I start by picking up paints, drawings, stamps, brushes, from this week, when, I brought Fiona into my studio to paint. I gave her my giant piece of charcoal; look you can do it like this (flat on its side to make huge lines) or on the edge (to make skinny lines) and yes, it gets all over your hands and makes you really dirty! But you can make handprints and smear it. I love charcoal. Her little feet and bottoms of her pajamas getting all dirty. Jack only wants to turn the wheel on my press, I say no. He investigates the garage, tools left out, nails and screws. Today I am by myself. It is is the first day I get to work in my studio, in what feels like forever. I feel outside myself. I start on my “notebooks”, glue cropped paintings onto each open page on the floor. They are mysterious in their simplicity, instead of working more on them I decide to leave them as is for now. I want to work slow and methodical this year. Slow down. Yesterday the sun came out for a few hours. Jack, Fiona, and I sat outside in the back yard. The warmth felt so luscious. Look, a first bee. Jack and Fiona come close. I study its delicate wings, soft looking body. What’s it doing? It’s looking for food, says Fiona. We see a fly, it’s going to be an early spring, I imagine, not really knowing. When I woke up in the morning I saw dozens of Yellow finches covering every inch of the bare branched fig tree. We filled the bird feeders and spread bird seed all over the yard yesterday. We saw a male and female deer walking slowly on the hillside. The grass is bright green. So much loveliness right in the backyard. I want to make art inspired by the way nature displays itself to us. By the slow gathering of food. I wash, fold, and put away the biggest pile of laundry the other day. I sit on my pranayama cushion and treat it as a meditation. It feels good to have every piece of laundry put in its place. To sit and start and finish a task. I had to refold many times because Jack and Fiona thought it was fun to play in the laundry bin with the clean folded clothes. I have to change my tactic, put away as I go. I’m not going to react to the news I hear on the radio today, not the shooting at the airport, not the news of our new American government. I feel. I am distracted by it. I will try to distance myself. I take my dog for a walk while my pieces I start first dry. Creeks are running, the air is fresh and cool. Now back in my studio I mix my first color, white and burnt umber. I start to paint. I’m feeling more present. The violent world starts to fade. My body starts to feel better again. I have two hours to paint. I have new books for me and new books of poetry for Jack and Fiona for the rainy weekend ahead.
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I pull off a book from the shelf in my studio, looking for something to use in my new notebook project. It’s an old Sunset Vegetable Gardening book. At first I want to use it for collage. I flip through and on the last page there is a sketch and a list of winter vegetables to plant: beets, brussel sprouts, carrots, lettuce, and spinach. I recognize the hand writing, it’s my mom’s. I can’t use this. I think about the garden in “Jennifer’s Walk”, a book from my childhood I read to Jack and Fiona. The garden in “Jennifers Walk” always reminds me of the garden my mom planted in our back yard. Now I am looking at a sketch of her vegetable plot, the one imbedded in my memories. I remember walking outside with her, “Jenny, a rabbit ate my carrots”. I imagine a white rabbit. Every time I read Jack and Fiona “Jennifer’s walk” I think of the white rabbit. I am reminded of my mom, my life as a child. My body yearns to be that little girl, to feel that way. The way my body felt today when I opened the page and saw my mom’s writing. I take the books into Jack and Fiona’s room when they wake from their nap; “Vegetable Garden” and “Woodland Animals” another one of my childhood favorites. I tell them the story of the books, they watch me in earnest. Fiona doesn’t have her hearing aids on yet, but Jack hears every word. He doesn’t interrupt, he processes. I flip the pages, he sees a picture of a turtle, “I don’t like turtles, they bite” he says. I look at him and giggle, he smiles.
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Why did they leave these stupid, delicious, star shaped, yogurt covered, white with red and green frosting, pretzels here? I should have double checked to make sure my brother and his girlfriend took them for their treacherous, tedious, drive down south. I would die if I had to drive to LA with Jack and Fiona today, Christmas eve, (for some) but traffic doesn’t care what holiday someone celebrates. The stores don’t care, craziness infiltrates every corner of life this time of the year. There’s no avoiding it. But there is avoiding the roads, that is what I choose. It just sucks that I can’t see all the people I love. I feel more connected to the people I love dead and alive today. Right now, And myself. It’s almost time to put the babies to bed for a nap. But will they go to sleep? They are so excited and so spoiled. But still sweet and love giving presents too. They may not want to sleep. They’ve been singing “Santa Claus is coming to town” constantly. Jack rocks out (Rock and Roll baby) Fiona sings Santa Claus is Not coming to town”, and Alan and I argue about what to tell the babies about Santa, Is he coming or not? I think Jack and Fiona already know that adults give presents, Santa is pretend, but Alan thinks we can fool them and I’m always the one to let it slip. It’s pretty funny. The luxuries. Christmas is all about indulging. Last night the waiter asks us if we want a bucket. I thought he meant something to throw up in, but he meant to say a booster seat. All is good. Babies definitely not taking a nap, “Mickey Mouse Once Upon Christmas” again!
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 