Pressing My Nose Right Into Freshly Cut Grass

I get to press my nose right into the freshly cut grass of my new painting but, what with pandemic-induced physical distancing, you don't get to hang out in my dining area and do the same.

So, as in multiple other situations these days, instead of inviting you to open the screen door at my home and walk right in, I invite you to a screen:

detail,
The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose

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Dear Diary

Random 'pages'
from a visual diary
depicting the history
of a single painting
that expresses
my inner life
across several months
during a time
of intense
personal and global
not knowing …

4/19/20

5/8/20

detail, 5/21/20

detail, 5/26/20

detail, 6/4/20

The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose
24 x 48"; acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on canvas
abstract landscape
2020

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (20)

 On my nightstand

If my nose were cut off 

I would have no memories. 

When I have lain awake all night 

and my eyes are finally closing 

I’ll get a whiff of something far off, 

from another year, 

another county ...

Sometimes there are only smells: 

the smell of chickens; 

the smell of Miss Finch’s stale breath 

and the hard candies by her bed, 

peppermint, 

all stuck together with the heat of her house; 

the smell of Matt’s math books 

where you crack the bindings, they’re so new; 

the smell of May in the kitchen 

frying the onions.

Jane Hamilton, The Book of Ruth

On my wall!

The Smell of Freshly Cut Grass Itching at My Nose
24 x 48"; acrylic, charcoal, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on canvas
abstract landscape
2020

On My Nightstand, on My Easel (19)

On my nightstand

Inside his head, 
questions 
like race cars 
shuddered in a row, 
waiting to roar off. 
Suddenly 
he let the first one go.

Ouida Sebestyen, I.O.U.'s


On my easel

work in progress, 85 days in (after a long break), 7/12/20
detail
playing with questions
24 x 48" canvas

Streetable #10

You know how good-byes feel. 
How the air gets excited 
when all its ions 
and electrical charges 
are disrupted, 
first by the intent to leave 
and after by the leaving itself. 
Then, when the bodies move 
away through space, 
they create empty pockets 
where feelings get caught 
and eddy around in the vacuum, 
creating little vortices 
of relief 
or sadness 
or confusion. 
That’s the way it felt 
on the day the Seeds left town.

Ruth Ozeki, All Over Creation

Perhaps If She Acts as Though Things Are Normal
4 x 6" postcard; acrylic and ink
abstract
2020

before primping

Streetable #9

The sea has always
whispered to me,
all down my life
it's been there.
And with that endless
restlessness
come other sounds—
seagulls shrieking
and mast wires clinking
as boats shift;
pebbles turning
and waves 
tapping sea-worn rocks.

Jules Hardy, Altered Land

Gurry and Sea-Worn Rocks, Ebb Tide
4 x 6" postcard; acrylic, water-soluble pastel, ink, and collage
abstract
2020

unaltered land

Streetable #8

It used to comfort me, 
as a little girl, 
to look at my mother’s jewelry. 
I used to try on 
the heavy gold bracelets, 
the pearl necklaces, 
the rings, 
all at once. 
I liked pinning the brooches 
in a line down my chest, 
the fabric of my shirt 
sagging from the weight.

Elizabeth Berg, Open House

"All You Need Now, Edith, is Lipstick," Little Bear Said
4 x 6" postcard; acrylic, ink, fabric paint, and collage
abstract
2020

before Edith and Little Bear discovered
the beautiful dressing room with the big mirror