October 1, 2008
Falling in Love Again
I have fallen in love with my work again. I have fallen in love with the business of bringing it from that endlessly in-love first process of pressing pen to paper watching the ink flowing until it is done, of taking the photograph, of receiving the idea – those sensual moments of happeningness – and now, through a five month process of moving shyly and excitedly toward each other, as I construct, edit, reconstruct, collaborate (with Ross Bonadonna, Brooklyn composer, producer and my squeeze) and make these things available for other people to see and interact with.
From clusterflock friend Lucy Foley — from Enniskilen: Initial Thoughts.
Just makes me giddy. In a really good way.
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14 Responses to “Falling in Love Again”
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There is a cruel irony there, I’m looking to take a restraining order out on my work at the moment…
That was pretty remarkable. Here I am, having breakfast at 5 pm while the cats meow at me through the window, and the little pig-dog barks incessantly at the cats he can see through the door, and the other 8 dogs wait for me to Do Something, and I am run ragged all day long from all this animal husbandry and really quite enjoying the madness of it… and then I see some words and think, hm, isn’t that…? wow, cool. You rock, Sheila. x
Aw, Lucy. I’m blushing.
Cue: No, you rock.
You rock.
[Repeat.)
I’m sorry you’re tending a barking pig-dog. My friend who’s been displaced from her Galveston home has spent the past few weeks in a motel room with (1) her partner, (2) an Akita, (3) a Chow-Chow, and (4) a yappy little bitey little white dog. It is the yappy littlle bitey that’s driving her to madness.
Yeah, it’s the yappy little bitey ones that’ll get you. Thankfully I’ve got none of those this week. Even little pig-dog gets tired after a while. My bloke in Brooklyn says that Irish dogs make more melodic sounds than any dogs he has ever heard anywhere else, and the bunch we have on the premises this week are veritable dog – Paul McCartneys. Plaintiff, when they are hungry. Plaintiffer when they need a pee. I’m kept going, as my nana would say.
I like to imagine that I am plaintive when I’m hungry. And when I need a pee. But that could just be my imagination.
Try peeing to the tune of the Lonesome Boatman (traditional Irish air), throw in a little Messaien, and you’ve got this week’s brood. I’m thinking of liveblogging this shit.
Oh yeah, and thanks for the subtle spelling correction. Though you know, it’s more than a little like a feisty courtroom around here these last few days.
“I’m thinking of liveblogging . . . . ” Lucy, I do hope that along with the music and the barking, you will include the peeing.
Ok, clearly it is time to learn how to upload audio from my wax cylinder.
Ask Phil. I think he may have rigged up some kind of prototype contraption.
I think it involves copper wires and a barking pig-dog.
OK Ms. Ryan! I know my promise of my impression of the cat being sick…cut onto a wax cylinder never really materialised…I’d explain why but all this talk of peeing has me constantly in and out of the room. Could that be a prostate issue…and where is that anyway? As far as I can tell it involves a type of exploration that one really doesn’t want to undertake.
Have I gone off topic here?
Ok then, I will go off topic too. I feel like posting a picture of Phil’s arse. Here it is: http://terrorkitten.com/iblog/index.php?showimage=706 . Rather remarkable, wouldn’t you say?
Duly noted.