Tantalizing golden light of false autumn (thanks, Texas!) filters through my windows. I get an itch between my shoulder blades this time of year, jealously dreaming of what I imagine real fall must feel like: misty mornings, and trees arrayed in red and gold. These are things I have never experienced. I’m working on my West Texas series, and the light pulls at my attention. I want to be outside, where the vastness and buoyant air beckon.
Meet me on the Equinox
Meet me half-way…
After a few weeks of intense art deadlines, I gave myself a bit of a break, but I’m back at it prepping for fall and winter shows. There’s just not enough time. Covid supply chain issues have made getting art supplies- particularly Venetian Plaster- difficult. I’m not sure what it’s like in other parts of the world (or even in other parts of the US), but here in Texas there’s a weird dichotomy to daily life: near pre-pandemic busy obligations, little news on Covid, groaning expectations in all realms of life; but at the same time, store shelves are bare, places are short staffed, and it’s really hard to plan anything concrete due to rolling quarantines and cancellations. It’s exhausting. We had Covid in my household at the end of August and we still haven’t caught up - and we were so lucky. I am able to do far less than I could, even this time last year, because I am so drained.
When we went camping this past summer, most of the other campers near us were either teachers or first responders. In fact, one night our camp host in New Mexico told us the entire campground was full of first responders, EMTs and teachers. We had the best conversations and the best time, sitting around the fire and talking about how grateful we were to be there. We didn’t discuss what we’d been through the past year- nobody did!- it seemed we had shared experiences, and also a shared need of renewal, fellowship, and spiritual rest. We thanked all the first responders we met, and were surprised and humbled when they thanked us for our service. The most any of us said about the past year was “It’s been really hard. We are so happy to be here, now.” We had no cell service, no access to social media or news.
It was so nice.
I am longing for campfires, stars, and reading at night by lantern-light.
Here’s to making it through this latest gauntlet. I’m going to celebrate with my first solo show! Milagros: Visions of the Desert opens at the Susan L Sistrunk Fine Art Gallery in Waco on Saturday, November 27 with a reception 5-8 pm. I’ll be there and I will give a brief artist talk about my inspiration and my process. I can’t wait to share what I’ve been working on over the past few months. Check out the event page here!
