The swirl inside me (which feels like both a galaxy and a soft-serve ice cream) is intense today; I am outside of time, but on the good side. Im on the side with the moving, tessering sidewalk and the flowers, where a day of work happens in 8 minutes. Not the side with construction fence and nowhere to explore. I’ve lived three lifetimes and I’ve only been awake for four hours.
I love the caliber of the human shimmer in the air in Cambridge. These cities vibrate with intelligence, with real work, with people who have expectations that they will find or create what they are questing for. People walk everywhere (unless they don’t) and this moving energy is what I want to be near to right now. People who walk, who carry their worlds within them, people who are looking back at me, who engage me. LA seems very far away, very la-la land. The desert is the desert; it is a piece of my heart. I am comfortable with my home base in Tucson. But not ready to leave Boston. I will go west for winter, and then I will be back.
I find, oddly, that there is a certain light here at dusk where everyone who is aware can suddenly see me; I have never noticed this before and suspect it is locational. But in that right light, which only lasts for a few minutes, all of the sorts of people who are normally not looking are looking. People in doorways, street people, bankers, randoms. All, suddenly, looking at me like I have stepped out of a painting, or am carrying a secret message.
I laugh at the strangeness of that. I forget to test it. There is too much of interest here; I pile things up to look at later, think about on a rainy day. But then I get involved with the rain.
At any rate, the key information is that the light here is mindbendingly good, and I am fully awake.
I continue to prowl the streets, the alleys, the thrift shops, the bookstores, the flower gardens, the sky, the inside of my head, my ideas about ideas. I feel like a seed in loam; I cannot conceive of leaving without a plan to come back.
As summer has slipped into fall, like a fish lurking beneath the surface of a pond of ectoplasm, I have been psychically waiting for the most impatient or career-ambitious people in the beadwork project to give up and leave, so that the surface disturbance is gone, and I can work again with pure concept. I think that time is probably now, and I can re-assert my individuality, my right to work in peace, and at my own pace, and most specifically perhaps I can learn to simply not answer demands that do not contain the word “please”.
Someone left a mindbendingly unproductive review on Amazon for the new CGB #2 (which is made of new ideas) that says only, “There are no new ideas in this book.” I have thought deeply about that, but my thought process is made entirely of “How can I more successfully repel this person?”
She thinks my book is Internet Owl.
The thing is, my circles are not like anyone else’s circles. They are brilliant, well-thought out circles that can hold any goddamned owl alive or imagined. I am happy with them, and very happy with only engaging a small fraction of craftspeople with the ideas. I have some good thoughts on how to better do that, and the first is to enable the Look Inside feature on Amazon to show the introduction, which does a very good job indeed of explaining.
The next press runs are already planned; a new poster (a smaller size) a second run of Volume II (with a dark orange coil, so it can be easily distinguished from Volume I for fuck’s sake) and a set of new postcards. A couple of card decks. Some serious metal jewelry. An entire runway show, where both the clothing and the ornament is entirely hand-crafted. A proper book launch party at the Tucson shows, in a few months.
And of course a new book, which is ambitious in scope beyond my ability to even catalogue or explain. But I do plan to build, and to paint; I want to make art that one can sleep in, small spaces that are physical expressions of the intensely chewy work I have begun, interviewing 100 people, prowling through their hearts in every way possible, exploring my ideas about sustainable architecture, about living with art, considering human dignity, encouraging creative energy… and as usual making things primarily to photograph them, or to use as photo sets.
I have contemplated, with the investment of a month of my life, my concerns and fears (I can count my concerns on one hand, as it turns out, and I have no fears) my hopes and dreams (seemingly endless) I believe I see paths that will both allow me both to excel and to care for my people; I am trying not to force anything, but I must still be assertive.
I had fun going to Amanda Palmer’s book release party Monday night, and to her show on Tuesday night. Both were very good. She’s drawn a lot of hate and love for her ideas about sharing, caring, not caring, and the importance of doing focused work and rejecting hidebound people and ideas. We have a lot in common; I support her and wish her well. I feel strongly, as she does, that the people we surround ourselves with will affect us deeply; sometimes people need to come and go, or be wooed closer, or to be moved away from, or to be given everything, or to be given nothing.
Even Bill was there, most excellent.
The show at the Royale, Amanda wearing a perfect kimono, made (I am told) by Kambriel.