Hey there, How's it going?

My little condo is in grave danger of being turned into a rainbow.  So far, I've done this.

The green looks nice with the balcony cushions. And the green will be especially nice during the winter, I think. The balcony is coming along nicely. There's a nice wooden bench now. And the pansies are finally raising their heads above the rims of the pots. A dinner party for four! Oh...wait...

I've also done this. Ditto the winter thing.

The kitchen is already bright enough. When the sun shines in at its afternoon angle, it looks psychedelic in there. I'm resolving NOT to put color anywhere else.

Instead of painting, I'm going to go back to demonstrating when I need something to do. Today I staged a protest at the Guthrie.

Honestly, if I see another anti-lockdown, anti-mask protester carrying a sign that says My Body, My Choice, I may totally lose my shit.

What's pushing you to the brink? There are so f-ing many things, right?

Song for a Ruined City

Mill City Ruins

In its earliest incarnation of white settlement, Minneapolis was a logging boomtown. One of the first saw mills in the area was constructed just across the river from the ruined flour mill in this photo. White pine was king, and the hardwood forests in southern Minnesota and neighboring area was once a vast wilderness of over 5,000 square miles. Prior to the 1800s the population (probably this count is white people?) was a mere 5000 souls.

Then came opportunity. Money to be made. People flocking to jobs. The largest raft of timber ever floated down the Mississippi was 5,500,000 feet of timber in 1902. Imagine it. What once stood tall, leveled. Gone. The supply of timber was thought to be inexhaustible then.

I read somewhere (back when I took long walks, lingering to read things) on an informational placard in my river neighborhood about how dangerous logging was. Legs were crushed or torn off. There was a booming business, not just in logging, but in artificial legs too. Probably loggers and their legs were thought to be inexhaustible. Not long after the peak, the much prized old growth pine forests were gone. When I imagine it, I see one-legged men hobbling into taverns.

Then came flour. Minneapolis transformed itself into the flour milling capital of the world. Enough flour each day for 12 million loaves of bread. Milling flour was dangerous too. In 1878, one of the big mills exploded and killed 18 workers. But the work went on. By World War I, commercial bakeries were making 30 per cent of the nation's bread. General Mills was king. Betty Crocker was queen. In 1903 there was a labor dispute and a broken strike. Workers building a city, stone by stone. Workers risking their lives. It's an old story. A recurring theme.

Meat processing. Covid-19. Healthcare. Write this paragraph. You know how it goes.

Last night when I thought perhaps I might be losing my mind after not being able to concentrate on a single thing all day, I went for a walk despite all the runners and bicyclists who zoom by not wearing masks. And there was this red-winged blackbird, singing his heart out.

I wanted to sing too--a song for a ruined city. No theater. No music. No bars or restaurants. No museums.  People I love being exposed to the virus every day.

I love cities. I didn't see a big city until I was 17. Chicago! I thought of it as my salvation. But that's another story.

I'll eat a lot of peaches. But I  don't want to blow up my TV and move to the country. (R.I.P., John Prine.)

R.I.P. to all Covid-19 victims.

R.I.P to all of those who have left us.

R.I.P. Minneapolis.

last night's sunset

Plants, pajamas, pandemic

I was supposed to go to Oaxaca for a painting workshop this month. That didn't happen. But I kinda brought Oaxaca to me by re-inventing my balcony. Plant stand, rug, plants--check. Soon there will be a bench and an umbrella. This quarantine would be so much worse without ordering stuff on the internet.

 

This giant mess happened first though. Right in the middle of my kitchen. Yes, hi, it's me. I have not been kidnapped and replaced by an impostor. This is the first time I've attempted a gardening project without a proper outdoor space to work in. Even in my 400 sq. foot apartment in L.A. I had access to a hose because I was on the first floor. Here, I potted everything on the kitchen island, feeling like there would be a stern knock at the door and I would be arrested.  

So that mess got cleaned up and everything was wiped down and sanitized. Today I decided I would make a new mess...collage because I took a very brief online class last week about inspiration for collage and photomontage, and we are checking back in with our work tomorrow. I made the paper below that I collaged on a few months ago, and also did the letter press on it in the same workshop. Now it's a collage. I was able to use some of my marbled paper as well.

I'm working on a second collage too. It's inspired by a line I read, "You break the secret or the secret breaks you." I was really happy about having the blue door in my collage pile, but now I'm thinking it doesn't belong. Maybe it's all about the tree.
The trees are leafing out here. I've been trying to force myself outside since Sunday, and I haven't made it yet. In fact, it's almost 5 pm, and I'm still in my pajamas. This is a new thing. I've been showering and dressing everyday--wearing favorite earrings and a necklaces like life is normal. But maybe not getting dressed is normal now. How about you? Do you wear your pajamas all day? What are you doing to keep from weeping? Are you making things? Writing?  Baking? Are you feeling healthy?

Inside and Out

Last night's sunset looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Empty streets. Blood red sky.

But inside on the kitchen island there are tulips because I pre-ordered and pre-paid for them at the neighborhood farmers' market and simply had to sweep by and scoop up the wrapper with my name on it.

This is the not close-up version with the kitchen island devoted to making hand-marbled paper book covers. I think I will post a picture soon of all the journals I've made. I think of them as Corona diaries. If you want one, you can private message me, saying which one. Some are very tiny, and I imagine them as "It's the little things" records of what has gotten you through this so far....or what is destroying you. Of course as much as I would like to send these things I've made to you, it means I have to go to the post office. Sigh. (see previous post) I hope to have the full array displayed in the next blog post.

My anxiety is better today. (How's yours?) Probably because I have not put on a mask in an attempt to go out. I had a lovely chat with a friend today wherein I explained that having been nearly strangled to death by an acquaintance decades ago, I don't do well with my mouth and nose covered, or the feeling that my air supply is restricted.

A couple of days ago as I was talking on the phone with my younger daughter M., I was describing to her the shape of the plant stand I wanted for my balcony (plants are super important to me right now) and she emailed me a photo of one from Target which turned out to be perfect. I ordered it online and it arrived in our building's package room a day later. I was going to live the big city life--one token plant on the balcony. Now I want more, more, more.

There's so much to do in any given day. How was your day? xo