It was that kind of day that had a natural flow. I allowed myself to do what felt good, without pressure. I planned to write to y’all all day long, but here I am, finally at 8:48pm with not a whole lot of energy left. Yes, today flowed, but it was full.
I got up with a fire in my belly to finish this funny guy:
And after a few solid hours of work, he’s almost complete. He’s mostly metallics. I’m thinking about doing a series of animals in this style, which reminds me somehow of taxidermy and this shop, which I‘m lucky enough to have visited in person. I’ll keep you posted. My visual art continues to evolve.
Then I spent a while with John Henry. I made sausage, egg, and cheese tacos for him and his poppop, Hayes, and I spoke with my therapist on the phone at eleven while still wearing my pajamas. John Henry scooted off with his teacher, Erin, at noon and I sat with Hayes for a while and talked out a song idea he’s been wrestling with for a while. I finally got to the yoga mat at 2.
Then I headed outside to work in the garden and don’t think I came in until six except for quick trips in and out. It was a hot day, but it seems I become more grateful for our spot with each day that passes, and particularly the backyard oasis that seems to sometimes fool us into thinking we’re somewhere other than in the middle of a big city.
I guess this is all to say that if this platform has become a place for me to write about my desire to heal from trauma and begin to consistently engage with the world the way I want to, then today was a good example of how I’m doing it. I have no pearls of wisdom to impart. All I have is willingness to share how I’m figuring out how to put one foot in front of the other less painfully than I have in the past. Right now, it’s about letting myself flow, not getting too deep into one thing for too long, making art that doesn’t require me to churn up my guts, and taking time to enjoy what I’m doing, whatever it is. Realizing there is no finish line. I’m doing things like standing at the kitchen sink, getting lost in thought about the novel idea I’ve had for almost eleven years that won’t leave me alone, burning into my working memory the details that come to me while I peel a peach, cut it into quarters, break it apart and eat it, letting the juice run down my wrist and onto the white porcelain.
Her mother should do this in the novel, I think. And she should be wearing a pale yellow shirtwaist sleeveless dress while she does it. She should think she’s alone, but she won’t be.
Thank you for being here for all of it.
Peace. Love.
Allison
PS — Thank you for buying my paintings — they’re almost gone! It means the world to me that you love them.
I would love it if you wrote a novel Allison. Your reference to taxidermy brought back a childhood memory. When I was about 7 or 8 my parents took me on a seaside holiday to a resort in the south of England. Actually we lived in a seaside resort in the south of England but I pestered them to go to places with sandy beaches.
My dad booked a B&B for us. When we arrived at this grand old house near the seafront, we saw a brass plaque with Mr xxx, taxidermy written on it under the B&B sign. My mum was rather shocked! An older man opened the front door. He wore a shabby looking Edwardian-style suit. Soon his wife appeared to check us in and the older man returned to the front room which was an office. I caught a glimpse of a myriad of stuffed creatures in glass cases around the office. As a kid I was curious of course. “I can show your son my collection during your stay” said the older man. My mum’s face went white!
When we got to our room, passing several display cases in the way, my mum freaked out. It didn’t help when I said that the older man looked just like Grandpa in the Munsters! He even had greying hair on each side of his head above his ears.
The following day, my dad searched and found alternate accommodation, on the pretense that his elderly mother had taken ill and that we had to return home immediately. I was angry and disappointed because I hadn’t seen more of the taxidermist at work. I guess at least he did the messy stuff in a shed in the garden so there was no smell of chemicals in the house except on him which was rather off putting when he helped serve breakfast.
Why am a writing this? It brought back a very vivid memory of us sitting in our room eating fish & chips, rain running down the windowpane. It was like I was really there. A precious moment with my parents who have both passed away and my mother telling my dad that the place gave her the creeps and that we had to move. This was all triggered by a single word.
Px❤️
I love the mellow peace in this post today, Allison. Counting blessings is a sure way to hold onto that peace. Hugs!