2010 has kept some tricks up its sleeve to lay on the table right before it heads out the door.
In October a single bolt of lightning struck the middle of a quiet New Haven intersection on a sunny day just dozens of feet from me and several others waiting to cross the street. A giant boom and a flash of brilliant white light, like an explosion, and then nothing else at all. No rain, nothing damaged, no further thunder, just car alarms set off all around, while everyone including myself froze in place trying to comprehend, except for one woman who laughed with unbound joy as she skipped down the street.
The next day, on the opposite side of the same block, I ran into a street prophet. He first asked for money to help him get a train to Maryland to see his son for the first time in 21 years. When I had none to offer, he hit on me. When that didn't work, he began telling me about Jesus, and told me to ask him any question I had about God. I thought hard, and then told him earnestly that though I have many questions about the world and about myself, I have no questions about God. He hesitated, and then for the first time in his lengthy monologue asked permission to tell me something, and I agreed. What followed was spoken in a different voice and tone, and something I can only consider to be a prophecy for my future, a good one, that I am keeping close at hand.
I've wondered since then about my having no questions about God. I didn't notice that before. I believe in God and I think about God and religion and spirituality a lot of the time. I ponder how I can best live my life in tune with God. I wonder why people care so much about the details of different religions that appear to them to be in conflict. But about God, himself, herself, itself, whatever- I don't wonder or worry, or try to understand with logical thinking. Should I be relieved about that, or does it mean I'm lazy or missing something if I don't have questions?
I contemplate this as I continue a long hermit interlude, slowly piecing my kitchen back together with all the details carefully considered. It is an overdue home improvement, but it's deeper then just that. With my new wheat allergy the need to learn how to cook has bullied itself into being a priority in my daily existence. Resistant to this at first as a life-long hater of cooking, putting so much love into the kitchen through my language of paint is changing my feelings about feeding myself for the better. And as I go, I learn even more about kitchens and food, and how they are
so closely linked to God.
Photo above, the kitchen with its newly recovered wood floor, once under brown linoleum. Below, the floor before deep sanding and polyurethane.
I've been away from Antinomia due to total immersion in a big project. Luna's Sea is a feature length puppet and dance show I'm creating for Cornerstone Theater and the Mystic Aquarium. Luckily, I have some really talented and generous friends helping out, because with this one I'm in way over my head. As in, at the bottom of the ocean! It's great.
I keep having the good fortune of running into people who somehow specialize in hands. This summer, as my fourth year as an Artist Driver for the International Festival of Arts & Ideas, one of my favorite people to drive was the extraordinarily lovely Andrew Dawson of Space Panorama who I blogged about before. His newest work is The Articulate Hand, in which he used audio from an interview Tony Baloney and I made about our hands. You can hear me put to original music here on the show's website. But there are other pieces about other people with far more dramatic and inspiring stories about their hands. The performance Andrew did to this track is beautiful. He uses a broken pencil to tell the story of my roller derby injury. I hope it comes to the US!
Pat Zietlow Miller keeps a blog with book reviews by children, and 9 year old Anneka just reviewed Chiru. I love this picture a lot. Thank you Pat and Anneka!
I don't wear much jewelry, but since I wore through my Sator Square sundial ring I got for 5 bucks in Rome many years ago, I've been purchasing some small wearable token every couple of years when a new phase is beginning. Usually these are found on drifts, wandering through stores with a vague idea until synchronicity leads me to the thing I know is meant for me. Most I've found at my friend Raphael's mesmerizing Group W Bench in New Haven. This time I had something very specific in mind: a hand made ring with a winged heart. Not finding one in town, I got obsessive on the internet. There were some nice manufactured versions, but none felt authentic enough. Then I found Jen Hilton's website, and there it was, delicate, modest, lovely, in the size I was seeking. Jen makes her jewelry the way I look for jewelry, and it shows. This little ring was made to be on my finger. Thank you, Jen! I've added her to my Makers links on the right.
(Me stalking Jimmy Chin in Trailblazer.)
is not so much work when it's at a place like this. It was 3 days work this weekend that I chauffeured a wedding party at this seaside home, and was reunited with my beloved 15 passenger Festival van. The weather and the views were paradise. The people were really nice. The coffee breaks overlooking the regatta marvelous.
More of my lame sonore case (especially for Natalia the Saw Lady, who I'm honored to have as an occasional visitor here. She rocks.) The jersey-covered chipboard bow box (above), the flap side (below), and the heavy black canvas interior (that will hopefully stand up against the saw teeth) with snaps!
Feeling serious about my saw, and worried about the safety of my exposed bow and the arms of passers-by as I lug sharp metal teeth down the street to rehearsal, I made a custom fit case, including pockets for bow and rosin and leather shoulder strap. Still waiting for snaps for the pockets, but it's a happy saw outfit now. It only looks a little like a rifle.
