Monday, July 16, 2012

2012 day 25 | short morning on pond

key portions loaded, too much leave behind, totally lost concept of no trace with my remnant mostly tidied piles. it must mean I shall return to envision something new to dance in the forested breeze and add hints of alterations to the earthy scents.

many things bind me here but the one that swims to the surface on my heal dragging slow morning leave is the temporary reprieve from one handed juggling. in this place, I have one hat, and that one is gently nestled in community, a family of sorts where the spaces come alive. I thrive in this more connected wood tied environment. well and I do get totally pampered. perhaps far more complex, but these thoughts are on the surface of my morning.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

2012 day 24 | grrrrr undisclosed cursing

at the imaginary anti-installation-truck-loading god! grrrrr.

I am just going lay here flat on my back and shake my fist at the sky. it must be the imaginary oh-you-should-stay god wrestling with the my imaginary anti-installation-truck-loading-frazzle god! grrrrr. who will win, I do not know! guess i am staying. good thing I kept my key.

2012 day 24 | I can't count, who's counting anyway? oh yeah. me.

since I already "decidedly so", I've whole heartedly still concur again, this morning, this midday, and again this mosquito biting mid afternoon in the woods that ...

"i've quit my job, put hermitage on market, Dopty on plane, hired shipping crew to haul my things, blew texas and my grandgirls a kiss goodbye. texted my m&d a hug. I'll adjust to the season called winter.

I am keeping my key.

oh yes, and I will require more blue oar pan seared scallops...and that pizza with mushrooms and such, but no onions." we'll discuss my budget at a later date.

oh alright, alright. I know. not really. but I think it is a good idea. I mean I would miss my WASHers, grandgirls, and such.

obviously I need to work on my non -bucket bucket list and set my freaking course, quit noggin and cast into the next five or ten years.

2012 day 24 | her under skirt stripped and rolled i

gently and leisurely in under 30 minutes. she did not complain. she may creak and groan with the next phase of her dis-posing.

2012 day 24 | thinking, mapping her dis-posing + loading

___ remove tubular and rubber load from truck.
___ label parts.
___ take down interior rubber sheeting
___ roll up rubber sheeting
___ remove stitching between modular units
___ remove upper level rubber trim
___ prep to secure or counterbalance units

___ remove units alternating sides so as not to flip tabletop sections
___ perhaps roll rubber modular units
___ take down tabletop units
___ disassemble middle tt section
___ lower joists
___ remove fabricated hardware + secure to take home
___ lay chairs down

___ remove front to back lateral runs
___ lift of seat
___ collapse structure
___ load chair
___ determine tool bin travel location

___ load rubber modules
___ if weight accommodates, load rolled rubber sheeting

___ organize and load tools

UMMM leaving, a to do list for brian
___ relocate cinder blocks to JT
___ disassemble + relocate 2x4s to green tarped area near Woodstock
___ confirm no trace left behind

Saturday, July 14, 2012

2012 day 22 | sense of scale

total sense of scale while unfirtunately caught making a face omg!

Friday, July 13, 2012

2012 day 22 | come and see tomorrow

see it cause then she gets dis-posed, and I am already visualizing her so many new re-posed ways!

Thursday, July 12, 2012

2012 day 21 | decidedly so

i quit my job, put hermitage on market, Dopty on plane, hired shipping crew to haul my things, blew texas and my grandgirls a kiss goodbye. I'll adjust to the season called winter.

I am keeping my key.

I probably should tell Ralph.
ummm, Ralph, the table's set, i promise not to leave my tubes in the road again, and I am keeping the key.

oh yes, and I will need more blue oar pan seared scallops.


Wednesday, July 11, 2012

2012 day 20 | all I need is...

this roll of wire, this shovel, this rake, these well worn steel tips, my painter blue taped bug gunked, once vomited in (I know all said before but it's so perfect it must be said again) cowgirl straw hat, this iPhone 4s (until 5 comes out or I break this one as well), 3G access, a battery not yet to 1% charge, my truck , my tubes, my plunge cutter, my new nail gun, my sweet Mikit drill, my, my, my...all I need...and those dang awesome pan seared scallops with acutraments and a glass of white wine (NO MORE GIN) and...oh no. so much for being low maintenance. 3% charge best to upload now.

2012 day 20 | today she hums to me

as I work from her belly. she's a few more things to speak into place to finish her off and hard to believe but I'll give her a smidge of fit and finish. I am pleased, though I find it a little disconcerting that her singing and silence can emotionally push me to and for. but today she hums with delight, fickle female.

I'd show you her skirt but nope! ok. well a peak under, but if you really wanna see her you have to come to I-park artist enclave on Saturday (7/14) for open studios or dinner.

2012 day 20 | agggh cutting commencing

I need the shears to acquire the shears. dang! ooooh awe, tar truck envy. lace dipped in tar would seriously be perfect for my fine dining experience. test when I get home--tubes and tar, they actually go well together.

stop! yay! no cutting. thank bird who splattered me while just missing my head pushed up through the core of my table top. ok alright! no cutting. new plan. I think she spoke to me this morning or at least the bird pooh did! got it. direction acquired, full scale testing begun!

2012 day 20| the mirror to which I hear

hmmmm. contemplating the one way mirror of blogging in this unedited and as yet unproofed post. crap I hope I've not said too much wrongness. should proof I know, too bad!

bb (before blogging) 2005 poem excerpt from grad thesis development.

and I skim across this placid self
the mirror to which I hear
glass pressed closed eyes shut tight
it burns me.

well that pretty much foreshadowed my art process and blogging life with the exception of that at the point of writing, I was in transition OUT of my Vulcan (logic/nonemotional) habits of life. clearly from my blogging over the course of the past six years my internal life has been anything but placid. damn. funny that those who knew me before the mirror to which I hear, sensed me as even keeled, level headed, oh so freaking responsible, dependable, hardworking, nonemotional, objective, clear thinking, steady, wise, anchored, nonruffleable, nonneedy, with just the smallest hint of safe rebellion at the point I wrote that poem. I hadn't cried (except in movies) for almost nineteen years.

obviously i was long over do for a good cry. and so it began (the crying and giving up the placid life), I stepped from graphic design, which allowed for my fierce hiding (I just like this phrase and must use it every instance that is remotely applicable), into art, into my own skin, into who I was wired to be. SHIT. how could i have not known for forty plus years! oh fecal matter! no placidity accepted. the placid simple becoming an indicator for where I hide. the more placid, the deeper the hiding. oh crap. so now? my mirror's every blemish and warp is evident, the surface simply no longer appears smooth I hold loosely to the truths reflected there knowing they are deformed by my warps. my Vulcan self has left the room and I really have been learning from the mirror to which I hear. as I press the glass close, I attempt to open my eyes. yes, it still burns me but sometimes I can now see into the other room and am interested in what is on the other side.

tangent # one on the mirror to which I hear. check. but need to go deeper. reflect (sorry couldn't resist).

other tangents to explore.
why the one way mirror of blogging? what am I looking for? why invite or leave it open for others to watch me squirm? why alone in the interview room? am I in trouble? should I have a lawyer present or a priest? they can't hold me, so why am I still here? am I waiting for someone to sit down across from me? am I performing? wearing a poker face? do i swear to tell the whole truth? what for? my last deposition I was instructed to say yes, no and keep my mouth shut, reveal little to nothing of myself leaving opposing counsel guessing; the one before I agreed and did answer everything no matter how self defeating or legally stupid. I was me, my non-placid self. it dragged on for almost 5 hours. the me of me must have done something to opposing counsel because no matter how oppositional or pathetic i was, she still post-deposition inquired of my counsel if she also thought it might be reconciled. when i hid as instructed, i was not me--it was short and cruel. when i was me, i was accessible, human, even lovable. (oops wrong tangent jumped on due to metaphor of choice. reel it in) back to metaphor not really proceedings. dang, I hate when I do that. returning to originally intended tangent. now. why am I still sitting here with no one across the table? why the one way mirror? I do like being seen? yup? I hate hiding. yup. I am tired of hiding. so I unpack, shuffle my bags, squirm, wuestion, ponder, even attempt answering my questions before the mirror. why the mirror? why the one way mirror? accountability in the reflection, a sounding mirror, and perhaps I might be held in check for telling the truth of my unpacking, shuffling, fidgeting, and repacking, my learning and unlearning, my making and unmaking. I intended to dig into what is real and become more so. so is the mirror an odd checks and balance. sometimes it reveals my own bullshit to me. which may be edited out or not (obviously). my dad always taught me that the truth with its consequences was far better than a lie with its. ive found this mostly true. yet, I've now learned, not as to lie, but some truths should never ever be spoken or written. no matter what P thinks. she was wrong. oops sliding into another unrelated different real tangent AGAIN. climb back onto the metaphor k.

perhaps I am just avoiding crawling back into the belly of my tabletop beast. dang.

on a lighter note, that makes me smile, it dawned on me that no matter where i go, Chicago, Houston, New London, East haddam, Huntsville, Florence, Rome, Paris, Ireland, San Miguel, I eat out of doors as much as I can, no matter the weather, with the ebb and flow of the city or living land shifting, moving around and through me. I need this ebb and flow. i need to not be boxed up (hence my one way mirror and table is almost always out of doors -- bahahaaaa. she said doors! I just realized as i thumbed that very my real table and chairs are fabricated from doors. bahahaaaa somedays I find life to be really funny as it constantly folds back on itself in the play of language). I've been eating out of doors (stop it kathy) regularly since the mid nineties. I've tried to figure out why many times. so many reasons that link and conflict. life is so interesting in the way it makes sense and absolutely doesn't! fold that!

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

2012 day 19 | grrrrr. she usually talks to me

in her quiet language as I stitch. she usually tells me where to take her. she's directed a bit, but not how to complete her. and she us screaming with silence. but i cant seem to see her. oh stymie! it's the problem with working full scale when sketching. oh double stymie.

2012 day 19 | I catch myself talking over, under and through

when I really want to be listening, to actually be present. my two cents are my two cents, they are my blurts and run ons and see mes. i cannot hear or connect through my ons and mes. I find this unattractive, unproductive, deforming as a habit. I am pretty sure I know why these over, unders and throughs manifest as my blurt ons and see mes, though I am unsure as to whether or not I actually want to or can unpack this habit. there is a definite handful of things I don't unpack before this one way mirror. but it'd probably be good to unpack at least into UNposted posts for my own benefit. blogging is such a one way mirror. those that read along, in spite of my UNPOSTED posts and my unpacked bags, may actually know my rhythms far better than I and hear the unpacked, unposteds between the lines from the safe distance of the one way mirror.

but what unforming manner shall be embraced to release the blurt ons and see mes that cause me to talk over, under and through. how to unform? do I simply spend too much time alone that it makes me hard of ear?

I'd like to catch myself in the act (even before when it is just rolling on my tongue) and relax into silence and the listening, flipping my lip switch from on to off.

in many ways perhaps writing is a way to allow for my blurts ons and see mes in a way that detracts less for it allows another to choose to glance through my mirror of their own accord. no captive audience I've inadvertently cornered with my overs, unders and throughs. and what role of the hermitage? time in the woods? how does this relate to tge making? I don't think it is that I want to be different than I am, to be other, well maybe a little. i for sure just want ti unlearn some learnings (habits) I've acquired that unnecessarily laden my unpacked bags. I'd be ok with some unlearning. unlearning, unpacking. yes please.

2012 day 19 | dreamed about how the heck I was going to disassemble

really just my brain mapping/fretting out my week. dreaming about outrigging and where the heck I will put my tool trunk for transport. gosh I haven't even finished yet! and I really just got into a rhythm. perhaps I should just quit
my job and residency hop for a year or two. bahahaaa. don't tell my dad that thought even ran through my head. oh that would be so fiscally responsible! but hey, I only had a rough idea but not till I arrived spending sometime here did it really gel. schnap! and i am rather pleased with it and what ive been learning from it. residency hopping would mean releasing hold of my tubular tendencies as they don't go well with vagabonding. hmmm 4-5 options for 2013-2014--keep doing what I am doing where I am, uproot, venture out and do it somewhere else, plunge into a creative writing mfa/phd or visual phd to explore the juncture between making and writing because there is definitely one and I find it fascinating, learn to harness, direct and do something with my writing (plus still making), or residency hop (well my fiscal self probably will nix that but it is an interesting thought rolling in my head. not a good sign that there is actually room up here for it to roll...). solution. seriously knock on the doors (apply) of each this fall and see what doors open and then go through just one. my dad's 80 and still works (by choice), which means possibly 30 more years, mom's 76, 26 more years, my gram's adventure went to 99 with only the last 4 days not perky and sprie, that gives me, 49 years. so I should at least future cast my heart into the next ten. so I need to tie my flies and fling the line out there to see which doors they may drop into or snag open. obviously I could get squished dead while dangling over the forest floor or trip and bang my head even today but that's not worth planning for and I've decided, at this very moment, to stop planning for MS, Parkinson's, and/or Alzheimer's (I couldn't possibly save enough anyway at this point to dent any of those) which have played out alongside some of the longevity in my family. worry wart I am. worry worry. but I'd like to change that and focus on future casting vs future fearing.

Monday, July 9, 2012

2012 day 18 | could I possibly br more functionally fashionable!

with my newly adapted deer fly catching stick-to-it grungy sweat ringed now blue taped texas cowgirl hat, to accessorize my husband beater tank top, 50 cent garage sale shorts, well worn steel tip boots, tube tool sewing holster I sling! i think there is a certain odd vanity revealing itself as i sit i admiring my self developed wardrobe while savoring my caraway cheese and tomatoes simultaneously coveting more pan seared scallops. clearly. shoot me now!

I will say it is FUNCTIONAL.

2012 day 18 | one last massive hanging section

then fine tuning and lots more baby tubes...well, maybe. she's making me a little worried...truly I don't know her structural soundness. I mean I am sure she will stand just find, but...I worry about every piece ust more so if I am wedged up in her belly while I make her. hanging the tubes, the weight has been quite distal from her core strength but once their in place I've intuitively (meaning I didn't really think it through but made right decision) hung them with their weightiness tight to the central oak joists with the gravitational force going almost straight down into the legs of each chair! oh why, oh why, was I not required to take physics in high school and college. chordate anatomy, yes, organic chemistry, yes, remedial essay writing, yes, but how, oh how, did I get through without physics or any foreign language! dang. I really need both!

2012 day 18 | slinging my goober art need holster in place

ready to ascend to my precarious tube sewing perch. morning time on pond- check. Unposted thumb thinking uploaded-check. scrawling and scratching my brain on paper-check, check plus (oops teach talk for above average). crunchy peanut butter slathered crispy English muffin consumed-check. diet coke fix fulfilled-check. most enjoyable deep ponderings bantered (thanks lilian)-check. generator fired up, tubes cut-check. security back chair structural wood block supports measured and cut. belt slung on-check. thumbed out compulsive blog posting-check. keys in truck, bring on the pianos :) - check. upload, send, and getting to it!

Sunday, July 8, 2012

2012 day 17 | yummmmmmm the blue oar

fun as well.

2012 day 17 | honestly I can't think if any moment more sweet

than when I've worked myself to utter exhaustion under the trees canopies--hard work, shirt clinging with sweat, not a clean spot on me, even profusely bug bitten, I've known no greater moments of joy. there are things that come damn close--the laugh of a god daughter, the ruffle of hair an affectionate delight, an arrugula salad with a steak medium rare, the eye crinkling twinkle on my dad, and that moment were you've taught yourself out of a job because the student catches fire. why working hard, being drenched in sweat and gunk suspended just above the forest floor precariously does this for me, is something I really can't decipher (I've tried). I just know it brings me moments of pure joy. now to figure out how to give myself over to it in a way I can physically and fiscally sustain. alright, get back to the grunge you say you love kathy.