Things you’d rather not come home to…
I got an email about this from my neighbor sometime midday (this is my property, mind you). The water pipe that’s been leaking for weeks…but maybe you could check with me in enough time for me to register a complaint? Or give approval even? But no. Sigh. I wish we had a good enough relationship for that.
It’s OK. When I first got his description of where he was going to dig, I was worried about the tree, but it should be OK.
I got the email at the beginning of a 2-hour staff meeting where I’m not allowed to have technology. How to get through a 2-hour staff meeting? I draw. My brain is in slow-processing mode in the afternoon…always. I’m voted most likely to fall asleep and/or get in trouble. And I can’t remember half the stuff they talk about because I’m not allowed to use technology to document it. I have piles of written notes in random-ass places that I will never find again. I don’t need more of that. So I’ll put it here…
Of course, I may never see that either. I figure I must have been hungry for this one…
For a good breakfast. And on fire. Or tired of the discussion…another 30+ pages for the April meeting.
Yeah. I’m not getting much out of the book study we’re doing. I am drawing though. So I never found the other sketchbook. It’s hiding somewhere, I hope. But I found one I used to carry around. These are oldies…
I can’t explain why the person who is supposed to be driving is reading a book.
Most of these were done in restaurants, waiting for food. Somewhat disturbing…
This was my birthday four years ago.
It never stops, the drawing urge.
I did more leaves. I may do leaves until the end of time. I did a lazy daisy nested in a lazy daisy.
And then I cut for hours. I refused to do schoolwork. I just couldn’t. And I was hoping to get done with this. But no. You can see what’s left to cut out on the top right.
I did a lot. I think I even did most of it. But there’s still a hefty chunk in there. At some point, my hands hurt. I’ve been trying a new pair of scissors. They’re nice and sharp, supposed to be ergonomic and for craft cutting, more paper and fabric than just fabric, but the spring action on them is harder to manage. I wonder about whether they think that’s good because I don’t have to pull them open again, but I do use more energy squeezing. I’m always thinking about how I’ll keep making art when I’m ancient…and maybe I’ll stop sewing, which would be sad, and start painting with big wet brushes, a la Matisse in his later years…big paper or canvases on the floor as I wheel myself around, caregivers racing around trying to control the paint splatter. That might be worth it. It’s true I wasn’t always a fabric artist, so I don’t have to be one forever…but the medium seems to have stuck. I’d be sad to leave it behind.
*Cameo, Word Up
Kathy Nida 