home is where one starts from

remembering

one thing i treasure about being with my grandparents is their constant story telling. they have a story attached to every little thing encountered throughout a day. they are always telling their story. and the interesting thing is that the telling is not always directed just at me, their guest. they tell it to each other. and together they have the perfect memory (though they often fight over details). my grandmother will ask my grandfather the name of the restaurant they ate at 20 years ago when they were in kansas, and an hour later he'll look up from his book and yell it across the room to her. they never let the details go. they always eventually remember them.
last night grandma couldn't find the word she was looking for and joked that she may have alzheimer's. if that's the case, i must have it as well. i already worry about the alzheimer's years i am bound to face as an old woman. my memory is far from a strength. as soon as a person has introduced them self to me, i've forgotten their name. maybe i don't listen. so i should say my memory is more selective than absolutely wretched. i remember the things that make me listen, and only those things.
however, the more i write things down (naturally) the better i remember them. in fact, if i write something down, somehow it becomes more true to me. and the more i listen to music, the more i remember because my memories attach to sounds. words and music together= lots of memories. but more than those, i'm finding that the more i paint and draw, the better i remember. when i draw, everything around me climbs into the ink and stays on the page. i'll look at a drawing weeks later and find the memories of the day it was drawn all coming out at me. also, as i draw, my memories seem to climb out of me onto the pages. i don't notice it as i'm creating, but when i step back and look, i see my life. i think memories remain more deeply in me than i credit myself.
i told God some while ago that i was choosing to forget some things to him. good and bad--trusting, letting go, forgetting to him. forgetting is easy. i'm good at it, but in reality, it's not possible to truly forget. so instead, i'm deciding to be strong and remember. i want to love my story. i want to constantly tell it.

blocked writer

because our house is loud and small, my sister marley has taken to doing her homework in the laundry room. the other day i walked in and found her on the floor crying over blank papers. her class is working on their creative writing, so she's had to write a new story almost every night. she says she likes making up stories but she hates writing for her teacher. anyway, she spent the entire evening in the laundry room with little to show for it. i forgot she was there when i opened the door later and found her asleep on the washing machine. i remember all too clearly having similar feelings of bitterness concerning school.

moving along--slowly

this weekend begins my professional family member days. which i suppose is what i've been doing my whole life, but i'm starting for real now...sort of. so sunday i move all of 45 minutes down the road to be with my lovely grandparents for 2 months. my grandmother and i intend on having many painting/making things lessons and sessions. we also plan to organize boxes of old forgotten pictures, which means much loved story telling. but most important, we will dote on and care for my grandfather while he recovers from hip surgery. i'm trying to think of another name to call myself while i am their house guest and devoted servant. i plan to wear an apron. then after that while, i'm moving on to chattanooga for some unknown amount of time. i could use a job. anyone have any suggestions that include coffee, music, books, or art?

heal her soul

listening to a familiar song, i heard the words correctly for the first time: "heal her soul, carry her..."
and i cried hard because my soul has been feeling somewhat worn and incomplete lately. i call it moods, but i think it's bigger and truer than moods.
so i took my tears on a walk up to our trees at the top of the hill, and i stood and listened to the trees ache and groan in the wind. they cry freely, the way i imagine i would cry if i didn't always choke it back with a clenched jaw. so i listened, and was glad at least to know the real tears were mine.
and i remembered once when i was younger having spent a good while looking for a lost calf in the woods, only to realize it was the trees that were crying.

for sale (for sember)

1 2

3 4

5

i've been making pen and ink drawings over the last week. these are the first i've finished out of around 12 that i started. so, more soon.
they are 5"x7" on paper. i don't usually advertise my work to sell it here because i don't want this place to be about that, but since i've sold quite a few paintings through this little blog, i decided to put these drawings up. they are $55 each. if you have any interest, email me. if you are interested, but are poor (like me) just pay me what you can. if you are interested and you want to pay me more than i'm asking, i will gladly take it. this is is probably not the best way to go about selling artwork, but i'm a terrible manager for myself. i can't help it.
if anything, thanks for looking at the things i make.
my email: redclayhome@gmail.com
- also, i take horrible pictures of my art...so if you are interested but want a clearer photo, email me, because i can try harder with the camera
- another also, click on the pictures for larger images

i need a sun

the grass is warm orange these days. i wish the weather would do the same. i'm tired of layers and cold. i want to paint out on my little roof.

a day

i only wanted to make pictures with my pens and listen to new music today. i could tell after waking i was going to be somewhere else in my head all day. but i went to the hospital because that's what i do on wednesdays. and i was hoping i would do something meaningful for someone, because i don't feel like i've been doing much of that lately.
when i rode the elevator up to floor 9, and a lady spoke to me, and i had trouble forming an unawkward smile, i knew for sure i wasn't much in the mood for interacting. my day of the week to be around people, and i wanted mostly to be let alone.
so i got to my floor and looked down the list and saw my favorite little girl was back earlier than expected. there's always a mixture of excitement and sadness when the kids i know are in. so i went to her room and we made envelopes out of magazine pictures. soon she started feeling cold so i turned up the heat past 75. and then she had the chills and we got out the blankets and quit making things. i spent the next couple hours watching full house and family matters with her. the more i spend time with her, the less productive it becomes. i think we like each other's company. and that's all i did at the hospital. all the other kids were too sick or tired or doing school work. and i had two hours before i could leave.
i should have waited to go back to rooms and check on kids, but i wanted very much to go down to my favorite lobby. it's a huge room, but snug because of the way the chairs are arranged in groups. it's kind of dark down there in a way that makes it always feels like it's raining outside. the gift shop and main information desk are there, so there are lots of people passing through. and the ceiling is maroon but in one section there are a few white paint marks on it. it looks like someone painted a few messy strokes with a roller brush, and then decided it was the wrong color. the ceiling has been that way ever since i noticed, and i now make sure to notice it and smile. i love to sit in that room. so i packed my art things up and headed down the elevator. and i sat and read and laughed to my book. and then i thought: i can't believe i came all the way in to town today just to watch tv and read in a hospital lobby. but i really didn't care. i liked it.
i'm starting to think that things in life matter a lot, and at the same time not much at all...so really, i don't feel guilty to have days like this.

something more than dream

my sophomore year of college i went to a school counselor to talk about my anxiety. it was all over the place. during one meeting she asked me to describe how my dreams felt, and i told her they were out of control. everything moved too fast. they were a chaos i could hardly remember in the morning. during the time (and for a long time afterwards) my dreams were mostly about animals. common dreams were either plagued with packs of unruly dogs i was supposed to keep track of, or angry mother squirrels that chased me. the most frightening and most frequent dreams were of bears and lions. i am irrationally afraid of these two animals when awake, so in my sleep they absolutely terrified me. they chased me and my family and friends while i tried unsuccessfully to keep myself and everyone else safe from them. i remember waking up screaming from a similar dream involving an alligator when i was a small child.
my dreams for the most part have been a great disappointment to my life. i always wished to have great prophetic, future-revealing dreams. or if not that, at least interesting dreams with actual plots to dissect and read into in the morning. or if not that, i would at least like to remember my dumb animal dreams more often. i hardly ever remember my dreams.
lately, however, i've been remembering them often, and i've actually been having dreams about people. this must be a good thing, a step up, i think.
my favorite, i hesitate to tell because i can't very well, and there is no more rotten feeling than not being able to express something meaningful. but since i'm used to the feeling, i'll say what i can of it.
i woke up one morning this past week with the best dream feeling i've ever had. it stayed with me all day, and it's still with me. dream feelings don't usually last that long, and i usually don't want them to.
in my dream i was pregnant (i can't explain this and refuse to take it literally), and i was alone. i didn't know anyone, and i didn't have anyone to know. but i was okay. i mean, not entirely at ease, but fine. and aside from my aloneness, i was all joy, excitement, and anticipation. those are really good feelings.
then there came along someone who took my hand and led me away from being alone. and then all my unease was gone, and i felt safe. more safe than i've ever felt. i never realized how much i crave safety.
so that's it, a dream about expecting something great and beautiful, while being so safe and warm at the same time. when the two come together, there must be something of God present. it's how i imagine he must feel.

if i was the music

(off the top of my head, so these may not be my most real answers)

if i was a band's name, i would be a red house painter

if i was the music, i would be pinback's

if i was a soundtrack, i'd choose run lola run

if i was an album cover, i would be gillian welch's soul journey

if i was to have a song sung to me, it would be the postal service's brand new colony, specifically the words: "i'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite
albums back as your lying there drifting off to sleep..."

if i was to sing words one day to someone when i could mean them, i'd borrow from the be good tanyas: "i'm always drawing your colors..."

if i was the words before the song, i would take them from dj shadow:
"and here's a story about being free"

if i was the heart of a musician, i would hope to be david bazan's

from the lens of little people

a weekend visit to the grandparent's, 3 little girls who wanted to be entertained every second of the day, and the results of a temporary cure to their boredom. here are a few of the thousands of pictures they took within the walls of one house...

these last two, taken by carson, are my personal favorites

secret places

these are a few of the doors and colored walls in my neighborhood. they used to be tobacco barns, country stores, and homes. i look for them like friends when driving along these curvy roads. my favorite is a huge old shut up blue house that now has cows mingling in its front lawn and sometimes on its porch. unfortunately i don't have a picture. i also love the patchwork huts scattered throughout these fields. if anyone is interested in taking up a country life, there are plenty of abandoned mill houses and what not to be turned into homes or stores. i've never been inside any of these doors, so i imagine them to hold something a little more magical than farm equipment and snakes and spiders. the last 2 pictures are of a corn crib on our property that has been converted into a top secret fort house by my sisters.

clay deserts and water windows

seeing

i stood shivering outside a cvs in boston waiting for my friend. a homeless man walked up to me and asked if i was a bum. i guess that doesn't say much for my appearance. i was wearing a ratty old jacket. i had been outside in the rain all day. i was carrying plastic bags filled with free things from the concert we'd helped at. i told him i was not a bum, and asked if he was. he said yes, and so i asked if he liked it. i don't know why i asked, and i don't know why i was surprised when he said no and walked away. for some reason i like that memory. i like that a bum talked to me as if i was a bum. i wish i could know what he was going to say to me before he found out i was too good for him.

when i'm at the hospital i pass a lot of cleaning ladies. i pass the same ladies because i spend my time there on the same hall on the 9th floor. i always smile and mumble a hello, but they rarely notice. they don't look up when i pass them. it bothers me that they won't notice me.

i was eating lunch out with my grandparents, and there was a beautiful tiny old woman eating alone across from us. i watched her carefully cut up her food, and slowly stir her tea. she was so small in the booth. so all alone.

there is a boy with down's syndrome at my church. he sings loudly with only a few of the right words, and all of the emphasis on the last word in each line. he plays ping pong with the other boys and hits the ball so hard it flies off the table. it makes him laugh hard. i watch him eat doughnuts alone in the corner. the more i watch him, the more i can't resist watching him.

i was walking to the checkout line in walmart looking into faces as i passed them when i saw a woman who looked like death. we were across from the the pink valentine display when we passed each other. she was bald under her black hood. her face was pale and hollow. i've seen bald women, and i've seen sickly faces, but i've never seen death on the living. it was startling. it made me question for a second if her face had survived a severe burn accident. the death stuck out like a missing appendage. it didn't frighten or sadden me, it made me want to walk around the store with her.

today i sat on the bleachers of the elementary school alternating between my book and watching my little sisters do their cheers for the fourth grade basketball team. i couldn't watch the game for more than 10 seconds without staring at the shadows on the court and thinking about the boy on the sidelines in the wheelchair. he was watching his younger brother play. he had played basketball and soccer and football until a little over a year ago when an accident left him paralyzed. his life is defined now, and so is he. i wonder how it feels to know you will always be on the sidelines.

i don't know when i started noticing the unnoticed, but it hasn't been for long enough. i don't know why some people are ignored. i don't know why we don't think thoughts about them. i don't assume my thoughts about them are worth much. i do assume they don't want my pity thoughts. and i do have pity for them, but i also have questions. they must know things unnoticers miss knowing.

this life

my sisters pretending to be bathroom maids. they were running out of things to do around the house with so many snow days recently.

marley roasting marshmallows over a candle in the living room.

carson turned 8 today. she was filling out a new address book and asked me for joseph arthur's email and phone number. if anyone has his info, she'd really like to get in touch with him.

michelle and i were talking the other day about how the old rainbow vacuums look like r2d2. i can tolerate lugging ours around a little more with that thought in mind.

i'm holding saint piper here who we recently adopted from the animal shelter. this is the puppy i carry around in my painting apron.

the other day i was washing dishes and looking out the window when i sneezed 3 times. i didn't even look up at the sun to try and force a third sneeze. i think i'm superstitious.

my parents wanted me to take this picture to send to their friends...i doubt they want it posted here, but i think it captures their rural life beautifully.

becoming old

my mother blames me for missing her only sibling's wedding, since i decided to be born 2 days before he was married. at least i can easily remember when his anniversary is and how many years he's been with my aunt.
my grandfather's birthday has always been the day right after mine, so i've had the pleasure of sharing parties with him. any pink cakes he's had in the past were due to my request.
eight years ago my sister carson was born the day after my grandfather, making us a birthday trio. luckily, we three will be together this year to celebrate.
i'm bad about birthdays. i forget most people's and i don't consider mine a big deal. i do like parties and surprises, but i don't care for a lot of attention.
but the one thing that has always thrilled me about my birthday is turning a new age. ever since i can remember, i've wanted to be older. i don't care so much about acting older as sounding older.
the best age i ever turned was 20. finally i was out of the teens. finally it was an age that sounded very old when i said it. i loved telling people i was twenty years old. 21 was better. 22 was best, and because of that, i'm not quite ready to give it up tomorrow. i've spent the last couple of months trying to reconcile myself to being 23, because this year i don't want to sound any older. i want to stop where i am. in my mind 22 is glorious in that it is old enough to be considered wise and mature in some ways, but young enough to excuse my childishness. twenty-three makes me feel like i'll have to begin acting like a grown-up and behaving more responsively and independently. i don't mind doing any of those things, but i don't want to be required to by my age. actually, in my mind the age that requires those things is really 25, so i have some time, but 23 is getting me dangerously close. so these are my qualms this year, but my happy thought is that i will be an odd number again.

and for the love of my 22nd year, here are some things i accomplished:

1. i braved my fear of the evil dmv women, and got my license
2. i attended my college graduation ceremony and actually enjoyed it
3. i discovered i very much like being an artist, and resolved to be one the rest of my life
4. i found out i love being in hospitals, and might want a real job in one someday
5. i spent the year as a rural dweller (my post-college dream), and discovered i miss and need people, and might like the city better after all
6. i learned how to make rice
7. i learned from having bright red hair, that attention (good or bad) won't kill me
8. i discovered the joy of writing people, as well as some beautiful people who like to write back
9. and from much failure, i learned to sit still and be in a moment without feeling the extreme need to get up and leave right away

so with those great accomplishments, my aspirations for 23 so far are:
1. to move around a bit, and enjoy cities
2. take my passport (that has never been used) on a trip
3. make my hair pink for a little while at least
4. work in either a coffee shop or bookstore, because i've always wanted to and never had the opportunity
5. unbelieve everything i said about having be grown up by a certain age