And so begins my tenth year with this blog.
Even though the focus has transmuted from being "all about the work" to encompass how "my life has changed the work," I appreciate how it has helped me sharpen the language in and out of the studio of what, how, and why I've taken this road.
It's also the start of my sixth year of being alone, and I am finally back to the point in my artist's life where I've mostly returned to where I was "before": studio days are long and productive, with a number of pieces close to completion, two residencies upcoming this fall (one by invitation), and other exciting happenings on the horizon.
Where once I couldn't fathom reaching the end of the week, I'm now organizing myself for 2017.
In the past, major shifts in my life in the last have often revealed themselves in the amount of time I end up writing, and I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about why. Sometimes, it's been here on the blog, but mostly, it's been in my journal.
Since I returned from Nassau, when I took it with me on the high-speed boat trip to the private island, I've really been churning through the pages. I think one reason is that it got somewhat damp when my plastic bag was not 100% efficient at keeping out the moisture from the sodden towels in my carrybag, and there is much scientific evidence that the sense of smell can evoke some of our strongest memories.
The faintest whiff of the sea when I open it to write with my fountain pen releases fond memories of that day, as well as my adventure to Lasqueti last November, and I am seized by the peace and inner stillness from those times. Those adventures have become, in fact, gifts that keep on giving back to me.
There was not a dissimilar revelation yesterday, when I made the pilgrimage to Big Hill Springs Provincial Park, with the granite plaque and memorial forest that celebrates the wee mannie.
I realized that the most important change in the five years has been that I have gone from having a black hole devour my life, to having a life with a black hole in one corner. While I still have hysterical moments when I edge close to it, I've learned to not lose myself entirely to it.
Wednesday, 2 March 2016
The shop is currently empty.