05/31/2024
I was terrified of becoming a mother a second time. Having walked the beautiful paths as well as over the coals. The whole ordeal, the surrender, it was all so much the first time and I thought the second would be the story retold. How wonderful to be totally wrong. This pregnancy has been nothing like I foretold myself. How wonderful to be wrong.
Creativity, beauty for the sake of beauty, love in all its depths and grief. I was given this same invitation the first time, but it seems I needed initiation before I would accept it. What I was willing to reclaim was not as much as was offered. How beautiful life is.
Here is a mammoth 🦣 that has been waiting for me to carve her. I have always been drawn to the paleolithic human past and the creatures of the pleistocene. I wonder what it would be like to crochet with the wooly hair of a mammoth. What it would be like to see them lumbering along the landscape. Holding the grief of what was lost. My creativity has been abounding these months but at the same time I am moving slowly to forage it. There is a luxury to that, I know. But I ask myself now, am I foraging art from myself ethically?
