Too old to be persuaded by what others think,true to myself first & foremost. Wildly creative and deeply political,will loathe as hard as I love. Painting & writing are as medicinal & necessary as oxygen for me. Love animals dearly, not too sure about humans yet. A devoted friend or committed foe, you choose. Happy to share my world with you but don't let it go to your head. We're only here for a minute, so I'm making the most of mine. Come along for the ride, won't you ?
The house has a hollow, empty sound; the door slams way too loud. Since I took down all my drapes, my paintings; took away the rugs and furnishings, it looks barn-like, drab gray and institutional.
Hard to believe so many family dinners were enjoyed here, sick kids recovered here, grandbabies stayed over, wounded animals tended, flowers and herbs planted and harvested, laundry hung out to dry…and now I am leaving it.
Napoleon, my Poulet de Bresse rooster, is busy heralding the day, his commanding errrrrr-errrr-errrrr-errrrrruuuuuuuuuh echoing strident ricochets across my farm. The sun peeks through the not-yet-turned leaves of early Fall, a cool white blazon casting long cobalt-purple shadows dappling the emerald green landscape. There are such magnificent clouds this morning, cottony schooners languidly sailing across a china blue bay, many backlit by the brilliant morning sun, celestial and grand in their scope.
One thing I have learned in this life: never, under any circumstances, ever read Virginia Woolf when you are upset with a man. It will only sharpen your angst, I promise you.
I have read her many times in the distant past, decided to re-visit her recently thinking it may sort of prime me out of the apparent inability to paint I am suffering with presently. I have always known literature to be a creativity lubricant.
“A Society” impressed me as downright bitter, a sarcasm with brilliantly honed edges. She mimics what she hears men say women should be interested in, cites the covert objectives men set for women, mocks the masculine self-aggrandizement men seem heir to in certain circles, as though being male is a right to rule, a gender appointment to superiority instead of just a gender. ( See ?? She has ME doing it, now. )
So everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout the G20 and how badly Fried Orange Cheeto represented ‘Murica. Plenty is being said about that, his being a stank ho’ disgrace, selling America out to Puttie & Pals to help whittle down his payday Continue reading “LEGACIES & LADIES”