I spent most of my day today cleaning and sorting, tossing out random old magazines, and donating lots of seldom worn clothes, and trying to impose some sort of order in our little house. I still have piles of things and plenty of space filled by un-necessary objects, but maybe there is more room for new ideas.
Each time I do this kind of weeding cleaning, I find projects started but not finished, threads of the same paintings and stories. The best of these will get to some sort of a finish this year, I think. I can sort of see a way to tie up some of my paper-doll people with my short stories, the weedy leafy drawings with my garden, and the hands and feet with travel.
If every drawing was a story, every story a drawing, I might have something here. Something coherent, consistent, communicative as it is creative. I can dare to dream...
As it is all so ridiculously tied to the season of purging and starting again, I tell this and then I'll turn the computer off, go upstairs and start some seeds before bed. These sketchbook pictures probably serve as the truest record of the best of my cluttered working visual and verbal method. I never really clean my sketchbook, though I ought to harvest from it more than I do.
goodnight then,
Rachael
