This morning, I made a different piece of art:
In the wee, small hours of the morning, once again, I couldn't sleep. I was having one of those dark night of the soul kinds of night, where I couldn't quiet my brain and go back to sleep. I decided to get up and do some offline journaling.
I ended this way, "So many roads circling back to a question: what am I going to do with the rest of my life? How can I plan now that this pandemic has changed everything? Or has it changed everything?"
I did some sorting. My spouse has an idea for a shelving project; I am fighting despair as the plan has gotten ever more complicated. All I wanted was a place to put my books! Books that have been packed away for 2 years now. Insert a heavy sigh here.
I came across some map fragments. They were part of a different art project. I created this shadowbox out of hurricane damaged stuff, including a chest of drawers:
Then I tried to transform that project into something for an art show that I decided not to enter:
This morning, I found those map fragments as I was sorting, and I thought about how they represented my existential crisis of sorts--what map can we follow to the future? What makes sense these days?
I added a few more elements:
It made me happy, making these arrangements, even if I didn't have a flash of insight about the way forward.
Best Essay Collections of 2017 by Women Authors
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