Strauss

so its been about a month since my last post, have been back from california for almost two weeks now, and i haven't been able to get back to the real work, the work that carries the scent of my name years after i'm gone, it's been all about the other kind of work, papers and money and insurance and lawyers the telegraphed grids of commerce....but i had a dream this morning, something ive been waiting for, corny as it sounds that ive been waiting for some kind of sign, in this dream i'm looking out at this red island in the ocean, this island is mars the entire planet reduced to some kind of essential desert lansdscape sitting off the water of this beach, im traversing its surfaces with a girl, younger, something like a sister but not my sister, more like my charge, walking through gullies and trenches of sand, hardpan, soft red rocky sand with bits of reddish black rocks, im convinced im on mars until i see the ocean, a few hundred feet of rough water up to the island shore where i jump in and swim, walk up the beach with its lush plants and tall trees and the sister is a man now walking beside me explaining how there are many places on earth where plants will not grow and this mars in the water shouldn't surprise me, but we come to a painted white wooden stairwell with some kind of glass door, dew on the glass the whole thing is a strange tower of white wood and glass, i try to open it the wrong way but the mystery man guides my hand to the left side where the door opens and the stairwell goes up into the tops of the trees.
it's been hard to know where to start after coming back from california, im still greatly saddened by the loss of my wife's grandmother, and putting both her and barney's loss in some kind of perspective has been hard, so i think this time ive been back ive been trying to process some of that, especially for the work, but the music has started in my head today very clearly all the stuff i listen to when i paint blaring loud in my skull and i know its time to get back to the studio even if i don't know where to begin. margaret, my wife's grandmother, her clowns have been in my head too, wretched cross stitched things that she was always so proud of, the khemthongs, with their hospitality, and mark, this broken man now mended by his religion, but like a poorly mended vase where you can see the glue sticking out of the cracks.....trying to get a handle on all this....