Letting Her Dry (Fly)

She has undergone many changes since I first sent a photo to Kendall of her beginning. Time has passed and many distractions (and attractions) have put her on hold until the next time. Each approach has been with a certain amount of fear attached. Each time I have lifted the plastic and unwrapped the damp cloth I had to get past the doubt. My mind questions the repeated touches and strokes that subtly alter the original gesture. At times I feel that I am doing harm...that something may have been lost from so many waits and so much handling. I know that each time I approach, I bring with me my recent hurts, frustrations, disillusionments. Some old ones also.... But I have to remind myself that I also bring rapturous moments on sunset beaches. I bring Music and Pearl's loving looks, and the soft texture of warm fur beneath my hands must linger in the fingers that slide gently over clay. Each touch might be a kiss. Each stroke an easing out of stress.

Music helps... I mean the kind I push a button to bring forth. (Although my old dog sleeps near by ensconced in doggy dreams.) The familiar swell of sound, the tender voice of a friend I've never met can back me up...encourage bodily reluctance and engage emotions. Then as I work, it seems a dance is being born. The push and pull of melody empowers that old love of movement and of gesture. At times I am compelled to leave the tiny sculpture and embark around the room in such a rapt release of who I am...who I still am. The years dissolve...and all resistance  to transcendent joy is vanquished by the YES of life...of Leif.

I offer you a glimpse...a little shyly now I see what I have written. Yet courage is necessity if we will live. And this is now... How might she change in the coming days? The sculpture... I speak of the drying clay, I guess... She must evolve, the work be done: glaze brushed on, lines enhanced. Two firings... Never mind... Each day will make itself. And I will be there for each day.