Transformation takes time

 

The messy garden full of my pots. 

This is one of the first bowls I made in school. It’s design and glaze style still fuels my work to this day. I washed it, placed it in water. 

When moving after bri g in place for 10 years there’s a moment of gathering… and moments of saying fuck it I don’t even know. 

There’s times when I’m thinking about what’s really essential moving on?

The chunky stoneware.

The Shino glaze. 

How raw and spiritual this process is. If I stop to ponder there’s stress. I must let go. 

So much stuff was placed on me to keep me prisoner.

“You can’t go anywhere! You have to do HOUSEWORK!” Oh, do I?

Today I’m saying 

Let go. Freedom is worth more. 

The objects and stuff placed on me to keep me confused or working mean nothing anymore. I am free. 

My realtor said last night. It’s a process I don’t even know how we’re going to do it. 

The kitchen I painted to be comfortable through coping w/ mean behavior. 

So much coping… nesting away in a corner with chamomile tea to deal. To recover. 

I knew I’d have to move but how? And how on my own?

I really placed myself in a pickle. I’m not a farmer.

I felt shame for not being able to do any of this stuff myself. The garden just working and walking around it all day in the yard I once clocked 4 miles. 

This giant home is not made for 1 efficient woman. It split my consciousness to just doing work.

I needed servants full time to keep it up but refused.

And now. Action. 

It’s all going.