“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


and all the sacred stuff

cicada wing
iphone image

on the green table next to the bundle of sage.

september.  here.

my mother's thanksgiving table is now white, 2 days to get it so, if you don't count the 2 years of tears behind those 2 days.  the smaller table is stripped of its thousand and one layers of lacquer, and i am clearing space in and out.   surrounded by a jillion canvases and assemblage boxes and bits and pieces here and there.  leaves, beads, squares of silver paper, milagros, stars, arrowheads, sticks and stones.  i'd forgotten so many things, and those i'd not forgotten were covered in dust.  i think to myself that that is bad art feng shui, that no wonder this year has disappeared beneath my achiness, but of course the year hasn't disappeared, it has been here all along, and of course the dust was necessary so that i would be here right now, saying hello to the almost ready studio space. 

hashtag that gratitude.  



  1. your writing leaves me full of words and yet feeling as though I can speak none of them. for wonder of them

  2. ya, yes, gratitude, it's in the air :)

    and also yes, to what sarah said.

    and i am in love with this photo.



come. sit under the emma tree & let's talk. i have cookies . . .