Fire in the Berry Trees

Also for the list of favorites: visiting my alma mater during beautiful leaves season.

Northwest Georgia Fall Fire

For the list of favorite things: A campfire in the mountains on one of the first cold weekends of the season.

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.

The Mona Lisa

[part 3 in a series of pieces inspired by my dreams]

The Mona Lisa
dreamed October 15, 2006


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

I dreamed that I was walking by myself down a cobblestone street in Clonmel at night. I peer into the window of an empty grocery store with a big candy display. I walk further and see a dark window framed by burgundy velvet curtains. I look closer and see that the Mona Lisa is set up on a stand just inside the window. I smile at what a cliche the great painting seems in such a demure setting.

I hear a heartbeat and look anxiously around me. I am still alone. I look back at the Mona Lisa and she has started to glow. I press my forehead against the windowpane. Her face changes into a skull, the skin on her fingers peel back and show bones. At the center of the subtly smiling skeleton is a beating heart, straining to escape its ribcage.

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

The Angel Singers Visit Me

[part 2 of a series] Every 4-6 months, I have an epic dream. These are dreams that are like journeys charted to my internal map that feel like salve on my soul. They are aptly timed and make my blood course through my veins. I suppose there is a part of me that feels like dreaming this sort of dream is like having a spiritual experience, or at least receiving a message bigger than that what a fortune cookie can deliver. The next piece of art that came from my recent class based on my dreams is an Epic Dream.

The Angel Singers Visit Me
dreamed August 10, 2008


8" x 8" acrylic, glitter and xylene transfer on claybord

I was at a bar with my parents, siblings and cousins that is near my cousin Layla's house that has pictures of heav metal bands all over the walls. I am surrounded by loved ones and about to eat a delicious cheeseburger named after Mötley Crüe.

I look up and see a small group of people in front of me; Neil Young is standing among them. I gasp and slowly move towards him. As I approach him I beckon to him to come in close so I can tell him a secret. I whisper in his ear

"You are one of my angels."

He looks into my eyes and says back, "because of my voice?" I nod. He then grabs me and and spins me around him in a giant embrace. He is beaming. I ask him

"Do you want to know who else are my angels?" He nods. I start listing

"Asdru from Ozomatli, Jerry Garcia, Perry Farrell, the Porcupine Singers... most importantly, Tom Waits..." Neil interrupts me and whispers close in my ear and says "Well, you're in luck then, darlin'."

I look up and on the little built-in stage Tom Waits himself is getting ready to play. My hands fly to my cheeks; I can't believe it. He plays two songs for us. He starts with "Cemetery Polka" and I just stand there staring at this madman 5 feet from me. I think he played a trumpet at one point which I don't think he really does in real life. My family is looking over at me smiling, so happy to see me so thrilled. My dad takes a picture of me.

Then Tom starts on "Who Are You", one of my very favorites of his vast repertoire. This song includes lines like "I fell in love with your sailor's mouth and your wounded eyes", lines that I have often thought if any man ever says to me I will marry him then and there and live happily ever after.

Tom was singing directly to me and he sings the line "I did my time in the jail of your arms" and its like a skipping record, he repeats that line 3, 4, 5 times just staring intensely into my eyes. I can feel Neil behind me with his hands gently on my shoulders. And I smile through the tears that are spilling down my face, because now I know why we were whispering- this is our secret.

After he finishes the song, Tom mumbles something incoherent into the mic but I swear I can make out that he says something like "you heard the important part," and I know he was talking to me. And he ambles offstage and Neil follows him.

I bite my lip and start walking towards my smiling family.

Read the first dream in this series, The Feather and the Butterflies.