I’m back from the desert. Jetlagged. It is always good to come home to Lamma. I’m putting raw bee pollen into my coffee in the mornings now. I’m a different person but I have also changed. It could be the bee pollen. Why does it feel good to be so busy? It could be the bee pollen.
It could be the love from my relatives, who are just as crazy as I am, and the mutual validation of tribal insanity, and the fact that now I have a rectangular slab of floor-space that I can paint in. I demanded it. Selfish but necessary, similar to person-hood. They call it an atelier. There are twenty other artists. I am a fish out of water but I will not paint myself into a corner. Not this time. This time, just colors as emotions.