#uncoffeed...

My craving for wood furniture colluded with my need to optimize minimal space in my Tiny Cottage, and I found this table on craigslist.  It looked steampunky-gorgeous, and the seller thought it would clean up nice. He told me I'd hit one out of the ball park.He'd dug around on the internet for some history on this piece, maybe underbid himself a bit. IDEAL was a popular typewriter company. Sherman and Manson were both bicycle manufacturers. BICYCLES. If you've known me for a long time, you know I'm crazy about bicycles as an art form, just as much as I love chairs.  What are bicycles but chairs on wheels, right?  In high school I rode 25+ miles a day regularly, and did all my own maintenance on my Schwinn.  When I lived in California, I bought my Motobecane at a church sale; an old French guy actually stopped me on the street to look it over.  At the moment I'm a terrible bike-mom to a Bianchi.  I had to let someone else change a tire because...

Only it didn't *just* happen. It's been marinating. It spoke to me some little time ago - not that long ago - in the middle of a conversation about somebody else's vision.  Visions are sneaky like that. They move like electricity, making leaps, and they can shape-shift. They don't necessarily mean the same thing to the same person, or the same thing at the end of their travel as they did when they started.  It doesn't matter. My job as an artist is to convey messages which already exist in time-space, and try to do it as clearly as possible when you don't have access to the language which was the original conveyance.  It's my favorite game. This is done now for the second time, and at the heart of the message is a feather given me by someone else who apparently received the message. Stay tuned, Etsy-friend...our story is leaving the ground. Today I bought the Coyote a new suit, in the form of a $4.99 thrift store frame. I brought the painting i...

Djinn This is what I do Shutter tight the world's eyes Strip down to what's behind the mask Turn the water free, hot like fire, A memory of whence I came This is what I do Drop magic in the pool at my feet Vetiver like the earth holds me down Exotic acacia gathers far corners With calm hands from another lost life This is what I do Inhale the burning mist Press my wet face against the wall Escape via space between cold metal And demons washed down the drain They can't see me here.