Transposition

About a year ago I posted a rhythmic chant from camp days that periodically comes to mind:

Left foot, left foot,
Left foot, left foot,
Left foot, left foot,
        Right right foot!

As was the case a year ago, the words today transpose themselves, this time to the following:

Bookmark, bookmark,
Bookmark, bookmark,
Bookmark, bookmark,
          Post post card!

I'm feeling feelings today, yielding to many transpositions swirling around me.

Responding to intuition, to what I see in front of me, to what pops into mind.

Pushing Like a Storm Surge into Unexpected Places
4 x 5 "; acrylic, India ink, and transfer letters on drawing paper, mounted on cardstock
abstract
2018
[gift]

Hobby Nook

My current project-in-progress takes me right back to Hobby Nook at Camp Takodah when I was maybe nine years old and making a ceramic-tile-and-grout trivet for my mom. I had no concept whatsoever of a to-do list, no sense of having to get anything done by a certain time.

When I was at the waterfront I was at the waterfront. When I was on the badminton court I was on the badminton court. When I was in Hobby Nook I was in Hobby Nook.

Hobby Nook was entirely sensory: chair legs scraping on the wooden floor, fragrant candle wax melting on a hotplate, dust drifting in through wide-open doors and windows leaving an earthy taste on my tongue, woven wicker making a pattern against the backs of my legs, the colors and sheen of half-inch ceramic tiles lighting up my eyes.

When a cabin leader clanged the bell on A Field, I put away my trivet till the next day, with nary a thought about its being 'finished' or not.

Today in Hobby Nook—a few tiles here, a few there, some grout, and then off when the bell rang.

detail, work in progress

detail, work in progress