Wednesday, February 1, 2012

In Media Res: PomonaLIFE

Summer 2011
I sit with a glass of wine in the basement.  (The Cottage Vintner, Dad’s label for his home-brew - a Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon bottled March 2010, and only recently opened for the test: medium in body, soft oak finish, paired excellent with an aged cheese or long-winded amusement. www.wineexpert.com).
I find myself here every time I come home, sitting on this cold grey cement floor next to the cat litter with a single light bulb above my head and a head lamp around my forehead, as I search through the things I have temporarily forgotten.  I get to know myself again - these aspirations, inspirations and perspirations of strained accomplishment. 
I recognize the voice but the handwriting varies.  I wonder who she is: shaking, laughing; moving methodologically and carelessly.  Sometimes she is hard to place.
I tour through these boxes and totes - I have an extensive library from grade school through to University which pangs me that I haven't lived in a space for the last five years to showcase such vivid past lives.  Reading is stepping outside of our own perspective to learn how others describe Natural.  Words are hypnotic and alluring.  Intense and soothing.  
I thumb-through countless diaries from travels and ‘stretch marks;’ folders containing bits and pieces of writings filed, yet-to-be-filed and erroneously kept.
I count twenty boxes, all coded messages. If strung together chronologically, I would be like a mosaic of a Dorian Grey, except you could step through my painting and find youth and amusement in the words behind a drawing full of whimsical horror and shaded elegance.
I have decided, I will start in the middle of things and make myself a home.
Inspiration has a guise of cardboard and smells musty.  I am overwhelmed and comforted.
In this creative exhaust I realize how much I value ideas and their people, places and things.  
I find PomonaLIFE in a doodle.  My ah-ha! moment is a drawing of a tree, dated around the time of braces and bad skin.  
Here, I sprout roots and drop some leaves, stretch my limbs, and grow something larger than myself.

{Written by: Andrea Currie}

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