chaos and confusion and downright madness, caught up in the most intense part of moving to a new home, too many possessions, how could that happen? always letting go of things never ends, just goes on forever, attachments made then break-my-heart lost again very unwillingly like tearing Velcro, this is my stuff, I lovingly collected every bit of it, why do I have to let it go? there's only so much space, making room for what's really important, even though I didn't know what that was until now, I will get through this, I can do this, think good thoughts for me on Monday 6/18 The Big Move with the unknown-never-used-or-met-before mover, oh yeah, this is great, this will work . . . here we go, full speed ahead, second star on the right
June in Seattle is cold and rainy with gray clouds that mist away the horizon so the city disappears and everything becomes monotone. For some reason it feels like a punishment although it's just being its own Seattle self. When the sun comes out we all run outside and lift our pale faces to the sky but then it goes away again. There's a building near my bus stop that has a glass awning -- where we all stand trying to keep dry or just merely damp, soggy and slightly chilled -- and there's a section of the awning that has purple glass that brightens our gray days. In the sunshine it casts purple rainbows over us. That was part of the inspiration for this painting.