Art Journal · Artists · Dreams · Knitting · Musings · Strong Woman · Uncategorized


The gift of used knitting needles, is gratefully received; many offered but I take only the wooden ones and a pair of size 0 lace needles.  I offer to make a sweater for my sister and check my gauge.  But I cannot bear the odor of another person on the needles.  I have to put it down before the swatch is done.  I have hankies from an estate sale I cannot use because they carry some residue (in my mind) of another.  I suds up the needles in Dr. Bronners peppermint soap, and contemplate why I stopped.  Knitting, that is.

I stopped painting again, feeling like a hack, it all comes down to self esteem right?  A normal person would carry on, I suffer instead, with why bother syndrome.

Disdain then is what stops me, whether from myself or another.

I leave myself open like a sweater that has not been bound off.  Unraveled by the slightest tug.  Stitches getting dropped, or twisted.

Confession of your deepest feelings, met with combative response.  A frond of hair touched in an off hand manner, I have met this knot before.

I used to dream that when I tried to ride the elevator, the doors would not work, either too fast and dangerous, or it drops out or it doesn’t go to the right floor.  And then I realized in a dream that this elevator is not under my control.  And it is dangerous.  And I am just a passenger.


I pick up my knitting and as the needles click together and my tossed line stitching moves rapidly, even, clean stitches.  Of my own design.IMG_0148

Art Journal · Uncategorized

Love without sunshine.

“A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, a man cannot live without love.” ~Max Muller


There is something so freeing about being able to make art in a journal.  I have so many paintings in storage, so much art that no one will ever see.  I love the freedom of being able to make mistakes and have it not matter.  I love the peace of having both internal and external voices criticize my work and have me say, it’s okay its for me, and only me, your voice does not matter, your opinion is not meaningful in this process.  I love that no one can stalk me when my images are posted.  I have not been anywhere, except in the wide open space of my mind.  I can say all I have to say and not be punished for it by the invasion.  It is too cold to blossom here, but I can make art in the beautiful music of my heart.