Art

Mon, Aug. 3rd, 2020 08:05 am
scarlettina: (Hope Springs)
So this week is GISH and I am participating. I have already written to Prime Minister Boris Johnson recommending my cat Sophie for the position of Downing Street spokesperson. I am currently working on concepts for a piece of mail art, as well as concepts for a triadic-line poem. Because, you know, poetry isn't hard enough without conforming to an uncommon metrical form. I am a little mad.

But before this, I was eye-deep in junk journaling, which I intend to get back to. And what I am finding is that I am finding flow with an ease I had forgotten could happen. And I'm good at this. As I prepared my substrate for the mail art, I found myself just floating in the process, doing it almost without thought--which is the place I used to get to when writing fiction. (That hasn't happened in quite some time.) But it makes me feel capable, confident, connected. My plan is to continue to do this kind of visual work, mainly to enjoy the process.

The one thing I have to resist is the temptation to get all ambitious about The World Seeing My Work. That's one of the things that broke me about writing fiction. I succeeded in publication, and the few stories that were reviewed were well-reviewed indeed. But once that self-consciousness about writing for publication overwhelmed my honest desire to just tell stories? It all became a chore, and an unpleasant one. (And that's excluding a lot of other baggage that got attached to my writing fiction--but that's a subject for another time). So I'm going to just enjoy this process and let it be the gift that it is. Anything else overburdens the pleasure with unnecessary considerations. And we'll see what I produce.

Touch

Sat, Aug. 1st, 2020 05:42 pm
scarlettina: (Default)
I got my hair cut and colored today for the first time in about 6 months, maybe more. I just looked at myself for the first time since I left the salon. (I'm so blind that I can't really see more than blurs without my glasses, which were off most of the time I was in the salon.) Both the colorist and the stylist did a nice job with my hair, though it's a little darker and longer than I would prefer for summer. (They're both new to working with me. My regular colorist just left the salon for another job, and my regular stylist isn't coming back until Washington State is at Phase 4.)

But the thing that has stayed with me is what it felt like to be touched intimately by another person. I won't say how long it's been since that's happened, but it's been a really long time. Someone touching my head, which is a Thing for me, felt almost like a forbidden pleasure, like something that shouldn't happen in a public place. I enjoyed it almost too much. And now I can't stop thinking about it, because I don't know when I'm going to share that kind of touch with another person, ever. Touching one's own head isn't the same thing, because what you feel is how your hand feels touching your head. When someone else touches your head, your head feels it, rather than your hands, and it's a whole different sensation. I knew I was touch hungry, didn't realize I was that touch hungry. It's almost enough to weep.

Oy.

Wed, Jul. 22nd, 2020 08:53 am
scarlettina: (Reality Check)
Woke up this morning and realized, based on how my head and body feel, that I forgot to take my meds yesterday. Maybe the day before, too. Meds taken. This f*cking pandemic. I'm reverting to all my very worst tendencies.
scarlettina: (Default)

Testing, testing. Is this thing on?

Hi there.

I've been keeping a hand-written journal since all of this madness began back at the start of March because I wanted to have a tangible record of these strange, strange days. But tonight, [personal profile] garyomaha wrote on Facebook about finally seeing HAMILTON, said I had to come over here to read his comments about it, and that was temptation enough. (Spoiler: He liked it.) Now I have to shake the dust out of the curtains, vacuum this damn carpet, and see if I can still attract friends and influence people. Or something. Maybe liquor will help. There's some unopened bourbon in the liquor cabinet. Also some wine, if that's your preferred poison. Ask the cabinet for what you like; it will provide.

How am I? Living this pandemic life. I'm having a medical procedure on Thursday, so this morning, I went and got a pre-surgical Covid-19 test and now have to quarantine myself until it's time to go get myself cut open. It's nothing serious; I have trigger thumb in my left hand that's gotten so chronically painful that surgery is the last option. The last option before what? I don't know. I expect I'll wake up at some point with the finger blown up like a blueberry, like Violet Beauregard in WILLY WONKA. It's well on its way. It's gotten painful enough that it interferes with my sleep. So yeah. It's time to deal with it.

In other news, I'm not writing, I'm barely reading (focus is hard these days), but I am crafting up a storm. My brain isn't being super-verbal, but it's enjoying facilitating visual art, so at least there's that. Wait, can I insert a picture here?

My first junk journal

Yeah, so that's my first junk journal, made of stuff from around the house. It's hand-bound using hemp twine. The cover boards were made using a cereal box covered with pretty papers. The pages inside are made from random stuff--looseleaf paper, printer paper, pages torn from old books and so on. And it's all decorated inside. It's been fun doing it.

And then, I've been working from home. I've done it before, but this is the first time I've done it for any length of time, and it's the first time I've set up a dedicated workspace. It makes a difference. Do I want to do this forever? Jury's out. I'm liking not having to deal with a commute. I miss other people like whoa.

And if my narrative voice seems a little more, I dunno, satirical than in the past? Well, that's how I'm feeling these days. Like everyone else, this isn't how I imagined life would be, and I'm a little jaundiced at this point.

No promises about being a regular around here again. We'll see. But it's nice seeing old friends on the Reading page. Perhaps I can be tempted back after all.

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scarlettina

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