Friday, June 28, 2019

Artist dates

Okay, I survived yesterday's massive crankiness. I called a friend in a panic about how I'd never finish my book and she mentioned how she liked that I was taking myself on Friday dates to museums and so on. Though I have a schedule that doesn't exactly follow mainstream business hours, I do find that my Friday energy is wild and harried, not easily tamed, and unwilling to buckle down to do work that I can knock down easily on Mondays. I'm so glad my friend reminded me that I had started to address this problem by not forcing myself to work on Fridays in a mainstream way. This was part of a light installation under a bridge in downtown Cleveland that I saw with an artist friend who invited me last week.
That Friday, I went to see a show that closed the following day, of three local artists. I did that on the way to visit friends way out west who have invited me numerous times to their home along the Vermilion River. I didn't take pictures there because I wanted to be present, and also because our hike to the river was extremely muddy and slippery (thank goodness for papermaking because it means I have the best waterproof boots). I met their dog, two cats, and a whole different way of living—things like sitting on a covered porch listening to the river in the middle of the woods and watching hummingbirds be extremely territorial.
Thanks to my friend's reminder, and to my efforts to walk more, I decided to do an early morning date today. For the first time since I went on an actual date six years ago in the middle of the night to an art installation (lots of artists require darkness to see their art), I finally returned to the North Chagrin Reservation. It's huge and I don't know my way around but almost immediately found the site of the date, only to be welcomed by a magnificent heron flying up from the water.
I want to have one of these! Once I find landscapers who can fix my major garage flooding and ponding issues, this is the goal.
It is always a joy to be welcomed by milkweed. I'm plotting a self-styled Michigan milkweed residency this fall.
I tried to stay off of the paved trails to find the ones that wound through the woods. All I wanted was to be surrounded by trees, protected by their canopy (it's going to be a scorcher today), and that's what I got. Even though later I heard traffic noises, the loudest noise when entering the woods was the birds. Later I diverted to this bit of Buttermilk Falls and recognized the slate formation from my visit to my friends along the river.
Though I know this is good for me, a balm, I had always avoided doing things like this because I was so conflicted about driving my gas-burning car almost twenty minutes each way to get to nature. I'm relieved that I finally did it, as will be all the people around me today.
Yesterday I had to do some things at the studio building to prepare for contractors in the bidding phase, and was horrified to find the weeds taking over the lot completely. But it reminded me again of how silly we humans are to think that we could ever keep nature at bay. A pot of rice is on the stove for tonight's potluck and I am deep into wild Friday time.

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