape Northwest.

My transcript has sent, the fellowship application has probably arrived, and I have collected one (unnecessary) letter of recommendation. Yet to complete my purpose statement and artist statement, but there are still enough days for that. 

I am inclined to take flight when an experience ends, an immediate reaction. A break, a pause and I spend time making Lists Of to ignore the mist that curls my hair. A sign on the highway told me to "Be here now," and for the first time I have found alignment with the phrase: this, too, shall pass.

Missed

And I am relearning a curve, a height I forgot that is not easy to reach. It's a slow process to reorient my mind. I'm a little dizzy.

I'm making a piece about the flood. I am tripping over self-doubt because there isn't anything else to worry about at the moment. I'm using colors; it's a painting.

It's hard to know anything other than process. I can't see anything past process.