Packing for a move and trying to complete certain projects before the end of the month. There's always the next thing to do, to accomplish before the next thing after that, the next thing on the list: like a ticker-tape, time moves relentlessly into the future, tapping tapping at the next thing, the next thing. It's too easy to get caught in this trap. The act of making art helps me escape; I get lost in the materials, the possibilities and experimentation, the pencil to paper and the eraser to paper and the inks applied after, the colors, images, shapes, words.
Moving is very symbolic. In late middle-age, it means, perhaps the next-to-last move. I have been throwing out a lot of old papers and items no longer useful, recycling when I can, but I am so aware of how much I still will carry forward into the next place where I'll spend the days of my life. Tick-tick-tick.
Remember how many childhood games were about being able to move ahead: Red Light, Green Light; Mother-May-I? Drawing, writing, creating a newsletter, sewing, these things help me stay that push onward, make the moments more real.
