I’m cleaning my writing room and can already breathe more easily. I’ve recycled a bunch of paper (hello, holiday cards from 2019!) and have a small Donate pile going. My weight bench is almost visible again after I whittled down the stack of books, papers, notebooks, etc. While doing so, I found this gem:
In case you can’t read it: Thank you Tracy for my Calvin and Hobbes book.
I liked it when Susie got hit with the water balloon.
Confession? I think (but don’t know for sure) one of my nephews sent this to me a long time ago. In my defense, I’ve gifted a lot of Calvin and Hobbes books over the years. Wherever the artwork came from, I unearthed the gem a while back and obviously couldn’t bear to part with it. Well, I’ve toughened up in the meanwhile and am ready to let it go. Posting it here makes it easier to drop in the recycling bin. 🙂
Also? I’m remembering all over again that Susie Derkins endured an awful lot of mixed messages from ol’ Calvin.
performed by a young boy who’s
transformed to a man
Art is a lie that makes us realize truth.
~ Pablo Picasso
Portrait de Dora Maar, 1937 Print hanging in my writing room.
I guess that’s basically what I strive for with my fiction: to write lies in such a way the reader realizes some truths.
I loathe liars, but this kind of lying is a pretty good gig.
Been a long week and
this dude’s tired is contagious.
Can’t stop looking, though.
Just finished a two-hour Skype session with Zebu. Haven’t talked much in the last couple weeks, so he was getting us caught up on his studies and travels. He and two friends just got back this morning from a trip to Oslo. Their favorite experience was at a sculpture park, Vigelandsparken.
Sculpture by Gustav Vigeland
He shared photos he’d taken, and this is one of the sculptures he’d especially liked. I found this image online, and posting it here helps me feel even more connected to my faraway son.
His travel is broadening all our horizons.
Am back from Florida trip.
Was at mother’s along with three siblings and one nephew.
We had many nice moments including laughter and teamwork
as we sorted through years of stuff.
But we also experienced some nastiness and angst.
At some point during the weekend
my sister’s husband came upon this painting at MOMA,
FAMILY PICTURE by Max Beckmann,
and forwarded it to my sister.
He said it reminded him of us:
It’s true that the painting has the exact number of family members.
But the trouble is,
my siblings and I all laid claim
to the one member leaning on a hand.
Staring into the flames.