Minus three hours, yesterday was a horizontal day.

It was a day of closed blinds and dvd’s. The entire day, not to speak or pretend. The entire day as me, as my friend.  Unfortunatly everything is still the same. All the rooms are in the air. No decisions have been made. How do I decide what I will keep with me? Moving to a room. I feel like every path gets smaller. Every room narrower or taller. With every phase I must readjust. Bones break so they may fit through. They need time to heal, but time is not their travel companion. The creeks and snaps in the dark nights. The  pain that remains there in the mornings. In the past spirits were tried but they only magnified the darkness. They leave behind a greater ache so they no longer accompany the traveler.  Eventually only one will fit through. What then will I do. Perhaps it’s a form of regeneration. When molecules approach they merge and recreate, but when some dissipate,  disintegrate like a nuclear fission, [ The nuclear reaction in which a massive nucleus splits into smaller nuclei with the simultaneous release of energy ]. This is what happens when love is created. Life is lived in that explosion. But when one life expires or half of the energy dissipates what happens then?

Does not the remaining energy dissipate as well, traveling through the dark space of time till it too burns out.

There must surly come a time for all to burn out. Why must we be pushed and guilt loaded into recreating another energy. Surly one in a lifetime is enough. This society that will only accept happiness as normal exhausts me.

From february 19 2009 to october 2 2012, I have been made to watch my lover become ethereal or celestial. This was transforming, actually it mutated me. Into what I have no idea, yet. I do know that the intensity I feel should not and can not be masked or put away because some don’t like how it looks or how it makes them feel. I understand and accept all peoples choice, and if that is, to not watch me go through this then I understand and hold no ill feelings.  It used to be held in high honour to grieve. Now we have to hide it when we go out doors. Myself well here I am putting it out there but still behind the mask of another name. Just in case I offend someone.


All Remains Grey

I keep telling myself that one more day and then I will be fine and able to pull things together. Yet here I am lying in bed from 5am. Every room is a shambles. All in mid flight of packing. Old friends call and leave messages but I can’t muster the energy. It would mean me being outside myself, the self that possesses my body.

nights that stir                          

minds a blur                                

do we waits                              

for  pearly gates

what if at that instant         

we cannot see in distance                     

and all remains grey      

what if in that instant


Photo on 2014-04-26 at 15.27 #5There are many that say get up, get out, get moving. but there is such weight that expands on our chest. Such weight also rests on our eyes. So why can’t we just be let to rest. To just roll over is the best.

There are no days off in this state. Everyday we work at getting past. The big ‘they’ tell us it will not last. Soon it will be past.  The emptiness so vast will it really be in the past.


Why Do WE Accumulate So Much

As I’m embarking on yet another move I look from room to room and its all full of my stuff! Why do I do this to myself. Am I so insecure that I need things to block my passage? Do we accumulate to give visual substance to our worth? It’s like my sisters thinking that I somehow have inherited money because they can’t fathom that I actually sell. I think their lack of acceptance of me and my life is beginning to bore holes in my soul. Everyday another one slowly gets drilled and little bits of me drip out. D R I P..D.R.I.P D R I PPPPP  Till I slip around and loose my balance, but with no walls to hold its inevitable that a fall will occur. I just want to paint right now! I don’t want to pack! I don’t want to do my taxes! I just want to get lost somewhere between the primer coat and final glaze. That is how I see my work. Little bits of me gets right in there and remains. Last night I dreamt of painting round kids and elephants. Humm. This morning I posted all sorts of colourful images from the web of India and all its coloured beauty. Again I have started painting bits of furniture white. A very plain and pine shelve unit that I bought for 3.00 also mom  had these ugly side tables downstairs in the guest room. I have painted one white to see if it can be saved.

Her Locks Fell Upon Her Breast

Another friend …… gone

A dear friend has been in hospice for a week, he has been on my mind. So many things go on in my mind. It feels like subjects keep fighting in line for being in front and the next one up. Thoughts take on personalities at least in my mind they do. Its like a constant battle. Like kids fighting for attention in the back seat of the car, screaming! My Turn!! and our arm  somehow becomes articulated in such a way to swat  what ever happens to be in the air.

I don’t want to become that person that does not care. My friends matter to me, their lives are precious. Just the simple fact that they have somehow seen me as someone they want to keep in their life says something to me. So when one dies don’t they deserve sadness? I’m not into comparing the depts of my sadness to others but I suppose I want the grief. I want to feel sad that their life here is over. It’s a selfish feeling I know. D was in hospice and it was then I knew that he would not be able to fight it down this time. He had before but he did not remove one stressful element in his life. He drove transport and he often said how stressful it had become. He wanted to leave it behind and play drums on cruse ships. hehe makes me chuckle. D would have been every tourist’s dream affair. heheh He was funny, very handsome like tom selack is it, hum. He had a stand up comic personality and as he got older this beautiful, thoughtful person started to emerge. He lost his father in his twenties I think, so when we met him the first time in Jamaica he immediately saw B as a father figure. We had seen him through two marriages, but he always remained friends with them. He always said the last thing you want is a pissed of ex wife 🙂

So it came to an end this morning at 4;20. I had woken up just after 1am, even after a whole sleeping pill. I watched a great move call Quartet, after some toast and cheese and banana I forced myself to try and get some sleep at 5ish. I managed two hours.

Then there it was off the the left side of my screen, from M, saying at 4:20am he passed away, no more pain.

Now I have to somehow get dressed, put on a happy face for easter at my sisters. they will talk of nothing. The air will be full of iphones and Ipads as the others compare how their food is better then the others. Friday I raised my glass to my sister and niece for a wonderful fish dinner they prepared, they looked shocked.

I really don’t want to go but I know they will call and come over and that I don’t want.

So I will carefully lay my grieving self on the bed and put it on later.


Another Day in The Bubble

Cooking is an emotional and sensual act. To be inspired to create a thing of beauty. Walking in the open field to get refreshed then bringing some of it back to enhance the table.

This is all gone……………

I have boxes of white plates and blown black glass goblets. I was a bohemian kind of martha stewart. The enjoyment I attained from preparing the entire house for lunching visitors. We always had lunches for dinners went late and living in the country, we did not want to impose a long drive home in the dark. This meant that from every window we would have outdoor sculptures displayed. Paintings would get moved about with new works on display.

Our dining table was created from a massive 3″ thick by 5 feet by 6 feet cherrywood. It was balanced on a pedestal base created with 100 year old wood planed from the original house. Our chairs were from cbc canada office chairs that I painted eggplant purple. The were so comfortable. You could spin right around, so our guests were never inspired to leave the table.

We so enjoyed our meals. Preparing just for the two of us in often the same manner.

Eighteen months and I have no set time for eating. I open the fridge door and grab a piece of cheese or eat far too much bread. The pride and focus and inspiration seems to be all gone. I have no desire to have anyone here.

I have been alone in this house for two years and have had a dinner guest three times.

The only thing that runs through my mind is I don’t want. I don’t want. I don’t want.

Easter is lurking waiting to pounce! I have accepted two invitations out of duty. I am now trying to think of a reason to remove myself from each invite. The energy that it will take to put the smile on and pretend to be interested and happy is already exhausting me. I am exhausting me!

This morning I let an egg just fall to the pan. The heat too hot so it bubbled. Not a pretty looking thing at all.

But I ate it.

I did not make it with beauty and love. It did not look like beauty and love, so in turn I will most certainly not receive beauty and love from its nutrients.

Often we have a shadow that follows us to keep the line to reality taunt. My shadow is fading and I have no desire to keep the line taunt. Instead it lies on the ground looking like a lifeless snake with no shadow in sight.

There is snow on the ground with the sun shining on it. The heat is creating water rivers on surfaces.

I can feel and hear my heart beating in my body. Pale orange is the canvas I see when I close my eyes as I sit here in the back room  looking out the glass doors. A plane makes its flight over me heading north.  I have all the elements around me to feel content, peaceful, happy, inspired. Yet none of these elements touch my skin. They are like translucent bubbles of effusions floating around me. There is no gravitational pull, instead it seems like two magnets each possess a force so great  they resist each other.

I suppose that we must continue breathing and getting out of bed each day. Even if the eggs get broken and the yokes spill. We have to trust that this path has a destination, even if its just to get to the end.






My feather bed is my sanctuary

My living room floor has a purple trunk in the centre, there is a foot rest in front of it and that is where I have  been sitting. Like the days so long ago, of working in the southern ontario fields picking tomatoes. My back aches!

I have been trying to make my way through boxes of  photos and negatives. I have not even attempted the slides. Two years ago I  bought myself one of those  gadgets that transfers all of these into digital images. Like most I think I never got one off. There was always going to be time to do things later. When later catches up with us the world feels like it crashes down. I often feel like I am in this crater and all these boulders are falling down on me.



Yup that is just what it feels like!

Every boulder is something, like fear, insecurity, extreme fatigue, the list goes on.

I think having to focus on these small images on negatives eventually took a tole on me. Thousands of images dating back 40Plus years. Many are of sculpture documentations, progressives of commissions. I remember taking most of these for the past 32 years. If I don’t label, sort, fit in zipbags who will.

Downstairs I have a large trunk FULL of loose sketches that were often done as we were waiting for breakfast to come in local restaurants. B drew constantly and I tried to date everything he was terrible at doing that and signing. I was his lover, his confidant, his muse, his assistant, his photographer, his partner in ever way conceivable.

How do you get over that in 18months?

Today I had to escape all those images or I was surly going to start planing my exit. I was craving a schnitzel like you would not believe! Most of the time I do not eat flesh. I drove to the river, sat on a bench and ate with plastic a plastic fork. It was not as I craved, serves me right. Everywhere I go there are memories and those memories open others and more and more till your mind blows up. The skin around your chest feels like it is shrinking. Deep breaths make you cough and the grieving pain becomes physical. You can’t tell your friends these things, it’s just too much for most to hear. You can tell when the surroundings are topped up. That is why I have come to this blog I think. Writing in my journals was just not cutting it any longer. I feel that if I can make one grieving person not feel so alone then it’s all worth it. For alone is what we feel. So very alone. It’s something that will mend with time but you can’t fill your days with pretending to smile and be happy so your friends will feel better. We all need a place where we can scream to the clouds!!!!!!!!!!! and repeat how we feel. Often I get the real sense that if someone hears us once that should be enough. What they don’t get is that we need to repeat, and repeat, and repeat till we empty our well. Maybe then we will be ready to go on and think of the future. Who knows.

I am not a stupid person: I know what a grieving person should do: The problem is that when you ARE THAT PERSON You can’t move. Your brain closes the doors and only allows a bit to come out at a time. This I feel is a safe guard and I am glad of it.

Tonight I was in bed at 6pm, I was exhausted. I laid still on my back for three hours. My feather bed is my sanctuary.

Don’t let people tell you you are sleeping too much. We need to sleep, for in our sleep we heal.

If we were in a car crash and broke many bones and had bruises all over they would understand. The problem is our bruises are concealed inside us. Time does heal, I have to believe that. You should as well. 

What If Our Heart Dries

I do wake in the morning with all good intentions.
Today I will do my yoga. I will go for a walk. I will do more packing. Then  I hear the clicking of the coffee pot and when I go to investigate I am so pleased that there is at least one more cup that I can squeeze out of it. The cup of coffee by the computer tells me its still morning and I have all day to complete everything I have not gotten to for weeks.
I get my sketchbook out, well if truth be told there is not getting out, my sketchbooks are all over the place! I can’t believe how many I have. 99% finished to the very last page.
I open the book and draw what I am feeling. At times when I do this it helps me to see where I am at and how I can physically help myself through this. This morning it was my body standing at a 60 degree angle with ropes wrapped around the chest. then extensions leading to message blocks all around. In these blocks I write what emotions are possessing me like a spirit from another world.
The idea that I obsess has come to me more often then I care to count. Is the mind of an artist a stable one? Probably not for if it was we would be doing something else that rewarded us with money and security. There are benefits though. The fact that I can look at these walls full of paintings is a real benefit! To see something of a solid matter that has come from pure thought and emotion still impresses me.
The idea that in the future I might even create something that is of full round acceptable beauty is a post-it on my mind. Would I even be interested in doing this? Truthfully, imagining myself painting flowers or scenes of  a foggy meadow kind of creeps me out.  There would have to be a partial animal scull somewhere in it or steps created by ribs leading to the distant skies. You see, it’s not a sunny day without a single grey cloud. Maybe I’m stuck or the artist in me is enjoying all the feelings of sorrow. Or maybe I’m screaming for help the only way I know how to.
There are many that know what I feel and are supportive. I don’t mean to insinuate that I am so lonesome creature in the bush living off the sap that I lick off the trees and make soup from mushrooms and grass that I pick. But, the mind does go there. Why does it go there? Perhaps it needs the emptiness and vastness of the forest to give refuge to these feeling. Letting them fly and be caught by a swirling wind that cradles them to great heights. Free them for they are too great and massive to live in our hearts. They possess such energy that they will eventually dry the heart out and it will parish. Disintegrate to ash with the slightest of pressure.
This image stops me, and I feel stillness. I try to breath with thought. My eyes feel frozen to those words.



Photo on 2014-04-10 at 09.38 #3

Photo on 2014-04-10 at 09.37 #3