shreds of anxiety, foreboding
I spent the morning painting a rainbow and phoenix on a wall on my street. Some of the leftovers spilled into my daily drawing.
I went out dancing with friends. One of my queenly sisters reminded me of a “beautiful bellies” dance class we took together, where we were encouraged to find the figure 8’s in all possible movements
I have spent the last couple of days taking everything off the shelves in my studio, sorting through old projects and materials, and putting it all back more neatly and accessibly.
Imposing order to combat entropy.
I woke in the middle of the night from a dream in which I was witness to a landscape bare, burning, destroyed, poisoned. I had lost everything – people and possessions – and was trying to flee but with no idea of where I might go. In addition, I was aware of being at least in part guilty of causing the disaster, or at least of not having stopped it.
I don’t know how to draw this, and I don’t know how to stop leaking tears whenever I have a moment to sit quietly. So many people in the world already live this reality in some form, and already I hold this guilt. The charm and privilege of my life is that I don’t have to see or feel it if I choose not to.
I did this one seeking a place of serenity.
Hannah Zahn’s response was in words that fit perfectly:
“This is my grief in losing a friend I did not get to say goodbye to, just last week. My mind is on that precipice looking out and not knowing how to filter what my heart is feeling.”