Have been working on a new piece, and as always, it is an abstract reflection, or maybe a shadow, of what is happening in my life. I start with an idea that is somehow compelling and develop it with layers and layers of choices, winnowing the idea down to what it needs to be for me to be happy with it. Not an easy or short process. It feels good to be engaged in a big piece again, in any art again, after the recent couple of months. This piece is different than anything I've ever done, which intrigues me. Whether it is genuine growth of more selfish delusion is yet to be seen. I will sequester to chambers today to hopefully finish machine stitching it so I can go deep with embellishment.
I was expecting to be shattered like glass when Tilly died. Instead, the large block of marble that I am cleaved under the heavy blow, leaving large chunks of person all over the place. It hasn't been pretty. Maybe it is that my health has been less than marvelous this spring and summer and I am feeling weaker than normal, or maybe my sense of normalcy was dependent on my little furry soul-kid. The daily routines of caring, loving and protecting a little animal like a maltese are so deeply ingrained. Many people can't understand this, and at this point I don't expect anyone to. Simply put, that dog made me, me. Because of how he made me laugh every day, and because he smiled back and made my life full of love and joy. And lots of frantic worry at times, can't deny that at all. So much love and daily joy, though, that having that ripped away at the moment of his death was like having a duct tape band aid ripped off my heart. A lot of me went with him. And I don't feel right, or like myself, without my little boy pup.
Time heals all and I expect this to become more manageable too. It has only been a little over a month. It has been a miserable month, though, filled with sudden jags of breathless tears that come on like tropical showers and leave me dumbfounded at their power. Two steps forward, one step back, and on the back steps, I'm better staying in my house alone not peopling.
A couple weeks ago, I started looking at Maltese available through adoption and rescue. Just looking, I thought. Ellie da Pug is clearly depressed. When I go back to school she will be alone all day, and I worry about her longevity in this situation. I found no doggies that could live with cats and other dogs under the age of 9 that didn't have medical problems. This led me to look at puppies. Not to ever replace my Tillman, but to ease the pain of the loss. You can't be bawling and feeling like a cracked statue with three pounds of white fluff is kissing your face. Yes, I am desperate for relief from this Maltese-free environment. They are little joy machines.
My neighbor Anne suggested a puppy weeks ago when she saw me not moving on the wa
y I wish I could have. I declined the idea, facing thoughts of betrayal to my pup. But with school coming and the thought of Ellie in a house without canine companionship on the immediate horizon, my sense of duty and irreverent living kicked in. Yesterday morning, I committed to a 9 day old maltese puppy in Pennsylvania, and thanks to another great frien
d who agreed to help shuttle the fuzzy muffin up here, it is rather doable. So, here is to Teddie, a little girl who will be about 4-5lbs and will be my next canine antidepressant. I really have no clue how else to resolve this discomfort and unsettledness except with loving another dog. Sorry universe and world! End of September she will be here, probably making me wish I never ever did this until she settles into being a lovely trained adult. Pray for us all. !
Time heals all and I expect this to become more manageable too. It has only been a little over a month. It has been a miserable month, though, filled with sudden jags of breathless tears that come on like tropical showers and leave me dumbfounded at their power. Two steps forward, one step back, and on the back steps, I'm better staying in my house alone not peopling.
A couple weeks ago, I started looking at Maltese available through adoption and rescue. Just looking, I thought. Ellie da Pug is clearly depressed. When I go back to school she will be alone all day, and I worry about her longevity in this situation. I found no doggies that could live with cats and other dogs under the age of 9 that didn't have medical problems. This led me to look at puppies. Not to ever replace my Tillman, but to ease the pain of the loss. You can't be bawling and feeling like a cracked statue with three pounds of white fluff is kissing your face. Yes, I am desperate for relief from this Maltese-free environment. They are little joy machines.
My neighbor Anne suggested a puppy weeks ago when she saw me not moving on the wa
y I wish I could have. I declined the idea, facing thoughts of betrayal to my pup. But with school coming and the thought of Ellie in a house without canine companionship on the immediate horizon, my sense of duty and irreverent living kicked in. Yesterday morning, I committed to a 9 day old maltese puppy in Pennsylvania, and thanks to another great frien
d who agreed to help shuttle the fuzzy muffin up here, it is rather doable. So, here is to Teddie, a little girl who will be about 4-5lbs and will be my next canine antidepressant. I really have no clue how else to resolve this discomfort and unsettledness except with loving another dog. Sorry universe and world! End of September she will be here, probably making me wish I never ever did this until she settles into being a lovely trained adult. Pray for us all. !
N
Last night Tim and I went to my Happy Place, Hampton Beach, at sunset. It was beautiful. Very few people on the shoreline, the entire space bathed in a warm, orange glow. It was perfect -- with humid (but cool) air creating an ethereal fog. I stood for a minute ankle deep in the frigid water, looking at the expansiveness of the empty sea and sky, and just thought of how much I loved my dog. Just let myself think about it. I talked to him in my head, and told him the same things I told him when I held him in my arms as he was passing. I put a small bit of his ashes into the ocean and watched as they were pulled into the sea by a retreating tide. I prayed that my sadness would go with them. Hoping my silly ritual helps in some small way. We humans really don't know a thing about life and death at the end of the day, do we? Now whenever I visit my special place and look out to the ocean, it is that much more special.
Last night Tim and I went to my Happy Place, Hampton Beach, at sunset. It was beautiful. Very few people on the shoreline, the entire space bathed in a warm, orange glow. It was perfect -- with humid (but cool) air creating an ethereal fog. I stood for a minute ankle deep in the frigid water, looking at the expansiveness of the empty sea and sky, and just thought of how much I loved my dog. Just let myself think about it. I talked to him in my head, and told him the same things I told him when I held him in my arms as he was passing. I put a small bit of his ashes into the ocean and watched as they were pulled into the sea by a retreating tide. I prayed that my sadness would go with them. Hoping my silly ritual helps in some small way. We humans really don't know a thing about life and death at the end of the day, do we? Now whenever I visit my special place and look out to the ocean, it is that much more special.
The art I am working on has to do with the supposed appearance of things and the supposed permanence of what we think of being our lives. What an illusion. It is based on a still life photo of several small objects in my home that I set up on a bookcase in my bathroom because I liked them. I saw them every day, and they became a regular part of my surroundings. Organized. Complete. The setting of my story. I photographed them and transformed them into a fabric piece, all the while thinking about why in a sort of unconscious, nebulous way. There will be hand stitched text in this piece, and it is coming together. Sort of a "still life," sort of not.
And then, the (un)expected happened. My books became too heavy and the little curio bust was knocked to the floor. It's base cracked and flaked apart. The order I got used to proved itself to be a temporary one, and while I rescued the statue and I can still keep it, it is not the same and never will be.
See where I am going with this? Hopefully, the piece will relate all of this when complete. Until them I am letting it bob in the waves of my unconscious and trying to just push forward and get the darn thing done. Cheers!
And then, the (un)expected happened. My books became too heavy and the little curio bust was knocked to the floor. It's base cracked and flaked apart. The order I got used to proved itself to be a temporary one, and while I rescued the statue and I can still keep it, it is not the same and never will be.
See where I am going with this? Hopefully, the piece will relate all of this when complete. Until them I am letting it bob in the waves of my unconscious and trying to just push forward and get the darn thing done. Cheers!
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