It’s been about a year since I came down with shingles, and my body is celebrating the anniversary by having its first cold sore ever. Of course. Fortunately (and unlike with shingles), it didn’t take me long to figure out what was going on. And I got some of that cream that people put on cold sores, and it’s working.
Other than that, there’s not much to say. There’s a lot going on, but it’s mostly below the surface. I think it’s good to tell our stories. I also think it’s good to know when a story isn’t fully-cooked and ready to be served. Now is a listening time for me, a time of bone-deep change that I can’t understand yet (much less examine in public).
I’m torn between wanting to protect my growing collection of plaster casts from ogling, and wanting to show them to everybody because I think they’re so beautiful and amazing.
Mostly I skew towards protectiveness, and they end up wearing t-shirts.
It’s always interesting to notice when I stop thinking of a sculpture as “it” and start saying “her” instead.
With this one, it started at the armpits.
One Easy Step to Declutter Your Soul:
- Stop reading lists
I love this part. It’s like a satisfying novel, or a not-too-difficult puzzle. A little bit of work, but mostly just watching it unfold.
The ends of the wires are still trying to pull away from the form, but if I can just control the next three inches everything will work out okay.
This is how it always starts: heavier vertical wires taped to the form. Multiple layers of tape, because the wire does not want to stay put.
Then I go around the hips and attach a lighter-weight wire to each vertical wire. This part drives me crazy. Wires everywhere, trying to poke me in the eyes, making a little shivery sound as they brush against each other.
Here’s a close-up of one of the little wires wrapped around one of the bigger ones:
Fussy and barely manageable, like a newborn baby. It takes me a while to get into a groove.