‘The Day is yours.” My husband quips.
I am unburdened at the moment from worrying thoughts, loved one’s dilemma’s, even my usual mad dog push, push, push.
“Relax, I say. “ How is it I feel like I’m sitting upon a rockin
g lid under which boils my tempestuous creative drive.
Sometimes I feel like a spinning top with an arm extending out every so often to tweak an art piece, paint fabric, create a digital collage, and come up with yet another way to display fiber art to a curious public.
Ideas whirl though my head.
“Focus.” Says one of my mentors, “Only this moooment”.
“This Moment- and this and this!” I respond!
This day, a bubble in the weeks of planned activities. This day, a day of my own, without focus, direction, or plans. A chasm to be filled at my discretion. What joy!
I walk though my studio gathering items intuitively. My art jour
nal, a pile of snipped out images of art and other stuff from magazines I buy to expose my yearning for beauty. My glue stick and pen.
These journals mirror to me what I like, what inspires me, provide a directional compass.
Outside into the glorious sun coolly lit in the first hints of Autumn. I sit and begin to turn pages. I see notes from years past, re-pasted in each new journal. Journals handmade, sewn with curses and love. I just turn the rich pages- absorbing, reminding, revisiting.
And the magic happens.