Tracking

Somewhere along the way I stopped writing and started simply posting images of seaweed. Although I love those images, I think it is very telling about my life here in New York. I miss the days when my computer crashed so frequently that I was really unable to spend more than a few minutes here and there on the computer. The crashing was frustrating, but it also pushed me away from the computer and made me write in a journal, read a book, film or walk. Today, I have been on a self imposed lock down. Sifting through visual art images on my laptop and organizing them into a potential presentation. I am trying to build things when I feel like it rather than when I have to. This was an organizational day if there ever was one. I am struggling to find a workable solution to the growing disconnect between the underwater work that is amazing to produce and the number of hours on the computer that are spent editing. As I have said before, I miss windburn.

Having completed the most difficult time, the first year in New York, I am getting back into a studio practice. The balance between making work, writing, and researching is never easy when there are so many other things, daily struggle sort of things that pull at you. Somehow I have held on to the practice of creativity, even though my hands are questionably clean. Lately I have had several old friends note the inspiration that they have drawn from my blog. I am always surprised and relieved that others are drawn into the space where I dwell. I guess I am honest about the chaos. I do not pretend that everything is easy.

But with that being said, I am still finding my ways at times at odds with my true self. The constant checking in that is our current cultural norm still baffles me. Scattered bits of notes, fractured sentences, abandoned thoughts go into in and out of virtual boxes. Seemingly we are afraid to be alone for a day, a week or even an hour. The more we are connecting, the larger the disconnect grows, and I am joining the ranks. A couple of weeks ago I got a letter in the mail. Folded notebook paper, handwritten with a postmark from my past home. It carried sad news in an honest voice. I fell asleep with it on my chest and woke with it still in bed with me. It was a fragile reminder of what can so easily be lost.