My “office” has been relocated to my mother’s old studio in the back bedroom in the house, stuffed full of her work. Books, magazines, patterns, pens and pencils, hoards of fabric in every possible hue, a Bernina (!!!), piles of classical music CDs, photographs and notebooks, etc. Several of her finished pieces including art quilts and dolls have been removed and will be displayed tomorrow at her memorial service. I’m amazed that so many of her friends didn’t even know the extent of her artistic skills. She loved what she did, but she was such a private person that she never boasted about it. I don’t think she felt her work was “good enough”, but of course it was.
I dreamt last night that I was under the North Sea, deep, cold and green, and that it was wonderful. I keep hugging myself to keep the feelings in. My heart has expanded and threatens to launch itself from my chest. I spend the first two hours of every morning avoiding my father, as we have something of a tenuous relationship at best, and I am residing here by his good graces. As a consequence, he seems to think I sleep until 9:30 am every morning, which of course I don’t. I can’t seem to convince him otherwise because to do so would mean facing him first thing in the morning. He’s up at 4 or 5 am and I can barely speak until 10 am so I feel rather at a disadvantage. At this point I don’t want to see him at all for fear I’ll lose this amazing feeling. But it is unavoidable. I must eat sometime and there is still a lot of work to be done.
Once things settle down a bit, I’ll go back to posting photos again. I desperately miss having an open workspace with decent light, but we’ll muddle through.