If I had a flower for every time I thought of you,
I could walk in my garden forever.
Such simple words, but oh how powerful when said in the right way. When heard through a needful ear.
Looking through old botanical books to find the perfect flower dress obsessed and consumed me yesterday.
Trying to make my mind focus on something happy.
Sometimes life calls you up and leaves a bitter reminder of just how rapidly our lives are over with little or no warning.
Wondering if this matters- if it's necessary to make another thing- will anyone care?
Trying to make something beautiful and new.
Is anything new?
Is there anything that hasn't been done?
Certainly printing on fabric with endless computer graphic capabilities might still be an uncharted sea.
Did you know that there are still groups of people who believe that the world is flat?
I didn't until someone mentioned it in a Flickr Group and then I was amazed.
There is so much to learn, still.
So much to explore, creatively.
I just read about a product called Shaper Paper by Crayola. Have you heard of it?
Apparently you can wet it and shape it together just like sheets of paper mache- it dries strong and durable and can be painted. Dick Blick sells it.
Why does Dick know about it and I have never heard of it?
Am I out of the loop- no, please, pull me back into the "know".
Staying active in so many artistic arenas sometimes leaves me wondering why I can't FOCUS on ONE ART FORM instead of constantly morphing from cloth, to paper, to wood, to rubber, back to dolls and quilts and aprons...
Does it make me more talented? Do I grow?
Or does it distract me and the people who read this Blahhhhg when they want to see more of one item, I give them yet another different thing.
My fabric mocks me from its cozy shelf.
I try to chose the next colorway, texture, pattern and my head won't stop talking and carrying on it's nagging voice of derision and despair.
When I go out to the beach the ocean's voice soothes me and quiets the storm raging in my heart.
I want to run.
But I am too heavy.
The grief and sadness threatens to overwhelm and rust my joints till I am motionless, abandoned again, alone.
Waiting for the oil can rescue.
Keeping busy until the proper time ticks around.
Making dolls of paper who talk to me and tell me pretty lies.
The missing began so long ago, my favorite friend, she never could get too close.
What is it that I miss?
The possibility of a relationship.
That's what I grieve.
When she is gone, it will never have another chance.
The finality, my friend said, that's what it is.
She is right.
The big lump of finality threatens to choke my every breath.
Is that why they say "frog in my throat"? The croaking.
Will it take my life as well?
COD- she choked on a frog of feeling too sad to swallow.
Looking out I see sunshine but no joy.
It's raining in my head and occasional drops fall from my eyes.
Busy paper dolls with scarab purses filled with tissues, walking fast to no where in particular.
There is no bus to catch.