AWOL!

I feel like my life has gone AWOL! At least the part of it that I recognize. The part of me that is on duty has turned into someone I don't recognize. Nearly all of my art supplies have been packed and with the sealing of each box more of what brings me happiness has disappeared. I assumed that it would be difficult to maintain my equilibrium without being able to paint some paper or experiment with a new technique. Three new magazines and a zine have arrived in the last three weeks and I have absolutely no interest in them. I know that it's true that what one focuses on becomes important, but I am rather surprised that I have slipped so easily into this non-creative mode. Will I be able to find my way back to what has fed my spirit and kept me sane for the last six years; will I be able to pick up where I left off, on the brink of working with fabric; will I . . .?? I have no idea, but at the moment creating art doesn't feel necessary. Where is this latest journey taking me?

I had a feeling that packing would be just as draining as it's turning out to be. If there wasn't a pot-of-gold at the end of this exhausting task of sorting out, throwing away, and packing up what has taken 20 years to fill up this tiny house with, then I would surrender and stay put! The desert seems to be calling me with a pull that is foreign. The pull to live here on the Monterey Peninsula 30 years ago was a strong one, so much so that I moved without questioning if it was the right thing to do. How could someone who loves the ocean as much as I do move to an arid part of CA? I now wish that I had taken more than the two photos above, but at the time I was in shock about the possibilty that I would be living there and didn't see any reason to photograph the scenery. Arid? Doesn't look that way in the photographs, does it? Trust me, outside of the housing complex it's very evident that it is arid! Just beyond the man-made lake in the photo on the left are rooftops of some of the houses in the complex. A few more pictures might have provided a better reminder, a reminder to keep my eye on the pot-of-gold rather than to wallow in despair and exhaustion.

I had always planned to photograph the interior of this house before I moved, but most the living room is now packed so that option is no longer open. Deep down I know that I will always remember the furniture placement and the way the room seemed to wrap around me like a cocoon when I needed to feel safe. I will remember how the morning light wakes me up on sunny days, which are often few and far between. I will remember how on balmy nights I can hear the seals bark and am in awe that the sound carries all the way from Monterey Bay to my ears a couple of miles away. I will remember how compact the ornamental plum tree was 20 years ago and how it has become one of the tallest trees on the block. I will remember many treasured moments and the many losses that have occurred while living here. The latest loss was an uncle who died on Aug. 23 a few weeks short of his 88th birthday. The best memories can't be photographed and they will remain with me until I can no longer remember them.

I have questioned my reluctance to pick up my camera and photograph the last few weeks here but now I have a better understanding of why I couldn't. In some ways it's too painful to think about leaving here while at the same time I've already mentally left. And so the gamut of emotions continues . . .