the atmosphere of happiness

The nest is a lyrical bouquet of leaves.  It participates in the peace of the vegetal world.  It is a point in the atmosphere of happiness that always surrounds large trees.

~ Gaston Bachelard


Of course I return to nests in this season.  The attempt to make one's own nest a point in the atmosphere of happiness.  The home as a lyrical bouquet.  I look forward today to cleaning, sorting, putting the house into some semblance of order.  And listening to Joni Mitchell's Blue.  And River.  I've always found these melancholy songs to be a source of happiness.

What a strange and difficult year it's been in so many ways.  We resolved early on though, R. and I, that we would make something of it nonetheless.  One great thing about the poor art market and subsequently slow sales for him, is that he's felt liberated to paint exactly what he wants, to pursue subject matters close to his heart.  So it's been a year of gorgeous book paintings.  And other experimentations with things like crushed coke cans.  And why not?  You can tell he's had fun with these, coaxing the paint into these mangled contortions.  Yes, they're crushed but still recycle-able.  It's been another year of reinvention, always a good thing, albeit painful at the beginning, and the uncertainty ongoing.

As for me, my pledge to write most mornings, early, however mad and tired and fragile and weird it makes me for the rest of the day, has I think paid off.  I have maybe written, in 100 word intervals, half a novel.  Or so.  It's difficult to tell when you're in the midst of it.  My 2011 goal is to finish it.  And today I think that's even possible.  And meanwhile, also for me, these small escapes, excursions into photography.  I don't try to analyze them, but I know the snapping makes me happy.  A strange liberation, too, to make things, for nothing, no reason, other than for pleasure, to uplift my scrawny soul.  To capture these insignificant moments.  Nice capture, people say on Flickr.  Yes.  Which is really all about the light, a split second of light.  The slant or scantness or abundance of it.  So, for me, too, it's been a year about thinking about light, as a way of being.  Noticing how the light enters our Northern suburban nest.  Even on the greyest days, the shortest ones.