making memories

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As a child I remember scouring the shelves. Delving deep into the closets, boxes and trunks. I was always searching for something. Something that would tell the story of who I was and where I came from. Something that would help “all-of-this” make sense. I wanted stories of my past, of the past leading up to me and mostly I just wanted to find the secret. The secret that would unlock it all.

One day I found a baby book. It had a couple of notes in it but was mostly empty. I thought that this book had been my chance but that now I would never know. I felt keenly the loss of understanding. The missed opportunity. This empty book represented all that would be lost from me.

When I became a mother I wanted to give my children this understanding. To gift them with that something special that I never had. Each of my children have their own special book. These books  tell a story and the story is that of their lives. I also am beginning a different kind of book. I will be asking my mother to write down the memories of her childhood, of her parents and her grandparents.

We need to preserve this history to pass down. If we do not do this it will be lost forever. I do not want my children to piece together an incomplete past the way that I have. I feel that the past is so important in understanding the present but that so much is lost. So much understanding is lost.

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What It Means to be Southern

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ImageThis word cloud was created using a compilation of writings on what the south means to a group of random southern raised people.

I thought that it was an interesting reflection of the southern cultural identity. The Identity of Southern America is not so much a concrete thing but as shifting collection of ideas, collective experiences, and a shared past.

The South

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It’s hard to explain what “The South” means to me. To me this term resonates with a meaning deeper than “Home”. “The South”  to me speaks of history and place. It is where my the spirit of my family resides.

Many times as a child and even now I have tried to understand myself in these terms. Looking back at the path of my forefathers I retrace the steps to my awakening.

We know the past through stories. The truth of these stories can be hidden. I have searched for truth in my, in my family’s, stories. I have found some truth but much remains hidden. There is pain in this past and in these stories, but there is also triumph, humor, and love.

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I thought I would never get married. I am not sure why I have never envisioned myself bonded in this particular fashion.

When I was a child I believed that I was going to be a Nun, a Monk, or a Hermit. I believed that I would have minimal human contact and I certainly believed that I would never be with a man

Once puberty hit it became clear to me that I did indeed like men. I was still unsure as to if I wanted to be with a man though. I still believed that I would rather remain alone. I knew I wanted children and I even knew what I wanted to name my first born which would be a son.

I always knew what I wanted from life. I knew that I wanted to be an artist and a mother, but a man was never in the equation.

This is why I am surprising myself now. Am I reassessing what I would like from life ? Is my vision changing? Is this something that was hidden from me before? I know when I imagine our future I am happy and this is a future I have never seen before.

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“Armed with every precious failure”

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Some things work, and some things don’t. In creating I never want to be scared to act, experiment, try, and fail. This is how I learn. This is how I push myself. Maybe putting glitter on everything I make is not such a great idea but I will be damned if that will keep me glitter free.

I want to use the stuff. I want to bring a viewer swampiness in all its sparkling beauty. There is an iridescence to the water when the light hits it.

And crystals formed on an alligators back when it bellows its mating call.

I will fail and fail again until I get it right.

Those anonymous family photos

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Looking through all my family photos. I am always attracted to the ones which present anonymous people, shadowy figures, and unknown settings. Their anonymity is a challenge and a mystery.

I have pulled some of these photos and plan on painting them in the next few weeks.

 

We are all passengers who will be lost in time.

We are dying from the moment we are born.

These photos somehow remind me of this.

 

 

The return of joy

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 Winter is gone , the dreary cold bleak days have subsided giving way to the electric buzz of a sun filled florida spring . The world is being reborn and you can feel the fresh new energy. I can feel my energy returning with the warmth of this new season. Every year it is the same I become spiritually dormat in the winter. I feel as though my soul falls into a deep slumber but with the spring a joy returns and my I am ecstatic.

 

This is a time to start many projects. Time to create, plant, sew, love!

 

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All the little things amount to a lot

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I have somehow despite  my recent illness, been able to accomplish some of the things on my list.

I recently cleaned and reorganized the studio (pics to come)! and have also planted one of the beds in the backyard (more pics to come). All of this and I have also found some time to redo the graphics on my site. I have rounded all the little corners on my buttons and what not.

After cleaning my space last night I realized how good it feels to have that space clean. It  feels like I can reorganize my thoughts. I have separated all my art into categories and spatially separated them within the layout of the room.

I have a flower wall, a gator wall, a southern history wall, and a personal history wall. This way I can look at one wall and see only that work and focus on the subject which I choose.

I feel inspired by my clean space. I believe I will go home tonight and make some art.