Alan and Justyna

Justyna exclaims as she tears past her guests that mill below the Mexican paper flags, "This is the only song I can dance to!" She grabs Alan who is deep in conversation with his father at the end of the pew and pulls him to the front of the old church with the blue organ. Their friends play a dark melody from the altar-turned-stage as the two embrace in their dance. A child ballerina twirls around them. The guests gather to watch the one moment that might be described as traditional on their wonderful wedding day. Alan twirls Justyna in circles over and over as she strains to keep her balance. Without warning, Alan takes off running, apparently to make a lap around the church. He pulls a laughing Justyna behind him. Her steps are tiny and quick, well able to keep up even in heels.

Dreams of A Secret Agent

[part 4 in a series of art pieces inspired by my dreams]

Dreams of A Secret Agent
spanning the last five years


7" x 5" paper, thread, acrylic and glitter on canvas

This piece is about a theme that has wafted through my dreams for years. Well, a person, really. A Secret Agent. No matter where on this planet he is or I am, the connection remains and it is particularly strong in dreams. One of my very favorite dreams featuring him is called Good to See You.

When I think about this connection that spans distance and time, I am reminded of a song on Concrete Blonde's Walking in London album, called Les Coeurs Jumeaux (the twin hearts). There's this somewhat silly interlude in the song when Johnette speaks in french. Though I often roll my eyes at her unnecessary pronunciation of the letter s in several of the words, the line that sticks out when I think of the Secret Agent is "on rêve le même rêve". We dream the same dream.

Don't get it twisted though- the woman in this piece is not in Muslim dress- she has just wrapped her black scarf around her head to keep her hair dry because it is raining. Or maybe she's about to take a ride in her father's amazing vintage red convertible.

Read/see the other dreams in this series, The Mona Lisa, The Angel Singers Visit Me and The Feather and the Butterflies.

Four Years Into a Dream

In honor of my fourth anniversary in my very first dream home, here's a love letter I wrote in September 2005 right after moving in.

I'm in Love

I'm in love -- madly, passionately, deliriously –- with my new home. I’m dancing in my walk-in closet. I stare adoringly at my bathtub. I flirt with the walls and tease them with paint color samples. I sit in the center of each room, most of which are not at all set up yet, and blow smoke rings towards the ceiling. I open and close my liquor cabinet just to look, not to make a drink. I get choked up pulling up on the parking pad to notice her newly pressure-washed shingles. The dishwasher leaks, the washing machine breaks, and I just shake my head- she can still do no wrong. I sleep deeply each night and wake up to notice that birds have built a home right above my head.

In 2009 I've still got the love, but it has been colored by the realities of the challenges in making a relationship work. I roll my eyes as I think that this will be the third year in a row that I've had to repair my roof because Blossom the Possum moved in. And how having to replace three major appliances this year meant that doing the back splash in my kitchen gets put off till next year's tax return check.

But my god, do I love my Atlanta Sky Blue bedroom walls- they still make me feel like I am floating when I lie in my high bed. And my craft room has been the birthing place of more pieces than I ever dared to hope to create. Art actually fills my home of four years- my own and others as I've grown less and less intimidated to decorate the walls that are permanently mine. And hawks regularly visit. And as I watched robins pull worms from my freshly rained upon front lawn this morning, I heard in my head, All the World is Green.