Not Yet

Sorry, I'm not nesting yet. I am in the midst of preparing for an open studio so that also means cleaning the parts of my apartment that cannot be blocked off from view. I look around in dismay at the pretty much total lack of nesting even after 2 years of living here.
I moved from a place that I had invested much time and energy into making a nest for myself- colorful, quirky, cozy and warm. Okay- and stuffed to the rafters with charming stuff. But I was not able to financially sustain it, I lost the house, the garden, the studio and about 95% of my belongings. So, now I am in an apartment in an urban setting with a few shabby rooms and a workroom and a bunch of boxes of books still packed- no bookshelves; a few boxes of decorative items that I managed to bring with me- still packed; and a few sticks of furniture. I did a bit of painting when I first moved in and tried to set it up in a comfortable manner but then I ran out of steam. I have been puzzled by my lack of desire to fix the place up.
I was speaking with a wonderful and insightful friend last evening and she said something that illuminated my anhedonia for me. I had mentioned that I had done almost nothing to improve the apartment since I moved in and she had last seen it. She said she wasn't surprised. Well, I was surprised by her response. She explained that she had two other friends who had also lost everything in the past few years- through house fires- and neither of them showed any desire to nest again either.
My desire to acquire anything beyond necessities for the apartment is low to non-existent, my desire to even browse is low. I used to be an agreeable browser- I could browse flea-markets or shops with no impulse or compulsion to buy, just filling my eyes with visual candy was enough, thank you. I used to love to read shelter magazines- especially UK Country Living. Not now. I picked up a copy recently to see if that would spark something- decorating porn to revive a dormant home-libido. Nah, nada, zip, zero, zilch.
Now I recognize that my thought process is: why buy things or invest in a place that may be gone in the wink of an eye? Why potentially put myself through all that again? I have moved on but only enough to get just out of sight of the past. I have stopped and am stuck around the corner from the disaster, unable though to keep walking forward. But my life is not all stagnation and resignation. I have moved forward in other, less material aspects of my life- and for that I am very grateful.
So, perhaps there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon; perhaps that will be enough to get me to move my feet a few inches away from this stuck corner; perhaps I will start to dream again- perhaps of a garden, perhaps of a kitchen...

Anniversary

Today is one year to the day that I walked out of my home, studio and garden for the last time. The workers that were there to do over the house for the jackals who were hoping to flip the house for a quick profit had already popped the lock on the front door and ripped out swaths of the gardens so there was little time or opportunity to take one last look- it had stopped being my home quite a while before and was merely a holding box while I secured a new place to live.
But I do miss the starry skies, the birds, the goldfish pond, and the crickets, I miss them every evening.

Here is what I live with now:
"according to the sergeant on duty, at about 1:42 am, [Kingston Police] received a noise complaint at BSP (Back Stage Productions, just down the block from my apartment). Officers sent a group of persons who were standing outside back in, noting that there were about 200-250 people inside. At 2:55am they received another call for noise which turned out to be a fight inside the premise which was spilling outside. Due to the large number of people involved, all of [Kingston Police] shift and some officers from the Town of Ulster and UC Sheriff's Dept. responded. The crowd was eventually dispersed[4am] and three young females were arrested for disorderly conduct... Also, a guy showed up at the hospital with a large cut on his back that [Kingston Police] strongly suspect he suffered at BSP but he didn't cooperate with [Kingston Police]."

All I can do today is look forward and keep putting one foot in front of the other, and trust that that is what I am supposed to be doing.

Moving On II

Well, I've been putting off announcing the big change in my life that is coming up- I have lost my home and studio and have to sell off, pack up and move on. I have struggled so for the past couple of years and despite my best efforts, and because of some of my greatest shortcomings, I must now move on. This is a wrench and it stinks but it cannot- nor should it- be avoided.
The selling off part is actually okay. I am not as much of an accumulator as many but I still have stuff that I will not miss and cannot take with me, so I am arranging to have a moving sale conducted by a third party. I will be at my weekend job while the sale is going on so I won't have to watch people pawing through stuff- a small blessing. The smaller bits of the garden will be dispersed- that will be the second hardest part. I don't know where I am going yet and I probably can't afford anything with any workable land so gardening may be off my agenda for a while. A blow to be sure.
The hardest part is losing the studio. Besides the loss of all the money I paid to build it, I have been so very happy and productive here, surrounded by birdsong and green. I fear I won't have a place to work which would be like not having lungs to breathe with. But that is my fear, so far not reality. I am applying for emergency grants from arts foundations so I may be able to find a decent place to live and a congenial place to work. I want to stay in Saugerties- I love this place and its people and would truly miss not being able to be part of the annual Artists Studio Tour. I also work north of here in the winter and south of here in the summer so a move in either of those directions would make one of the jobs impossible. But mostly it is because this is first place I've lived as an adult where I feel part of the community, I treasure that.
Friends have rallied round and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for their support. Indeed, people I know only in passing have been generous and supportive. I am reminded of the final scene from "It's a Wonderful Life"- I have thought that I was alone in the world but I am not, a gift truly beyond all riches. So, with the help and forebearance of my friends I will make it through this. Crying often, I hope laughing sometimes, but still moving forward with their love and support.

Atta boy, Clarence.

The Last Leaf

In an earlier post (The Thief of Time, Feb/08) I wrote about a dear cousin and sister artist who was slipping away from the world synapse by synapse. She suffered a sudden decline earlier this month and died. I will miss her greatly. In the past years, she had been sending me dried magnolia leaves that she had picked up on the grounds of her home. In her spidery hand, she mused on her fascination with them and what she could do with them if only she had the time or the focus she had once had. They were lovely objects. Leathery to the touch and the eye, stiff and gutsy, they invited us both to consider them as more than mere compost-fodder, but possibly as small canvases.
You may think from the above paragraph that we had a lively and constant correspondence but I am ashamed to say that while she was eager for news of my current work and invited me to a meeting of the minds, I was at best scattershot in my response. I have no excuse, one of my many faults is my inattention to others. And as is the case with all shortcomings, I hurt myself the most. I missed the many opportunities to get to know her better, to be more a part of her wonderful, enigmatic, charmed world.
So, now I hold in my hand the last leaf she sent me, despite its sturdiness, it did not come through the post intact. It is cracked and a small section has broken off. Even in its diminished condition, it speaks to me- in the soft, southern warble of my cousin's voice- it says " Don't forget me," I promise I won't.