Strawberries and yogurt!
Fresh greens, home-cooked pasta sauce and garlic salad dressing!
Clean, soft sheets!
Friends! Sweet, loving friends!
A quiet little neighborhood and a cozy house!
Biking in the noon-time sun!
These are just a few reasons why coming home is so lovely.
It's all so... easy.
And inspiring. This I know--- I am most on fire with artistic prowess, most aware of my creative potential, least afraid of failure and humiliation, when I have just returned from my summer travels. After weeks of reading and simmering ideas in the inky juices of my journal, I'm ready to make stuff! I'm relaxed and confident and brimming with ambition.
I spread my treasures out on the kitchen table---shells, feathers, coins, an amber bottle, candles, ticket stubs, currency, maps, newspapers, all the found and collected spoils, the containers of memory and experience. I survey my photos, hundreds of them, on the computer screen.
I have a new set of eyes for an old piece of writing, and in two days I spin the straw into something silkier and submit it to a bad-ass Zine. I paint an old wooden wine container bright blue and pink, the zygote of an altar/shrine that's been on my mind for awhile now.
I (along with M) dig into the garden, plant begonias, gardenias, impatiens, daisies, and flowers whose names are not as stunning as they are. We also plant three new beds of vegetables---kale, chard, onions, beets, arugula, chives, broccoli, parsley, and an intimidating amount of lettuce. We buy a pineapple at Grocery Outlet and remember Cuba. Our back-packs spill their crusty clothes onto the living room floor and the recycling bin fills up. Home for just a few days now, I am savoring this interim of play, when a Monday means... practicing chords on the piano, starting some hand-sewn curtains, and letting the sun shine inside.