I've been writing fiction (Polish plumber story is done, garden story begun) and drawing more in my sketchbooks. If I could tell the stories of the people on my bus. I can draw only a little bit of what I see.
I hope you are drawing what you see. What you can. What you need to. I'm trying.

It's been a while since I last posted, but I have been busy learning, thinking, living, and realizing some amazing things. Consider then...
Luck
A week ago we heard on the news that a tornado touched down in a mile wide stretch of Atlanta. Turns out this is about the same mile wide stretch of Atlanta we used to live in. Our good friends have houses in Cabbagetown and Reynoldstown and East Atlanta and we found ourselves staring at the computer and rivited to the news looking to be sure almost no-one was killed. How could a tornado touch down in the middle of town and not leave many many dead?! The luck of it struck us in our hearts because we are so far removed from tornados in our little northeast town. Or so we feel. But when we saw the trees in houses of our friend J., we gasped and then remembered that he was not home. He was on vacation. There are pictures from The Creative Loafing folks of the devastation but I can't find many of the clean up, the comraderie, the connected helping that goes on in that neighborhood.

Little drawings of owls
On a recent day of wandering I was in the public library and picked up two books in the art section to sit in a sunny spot and leaf through them. The books were seemingly very different, a French mistress of Picasso's and an American photographer, but both had bookmarks with the same distinctive owl. It looks familiar and I think I might be able to trace it to a friend or aquaintance, but the idea that they would appear on the same day in two books I happened to pick up struck me as something. I don't know what that something is.


And now here we are a few weeks hopefully from the warm days of sun, from the growing thing-ness of Spring, from open windows and greater optimism. Loose ends will be tied together in tidy little bows and there will be blooms again. I wish you sunny days and loss-free moments when the wind blows. Should losses come, here's hoping the re-building makes you stronger... it always does.

Rachael

Today was a magically sunny day and my day off so I spent it wandering around, having lunch with a friend I hadn't seen in ages, and drawing in the library. The sun coming in windows makes me think Spring may come soon and the story of the governor's fall from grace for bad behavior has me still thinking about public trust.

This might all fit into a short (or long) story but I'll spill this image out here, empty my pockets to see the lint.

Bright sun reflected off dirty snow, a balmy 40 degree day so we all walked around without our hats on. A whole hatless city. I drew a mounted policeman from a couple of angles. The cop (wearing a bold yellow jacket and a little riding cap) was on a cell phone but his horse was paying close attention to the street activity. Seemed like the horse was watching me draw it. A block away firemen knocked icicles off of a building so they wouldn't impale someone waiting for the bus.



So much more of life in the little details than in the big scandals.

Rachael

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Really, this is just an excuse to share an image from an old magazine that has ricochetted through my visual memory for years and continues to have a presence in my paintings, in my imagination, and in the stories I tell...

From an Umberto Eco essay about the bean to a vivid memory of an image of (I think it was) soybeans in a box in a copy of National Geographic when I was a kid to what I might grow in my garden, I am thinking about beans.

The wonder fruit.


My stories are still brewing including but not limited to my Polish plumber (Pawel Kaczor) who is now a lot more real a character for having flaws and strengths and a bit of a tendency to run away from his emotions. The story has characters, plot, and presence but it isn't quite done. Close, but not yet ready to serve. I hope that in the same way I used to have several paintings brewing at once, having several stories simmering will help them all be better said. It's a hope, a dream, a method, a plan.

In each little indentation, a different bean with a different story. These beans, after all, are everywhere.

Rachael

Umberto Eco and Salman Rushdie are coming to Rochester to talk. I really can't wait to hear them and scribble my drawing, writing notes and the excuse to read more of the work of both writers, sharpening my Italian again, and trying to be a better writer with the influence of two very smart and relevant men (and the smart writers in my class and the dynamic professor).

Off to paint, write and otherwise stir up some trouble in my studio.

Rachael