Molten

Sometimes there aren't words. Sometimes, what is in my head is molten. It burns out the chatter and everything that doesn't matter.
I float in it, slowly moving. I feel it. I want rest in it.
I can paint from it and the paintings are different. Those paintings are not meant to inspire, but to be felt. They are the paintings that I have a harder time sharing.
Is the moon full yet?

What's that Smell...or Why is there Brown Sauce on the Pasta?

If "you are what you eat," then I must come with a prize because I've been eating A LOT of Cracker Jacks.

Under the "C" moon I have been very prosperous in the studio. I've been so focused and excited about painting that I haven't really been taking time to eat properly, unless... Cracker Jacks for me are like potatoes for the Irish and I can live on eight packages a day. Maybe?

...and maybe, Cracker Jacks are just better than my cooking, or I just want to practice my editing skills. Let's take a look:

My Moon

I pulled my snow pants and sorrels on over my pajamas and headed outside to shovel all of that snow. The moon was mine. The full moon pulls me and fills me to overflowing, but my moon is the moon that is shaped like a ‘C’. Under my moon I find a little more contentment. I see the beautiful. I shoveled ours and then my brother's. I thought of all of the nice things he’s done for me over the years.

My life has changed, shifted this past while. I think it was when I saw my daughter in the body of a woman I didn’t recognize that the urgency hit me. These years here in this place, my role as mom to little girls is short. I don’t want to miss that. I want to feel it and make it a part of me to keep forever. I watched my littlest kitten rest her small hand in her dad’s at church on Sunday and my heart poured out of my eyes. I remember thinking the same thing watching little bodies in my lap while I nursed them. I only get to be here once.

I am so excited to be collaborating with Kate. Her poetry is astounds me...again. Here are two of my latest favorites. I could paint a whole show using just these two poems. Thanks Kate.

Kate Horowitz

Three Seeds (Perspehone)

"Before you go," he said, "Eat these."
His palm was rough, black with soot,
and three rubies glittered there, perfect drops
of blood.

He would not meet my round eyes.
I assumed grief and accepted his gift; the hot winds
of deceit had never known my petaled face.

The earth opened above us,
and a golden arm came through
to draw me up.

I closed my mouth, bit down
and felt all my convictions
running down my throat.
I swallowed.



Melodramatic Moon
(Library Parking Lot, January Fifteenth)

"You're how full?" I asked.
"Half," she said, "Half, I am half-
full." She turned away.
Snowflakes blew toward her face and,
reaching her cheek,
disappeared against the expanse of white.