First off, the photo above was taken this morning especially for Lizardek who celebrated her 29th birthday yesterday. Although it?s a day late, she?s glad of it as yesterday it was rather overcast and today is simply spectacular. Blue skies. Sweet breezes. Hot sun. The repetitive ?ohm? of the morning doves. All for you,my friend.

And, did I mention it?s Saturday? A big fat Saturday in August? God, I love summer.

Untitled (Tilly Losch), ca.1935-38, Joseph Cornell

Yesterday I drove to the Peabody Essex Museum to see the Joseph Cornell exhibit and oh la la la la?was it good. (Something you may not know about me is I don?t like the Louvre or giant museums in general. They utterly overwhelm me. By contrast, I loved the Jeu de Paume. My faves are small and intimate and the PEM fits that so perfectly, but I digress.)

The Cornell exhibit was just delicious. They had so many pieces (30 had never been on display before) and whole shelves of his tools, workbench sundries, which is the stuff that electrifies me. I love to see the artist at work. And of course, this self-taught, playful, imaginative, dare I say dreamy fabulist, speaks so directly to my own natural, instincts. As I?m sure he does to so many. I love that he made these objects. I love the idea of his collecting ephemera as it called to him and loading his studio with bits and bobs, magazines, rocks, marbles, buttons, etc. And I LOVE that his work was so warmly received and celebrated in his own lifetime.

Happy sigh.

Pantry Ballet (For Jacques Offenbach), 1943 - Joseph Cornell

Oddly, one of the pieces that grabbed me most was a box with plastic lobsters. I laughed out loud causing one guard to give me the big fish eye. (However, since many, many of Cornell?s pieces reflected such wit and silliness I can?t imagine I?m the only one to snap unexpectedly with laughter). I generally recoil from kitsch and I don?t even much like lobsters but holy hell?I just found this piece inexplicably darling. Just the idea of him so carefully wrapping a bit of white gauze around the waist of each tiny crustacean?well, there it is?I am revealed to you?that just cracked me.

Unsurprisingly, I came home fevered with a need to climb into my studio and shut the world out?but instead I picked up A Thousand Splendid Suns, a book my father-in-law had left here for me. My intention was simply to glance at the first page before heading up the stairs. Instead, I dropped into the living room chair and did not move again until the wee hours of the morning when I closed it shut and crawled up to bed?heart aching. God, what a story; the kind of story that will never leave me. Mariam will always be with me. Always.

As a result, I was groggy and slow moving this morning. It was very hard to release the thoughts, feelings and images from the misery of Afghanistan and be here, in this sweet paradise. Also, the murderous rage that consumes me. Yes, the wild fury that makes me want to destroy those stupid, stupid, stupid men with my bare hands, or a machete, or, perhaps a semi-automatic-- I'm not particular. You know, it?s just kind of hard to switch to a joyful, playful creative mood when my consciousness is steeped in the specific misery of women buried alive in Afghanistan.

But it?s that kind of thinking that can paralyze me and what good am I to anyone paralyzed? Instead, I have to give thanks for the freedoms and pleasures of my everyday life and do all I can to send those energies back into the world.

So that?s where I am and what I?m doing?

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