here
For two years I pushed myself through my first graduate degree, and then two years of my second. By the time I had graduated, I wanted only to stay home. So that’s what being burnt out feels like. Each time I left my house, I was afraid it had caught on fire, and I would have to rush back home again. All this energy devoted to trying to just leave the house left me no desire to want an art residency — that would be too far away for too long for this phase in my life. I felt like I’d had a residency for two years, and then four years, both intense experiences back-to-back, and I was happy to find my own way outside of the structure of lectures and classes and readings and slide presentations. And then just as I was getting ready to want a residency, I got pregnant and suddenly didn’t want to leave the house again. But I pushed myself to apply and here I am at the Vermont Studio Center for two weeks.
In Portland I became suddenly afraid that I would give birth in Vermont and the baby wouldn’t have a blanket. (My friend gave birth at 30 weeks, after all, and another friend at 33 1/2. Today I’m 32 weeks.) Steve agreed to drive around until we found a store that sold a baby blanket. They were out, and I wasn’t exactly a peaceful customer when they told me, but if I give birth the baby now has a simple outfit and a pair of socks. Never mind he doesn’t have a car seat here in Vermont, or even a onesie. I could only take so much with me. I had to fit my Snoogle in my suitcase.
Settling into a space alone with a twin bed and the first snow. At least I am not afraid the house is on fire, I’m past that. I miss my life viscerally. I am grateful for these two weeks to reflect and meditate and see what writing (and drawing) comes. I’m afraid no writing or drawing will come. All these mixed feelings on the first day, I want to rush past them but I can’t and shouldn’t.
