Paint, Poems and Ponderings

My workspace

2023-03-02T13:06:00.001-05:00

Here is a video of my workspace. Just getting the video done was a task for me. Will write more later

The old woman remembers

2023-01-30T15:14:00.000-05:00

Things happen as we age we hadn’t factored into our “old age” plan, if we even had one. Those unpredictable life events that, when younger and full of energy, we plowed through, discarded or resolved. Now, in the last quarter of our life, we may have to turn their resolution over to others. Unfortunately, in our commerce-oriented society, money is the bottom line for quality care. Some elders have family members who will care for them regardless of financial rewards. But many do not, having no spouse, no children or siblings. I can only hope, should I become diseased or disabled, that my son will help me. We do not revere and respect elders. Not true of everyone, but in general. Yet we elders hold many years of life experienced to reflect on, tell stories about which might, in quiet ways, inspire those who are still in the fray. Often, we listen well. But what do we do? We separate our elders from their beloved pets, homes and familiar surroundings. Shut them away in institutional, impersonal boxes. Yes, they are provided with meals, socialization, artificial though it is. Possibly some nursing care. There must be some better option, more joyful and useful to both elder and caregiver I have no answers. As an elder myself I know I can’t take over the care of another. Each day I do my best to care for me. Cook my meals, wash my clothes, clean the kitty litter. But there may come a time when I can no longer complete these tasks. And that is the stuff of nightmares. Or at least of questions I cannot answer, plan for or resolve ahead of time. I can’t predict what lies ahead for me other than possible illness and certain death. And there is no cure for that. I will join the many who have lived and died, wherever they are. I will be past, rather than present or future. See you there. *\

Hello again in 2023

2023-01-04T09:32:00.000-05:00

Trying to familiarize myself with blogger after many years. My flibbity gibbit focus makes it hard along with Miso the cat jumping onto my keyboard. What to do this year artwise. Or best to say, this January. Will have to figure out how to add a photo. Its like it is all new to me. Blessings to you all. Maddie A watercolor. I am new at watercolor

Spirit Dolls

2019-06-28T07:25:00.000-04:00

The bodies are made with twigs. In the top doll I padded the twigs with cotton balls before dressing her. No padding on the second doll and I think I like it better without.

I dressed the second doll using a flag from a "prayer" flag I made several years ago and hung outside. The flags weathered nicely but the string connecting them disintegrated. I will hang her outside somewhere as a guardian spirit.

The faces are earthenware made by Lyn Belisle and ordered from her Etsy shop Earthshards. At first I thought they might be too big for the dolls. They look like masks. But now I have gotten used to the look.

Joanne Powell Colbert has a free ebook on spirit dolls. www.gainansoul.com. She "invented" the idea. I also read about them on Lyn Belisle's website Lyn Belisle.com however the ebook link seems to be gone now.

This was very fun to do. Twigs and scraps. Free stuff. I love it. My spirit had been downcast. Now it's happy. May the spirit be with you. Love, Suki

Wise old owl--not

2019-06-20T08:55:00.002-04:00

Elders are supposed to be fonts of wisdom, but I have a hard time discerning mine. Yes, I have lots of experiences from my earlier life. But none of them prepared me for my later years. None of them led to what I would call wisdom.

When younger, I imagined I was prepared for my elder years. I practiced yoga and was nimble and thought this would carry over and I suppose it has. I am still nimble. I do feel blessed to be able to walk 2 miles every few days. Although there are yoga classes around I no longer participate. Yoga classes were like my church, before. Now I practice a few days a week alone in my den.

For years, I ate healthy foods. My diet (meaning the foods I eat, not a weight loss program) has gone downhill since moving up North. Some meat has been added. Organic chicken. No fish as the fish you can buy up here does not compare to the fish I bought on Cape Cod for 30 years. It is often a struggle for me to think of meals, write out lists, shop, bring it all home.Then cook it. I throw out a lot of food. I need to gain weight they say. Eating is a problem.

They encourage elders to stay in touch socially. I knew how to find friends and have fun on Cape Cod and so I imagined that part of growing old would be fine. But up here I am lost. This is not my landscape so to speak. The one friend I see twice a year is not a new friend. We met 40 years ago before I even moved to Cape Cod. Very hard to meet people not to mention see them a second or third time. I am not an up-country woman. I say the wrong things. Do the wrong things. I am not overtly political. And I am afraid to go out and try new things the way I used to do.

I had many, many interests and talents I put to use in my earlier years, so I though I'd never just sit in a chair and watch streamings. I'd be engaged, busy with bookbinding, painting, writing, meditation, spiritual studies. Well who knows what all but I was sure I'd be fine in that category when old. Maybe I am depressed or something, but the fire within to do such things has gone out. It flares up once in awhile but then....fades.

All this goes to say that no matter what my younger self thought about being older, those were just thoughts. It's different to actually be here. Yes, I know there are 80 year olds who jump out of airplanes and can twist themselves into difficult yoga positions. But what about the rest of us. Who speaks for us?

Of course, all this is okay. There is no requirement that I be other than I am. It's okay for me to be an old grandma rocking in a rocking chair knitting except that I have no grandchildren and cant knit.

I dont know any answers. Am just pondering. Thanks for listening. Happy Summer everyone!

the owl planter was my grandmother's

Rhododendron Time

2019-06-12T17:17:00.001-04:00

It's almost summer here at Dragonfly Pond Cottage. Lots has happened since the last time I posted. For one, I have let go of my once strong desire to return to Cape Cod, this time as a home or condo owner. Otherwise I might have gone mad for the trying. Like the ugly sisters trying to squeeze their foot into Cinderella's slipper. Instead, I have settled into Dragonfly Pond Cottage with my son and his dog Maddie.

Not looking for pity here. Just telling it like it is for me at 73. In the warm seasons it is quite lovely out on this back road. But lonely too in the winter. Especially as I choose not to drive much in the winter or anytime really. I knew the best place for me would be in a village where I could walk to shops. Something like Orleans on Cape Cod with a bookstore and cafes and grocery stores all within walking distance of some of the in-town condos.

But as is my way I hesitated. The upside is I can provide a home for my son in this difficult rental market. The down side is I can go days and days seeing no one except my son and Maddie.

Believe me I have thought of just about every option and tried some and oh well, none seemed to manifest for me. So I'll have to renew my campaign to keep myself amused. But right now, its spring, the rhododendron is blossoming, I have a few tomato plants in the garden, I'm painting the kitchen wall and I walk 2.3 miles three days a week.

Hello to all of you I knew before when we all blogged and nice to meet you to all my new readers. Hope to show up here again soon. Love, Suki

Indifferent Light My new chapbook

2016-07-01T16:36:00.001-04:00

I have a new chapbook of poems soon to be published by Finishing Line Press. The direct link to my book for on-line purchasing is as follows:
https://finishinglinepress.com/index.php?cPath=4&sort=2a&filter_id=1392

You can also write to Finishing Line Press, PO Box 1626, Georgetown, KY 40324. Enclose a check or money order made out to Finishing Line Press for $14.99 plus $2.99 shipping.

I am proud to have a painting by my long-time friend Frankie Brackley Tolman on the cover. http://frankiebrackleytolman.com/

Thank you to all who have commented on my poems through the years. Namaste, Suki

Woman in the Dunes II

2016-05-18T15:37:00.004-04:00

Of course I looked forward to being so close to the ocean beach. The house was set back from the water and in a declivity. All you could see from the house were sand dunes. I had to walk to the top of the dune for the view. Through these waters my ancestors sailed on the Mayflower. Hello Richard Warren.

Every morning dawn greeted me from the east. And sunset from the west although I took no photos or if I did they look much like sunrise. LOL.

This brief story makes it sound like a heavenly journey. But at one point I wrote in my journal-- is this a vision quest or the journey from hell? I have not related the several physical trauma's I experienced while at the shack. Or the several insights. I left totally exhausted and remained so for three weeks. I am just recovering my equilibrium now that I am back home. I plan to write a short memoir in which I will describe in depth more of what I experienced.

Woman in the Dunes

2016-05-18T15:09:00.003-04:00

What was I thinking? A 70 year old woman who has never camped or lived off -the-grid, spending a week alone in a dune shack on the outer curve of Cape Cod, with the ocean before me and piles of sand behind me.

After inviting several friends, I finally found someone eager and exited to accompany me for the week. My hesitancy (go, not go, go not go) turned into okay, go.

I drove to the Cape 6 days ahead of the Saturday we were due to be driven in to the shack. The Provincetown Compact was to provide a ride in a pickup for us, our bedding, our food, and at least 4 gallons of water each. They would drop us there and return the next Saturday.

Us? Several days before she was to drive to the Cape to rendezvous for our week, my friend emailed that she was ill and couldnt come. I would be alone after all.

I have lived alone much of my adult life. I know how to "do" alone. I am happy in my own company and can endlessly amuse myself by writing, painting, walking, reading and just sitting around staring out the window.

To be alone was not my purpose in going to the dune shack, yet the universe had other plans.

I'd been applying for the lottery to rent a dune shack on and off for ten or more years. Finally, in 2016, I was chosen for the week of April 23-30th. The dune shacks are historic structures, originally made out of driftwood and scraps back in the 1920's to house people rescued by the life saving service. Or were they shacks for fishermen? At any rate many famous people stayed in the shacks and wrote or painted through the years. Eugene O'Neill, Mary Oliver, or was it Annie Dillard, Norman Mailer. Harry Kemp, poet of the dunes, Susan Glaspell, Jack Kerouac, Mark Rothko, Jackson Pollock and others.

They currently rest on The National Seashore and are under the domain of the National Park Service. There are 17 shacks remaining. Many are privately "owned" by families who have passed them down for generations. However, as there are few deeds the National Park Service really owns them all and allows the families access for 25 years.

I loved C-Scape dune shack at first sight. John, who drove me out, gave me a tour and instructions on how to use the woodstove, the composting toilet, the outdoor shower, the pump. One of my biggest fears was I wouldnt know how to do these primitive things. He even lit my first fire, since it was chill. I brought plenty of newspapers (on the list of supplies) however there were papers and kindling and a huge stack of firewood already in place.

C-Scape is really two dune shacks put together. The living room shown here is insulated, the woodstove is a Jotul (insulated) and the room can be closed off from the loft and kitchen via blanket and hatchdoor if you are cold.

With no electricity, kerosene lanterns (using lamp oil) are found throughout the shack. There is a propane fueled refrigerator (not shown) and a gas cooking stove. The old metal fronted fridge shown here is where one can store foodstuffs to keep them from mice, although I saw no mice on my visit.

Above see the dish-washing station. There is no running water. One must pump water at the pump--water only usable for dish-washing as it is filled with iron. I can't tell you how many times I reached for a faucet to rinse my dishes. You use a lot of water to wash dishes. Every time I emptied the two gallon container of dish-washing water I had to pump more and carry it back to the shack. I ended up reusing the water a number of times before pouring it down the drain. It both made me appreciate my modern kitchen at home, and become aware of conserving water at the same time.

In the light filled loft were two twin bed mattresses pushed together on top of a plywood platform. Above the bed hung yards of netting to drape over the bed in case of mosquitoes. I chose not to sleep upstairs as I often get up in the night and didnt want to fall on the stairway. I drafted a poem titled "Miss Havesham's Veil" inspired by this mosquitoe netting.

I'll continue this story on another post. I have done something weird to the formatting and the alignment is messed up. I have no idea how to fix it.

Season's Greetings

2015-12-16T08:49:00.000-05:00

May all my bloggy friends have a wonderful holiday however you celebrate. (I am inordinately proud of myself--as I figured out how to add text via my photo program.)

Indifferent Light

2015-11-23T08:40:00.000-05:00

Indifferent Light
--for Mr. Perry

One summer day at Silver Beach,
the sky dull, the sea abandoned,
dim as dusk he comes, the old man.

Once he salvaged lawn chairs,
repaired and sold beside the road:
please deposit fair amount.
Now, it's cans.

Alone along the breakwater,
oblivious to lines of bees,
he searches barrels, savors refuse,
nickles on his mind.

Wind blows his faded shirt.
Rain threatens his hunched back.
Sack full, barrel empty,
he lifts his head, he turns to see

a flash sear the troposphere,
outline violet the edge of cloud,
illuminate with its indifferent light.

I am working on another 28 poem chapbook titled "Indifferent Light." This is an old poem from my Cape Cod days. Mr. Perry lived in the garage of the house I rented. He owned the house but rented it out for income. He had two ancient dogs, Snowball and Pwincess, who loved to chase my cats.

Ancestors

2015-10-13T09:55:00.001-04:00

First Encounter Beach, Eastham, Massachusett

Myles Standish of the Mayflower, and perhaps others, came ashore near this beach and encountered Native Americans from the Nauset Tribe of the Wampanoag nation. I visited recently to honor my ancestors who I can trace to the Mayflower through Richard Warren. I said aloud the list of descendants down to myself, buried a photo of me as a child, tried to light a candle but it was too windy.

I also apologized for the way my ancestors treated the Native Americans, from that day to this. The tide was low, the days was lovely.The Cape is my ancestral home ground, no wonder I am so drawn to the landscape.

Our views of "conquering" other countries have changed in contemporary times, at least for some of us. We see the travesty of taking what others' cherish, of giving nothing in return except small-poxed blankets. Yet throughout the world people still pursue this quest of conquering.

Let us be peace in our daily life, live peace and caring, to counter war and conquest.

October My birthday month

2015-09-24T08:28:00.003-04:00

I dont usually get wrapped up in my age, my birthdays and so on. Yet approaching 70 does give me pause. I seem to notice small vulnerabilities and in my head make more of them than they are worth. I ponder my purpose, which is not the same as it was when younger. And I am not sure what it is. I am of little significance except perhaps to my son to whom I provide a place to live

On my 60th birthday I came up to NH to visit my parents. They were both alive then and Russ my brother and his wife Nora and my ex-husband. My friend old pajamas came too We stayed in a B and B now closed. We were here for the Alstead flood and for the Dublin Art Tour in the pouring mud and rain. The Brattleboro Literary Festival was on and we listened and enjoyed. It was a nice birthday.

I have had some lovely birthdays too with my Cape Cod friends from our women's group and other friends from the early 80's. I felt seen, acknowledged. For my 70th I wanted to do something fun. I hate planning, but thought of Paris, London, Santa Fe or San Francisco.

No way could I pull those off. Haha. I will drive 5 hours to be in the presence of friends. Upper Cape and Mid Cape and possibly lower Cape. Even this somewhat humble adventure feels self-indulgent and a bit scary. No idea why. And planning had to happen. So I have had a month or so to be nervous. I ask myself can I do it? But I ask this of myself always. I always fear I wont be able to "pull it off" so to speak, whatever it is. Yet, I always do.

This birthday time seems auspicious, what with the September 18th eclipse and full moon (?) Have I got that right? Some big event anyway and I can already feel the energy of it, thrombing inside me and around me. A nice introduction to my month.

My friend Sarah, now deceased, used to say celebrate a month, not one day. Unbeknownst to me she placed two votive candles on the hood of my car. I took off down the road and heard a thump thump. Oh no, my car is falling apart. I stopped by the roadside and found the candles had thumped down my hatchback rear and caught on the windshield wiper. LOL.

That's the friendly and rich way it was when I lived on the Cape. Now I have a lovely virtual community. But I cannot observe my friend's eyes and gestures or hear their voices. I love to observe people, their clothes, their way of doing things. I am a magpie so I learn how to do things by watching my friends. I am an observer and when you observe in "real time" you are seeing in many dimensions all at once. For an introvert, it can be overwhelming. But I love it and used to return home to my solitary abode and assimilate and contemplate what I had seen, felt, smelled. A sort of balance between extro and intro. And then I wrote stories and painted paintings to release the sense of overwhelm. The younger me.

Who am I now?

Two Chairs--poem

2015-09-19T08:39:00.003-04:00

Two Chairs

My new friend walks before me
on the woodland path
one amber-cast summer day.
Points out a cave of stones,
an old lime kiln, a granite totem,
talks of sugar maples, yellow birch, hickory.

“What do you like about the woods?” she asks.

The light, the way it filters
through the trees. The way leaves capture
its brightness or cast shadows into the dark.

We walk through a graveyard,
leaning mossy stones, trace fingers
over carvings worn,
then amble up a dirt road
to a small cabin beside an old brick house.

“Anyone here,” she calls.
A bearded face appears
in the upstairs cabin window.
My friend requests permission
to cross the lawn, ponder the view.

“Hartley Hill,” she tells me,
as we gaze over soft hills and valleys,
drink in the quiet..
Before us wait two wooden lawn chairs
where you might sit in the late evening,
talk through the day with your beloved.

I could live here, my dreamy self says
as if hypnotized by some heady wine.
But still I would be isolated,
still alone.

s.pope 2015

Return to Blogging

2015-09-18T19:55:00.002-04:00

Hello Bloggie Friends. Just thought I'd check in to my blog. Havent posted since June of 2014. Goodness. Some of you I catch up with on facebook. But blogs are nice, arent they. They seem more private somehow. I will try to remember to post here in this slower world. Face Book is great but brief and speedy. I do love playing Scrabble there. I must confess. More soon I hope. Fun to find so many of you still here, posting. Love, Suki

Home Babies

2014-06-21T09:10:00.001-04:00

Something about the recent story, about children who once lived in an Irish home for unwed mothers possibly being buried in a tank near the now torn down home's location, just moved me. There was a photo shown taken years ago of some "home" children barefoot, dressed in hats. I have painted four in black and white and a 5th painting of the Virgin Mary in color (a statue of her overlooks the presumed burial plot). 8x10".

Found out I am not fond of painting in black and white, but seems to suit the subject.

These are not complete. How is it that the first drafts of a painting seem to lay down easy and with excitement (for me) but then finishing the painting is slow and tiring.

Might like something more here, like a little bird. And ditto for the girl in second painting.

I have also written a poem to go with them. Soon to come. I see them hanging with the Virgin Mary in the center and one of these paintings on top, the two sides and bottom of her painting. Somehow the poem is to be presented too. Not that I will "show" them anywhere. Also I think they would be more impressive done much larger. But it is a sad subject and I might not push myself further with it.

Little paintings

2014-06-08T07:28:00.000-04:00

Original acrylic paintings done on cradled birch wood. 8x8. Been working on these for awhile. It is harder to paint than I remembered. Planting Seeds.

Girl Reading

Angel of Mercy

Mermaid Dreams

All are listed on my Etsy site. After many tries I have now succeeded in getting the Etsy link with photos onto my blog. At first I didnt like painitng on wood as opposed to canvas. But I grew to like it. Actually when I lived in San Francisco in the 60's I would collect small wood panels out of sidewalk trash and paint on them. A friend still has one. Canvas of course has more "give." And I feel the revisions go better on canvas. I painting totally by reworking/revising. It was fun.

Poem Pond Life

2014-05-31T19:21:00.000-04:00

Pond Life

In calm weather my surface, a bright foil sheet,

reflects the oak and birch on my banks.

Some days I ripple with wind.

My waves sparkle-- a sequined Cher.

Cows kiss me with rough tongues.

Under their dark-eyed gaze, I shiver.

Dragonflies hover, hesitant lovers.

Beetles skim and tickle.

Ducks and turtles pierce my skin.

Fish and frogs hide in my depths.

Leaves and mud ground me.

Spring. The farmhouse dog paddles through my abundance.

A school girl collects a jar of me. Under the microscope

she sees water bears and pond fairies.

Winter. Children skate my frozen chemistry.

Fall. I dry up like an aged woman,

my innermost skin cracked and cratered.

Summer. An elderly gentleman drowns under my cold blanket.

A little pond on a little farm,

in my dreams I am the sea.

S. Pope 5/2014

MOM

2014-05-10T10:55:00.001-04:00

Mom

Hair straight, cross-eyed,

from the age of four

her mother’s right-hand helper.

Louise, eldest daughter.

The little ones named her Sis.

Her dad painted houses, drank beer,

died young after siring twelve children.

Later, that’s all she’d tell of him.

The children sucked meat

from horseshoe crab legs or starved.

When her sister ate rat poison

and died, Sis, the babysitter at six,

took the blame. “I’ll be a nurse,

someday,” she vowed. “Save lives.”

Years later, in white cap

and wind-blown cape,

she posed on a rooftop

the Johns Hopkins skyline behind her.

She married a doctor,

raised two children,

organized her husband’s life.

He offered security,

a steadfast heart. Nursing

fell by the wayside.

Genealogy caught her intelligence.

boxes of notes and letters,

birth dates, death dates,

traced to the Mayflower.

The Magna Carta.

No one in the family cared.

How lonely she felt,

adrift on the farm, up the dirt road.

No friends, siblings miles away.

Husband retired,

unwilling to learn to cook

scrub the floor, sort the laundry.

On her ninetieth birthday

she wore bracelets and rings,

a red-heart necklace.

Her children served lobster,

king crab legs and cheesecake.

A year later, she died.

In the black-metal trunk

her daughter found

a nurses cap and cape

preserved in moth balls.

A pin: Louise Lyon, R.N.

by Susan Pope 2013

2014-05-08T18:45:00.000-04:00

Self-Portrait

Dawn. A 22 by 30 sheet of Stonehenge art paper,

two 4B pencils, a jar of Sumi-e ink and brush.

The artist sets out her tools on the table.

Short meditation, then begin. She does not imitate

the scene out the window, the rolling hills, the barn.

The work unfolds from inside out. Formed and formless.

Paper fills with shades of grey,white, brush -strokes of black.

All that she knows and wills comes forth in ink and lead.

Dusk, the artist’s chair stands empty.

Tools strewn across the table. She disappears.

Although a sharp eye might see her

in a wash of ink, a shadow, negative space.

Mural seen at Buckies in Dennisport, Ma

2014-05-02T09:53:00.000-04:00

Well done I think. Love the activities people are engaged in. Especially the scrabble game! The newspaper is a collaged paper.

Painting again

2014-04-27T11:03:00.002-04:00

I bought some cheap 8 by 10 canvases at Job Lot and have begun painitng some quick, or so I envisioned, paintings for my ETSY site. Colors photograph duller than they are. This one is done and listed for $45.

This one is just about done. All of these are taking gobs more time than I thought. Plus I feel the first few are stiffer than I like.

Angel is a work in process.

As is this one. A first draft so to speak. However I like this last one a lot. Did no sketch first, just slapped on the paint. A freer style. We'll see what happens.

Meanwhile I followed some on-line directions, and at last was able to sign in to my blogger account which I have been unable to do for months. I hope it lasts. I hope also I didnt delete the URL's of all the blogs I follow. Sigh. Happy Spring.

Help

2014-02-26T20:20:00.001-05:00

I have been away from blogging for awhile. Have been invaded, in my absence, by posts from newtimesarrived posted by barbrook. no idea how to get rid of this. this blog is not on my bloglist so I can't deleted it via manage your blogs. They have posted thirty or more posts. I guess this is why folks have prove you are not a robot thingys. If anyone knows the answer please comment. Thanks, suki

The 30 Day Journal Project

2014-01-23T14:22:00.001-05:00

I joined Lisa Sonora Beam's thirty day journal project called ROOT. Lisa sends a daily prompt, inspiring quotes and some words she has to say about the day's theme. Then I create a journal page from whatever inspires me from reading the prompt. Sometimes I draw out one word. Today is was Dazzle.

Yesterday it was about solitude and loneliness. I made two journals of 15 pages each for this project. I use acrylics, stencils, markers, glitter. The project has a closed to members only Facebook page where we can share our daily work and thoughts if we want. It's fun to see what other's are doing.

For this one I photocopied a picture of me onto vellum. I am using at least one dragonfly on each page as a mascot to follow me through the month.

The inspirational quote this day was from Rilke. "I want to unfold. Let nothing in me hold itself closed. For where I am closed, I am false. I want to be clear in your sight."

This is the cover of one of the two journals.

I have been making similar journals on my own for several years. But it is fun to share with others. Not so alone. I admit it is hard to be disciplined on a daily basis. When I work on my own I have a flow of work more natural to my rhythms. Hope I make it to the end!

Pages from my Journal

2013-12-27T08:32:00.003-05:00

Working on two journals, each made from one 20 by 30" sheet of Strathmore Art Paper. Acrylic paint, scanned images from family cabinet card photos, buttons, poppy petals, vintage memorabilia.

Cover for one of them.

Three paged spread. Acrylics. Self-cut stencils.

another two pages spread. Acrylic. self-cut stencils.

My notebooks have no theme. I jump from one image to another. Instead of doing all winter for example, there is just one winter page. There is no consistency. I have noted that real artists seem to either have series or image and technique consistency in their work. Also, I dont know what the "use" of these things is. They arent something one would display. They don't hang on a wall. What is the point? I am not sure. I would like to get back to making things that hang, but am blank on that.

Looking through photos of the artwork I have done through the years I realize I have either thrown away or given away much of it. Some even sold. Those I do not regret losing. The others, I sort of wish I kept just as "evidence" of all the work I have done. These notebooks just fold up like a book and can be stuck on a shelf. Canvases take up a lot of space. Probably partly why I discarded them.

But also, until NOW, I never appreciated my artwork or my writing. Having a drawing come to the attention of Bottom Dog Press has made me pause and reassess my life time of work. Curious. And thinking about that has led me to see that I have not appreciated the people in my life, who have woven with me a beautiful fabric of who I am now. My family, my friends. I take everything for granted. My intelligence, my talent, their intelligence, their talents.

Maybe I can change, and begin to show appreciation for myself and for others, for this life I am living.
Blessings, suki