I was going to start this blog project last August. My first post was going to be one entitled "Adventures in Summering: 'Mom, I Pooped in Nature,'" but, as they do, the other things of life got in the way, and I never finished it; now, it's November 30th. So, this morning I wrote a little diddy thingy, and as a birthday present to myself, I'm using it as my maiden blog post. Here goes nothing--
Little Frilly Red Birthday Dress of My Imagination
Purging and cleansing--the satisfaction of erupting ideas
and emotion and making them tangible through artistic expression. I don’t think I can get the same thing
from carving miniature gourds. I want artistic aggression. I want to throw gallons of neon paint on the barn or
to burn something (not the barn).
As I woke this morning, the words “Just ignore it; go back to sleep” kept repeating in my head. I didn't connect it to anything until now. Every time that little voice played, I would switch sides and reattempt sleep--until I forgot about it and got up. Yesterday, I dreamt that I posted a picture of a washing machine on Shia Labeouf’s Twitter page. I guess that’s where the cleansing and purging idea originated. I also imagined photographing turkey heads in the glow of headlights (I often park by the coop when I come home after dark and have to knock the turkey rafter off the rafters and secure the gang for the night.) I got a strange look from one of the birds the other night; the eye, the open beak, the pink and purple wrinkles stuck with me. I wonder if that’s the one that lost its head.
I listened to automatic weapon fire while I hung Christmas lights and old stinky garland on the house yesterday. All the décor is brittle and not quite right anymore. In the distance, hunters or kids or big-kid adults found joy in playing war; I swear I heard canon fire each time the plastic garland broke apart in my hands. I thought of Bambi dodging bullets like Neo and then I realized the red ribbon and giant fake poinsettia flowers did momentarily detract my attention from the odd smells, the war, and the mud on the white spindles.
This really has no beginning, no arch,
no end, and I like it; it’s defiance. My son wants me to play Ninjago now. Erupting
art with interruption is a challenge---satisfaction is segmented and never
quite whole.
I just realized I didn't put the chickens
in---there may be carnage. Blood and feathers everywhere. Why not? It is my 38th birthday.
As I woke this morning, the words “Just ignore it; go back to sleep” kept repeating in my head. I didn't connect it to anything until now. Every time that little voice played, I would switch sides and reattempt sleep--until I forgot about it and got up. Yesterday, I dreamt that I posted a picture of a washing machine on Shia Labeouf’s Twitter page. I guess that’s where the cleansing and purging idea originated. I also imagined photographing turkey heads in the glow of headlights (I often park by the coop when I come home after dark and have to knock the turkey rafter off the rafters and secure the gang for the night.) I got a strange look from one of the birds the other night; the eye, the open beak, the pink and purple wrinkles stuck with me. I wonder if that’s the one that lost its head.
“Mom, what time is Thanksgiving?! What time is your birthday?!”
(repeat 10 times).
I listened to automatic weapon fire while I hung Christmas lights and old stinky garland on the house yesterday. All the décor is brittle and not quite right anymore. In the distance, hunters or kids or big-kid adults found joy in playing war; I swear I heard canon fire each time the plastic garland broke apart in my hands. I thought of Bambi dodging bullets like Neo and then I realized the red ribbon and giant fake poinsettia flowers did momentarily detract my attention from the odd smells, the war, and the mud on the white spindles.
After
listening to an NPR interview, all I want to do is read PD James detective
novels.
The sound of little hands digging
through a TMNT pencil bag full of tiny Legos.
“Mom! Guess how many guys I have?!” “7” “Er, keep guessing!” “Mom!
Guess how many guys I have?!” “10” “Er, keep guessing!”
I guess this does have an
end. I must work on my defiance.
