A Cloud of Dust

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I love watching a horse just turned out and eager to work out the kinks. Here, Night was feeling especially good and relishing every moment of his freedom. You can almost hear him snorting and whistling as he kicked up the dust—coiling and uncoiling those muscles, celebrating his power.

When I work on an image such as this one, I always think of Mark Graf, since he has mentioned on numerous occasions revisiting images. This is one of those that I shot years ago and have always known that eventually I would know what I wanted to do with it. Finally, in late last year, I could see this one and knew where I wanted to go with it. In the past, I wasted a great deal of time worrying an image, attempting to force it to give up its secrets. Over time, I finally found the patience to interrupt these struggles, listen, and discover, finally, what is locked inside an image. It is amusing to me that when I finally have found my way, I can't imagine why I didn't see it all along.

As usual I have gotten myself into all sorts of things in the last couple of weeks. To top off the distraction angle, we have a houseful of guests arriving in just over a week. During my nasty cold, I let the house devolve into chaos and now it is catch-up time. As if that weren't enough, I have been on a roller coaster with my back: getting dramatically better; no, snapped back into deep mind-numbing pain. I stubbornly cling to optimism about this all being a positive sign. I went for a walk about a week ago and, while I could barely put one foot in front of the other by the time I got back to the backyard gate, it was exhilarating and I can't wait to do it again. I am determined to improve during this coming year.

I can't blame all of my absence on pain, house cleaning and rehab. My recent distraction is partly due to the influence of Roberta Murray. I caught on immediately to the fact that Roberta is a very smart lady. Thus, when she mentioned an article on art marketing, I ran to the site and was almost immediately hooked. I have been soaking up information and not giving anything back. That is nothing to brag about. My fascination isn't just with the articles about selling. Many of my favorites are about painting techniques and, since I never studied painting, my mind has been awhirl with some new-to-me and wondrous information, as well as some validation of my own blundering discoveries. Thank you, Roberta.

Of course, there is always something going on in the computer department. Recently, The Husband and I spent one fun afternoon, rewiring the maze of cables under my desk. Oh, boy, that was a fun time. It was well worth the effort, however, because I have better access to some switches and little things such as this simplification can make a big difference.

Although I have only scratched the surface, I will resist the effort to talk about all the things I have cooking now—such as working feverishly on some new pieces. Instead, I will save the rest of my jabbering for another day.

Poltergeists and Such

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There are all sorts of names for mischievous spirits. Poltergeist has long been a favorite of mine. Perhaps, that is because of the smile the name brings me. When the  movie, Poltergeist, came out in 1982, my niece was a very small child and she called the spirits "poultry mice". I love both names, but admit that, in a pinch, I have to favor my niece's version.

Especially after the movie, I fell into the habit of blaming missing objects on the nature of these naughty spirits. I could just as well have blamed gremlins, pixies, imps, boggarts, brownies, hobgoblins, leprechauns, or even knockers—but the latter, only if we were in a tin mine. What mattered was that blaming a small impish spirit was more fun than simply admitting that I had absentmindedly misplaced something.

Soon after we moved in 2008, I told a story about the sad loss of the garden angel who had stood watch over our little garden in Shadow Hills. The Husband had made his final trip to gather the last of our belongings, and arrived there exhausted. A few weeks later, we discovered that St. Frances was not to be found. Somehow the angel never got packed. One of the angel's companions, a sweet garden fairy, and a treasured old branding iron picked up at a flea market were also missing. As is my nature, I grieved for some time.

It turned out that the new owners of our little house had assumed that the statue belonged to the property and that St. Francis had been left there intentionally that he might continue looking over the place. We didn't have the heart to insist on reclaiming the piece. Perhaps it was meant to be.

The branding iron and the fairy, however, continued to be mysteries that nagged at the back of my mind. The Husband insisted that he had packed them. I reasoned that the poltergeists felt they too were entitled to something out of all the upheaval in our lives.

Having been possessed by an urge to do some cleaning in the garage yesterday, The Husband, during the rummaging, discarding, storing, and sweeping, came upon something carefully wrapped in dusty bubble wrap. And, there she was. Our garden fairy. Out of hiding, at last. Returned, I reason, by the poltergeists, but, belatedly arriving in her new home. She has now taken her place among all the crippled angels that I rescued years ago from a garden shop we used to visit near the Ventura flea market.

If I squint my mind a bit, I can fathom the attachment poltergeists might form with a garden fairy. She might even have found the diversion amusing and joined in the game. Fairies are unpredictable, after all, and I like the image of our demure fairy cavorting with wicked little "poultry mice".

However, even though the fairy has been returned, those mischievous little devils are still hoarding the branding iron. Who knows? Perhaps, one day they will give it up, as well.  Let's face it, what use could mischievous spirits have for a branding iron?

I think I will leave that mystery unexplored.