My second cup of coffee tastes good today, my cheese sandwich. Outside, pure gloom. Looks just like a foggy day, but it’s pure smoke. I feel myself slipping into this paranoid space. But most of all I find myself in total reality, everything is crystal clear, Smokey clear. This is what Smokey the bear was trying to stop. But we don’t control the Earth. We can hardly control ourselves. I can’t control myself from throwing everything to the side, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping, cleaning my closet, working on my website, working on business stuff for the show and the book, taking a shower, sweeping the floor, picking up the gazzillions of game pieces and cards off the floor, putting away my shoes, my bra, my sweaty shirt, cleaning the poop on the rim of the toilet, (Jack), oh and studying my sign language and thinking about what to make for dinner. But I gotta get to my studio. NOW. I have four hours left of babysitting time. I gotta express my pent up smokey desire, not in word but in an abyss of color and line.
Category: Domesticity
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This is the deal, right here. Black and white, legs stretched out wide, she’s a beautiful dog. Content because I took her for a walk. Making GREAT headway on my book, Nap Time Paintings. In fact, I have learned more the way that things have gone than if they had gone how I imagined they would. I figured I was paying the publishing company to layout my writings and illustrations beautifully. Tt would look fantastic. I found out, Artistically I am required to make all the decisions if I want it to look good, how I imagine it looking. Mind Blowing. You learn something new every day. I want to paint now. I have an hour. I also want to take my paintings to the frame shop. My new Book, School Time Paintings By Jenny Hynes. Catch ya on the rebound.
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The space in between. In between two paper turkeys that hang on the wall from over a year ago. Above the kitchen table, many meals shared. The crows cawing loud today. What are you cawing about crow? September heat rot summer figs. Dried dark purple corpses, tears down the middle, reminiscence of pink and yellow juicy insides. The leaves on the fig tree so large now, they canopy the sand box, crisp dried fig leaves crunch under my feet. I walk to my green chair I put in the corner at the beginning of summer. I sit down, it’s cool here, the coolest place around. I wonder if I should put away the trucks for the winter? Will they deteriorate if I leave them out in the rain and wind? Should I put up new paper turkeys? These are baby paper turkeys, just dollops of paint, glue, brown and orange construction paper, and googly eyes. Jack and Fiona are three and a half now. Their Thanksgiving decorations this year will be more sophisticated. A few little baby paintings are still taped on the wall. Fiona is drawing “The Green Faced Man” now. Jack rode a scooter down the sidewalk this morning to school and stopped at all the driveways. Time that passes between is a growing time, a learning time. It’s hard to let it go, of the past three years, the baby phase. It slipped through my hands like sand in the sand box. The narrative was set, predetermined. The baby is born dependent on the caregivers, the child learns to be interdependent and become caregivers themselves. I never think about the time they spend away, in their communities without me. I think of them as they are with me. Fiona started helping a younger child we were with yesterday in a very mature way. I can only imagine she is a caring person on the outside. Jack likes talking to everyone. He looks older than he is and speaks clearly. He looks at people’s eyes when having a conversation. What’s happened in between the spaces here- two babies have grown into confident, individual children. Maybe it’s time for new paper turkeys.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 