What Time is It?
Finally--we are in the house. Love it and love it.
A few weeks ago I was with some friends and the question was asked, "what one word describes you?" Of course, like an idiot, I said "art". I don't think I can say one word. Ever. And so what I meant by art was not that I paint and sculpt and blah and blah, but that everything I see or do affects me positively or negatively. I could have said "beauty", but that would have been really pretentious.
I can't tell you what a difference being in the house means to me. There is something about the wood trim and the creek outside and the whole dishevelled appearance that makes me feel grounded. That is what I meant by art. I like to look at things I think are pretty--how's that? But, I know my idea of pretty is not what 98% of this country views as pretty.
Then, to be more of an artiste, I must say that I feel uninspired when I am surrounded by ugly (go ahead and take offense if I yawn around you). For the last while I have felt cluttered and preoccupied. School and moving has taken up most of my mental energy. Colin doesn't understand how my mind decorates and rearranges furniture a hundred times a day.
This summer I am planning on nothing but:
watching the girls play in the creek
writing and reading (not in that order, nor to scale)
staring at my new wallpaper and my old wood panelling.