Spring hope, sorrows, and a poem

A friend reached out a hand today to pull me back here. I've gotten lost in my work, in the sufferings of the world, in the blossoms coming up. I forget to come back into words and lay this foundation for everything. I do love this space so much and thank you friend (you know who you are) for the hand up.

I am going to try and post here every Friday. I hope it brings you as much joy as it will me.

I've finished my series on refugees, for now. Please do go into the gallery to see. They are for an upcoming show but also available for sale, 50% will be donated to the UNHCR.

It was a very challenging winter here. The darkest I remember and spring is really coming too slowly. I cannot wait for sun and warmth and the sea to cool off in.

Time seems to be moving both so slowly and yet so quickly lately and I struggle to hold that dichotomy in my mind. Yet, that is exactly how it feels. Is this age?

We saw our first bumblebee of the season and all three of us filled with joy. Life coming back, awakening.

The world is so full right now, bad news cascading like floods. Working on boundaries of how much I can take in. I believe so much it's important to see, to witness, pray and hold things for people. But it's also important to pause, to play music.To dance.

I think of the little girl singing in the bunker in Ukraine.

Her voice lifting us all.

LET THEM NOT SAY by Jane Hirshfield

Let them not say: we did not see it.

We saw.

Let them not say: we did not hear it.

We heard.

Let them not say: they did not taste it.

We ate, we trembled.

Let them not say: it was not spoken, not written.

We spoke,

we witnessed with voices and hands.

Let them not say: they did nothing.

We did not-enough.

Let them say, as they must say something:

A kerosene beauty,

It burned.

Let them say we warmed ourselves by it,

read by its light, praised,

and it burned.