"The Stories of Our Childhood" and "The Matriarch" are on their way to their permanent home in the US Embassy in N'Djamena, Chad, Africa.
They were purchased through the Art in Embassies program - a cultural exchange through the visual arts.
"Captured Reflections I" was created in 2011 for a collaborative exhibit with glass artist Josh Bernbaum, at the Brattleboro (VT) Museum & Art Center.
It has been living with me, and is now ready to find a new home.
Check it out here.
A wonderful article, by Paula Sienna, was in yesterday's Keene Sentinel.
To link to the paper click here.
It’s been a month. It’s been a really long month. I don’t think anything could have really prepared me for this healing process. I dozed a lot, did my PT, took drugs, lurched around the house with my walker, and carefully lifted my legs to get them into bed. I had a week with my lovely daughter, Rina Rose, and grand-dog, Mango. It was 2.5 steps forward, and then one backwards.
There are still many things I cannot do. Some of the PT exercises, seemingly so simple, are still very difficult. I have a great deal of trouble getting my legs into bed and getting comfortable. Going up and down the stairs more than twice a day uses up a great deal of my energy.
But still…. there are many things I can do. I can now read books. I am learning to use a cane. (Such freedom compared to a walker!) I can slowly walk around my parking lot. I can put on my socks without using the ‘sock-putter-on-er.’ And I can think a bit more clearly.
To my great surprise, I did not have an urge to make a single thing. This has never happened to me before, never in my whole life, for as long as I can remember. – Then Deidre came to visit, bearing food, and suggested making some ‘healing art.’ Art that speaks of my body and bones slowly knitting themselves back together, art without judgment, and without a need to show to anyone. - And so, at last, one month later, I have started.
I am told that it will take a year to get back my full energy, but that I will be much, much better by three months (early May). I have very few physical limitations – mostly to use common sense and to approach every activity with care.
What has been so incredibly amazing to me has been the outpouring of love and food, of visits, phone calls, cards, food, thoughtful gifts, Sam (cat) care, rides to PT, and even more food. I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for all that you have done for me. “Thank you” does not even begin to express how I feel.
Here's a chance to create a useful bag, using your (and your neighbors') plastic bags. This class is always fun. All proceeds benefit
Groundworks Collaborative Food Shelf
Thursdays - March 30, April 6 and 20 (Snow date April 27)
6:00 - 8:00 PM
$35.00 for all 3 classes
Taught by me, Jen Wiechers, and Janette Smuts
At the River Gallery School Main Street Studio, 36 Main Street, Brattleboro VT
To reserve a space and further details, please contact me.
I hope you will join us.
On February 9, I had bilateral anterior hip replacements: two bright new shiny hips as I think about entering my 70’s.
I spent almost a week in the hospital, first in acute care, and then in re-hab, before coming home to begin the long healing process. My time in the hospital reminded me of how recovering from surgery is a mindfulness practice, in a way that is similar to a train trip.
Traveling on a train (which I do frequently, to visit my kids) is like suspending your life, your responsibilities for a day. Yes, I can still do computer work, but internet access is spotty, and so I don’t really try to be connected. I have text conversations with very few people, so it does not require my attention. My cell phone hardly rings, and when it does, I rarely answer it.
All of this puts me in a kind of ‘bubble’ when I am on the train. There are no expectations, no responsibilities. The day is mine. I can choose to read, to eat, to gaze out the window. I usually do all of those things. The choices are totally mine. It is enforced slow-living; I relish the time.
During the first night in the hospital, post-surgery, I found a semi-comfortable, drug-induced position, and never moved. I was wakened frequently, to take more drugs, to have my vital signs tested. The breathing and thinking I was doing during that time, and during the other times of restfulness, reminded me of my train trips. It was a freedom. There were no expectations; I didn’t need to pay attention to e-mails or politics. I was again in my own little ‘bubble.’
It was, and still is, a time of paying attention to multiple small details. How to walk, for example: keep your foot straight, lift it up, bring it forward, press down the heel, then the toe. Repeat with the other foot. Repeat. Repeat.
Is this drug-induced rambling? Perhaps. I hope that I am more able, in the future, to still be appreciative of every skill, to take nothing for granted.
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