Containers

Begun in a fraught political climate, my thoughts of an “I Voted” sticker for the lid thwarted by an unappealing redesign, this sat, waiting its destiny until I happened past a wee Lucky Cat. We vote every day, with everything we do. #StopAAPIHate 

For Tarrah. May every girl get her lemon tree. #transisbeautiful

He flew into a jar. I had heard him. His mighty struggles. Tried to help. Couldn’t see. I found him later, much later, at the back of a high shelf, in a jar. As well as I was able, I gave him the sky. Quickly made, and as quickly gone.

Finally- the next move on this piece reveals itself. Not a deliberate besmirchment of the pristine, which is usually valid and interesting but getting a bit to usual and has a tired hippy connotation of eco-lamentation (I don’t whine about the environment, I make lifestyle choices to help the situation)—but that loud clear ringing of ownership and ego, a dog-whistle to the unthinking- words. Big red happy authoritative words. “Join us and you can be happy too,” the promise. The driver of consumerism tips into the realm of politics—that knowledge and use of what motivates and drives people. But I don’t want to suggest too strongly either marketing or politics, just hang the thought in the air of the lure of the authoritative voice, so—just the apostrophe. A happy floating apostrophe like a bee over those bee/flowers.

Minus Mt Fuji, a fairly straight take on The Great Wave off Kanagawa by #hokusai - with a little help from #nivea and some pieces off an old #calvinklein bathing suit.

A very fond memory of a magical place where children play in fountains in manicured parks behind museums at midnight, patchwork men dance to their entertainment and mothers thanks, parakeets play in puddles, gentlemen sew in botanic gardens, gleaming tiles paint the alleys in every color, and every opportunity is taken to live beautifully. 

Posies, pollen, disruption, corruption. Delicacy. Indelicacy.

Named for an alias of Asimov's robot Daneel Olivaw, Hummin bemusedly explores our labyrinthine cheese wheel universe.

A whimsy on the rituals engaged in to get clarity. Mine is ever, art.

In a tin of lip balm from the ritual gift of tending my dearest friends bestow yearly, with an attendant conversation on the gifts that have meaning, the gifts we remember.