Another mysterious package turned out to be these super cool sticker sets I did a long time ago for Peaceable Kingdom Press. 90 colorform type decals and a little fold out scene to put them on. You can find them on Amazon if you do a search for my name. Wilson is into them. 
Wilson Cat is potentially the next great art phenomenon. He has several projects in progress around the house, including "Toilet Paper", a series of innovative installations. One of his more controversial pieces, "Toilet Paper in Toilet Bowl", is pictured below as the artist is at work, and again as the artist confronts the photographer for the interruption. He prefers to work in isolation. 
A couple months ago Wilson broke one of my favorite glasses, one from a set of four with phrases by Jenny Holzer that I have always adored, long before I even knew the coolness of Jenny Holzer who projects words on cities, like in Providence a while back. 
Anxiety about many things has kept me from being able to sleep through the night for several months. Since I cannot change the circumstances, I've become determined to adjust. One of these adjustments is reading books I've always wanted to read at 4am until I can fall asleep again. This has been kind of wonderful, as I've lamented not having the time to read for a very long time. I just finished The Hearing Trumpet, by Leonora Carrington, an English surrealist painter who hung out with Remedios Varo and Frida Kahlo in Mexico and thought a lot about alchemy and art and animal-headed people. Some of my favorite bits:
I went to my first gay wedding this weekend. The couple has been together for 17 years, but Connecticut just made same sex marriage legal a few months ago. It meant so much to them, and I think even more to their family, to perform this ceremony. It was the best wedding I've ever seen. And the cake was super cool.
A tight budget because of the building of our new theater this year caused me to have to take up the roll of costume designer and set designer for our holiday show, The Nutty Cracker Christmas Sweet. I've never done costuming. It is hard. In the end I was pretty happy, thanks to the unbelievable help of Margaret Carl. 
An ice storm at my mom's house last night took down a bunch of trees, but the two maples over Lady Chair (as my mom is now calling it) stood strong, and the chair continues looking content. 
I've been working at Yale on and off sewing costumes for the Rep theater. This vest is for a Drama School student show called Robbers, on Valerie the costume designer. I love doing detail work like the military cording and buttons which took a couple days. It's an awesome job.
This chair has been with my family for a long time. It was in every room I had when I was growing up and it had gotten very old and worn in my mom's house. She wanted to get rid of it for a new comfortable chair, and I had nowhere for it in my house. Of course I coerced her into keeping it, as is my nature. After a year of argument I accepted her creative compromise. She stripped it down to its skeleton, gave me a piece of the wonderful pink fabric, and we hauled the chair out to the edge of the woods behind her house, to rest between to maples. It looks suitably happy out there, and I'm glad to see it when I visit. 
Under the beautiful domed wooden case tied with a little key on a rotted cord was this 1929 Singer sewing machine, covered in gold swirly ornament and shiny nickel plates. It's deceptively delicate looking with its wasp waist and voluptuous curves. I know this machine can kick ass with its all-metal parts and exterior motor, but to avoid any risk I took it to Newman's sewing machine repair in Springfield, MA before I even tried plugging it in. They say it's converted to electric from a treadle machine and would last me 100 years. She's still there, I can't wait to get her back to see how she runs. 
The two most intriguing cases from my grandmother's house. I hadn't looked in them since I found them.
The things I need to clear out of my attic have caused me a lot of anxiety, not the least of which are these 6 sewing machines I inherited from my mother and grandmothers. Nobody needs 6 machines, certainly, and I should get rid of at least half of them. However looking at them all together in a row is like looking at my maternal ancestry. I love them all as if they were my family. And they are such fine and sturdy machines, lost in a time when good plain mechanics and domestic arts are not nearly as valued as they were when these beauties were born. My whole life right now is revolving around these six as I try to determine their pasts and their futures.
