Hope Springs Eternal

For almost twenty years, I've held a picture of the life I most desire as an artist and writer, living close to nature's rhythms, the rhythms of daily household life. I imagine a life in which I can devote several hours each day to domestic chores and outdoor reverie, as many hours to setting my inspirations into words and image, with time and energy yet to embrace the considerable challenge of sharing my work with the world.

Here I am, living on a dead end road in a town that is 40% land preserve, with a garden and a dog and a supportive spouse, and just enough financial stability to say that, while certainly risky, nothing stands in my way but fears and insecurities. Part of my hesitation is about money, part of it is about turning away potential clients (why is it scary to say no?), part of it is that internal ego-crushing critic, chanting who do you think you are? in the unfriendliest tone

But I am soon to turn 40, and I can't let these fears and insecurities call the shots any longer.

When designer Stefan Sagmeister decided to close his studio to give himself a year off for creative explorations, his first bold move was to tell everyone. That way, he reports in his October, 2009 TED talk, The Power of Time Off, he wouldn't be able to chicken out.

This morning at the gym, a friend told me about her beloved assistant of twenty years, who died suddenly this week, just a month shy of retirement.

There are no guarantees.

Yesterday my neighbor and I walked our dogs together, and saw this pond along the way. I believe these patterns exist always in this pond, formed as underground springs push up toward the surface. Thanks to just the right combination of cold and snow, the invisible is revealed.

I was so inspired, I couldn't wait to get home so I could return immediately with my camera.

While shooting, I decided it was time to admit it: I am plotting a special year, beginning with my birthday in early March. I have already begun turning down work. I have my own underground springs, a million and one half-dreamed and partially completed projects that I will no longer push aside. Life is now!

I've been swallowed up lately, partly by design work (students and clients) but also by a rip-roaring need to clean and organize my home. When this happens, and it doesn't happen often, I try to go with it, to pour myself into the sudden obsessive need to scrub the sink and sweep the floors and rearrange furniture and throw out old magazines. Perhaps I'm clearing the decks for something big just around the corner. I can't quite see around that corner yet, though it seems my vision is clearing. Indeed, as I wipe cobwebs from the window sills, return tools and shoes and books to their rightful shelves and drawers, and tick someday-maybe tasks off an almost forgotten mental list, I notice my mind returning to order as well. The horizon is clearing. There's room again to appreciate the poetry of simple things.

For instance, these snapshots I finally downloaded from my cell phone's camera.

Thirty-Three Days

Since I'm on a concentric-circle kick, I felt I would be remiss not to include this little experiment developed out of thirty-three days of photographs and journal entries.

I know this is redundant, but I keep thinking about how every moment is framed by moments past; that right now, this instant, how I spend my today, will set the stage for how I experience tomorrow. It sounds like a high-pressure way to be, but it isn't. After all, the more I enjoy today, the more present I am, the more I'll enjoy, or at least be equipped for, tomorrow.

And there's something about expansion from the present, from the core. Something about embracing both past and future at the same time, though I don't have anything articulate to say on that right now. Presence = good. That's all.

Speaking of which, I am enjoying watching my husband make apple-walnut-cinnamon waffles (his specialty), while practicing his golf swing. There are less happy things in the picture, too, which I won't go into right now. But I embrace them as well, and all the more, because they can exist side-by-side with smiling husbands and cinnamon waffles.

Too bad Blogger doesn't host Flash animations (at least not easily). To see this one in action you'll have to go here and be patient while the white space fills: it takes a minute to load. A good opportunity to sit up, perhaps, breathe deep, and take stock of your own present moment?

Promises, Promises

I told you there would be pictures, images, art. So without further ado, I'll post my first: