I have been away for a few weeks, as you know. I returned home shy, private, and introspective.
Traveling shook things up enough that I become someone unfamiliar. It takes time, not to find myself again, but to invent new parts to latch onto for a start fresh. While away, I enjoyed being unplugged from things. I even considered staying unplugged. This silent trend continues and my comeback is slow. I take on the Internet with caution, weighing the use and importance of every motion. No matter how serious my new goals are, I have a keen demand for enjoyment and fun.
This journey, which was the third one this year, stirred the melancholy that resides in me. This melancholy is not good or bad. In fact, as I note below, there can be an upside, if I navigate quietly through it. It is like touching everything you own, which I did physically when we moved last year. Now, I was given an opportunity to touch all that I own inside of me. It is a monotone undertaking, not up or down. It just is. I am glad that Joel likes driving, because I sat on the passenger side watching things pass by. My watching becomes a form of emptiness that is a cleansing, like a sour milk jug in need of a rinse.
I took in much and I let much go. My travel pattern seemed to be city-woods-city-woods with lots of water added, such as oceans, lakes, and streams that flow of over big rocks. At one point I was on an 18-hour train ride. I love the train and it reminded me of the summer that I had a European Rail Pass, hopping on trains from here to there without much thought.
I wrote many letters to you, but each one I tore up and tossed. I couldn't quite capture any moment because there was nothing in tune with time. Each occurrence seemed watered down, blurry, and fleeting. While in New York City I tried to write to you while sitting in a rooftop garden in Soho, a small loft building still clinging to the days when artist's ruled the area. There was one part of a letter that I did I save. I tore off the top and the bottom of the yellow lined sheet.
Here are the words in between: I went to use my cell phone, which only has about sixteen phone numbers in it, and found a dead tick flattened on the knitted protective case. The size of it was quite alarming and I am thrilled that it didn't attach itself to me. I flicked it off and it landed on the sidewalk under the table of the outdoor cafe. I stared at it trying to figure out if somehow “Tick in the City” could be the title of this letter.
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| Wound 45"x45" oil on canvas |
I am drawn to this passage because I continue not to find one single metaphor in it. It is a very rare sensation for me, to be void of meaning. On the trip, my wagons came unhitched. Like a balloon releasing air quickly, I flopped onto the landscape, coming to rest without a big view.
When on the coast of Maine we surveyed some family land on top of a large hill that we call a mountain. It has lots of acres without anything built on it. There is a beautiful view which includes water down below. There are evergreens, yellow birch trees, and brilliant maples. In the ground brush there are zillions of ticks, so we needed to check ourselves many times after departing. Even while being extra careful, it happened that one morning after a stroll, as I was brushing my just washed hair, a live tick fell on my lap. Joel killed it. Another concern in high remote places is keeping an eye out for big birds that can swoop down and take little pet dogs. It happens.
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| Story of the universe No. 12, 70"x80" charcoal, conti, chalk, college and gesso |
There is talk of blasting a hole in rocky top of the mountain that would become a tidy basement and a place to park things. I get excited listening to my brother's plans. My main concern was finding the spot that was to be my grave. Everyone laughed, even though I was quite serious. Mind you, I am very happy. I love my life. I just don't find the topic of death emotionally draining. I confront it head on, because it feels good. It is our destiny, so I do not deny its place in my future. I want to be involved in my death, just as I am involved in my life. I plan to travel well and on time.
I am gratefully that you put up the diagram of "Everywhere" in describing The Institute, your Institute. You know that my studio becomes a fane for me, devotion without distraction.
I have grown up saying "I am almost there." Not like a child's "Are we almost there?" "There" was in the distance, but within reach. Over time, I was taught that "There" was "Here." I accepted this notion of presence for a long time. Yet, as I grew older, it occurred to me that "There", once you became aware of it, was no longer "here" because it passed by and became then. Needless to say, living in the moment didn't work for me any longer; it felt too still, like a burnt out house. Now, I am reverting back to my original thought. (For the record, I am discovering that many of my first thoughts were suitable and perhaps I was smarter as a child before the world wiped its hands on my heart.) Once again "I am almost there." Seizing the moment becomes a great effort of diligent activity focused on a sky shimmering with expectation. I cannot be a spectator of this moment. I must be someone that activates the present as it is nearing.
So here I am, alive and home again, busy on many things and pursuing many goals. I can't wait to report to you as I move closer to "It."
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| Tears in the city |
Much of my current mood is attached to a few happenings. One may be retrieving the bronze tears from the Buzzards Bay. These 100 tears have humanity disturbing traits carved into them. The tears came out of the ocean aged with patina and quite beautiful. The horrible words are no longer legible. Nature took them away. Since they are gone and we are nature, I can only surmise that, if human's put their minds and hearts to it, we can erase the things in the world that cause harm and sadness. This is my thesis.
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| Bronze tears after spending five years in the tides of salty ocean water |
I am feeling the weight and heaviness of this, the second part of three, beginning to subside. For six long years I have been dabbling in the darkness, and now 100 Tears: Part 2 is almost complete! Passing through the shadows had its downside, but now 100 Tears: Part 3 awaits me. These are tears of joy, hope, an otherworldly beauty comprised of everything that is there (almost.)
I look forward to hearing more from you,
Warmth, xxlee
