I was going to draw a wall and a hand, with a garden behind the wall and a desert on the side of the wall with the hand. I couldn't get the perspective just right, so I traced my hand. I thought about writing all my illusions about the future I assume I cannot have on the wall, but since I had to go to a meeting, I wasn't sure I wanted to dive deeply that way. So instead, I wrote questions on the fingers.
Yesterday I had been playing with haiku. I came up with this one on my walk in the morning:
my heart shelters orphaned dreams.
Safe harbor, fierce storm.
I thought about creating some sort of collage, about the heart not as monastery but as homeless shelter and needing to find a few more beds. I thought about that illustration about Madeline who lived in an orphanage with Miss Clavell:
But this morning, I went in a different direction:
I like the hopefulness of this image. I like the stars that represent the dreams in the heart. I like the rays of light around the heart that also look like wheat. I've had bread on the brain all week. I'm intrigued by how these swirls come together.