It's the tail end of my day off and I'm back to day jobbing tomorrow (a pile of projects on my desk no doubt) but I'd feel remiss if I didn't share my simple confidence with you before I head to bed. I talked to a handful of good friends today (most far away, but one here in the flesh) about the kind of nutty projects we take on.

My friend Kenny has talked about teaching for a while and in the fall he'll be at the front of the class making sure the kids find the kinds of connections to stories, to the worlds outside (and within) themselves that he's found in stories and music. In a perfect turn of events he'll be in the same school that formed him. Lucky kids 'll get a kickass english teacher.

Lisa's thinking about a blog and I sure hope she does because her artist's perspective, her aesthetics, her desire to connect, her smarts, and rooted in the kudzu history all need to be heard. She's a keen and funny writer too and so here's hoping she jumps into the blogosphere. Here first perhaps?

Nancy has jumped idea first into curating her first show in November, a perfect blend of art and science completely consistent with her own work and while scary and quick, completely do-able. The show of her own work is still up at Atlanta's Fernbank museum, by the way.

And forgive me for stepping into the land of self help by saying it but I am a firm believer that your project is do-able too. Sure is. Of course, there are obstacles. But every excellent new job, new blog, new show, new painting, new novel starts with a dream. It's the dreams that refuse to be shut down that become real. The dreamers who take some steps, talk to everybody, close their eyes and jump who stop being dreamers and become do-ers. Worst thing that could possibly happen is it hits the world half brewed and you learn quickly, but I admire and have the good fortune to know a slew of hard-working, creative, smart and persistent project people.

And my next project? sleep.

goodnight troublemakers,
sogni d'oro,
Rachael

If I could time travel as he imagines his dead mother can in his latest, I'd go to London last week. I'd see some talks by John Berger, soak up some of the collaboration, creativity, conscience and culture. See the plays, reread the essays, wonder about the others who show up. Make new friends and start new trouble. I've been excited, inspired, jolted, comforted, and kicked by Berger's writing since I first picked up a copy of A Painter of Our Time.

Honest invention doesn't seem like invention at all, sometimes fiction is more true than fact. The latest (Here is Where We Meet) seems as true a reflection on a life as any honest novel can be. I'm slowly savoring it. Taking a moment here and there to discover the images.

It's a pleasure to see the celebration of John Berger's work while he's here to enjoy it. Not in memoriam but with an eye to connect the troublemakers who light on the idea that art can be democratic, that all voices can be heard, that problems can be fixed.

Found cat sleeps next to me, paintbox sits open at the next table, open book waits. More of Berger's thoughts about how stories can matter are here...

see ya,
Rachael

Phew! Thanks to great neighbors and her vocal chords, our little skinny kitty was retrieved today after a few days of adventuring. She's stinky, hungry, skinnier than usal, sunburned and scraped up but she isn't talking.
Now, I'm ready to paint and draw and read and think.
While she was missing it was hard for me to not think about a white cat. The only one preoccupied now is the cat (trying to take her new tag off).
So, off to paint but I won't be too silent for too long.
Take care,
Rachael

We wish we knew where she is. Missing. Snuck away while I took out the garbage or some other random moment. Now, it's been several days without our little cat and we're both still pretty pre-occupied. Like Mark and K who are going through the same thing (may Pavi come home soon), we had fitful sleep thinking we'd hear her meow. I tried not to worry all day yesterday and today but she's tagless and skinny and lost. She's small and whiny.

We never claimed to own her. That's a big reason she was never named, but I called her (want to call her again) baby since that's about how we treated her. She was simply living in the apartment we moved into 7 years and 3 states ago.
We hope she comes back but will understand if she's happy (maybe she's decided on a new life with a cat she'd been making eyes at.)

more soon,
Rachael

Man, I been talking too much. This morning I gave another how working artists work talk and on wednesday I'll blah blah blah about early 20th century american art (thus the Dove, the Hartley, the Burchfield books on my table). I've been calling old friends and I seem to have opinions about everything. But before I say another word, I'm gonna promise myself and you (my dear readers) something.

In a few minutes I'm stepping into the room in which I paint and I'm not going to read and prepare for a talk (that's done enough), and I'm not going to write another chatty letter to a friend (they know I love 'em), and I'm not going to clean. These are all tried and true avoidance techniques. When really, if I simply face the challenges all those (yes, too many projects in process is part of the problem) stops and starts have, I will feel better. The more I talk and the less I work the more the fear of being a faker comes in.

I'll paint today, hit the wheel after work tomorrow, throw a bit more on wednesday maybe and start in on that new sketchbook I'm ready for. I'll take my lunches sketching again. If you don't hear from me, don't worry, kids, it means I'm busy doing what I'm supposed to do. Shut up and paint. So, talk amongst yourselves, I'm going to get busy now.

take care,
Rachael