the heart of the matter
Ghost Bird's feet up close, Grace made me aware of his feet in particular, their erotic quality. Just now I noticed the left foot is pinkish, sensuous, perhaps even erotic. Noticeable. I love how it complements the goat's wool and bird feathers. Ghost Bird has managed to twist himself into such a position as to be able to look outwards, standing guard and at the same time checking out his immediate surroundings; on his right is a small basket with what remains of the childrens creativity equipment, gathering dust: they don't hang out with me anymore in the studio. Not like they used to. We'ld spend hours together; I'd made a low bench for them and had a different table and we would sit and draw and paint and tell each other stories. When you're in those moments you have no grasp of how soon it will all pass and be gone forever.
Our eldest used to walk with his fingers all over the place, the fingers were beings and they'ld get up to all sorts. Storytelling. The youngest loved to draw, from the age of two he'ld wander off in the early mornings to the studio, sit at the table and sketch and sketch and make whole drawings full of warriors and animals and strongholds, endless storytelling all by himself. They both were imagining their world. We have books full of their worlds, stacks of drawings, precious.
the hearts, the bone, I love to come here to look and be taken to something essential
It truly does go so fast. When I cleaned the bookshelf, the one with all the children's books...I wallowed in the memories of reading to my young children...of the worlds we entered together and the meaning that twined between us. It's hard to see it gone sometimes.
We can't stop the march of time, that's for sure.