a whole third image is missing. It's a Typepad Night. But this is ok enough. i tried hanging this CLOTH between trees, but they are so uhhhhh, intermingled in this Forest…for a straight space. I'll do that later, is Beauty Full in its way, but i wanted to see this Cloth like this. Its Whole Self. This is Deb Lacativa. There are no words that can Tell. Damask. a Being. It is Alive.
sitting inside here…at the worktable, i was transported BACK to all the Art Markets, Ann Arbor Michigan, Eugene Oregon, Sante Fe New Mexico….the Spaces i constructed at those markets for selling my work…then, the "dolls" and gourds. Such another life, another me. Here, today, an old woman at a Garden on a Hill. in California, the Canary of Climate Change.
i read somewhere this week….a "survey" of white women about their present sense of things in regard to their inclination to Vote….the words that stood out as emblematic were: they find it "bothersome. all this racial unrest".
Oh, do you, i think. After 400 years, you find it………bothersome? Well then. and ok.
windthread 
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