I wish I could take credit for my post title…but I found this lovely poem by Wendell Berry tonight, put to music by a band named Crooked Still. I’m always grateful when someone else can put words (and music along with them is a major bonus) to how I feel. I’m beginning to feel “The Peace of Wild Things” in my life.
Everyday, almost all day, I have thought about Life With Light. This place here…this blog, and what I share within it…my life. The journey here and the journey of my breath from inside out and in again. Such a journey to really live, isn’t it? And then to have your breath out there for others to potentially take into themselves. Crazy.
The photo above is of a little butterfly pin/brooch I found at an estate sale this weekend. It’s amazing how things can take you right back in time to a place you thought was dead. This pin immediately took me to my mother who I remembered had a pin just like this, only in blue (this one is oranges and warm colors.)
I stared at that pin. I picked it up and put it down. It was sitting with the other jewelry of questionable value on where the cashier sat. Maybe mom wore it a lot or maybe she just wore it during a significant time that had me so closely focused in on it. It’s imbedded within me. I picked it up and put it down. I thought it would fly away.
I walked around the house and picked up other things…and didn’t put them down. 3 grapefruit spoons (they are impossible to find and I love grapefruit!), some old linens (for purposes of the embroidery on them mostly…future projects forever on my mind,) a few decorated styrofoam birds (to place around my studio…inspiration,) and a couple of cases of old tape and reel film (nicely metaphoric for my mixed-media endeavors.)
I don’t know what made me pick up the butterfly and place it back on the cheap portable folding table. Every other item I picked up and kept… in my head I was thinking about the butterfly I left and then, quickly, “mom.”
I wanted to not want it. I wanted to walk away.
But I was afraid of making a final decision and leaving with regret.
Here’s a photo of the day after.
I’ve been busy in my absence. I’ve been remarkably present…painting.
My words are so sparse. They aren’t coming to me like feelings are.
But do you know what makes a painter happy?
It’s the wildest thing I’ve known.