Julia Cameron said “The blood remembers what the mind forgets” but I wonder, does the blood forgive? I think the blood forgives faster than the mind, actually. It lets go, it cycles in and out and in and out and merges with the breath. The mind merges with the breath, too, but it doesn’t circulate as powerfully as the heart. The heart. The heart moves the blood, moves the breath – or rather, allows the breath to move. Intriguing concept, the blood remembers what the mind forgets.
I shop at thrift stores regularly: the most recent time was looking for books to use in my multi-media projects. There is a goodwill clearance center close to my home that has books for twenty-five cents each. I go specifically looking for text books, dictionaries, etc that are OLD! The last time I went I hit paydirt. I got a copy of Gardner’s Art History Book in its Third Edition, used in the Kern Union High School… there were stickers inside from students in the late 60’s and early 70’s. I love that. I also got a dictionary, college edition of Merriem Webster’s from 1961, full of now-fallacies or at least political incorrectness. I especially felt a tug around the definition of autism. I am grateful we aren’t there any more, but then I think “Has it changed much?” I don’t think it has, perhaps.
I used squall in my poem today for NaPoWriMo, used the last line in yesterday’s Flaw Poem to create a sort of poem sequence not unlike a song set. I love doing stuff like that, and I used my dictionary page from that old dictionary, to create art which moved the poetry right along. I want to use more printed pages from my art. I also watered down acrylic paint to use in the work and I like how it looks, too. So, it is an old flawed watercolor I painted when I couldn’t find words (it occurs to me I wrote a poem about that topic as well) and a dictionary page with “flaw” in it, a hand written copy of yesterday’s poem and acrylic paint. I like it. I want to make more like it. I wish now, though, that I could create another version with a very washed out photo of me as the foundation rather than plain white paper. Since, in the first part of the poem it talks about my picture (or a line drawing of me, rather) as the foundation or the personification of “Flaw”.... I wish I had more confidence in the blessings that I am!
Cherylanne was so masterful at putting my costume together for me. I don’t think I will do so much thrift store shopping for costumes with so many people around who really know how to put costumes together and whose clothes I fit. I appreciate that Kristina could share my costume from Hamlet Machine, too – I appreciate the fact my costume is on stage even if I am not wearing it (Well, I am wearing the bottom.)
I watch the word count here at 750 Words, much like I watch the pages as I write them in my blue lined notebook. I count pages, lines, words stacked or laced around the edges. Now, I look at the bottom corner to see “Where am I” and try to forget my shoulders hurt. They hurt, right now. My eyes are droopy and salty and tired and I would rather forget my quest to write to write to write to write?
How can I ever forget that, after all.
Random stuff:
I love my Amherst coffee mug. I love Amherst, period.
My life is changing, drastically. I have been feeling it in my bloodstream.
My spirit is reclaiming itself and the wishcasting is helping, tremendously, as is the art. I need to work on my art vision statement, its rough draft, and use some of the cardboard boxes I have collected to make more statue type thingees, shadow box cut outs. I want my artistic vision to be about tangible soul, taking what is intangible or conceptual and making it specific, concretized. Take love and making it into form…. that’s what I do and that’s what I want to do more of, consistently.
Some sound just stopped. Rainer is barking. He wants to be held but I have less than twenty five words to go so I keep typing. I keep typing. I keep typing.
Artistic vision is giving and receiving love, tangible soul – making concepts, unreachable into something people can see, smell, touch, taste and feel with their fingers and their spirits. No fissure between soul and space and form.
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