Day One Hundred Eighty Three: I Will Return

After I ride my bike and play with friends

Friday, July 2: acrylic paint on canvas

Day One Hundred Eighty Two: Me and My Bike Go Play.

I had a great ride this morning. I love to feel smooth, fast, confident that the bike knows my need.


 I have been jumping off the pavement onto the dirt trail  whenever I feel it or find it. I love the different way my body gets to play. The path is narrower, hazards of various sizes loom, control is paramount. Animal instincts seep out, I crouch, practically sniffing the air, feeling the edge of the speed I need to hold. I banish thoughts of torn trousers and skinned palms sure to occur if I head on the bolder mid-path ahead. Branches hang so low from overgrown trees that I need to duck nearly below my handlebars. Or fall off the hill the trail is perched precariously on the edge of. My smile is broad but tight as I maneuver. I will master you.


Then comes a downhill rush, the bump up to pavement and civility reigns, I can straighten my scarf, unclench.


The spring flowers are still out in abundance, the cornflowers, yarrow, mustard... I think of impressionists and small dabs of color, the sky is dazzling in blues and puffy to dense clouds. The river rush is full still, green with brush and trees clinging to the drown shore in its wake.


And on I roll. My body is finding the perfect rhythm for the ride today, Steady, a push that burns the thighs but is comfortable.  My mood moves towards giddy as the first bike is passed. On slightly rolling hills, the wind blowing my hair back; a glisten forms as exertion finds its way to the surface of my skin.


From the opposite direction comes a really fast one: handsome, dark, muscular, and tall at that. Dressed in all the gear- jersey, shorts, shoes, all in yellow and red. I would have loved to turn and give chase, just for the thrill, except he was too fast. Clearly. I took note, tossed a smile and filed that as inspiration as the smile was returned. Soon my pretty, soon.


Round the next bend, up ahead, three teenage boys have come from a side road onto my path. The need to stalk them, pass them increases my pace. My breathing still steady, deeper, I begin to narrow the gap. Clearly the group has a "Stand By Me" hierarchy and the meander is clear as they decide what to do. But their pace is increasing.


At this point I hang back a touch holding their pace, gaining my full breath. If I increase to a passing pace, how much faster can I hold for how long. I hate to pass only to find the pace too quick and they retake me on the next bend.


The sun is warm, not hot. I am feeling good, if not hot! I took the bait and off I went. We were a fifty or so yards apart. I was gaining ground, even though it took some yardage. Just when I was within a strike, 50 feet or so, all three veered to the right, off the pavement and down a very steep trail towards the river.


The first down was fearless, fast, full speed. The second, bigger, took a second before the plunge, but the hesitation resulted is a slight skid as he tried to control his fear. Third stopped at the top completely arrested for seconds as he then eased off the road and slowly crept down the steepness and then off to the trail.


I did not give chase, though it occurred to me, rather briefly. I could see them down there. The first, a wiry kid with a strawberry complexion, was still moving fast. as the others leveled off and took up the chase. I was still on the road and pushed it hard. I had seen the path before from above but had just now discovered its access point. Just as I rounded the bend that the dirt trail cuts across, he was jumping up from the trail onto the pavement. A sideways slide to stop showed a huge grin, a deep gulp of air and a look back to see the stragglers still far off.


"Good job son" is all I can muster and as his grin increases, a labored "Thanks" gasps out. I file that grin away also as inspiration.


Off I roll to my destination, faster. I will take that trail too. I swear.

Thursday, July 1: ramblings.

Day One Hundred Eighty One: Anyone Got A Knife?

Some days I feel at the end of my rope. I feel that the best thing would be to just cut loose from the rope altogether. What would that mean, really? Change certainly but what? And if I could change it would I have not by now? And what is change? I am still there, no matter what else changes. All external circumstances are just that. External. To what or who I really am. And what is that...


Sigh.


So I dwell somewhere here, corporal in some respects, toying with material, creating art, creating my life. Wondering all the time if I can get better at toying, happier at being, more creative, more expressive, gentler with myself and others. Then again, when will I stop worrying about it and just be.


I am happy, creative, gentle, expressive. Its all good.


Now for art...

Wednesday, June 30: sharpie and pen on paper, 9x12

Day One Hundred Eighty:The Complete Blank

I sat down to write a short piece for today. And wonder of wonders, the full head aching for the time to spill its contents on to paper has gone completely blank. 


When I am with friends I am full of tales to tell, the sharing of stories around a fire is a traditional rite, and I am great at the oral tradition of that. 


However, without that directed person to regale the tale to, I slink into the corner of my mind and refuse to produce. Right now I am proceeding on the premise that if I type long enough something positively Shakespearean will appear.


Until that happens I will present this to you in hopes that I will feel okay about my responsibilities to myself. 

Tuesday, June 29: 

Day One Hundred Seventy Nine: Because it was so fun

Camping photos:

Happy campers:

Magic camp protection, Dawson:

Josh is a bad ass:

The stump in the midst of the fire:

Phillips Lake:

Monday, June 28: photos

Day One Hundred Seventy Eight: Boooooosh

Okay, camping was so weird.

Sunday: June, 27: mixed media

Day One Hundred Seventy Seven: Camping Birthday

So, It is Josh's birthday today. So we camped and played with friends.


And Yes, fire is art, photos are art, fun is passion:

This fire was a beast, it needed constant tending and constant foraging.

Anyone see the scary face in this one....

And finally, the birthday boy: Josh-

Saturday, June 26: fire and photos

Day One Hundred Seventy Six: Camping Looms

Camping this weekend. I need to prepare.

Friday, June 25: Sharpie on Paper, 9x12

Day One Hundred Seventy Five: Bike Riding Saved My Life

Can I be and art / bike ambassador? AmBadAssador?

Thursday, June 24: Sharpie on Paper, 9x12

Day One Hundred Seventy Four: Mind Meld

 I who can talk an ear off given the right circumstances am finding myself bereft of words. I Can feel myself becoming, and I suppose the words are irrelevant. But that gets a bit tricky when you are writing a fucking blog everyday. 

I know when I started this project, I was pretty sure that at least were I was concerned, art was visual. I still maintain that... but steam is leaving the kettle on that one... I so respect musicians as artists, and writers have shaped my brain since I knew what reading was. 

So, can I be bold enough to allow myself to be a writer as well as a painter. I think I shall. Stay tuned. I will turn bereft of words into a shit storm of words.

 

Wednesday, June 23: Sharpie on paper, 9x12

Day One Hundred Seventy Three; Balls, Sparkly Balls

Sparkly balls is written in the car... an experiment in the obtuse locations that art can form.

But from that location silence falls and cigerettes get smoked, sheepish silence falls as nothing is said. Forced art sucks, art should make itself and I should just enjoy the ride. Every time I start to worry about the product and not the wind in my hair, the product gets stuck in quality control. 

Welcome to fucking tuesday:

Tuesday, June 22: mixed media

Day One Hundred Seventy Two: Sniffle, Cough, Hack!

I hate to bitch about being sick, but enough already. I took a handful of ibuprofen and am already tucked into bed. Enough with the cough, the sinus shit, the aching ears and the fever. I want to ride my bike. And I shall. I declare that tomorrow morning will be beautiful and I will awaken feeling like an athlete and will bike ride enough to justify the steak that entered my belly over the weekend. Okay, lymphatic system, get your lazy ass off the couch and get busy, the rest of the system has got stuff to do.

So I will be love until then.

Monday June 21: Sharpie on paper

Day One Hundred Seventy One: Bee Love

Experimentation is always good in my world. Working new ideas out is what keeps me going. Right now, I am trying to find my next muse; and it is confusing.

Sunday, June 20: Sharpie on Paper

Day One Hundred Seventy: Can I Create a Fantasy?

I used to be able to do it all the time... But I think a new idea would be awesome, riding my bike to Austin Texas. I would love the reset of my brain. And a sponsor, and a book in the making and a kick ass trip and some nice thighs when I am done.... let the adventure begin.

So the idea is the bees on the trip, bikes, beer, boys, bob, beyond, beautiful, because...

Saturday, June 19: pencil on paper

Day One Hundred Sixty Nine: If I knew Me, I would be...

holy cow, again, I find myself baffled, by myself.

I wish I was more interesting to those around me. Unfortunately, I stay up way longer than the wonderful people that were here.

What do you think of the mid-late-life-altering lifestyle change this week.

Friday, June 18: sharpie on paper. 9x12

hate the photo quality.

Day One Hundred Sixty Eight: Sleep

The downside of a day of elation is the total exhaustion that follows. 

My mind is harder to control when I need rest. It drifts into things I would prefer to ignore. With that in mind and all my other fears on the edge, I need to sleep. Sleep. Sleep!

If only it were that easy. Bold statements don't make it real.

Thursday, June 17: Sharpie on paper, 9x12

Day One Hundred Sixty Seven: I Am Back

I feel more myself today than I have in... well, years.

I leapt. I ventured into my own unknown. Finally I have met myself and am willing to risk for what I want. I don't even know what I was saving myself for... death, fuck that. I want what I want. I will have it or I will move along and compartmentalize the rest for when I am stronger.

Forgotten me just reared her bowed head and stood up. 

Alien to all, remember to smile.

Wednesday, June 16: mixed media.

Day One Hundred Sixty Six: The Void Was Breached.

I slunk away to a hideout. And viola, the object of my current confusion appeared. How is that possible? Did the universe know to create the path to me? How did that happen? How did I suddenly need to figure out what I really feel? I could not. I only got confused, baffled.

Tuesday, June 15: Sharpie on paper, 9"x12"

Day One Hundred Sixty Five: Creating a Void

They say that nature abhors a vacuum and will fill it immediately. Well, my void is looming, I wonder what will appear to complete the process.

Under the guise of doing the right thing, I alienate. I remove myself. I am the void I am hoping will fill. My boundary is mesh, I can't contain the small details. I drift in a thousand directions, each hoping to find myself there. 

Superficial at best, my spark is no more than a sparkler.

Monday, June 14: Sharpie on paper, 9"x12"

Day One Hundred Sixty Four: Attachment Disorder.

Absolute uncertainty. I can embrace it, but I would like some certainty soon.

Sunday, June 13: Sharpie on Paper, 9"x12"