so last week the roof got put on. a 4 day job. the weather finally got it's act together. my mini catastrophe has ended. sometimes i look back at stressful times and wonder what the hell just happened. sometimes life stops. it literally STOPS. there are few things that mess with me more than not being able to make art. most of you know i work outside on my little apartment porch and/or drag things out to the parking lot when no one is clogging up the parking spaces with their big ass suv's and stinky diesel dualies. there arent many things i can do in my studio area that dont entail cutting/grinding metal so i depend on nice weather to get my work done.
i feel like i have some sort of sticky insect goo all over me and it's hard to get anything done. i've got a backlog of items to photograph (its been too cloudy/rainy to go out and do that up until a few days ago) and list on etsy. i've got various things in progress and now that my repertoire has grown i find i'm often working on this and that and the other thing all at once and sometimes i get confused about what needs to get done next. did i paint that 2nd coat of rust converter on that? where is the lid for this? is that a pendant or a flower bud? my tables are all filled up. i've spread out into the area outside of my studio. and now those two tables are filled. technically this is a large loft. i'm beginning to wonder i should shove everything into the bedroom and make the whole loft a work space. i hate thinking the dust and crap that would get in my kitchen, but maybe i should take advantage of this space. god knows no one ever comes over (sometimes my wonderful neighbor does when she magically makes more minutes in the day than do actually exist). my few friendly invites for people to stop by for coffee are themselves all dusty.
i'm here. i get up and do it. i no longer think every day 'i gotta get the fuck out of here'. but i do have wistful moments of remembering nature. REAL NATURE. its so damn ugly here. i mean huntsville itself looks kinda nice...but there is no escape to my kind of nature, the kind that entails mountain ranges. escape from the loud obnoxious sounds that still amaze me, that i hear each and every day and sometimes in the middle of the night...to date i've never lived anywhere this noisy and i'm half a century old) no escape to my kind of nature filled with painfully beautiful sunsets and vistas. why make myself miserable. why think about what i dont have. i think i'm beginning to 'get it' about doing that. every single day i am aware of my mortality. always have been since i can remember being an anxious little conscious being. today i can make something. the sun is out. i can be kind to whomever i may actually have contact with. i can be kind to myself.