Lemon Verbena

Another application in the wild

I received two rejections this week. One was from a while back, but I missed it in my inbox. Just as well, it was dated a week after Agnes died, and I was still bereft and in no mood to fake-take it with a grain of salt. The most recent rejection had me wondering if I really wanted to unlock these achievements at all and if so, why. I do, of course, but my practice has shifted/reverted to one that at times seems barely perceivable, much less perceptual.

I showed Andrea Zittel’s Sufficient Self, 2004 in class the other day. It’s a wonderful piece. Essentially a slideshow of A-Z West in the making, she makes the imperceivable perceivable and perceptual. It also reminded me of how acclimated I had become to desert life. Yes, I had to drive 45 miles round trip to go to the grocery store, but there were only one or two red lights. Yes, the unshielded lights on the neighbor’s house one mile away still bothered me, but unshielded lights bothered everyone out there.¹ But the quiet. It went on forever.

The raking of leaves I silently said I would not do this year. I haven’t been in the backyard much since Agnes died. Twice, maybe? The office door opens to the deck. Or rather, it used to. The backyard is alien territory now. Moles or the resident groundhog have reclaimed it, killing the grass in the process. I didn’t rake the entire backyard- just the area by the shed. Low-stakes. I brought in the Metro shelving unit and some storage bins containing old work, making sure no Asian beetles or stink bugs hitched a ride.

Have you ever cleaned your oven using just baking soda and vinegar? I have. It took four days. It wasn’t even that dirty, but baking soda is slow and requires your presence and energy. And since I haven’t used the oven since—(looks at calendar and shrugs)—perhaps last spring, I was in no hurry. The Artist Was Not Present. On day three, I broke down and purchased a bottle of Meyers Baking Soda Cream Cleaner. The house smelled like Lemon Verbena for two of those four days. I used it to clean the Metro shelving unit as well, adding another day of over-the-top fresh scents to my life.

Old Work. Nearly all the paintings are stacked on the Metro shelving now. The smaller work. I’m not sure how I feel about this. It’s complicated for sure. No suddens moves is my mantra. No sudden moves.

Despite receiving two rejections, I submitted a third application today. They wanted to know how I heard about them. Beside the box marked Other, I wrote, “From reading Anne Truitt’s Daybook in 1984.”² I forget how influential that book was to the writing and to the making as a young artist.³

[The deafening sound of fighter jets.]

It’s good to keep writing about the current work. I thought I was burnt out on words, my words— that I had nothing left to say. I wanted to scream every time I edited a sentence for clarity, but each application offers an opportunity for concision. So many threads. It helps to pull them in.

Meg from the desert sent me a link to an opportunity back out west that I’m also considering, though the logistics might require some legwork.

I forgot to talk about the Floor Office Lounge Unit.

Until next post.

1. Unshielded lights are a code violation in rural areas.

2. Actually I wrote, “From when I first read “Anne Truitt’s Daybook years ago,” not wanting to make anyone do the math.

3. Only one poem survived (everything was typed on paper) a basement flood. Amazingly the watercolor collages survived, a little worse for the wear, with only water stains on the back. I’m unable to destroy these out of respect for their service. I can still see them floating around the knee-deep water with the millipedes. [Shudder.] The flood was caused by the city. Something about the underground tunnels.