This week has left me bruised, but no worse for wear. Taking yet another tumble, down the stairs this time around, I’m feeling less confident in my walking abilities than I use to be. There’s a ghost in the room.
Are you real or just in my head? All these things I should’ve said. I’m not gone… never gone…
The Red Thread
I’m not the only one haunted. A certain second termer is finding he’s not Teflon. It may be winter, but it’s hot in the kitchen.
Crisis Management
Trying to recapture a moment, a feeling in the eyes. She looks right, but the pose is eluding me again. It’s a phantom moment I’m trying to capture.
The Girl Who Watches
I found her. She was hiding in plain sight; tracing her fingers over the seeds of tomorrow. Spring must be on the horizon. At least, the weather has felt like the equinox has begun. I wonder what shadow follows her light.
(Whispering Fields) Where the Wheat Knows Her Name
I guess it’s time for more yaoi, because there’s always time for yaoi. Mostly because it’s a request and I like fulfilling wishes as much as I like crushing dreams. The phantoms sing to me while I sleep. I’m spooked by the doodle I’ve brought to life. It’s less frightening than the real life boi love going on between these two.
Doomed Lovers
I need to counter all this energy. Puppers! Yeah, that’s some good healthy golden energy. I can’t help smiling at this precious girl.
Playful Bella
The week has been sampling me like a food court. The bruises will fade, as will my memory of this tumble, but the apparition pushing me down remains.
Per the usual, I’m missing a different time period. Each generation has its own unique gifts, but none seem to connect with me fully. I have a fleeting recollection of a time where it all seemed so much simpler.
Debutante
It seems I’m not the only one missing an era. A request comes in for John Lennon performing “Twist and Shout” on the Ed Sullivan Show. Last week’s Yoko needs her counterbalance. I’m here to oblige the sentimental.
Hippy hippy shake
While researching for the tarot project I’m nearly finished with, I stumbled upon some old stories of the Great Depression that seem written today. Regret and longing for a better living experience, we discovered hard work didn’t always equal hard cash. Being that my son has named his Labubu “The Great Depression”, I simply must have a doodle for the era.
Cruisin’ down the street in my ‘64
The sound of a breezy trumpet and a bumping retro piano is crackling through my mind. I need to make an instrumental. Until then, I’ll doodle this homesick feeling.
Endless Tide
I’m missing a real badass. Dewy eyed? No ma’am. This queen is pensive, yet stoic. A trip down memory lane leads to lamenting for ladies across the world. Wearing my dissent shirt, I’m asked if it’s Judge Judy. There’s a poignant poetry here, I’m just not sure it’s sweet.
Notorious RBG
Valentine’s Day has popped up. Like most annual celebrations, I’m indifferent, but it beats the alternative of not bagging another year for the life meter. Romance is playing in the forest. It’s more memorable than sweets or dying plant cuttings.
Gotta catch them all
In retrospect, the grass isn’t any greener, but the thoughts provoked blooms. The simplest truth is that it’s all a corny look back; a glamorized idea. It’s a reminder that it’s all relative. It was always better to grow from the languishing than to remain exactly the same.
Landscape on the horizon. Or rather, it’s been politely suggested to be the compulsion of the week. Words like violence come from my uncle; I need a change of scenery to go with the change in weather. A new atmosphere. Somewhere only we know.
Leaving the Church
Being independently minded, I decide I want more hands and body language instead. I’m leaning towards representation and because it makes me nervous to try it out, I push myself to do it. Out of my comfort zone again, I can challenge myself.
The Weaver
It feels refreshing with the crisp weather greeting me at the door instead of the usual intense blanket of humidity. Sunsets are always better on a cold day.
Golden Hour’s Embrace
Lucky me, I get the chance to see several friends from grade school in person! I gobble up this opportunity to reconnect with core memory moments. On the way back, an image reminds me of lazy childhood days creating outfits for paper dolls. This is kind of like landscaping, in my mind.
Whispers of Silk
My preoccupation with emotional hands is in full force. I’ll keep practicing with intimacy. There’s a mood to be shared.
Touch of Cold
A complex commission comes in. Inspired by Spokane, Washington. I’m not familiar with the original sketch artist, but I’m to recreate the scene and colorize it. An excuse to roam a new city? I need none.
“Some landmarks mark geography; others mark the heart. Bridges, especially, carry more than traffic—they carry memory. They span generations, echo footsteps long gone, and hold the silence of shared moments. This painting is a tribute to the landmarks that do not simply define a place, but preserve the emotions etched into time. May it remind us that memory lives not just in locations, but in the moments that crossed them, suspended between then and now.”
Suspended Between Then and Now
There’s this guru in the county one over from my uncle that’s caught my attention. I’m struggling in the web. Who is this man who asks for everything from his followers? Some of which were lost in the woods while trying to leave.
Chicken House
The smell of misty fog in the morning hovering unhurriedly through the pines soothes my soul. I’m reminded again to be the tiger that sniffs the rose. I am weak to nature’s touch. My environment has its hold on me.
Morning’s Glory
I’m hit with Nirvana everywhere these days. I wonder how Kurt would have felt about that. Perhaps it was better to burn out than fade away, but the jury is still out. Can we just go back to the 90’s for a day? A day trip.
Smells Like Little Earthquakes
I am quietly reminded how none of the women in my doodles seem particularly happy to my uncle. Challenge accepted.
Pet
This may be my last practice of hands for a minute. My desire to render an emotional experience hasn’t faded, only my desire to make hands do the talking.
Bound in Stillness
The road behind holds only the haunted vapor of the city. Ahead are unfamiliar roads to travel. For now, I take solace in the sights and sounds surrounding this nothing town.
Baez Road
There’s a stillness in the spirit now that November has hit. The holidays will be upon us, as it does every year, without care to my circumstances. I’ll take these few weeks before the chaotic winter arrives as the eye of the hurricane. The conditions outside beckon.
