5 days 'til we move. . . .

The thing about packing up your house and studio to move is that you don't have your stuff to hand while you transition.
So I have no studio.
which I dearly miss.
So in the meantime, here is a mini photo essay of my time in Aix.
I was an exchange student in the south of France 28 years ago, and I had the good fortune to return last June.
I only had two short days there, but to walk around this charming town, to see the markets and public squares and water fountains and fancy shops and sidewalk cafes -- simply magnifique.
The sense of style and beauty and commitment to good food, good wine, good leisure, I love these things about France.
I am right now setting up the new house, planning furniture and paintings on the walls and colors . . . . thinking about the new studio which is LARGE and LIGHT FILLED!
I want to bring some of the inspiration of colors and rich texture to the new house, the sense that a well designed space makes for well designed living.
and maybe one day, I will have more than 2 days in Aix to really soak it in, to wander without aim, just enjoying the atmosphere of a place I lived for 5 months almost 3 decades ago, a place that always has stayed with me.

and I have to admit I am wondering if this blog can grow and change along with me -- I am entering a new phase, a new studio, new mediums are calling to me. About a month ago, as I was beginning to prepare for a journaling workshop I would be teaching, my beloved current journal fell apart. Yes, all the pages just popped right out of the binding, scattering across my desk in a very rebellious act of not being contained in their book. Then the workshop was canceled because not enough students signed up.
I am processing what this all means as I pack and redo my life.
In the new house there are extensive gardens and a greenhouse, and I feel the call of clay and herbs.
What will this mean to my journaling practice?
Well, more to come, just tune in and we will see if this blog can hold all the new adventures on the horizon . . . .
and while we wait for the future to knock at the door, here are some photos from the recent past:



"This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival; a joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and attend them all.

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows... still, treat each guest honourable. He may be clearing you out for some new delight." --Rumi