Why do I feel like people have beat on me with sticks?

You wouldn't think that a day of artmaking would result in such physical ailments. And you'd be right. However, a day of choring around the homestead can, will and does make one reach for the extra-strength analgesic of choice.

Sigh.

So, Mr. Thoreau had the right idea, the right encouragement, but I did not execute it. I fear I am genetically coded with some sort of OCD work ethic, passed on from my parents, who I love dearly, but never sat down. And there was no artmaking in our house (well except the art of farming and homemaking, so I guess there was). And now these days I find myself distracted by the endless lists of "things needing done", so I don't usually get totally lost in making, which is the only effective way to do anything. Or I should say my only effective way.

So yesterday was given over to working the list. Today however, I will fight the good fight and persevere and make some things. I actually did go down and try to draw/paint last night, but wasn't in the right frame of mind and the results were only trashcan worthy. So I stewed and pondered about that late and this morning early, but I think I learned something about authenticity and pure voice. So we'll see. If I have anything to show for my effort, I will.

A good thing that happened was finding buried treasure yesterday. I was digging, always an adventure here in the mountains (picture the sound: dig, dig, dig, CHUNK, CLINK...sound of steel on stone). One of the CHUNK-CLINKS yielded this:


I'm not sure what it is but it is an orb of some sort, I believe it to be an omen, an oracle, or a message bearing object. Very odd to be found buried in the edge of the heavy woods. I'll spend some time with it today and see what it has to say.

Hope everyone has a great Friday and a wonder-filled beginning to the weekend. Maybe you'll have the chance to dig for burired treasure too.