Hand-made tile, Discoverature, from the Butterfly Series, by Tammy Vitale, Tam’s Originals

I’m having a bit of an off day.  "Bit" being an understatement.  But why overstate and bring all of the negative energies sniffing around.

I realize that I have had my nose in fashion magazines, dreaming over shoes!  Shoes!!! That is most certainly daughter’s department.  I have never in my life been one to look at shoes.  Barefoot if possible, if not, whatever I can find to put on the feet to get where I need to go.  The realization that I am looking at shoes and matching them with purses and clothes is a pretty good indication of where I’m heading if I don’t pull up short and get a grip.  It’s the old:  if I look good on the outside, maybe the inside will follow thing.  And I wasn’t even aware that something’s amiss until today when I woke up in one of those don’t-cross-me-because-if-you-do-I’m liable-to-bite moods.  I can’t find a calendar with a moon chart on it so I have no idea if it’s moon tides, my own tides, or the wrong side of the bed that set me off.  But off I am.  Lucky for me, husband is also off to far away to have his motorcycle worked on all day.  I told him I was glad because I’ll probably be better tomorrow.  Today I can be by myself (which may be exactly what I need, introverted soul that I am).

I’ve decided to wallow a bit.  First, let me say there is absolutely no reason for me to be down in the dumps.  I have my work out in more places than ever in my life and it is getting, according to shop and gallery owners, "a response."  I got a call on a sale at ArtWorks at 7th Gallery on Sunday, and sold several pieces at the Bronze Door Spa (that was pre not during the jewelry sale.  If it’s a home-party jewelry type sale, don’t do art too).  I left work at the Spa that I had planned for loading into Heron’s Way Gallery tomorrow and found, upon looking, that I still have enough work to do a nice display at Heron’s Way, and enough left over for the Calvert Art Guild’s show at AnnMarie Garden this weekend.  This is great news.  It means I have a catalog of work and, as a professional, I have enough to show that I don’t have to steal from one venue to work another.

All of the above countered by first of the month, go ahead and look at your bank balance, check writing  blues. 

I am dedicated to my art.  And to not giving in to "get a regular job so you can spend 5 minutes a day doing what you love."  I believe that the Universe will support this passion, otherwise why give it to me?  But perhaps Universe and I need to have a chat about running me up to a wall and asking me to bang my head on it (wait:  there is no wall.  It’s all in my imagination – enlightened happy voice). (So, go ahead and write those checks – smug snarky voice).

Do you ever have different voices arguing in your head? 

So hang with me and let’s all see where this goes because I’m not giving up or giving in, despite having a moment or even a day of less than confident living in the world.  Any words of wisdom would be much appreciated.

Thought for the day:

Discoverature by Jessie Vitale (daughter)

sand sloughs dead skin cells that cake

     over true identities.

time requests masks for safety

     measures against a world.

hidden secrets, deceiving lies of complete

     control at all cost demand upkeep.

unconventional interests in unaccepting circles

     force individuals into silence.

smiles on lips require constant

     practice in unpolished mirrors.

Search deep within, concealed caves hold

     answers to the moon’s questions "you are who?"

(this poem is the impetus for the above tile.  I’m in love with this poem.  Her idiot professor didn’t like it, or her because she is a dancer, not a writer, at heart.  Just goes to show you that education can’t always cure ignorance).

Here’s another poem, one of my own

Blue

I am blue

glass goblet of white wine

sweet as kisses on your breast;

midnight sky dancing with planets;

broad t and candy-

cotton clouds.

I am blue

strings on a sad guitar;

voice of too many cigarettes, too

late nights and unknown lovers;

stones in the road

hurting naked feet that

lost their shoes sometime before.

I am blue

diamonds;

ice dry as desert’s scorching

breath at noon below a

hazy sun;

bruises on your thigh;

I am blue

shards orf broken moonlight

at the cave’s moist mouth;

come,

dip your fingers

into my

fallingwater

and let me lick

them clean.

(there are stanza breaks in this that I can’t seem to bring up.  Sorry about that).