March 13 1996

 

 

 

Sitting here in Central Park, enjoying the sun and cacophony of city sounds - horns, traffic, voices, songbirds, ducks, footsteps, bustle. Carol is off trying to scare up work, and me, well I’m trying to fight off the scariness of going home.

 

In a way I’m ready. I want to plant my garden, buy some flowers, clean my cupboards. Finish projects and start new ones. Develop my photographs and relive King George. But I have this anxiety about how I’m going to share everything.

 

Where do I start? How do I hold onto things? If I just spew it out I’ll lose details.

 

I guess I’ll have to prepare something for different audiences. Maybe rough letters? Yes, that’s it and Letters I Never Sent will be a mixed media show with paintings, vignettes, sculpture, installation about my experience and also about communication. Maybe with a table with bricks on it, chairs, maybe a kitchen, excerpts from letters…

 

THIS IS GOING TO BE GOOD!

 

Okay, I feel better now.

 

Looking over at the pond, watching ducks on ice.

Still ice - must have been a very cold winter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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