Thesis Writing: It's about that time.

I'm done.

I've sat in this chair for far too many hours.

I've thought of a thousand things to sketch,

coat in encaustic wax, 

and wrap rusted wire around.

The things I don't have time for.

I've sung (terribly & loudly) to too many Pandora stations.

I've forgotten how to breathe.

The kind of breath that

reassures the mind and body that everything is OK.

My legs have tingled and gone numb.

So what's left?

A final proof.

Submit by Thursday by 5pm.

Photo documentation this weekend.

Create my digital portfolio.

Wait to hear pass or fix or fail.

Upload portfolio and thesis paper

into PNCA's database.

Graduation rehearsal.

Graduation.

BFA Exhibition opening reception.

Then really, really ... breathe.

Now I'm not really done after all

am I?

Bridge of the Gods

over the Columbia River.

I cross it twice each day.

o

o

O

o

a chic on a cello
+ a stand up bass
+ a Brit-kid singing his heart out
= I could listen to it

all

day

long...

Cartwheels on the Oregon Coast & the Tillamook Forest Through My Breath

 “Las mujeres se presentan francas y risueñas,

 comprendiendo muy bien

 que no es 

preciso ser mojigatas para ser virtuosas” 

― Ignacio Manuel Altamirano, Clemencia

o

O

o

At night too, 

 

she puzzled the mystery of her desperate need of kindness.

As other girls prayed for handsomeness in a lover, 

or for wealth, or for power, or for poetry, she had prayed fervently: 

let him be kind.

— Anaïs Nin, ASpy in the House of Love