And so it goes....

Here's a couple more pyrography on paper.  I did take some of them down to the Breakwater gallery to see if Cynthia would take them, which she did.  I can only hope they will sell, or at least one or two of them.  I am turning them out so fast that if I can't get rid of them it will be ridiculous to keep producing them.  It's true that they are fun to do, but I'm really not feeling very creative.  I am copying old paintings.

I know I haven't been keeping this blog up very well, nor have I kept up with email very well.  Somehow I don't seem to want to take the time.  I post pictures on facebook and call it good.  Eventually I will get my enthusiasm back, I'm sure, but I think I am taking a rest from the mental strain of thinking about and working toward moving.  Now that I have decided not to, I feel tired and in need of a mental vacation.

I did put a couple of these wood pieces in a show at Lisa's gallery, but I know they will not sell.  In fact I haven't even photographed them, but I will when I get them back.  Her show was supposed to be about spirituality, which I knew would attract pastel-hued paintings of women amid flowers and butterflies, vacantly staring at some unseen figure or thing.  Some of them would be holding birds in their arms, which would have somehow become tree limbs.  Suns or stars or moons would be inevitably hovering in the sky, possibly above a rainbow.  No doubt these paintings are inspired by a genuine feeling about women, or nature, or both, that I don't understand or find appealing.  My contribution was a nude woman standing on the outside sill of a window.  She is looking down, and her arms are spread out to the sides forming a crucifix.  The title is "Dismount."  What was my idea?  I'm not sure, but it's the same image I once did as a woodcut, so there is something rebounding off the walls of my brain that have to do with sacrificial acts, crucifixion, women as victims, blah, blah.  It hung there in stark contrast to its fellows, colorless and sad.  My motive for hanging it was a perverse need to expose the other side of being female, or perhaps the only side that I can identify with.

I have been very happy with my decision to stay in Eastport.  Everything here is bigger, brighter, more beautiful than ever before.  Until the art opening, I was actually feeling like a part of the community, smiling happily at passers by, returning the friendly waves of the drivers in the cars that went by me as I walked the dogs.  This is my home now, I thought.  Bangor is no longer where I belong or want to be.  With such ideas in my head, I decided to put in an appearance at the gallery party.  The minute I walked in I knew I had made a mistake.  The crowd, the chatter, the wine, the food............it all reminded me of how deeply out of place I was.  I made a beeline for the door and never looked back.  Where is my place?  I don't know unless it is sitting on the couch with my dogs, watching reruns of "Criminal Minds."  There I am content, peaceful, happy.  I am loved unconditionally by my companions,  I am satisfied that I have fulfilled my role of caretaker, exceptional caretaker, of my dogs and my chickens.  They can take life and comfort for granted thanks to me.  No one has anything negative to say, no one disapproves of me.  There is no one for me to get angry with or to get angry with me.  Nobody criticizes or insults me.  No one argues.  Neither do I criticize or insult anyone. I don't get mad.  I don't criticize or feel critical of anyone or anything. I have nothing to fear. It is all so peaceful.