Today I am writing in frustration. Too little time and then unforseen forces leading to accidental circumstance. One of our cats has scratched two of my icons and then sent my pigments flying into powdered puddles on the floor. Basically wounds and dust. I am trying to see a lesson amidst this feeling of angst. Trying to let it float off me instead of weighing down. Help.
I miss Ksenia. I want to find that rhythm that leads their days. Paced, slow, meditative, timeless. The shape of time is different in the here and now, and I know that, but feeling the need to place that blueprint within to fit when the time is right. Interior survival.
All I hear is Soren's breath, these keys being typed, the windchimes outside, and the tick of the clock. Good sounds. Oh to go crack an egg!
Here are some images (not a very good ones) of Ksenia's studio and some icons up. Visual reference points. Encouragement. May my brush not be hasty, and my patience not be short.
I am bathed in this most wonderful sense of being gazing upon her icons: the smell hits me, the beautiful mystery and familiarity, the reassurance of history. I put my hope in what lies ahead--obviously in the ultimate beginning, but also in release from days of being a novice when I will wield a confident brush. Those days will come.
1 comment:
You're an amazing writer as well as an amazing "writer."
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