Sunday, September 19, 2010

Pieces of the Puzzle

Dear Ellen
Already I'm preparing for another road trip, this time to Kansas City. I'm just barely back to my little routine from the last therapy session and now I'm packing again. The good part is I love Kansas City and the people who come to visit me at the show. It will feel good to be there and it's only a day's drive instead of three. I'll hardly have time to work myself up in thirteen hours.

It's hard to believe how much my life has changed in these past nine months. Sometimes I sit still and let it all in. How did I ever get from where I was in those beginning dark days to where I am now? I don't even remember much of those first few months. I think I just kept getting up in the morning, kept trudging along until I realized my legs were under me. Grief is a great teacher. It's such a painful process, but I've learned so much about who I am and who I want to be. I am at a place now where I can understand and recognize this as a gift. Maybe it's a gift I didn't ever want to experience, but the value has been etched more deeply by the pain. I know it will take me a long time to fully understand how it's changed me, but I am beginning to place the pieces together.

Time to head to the studio. There's a kiln load waiting to be brought forth into the world.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

The journey home.

Dear Ellen
Oh, it's so good to be home. Sitting here on my Sunday bed, surrounded by newspapers and cat, a cup of coffee not from an odd machine in a hotel. No concerns about tearing the room apart for those damn bedbugs I was paranoid about all the way across America.
I am home from my 4,800 mile adventure and finally rested. I know there was an art show sandwiched in between the 60 hours of car therapy, but I realized on the last few hundred miles it was about so much more. I was delirious at that point, but knew it had been a journey I had to find my way through. I think I wanted to push myself, remove myself from a comfortable routine and strip my thoughts down to their core. I resisted for a couple of days and then as I crossed into the Mojave Desert my protective barriers dissolved and so did I. It seemed to fit the desert landscape. Sometimes, I guess, you have to be in a desolate place to find what you're looking for. After some hard tears I found such a beautiful sense of peace as I rolled along, deep in thought, watching the sunrise in my rear view window.

The hole in my chest is closing. It's smaller now. It was a gaping tear reflected in my sculptures, hard to look at without cringing, but necessary for the process of spilling out my grief. I am sure there will always be a small opening near the scar. Grieving you will be a part of me, just as love for you will be held within.
Now though, the opening is left behind for what comes to spill in. Now I have room for whatever it will be.

So the journey emptied me and yet I feel filled again. Funny how sixty odd hours spent in a car with yourself can do that.

The cat is snoring. Happy dreams I suppose. Maybe she's happy I'm home.

I know I am.