So last week, on the eve of our sixth anniversary, trauma hit our family. I won't go into it here, but it's full bloody trauma, ranking in my top five most shocking, wounding events. And if you know anything about my life story, you'll know that means a great deal. I've had a lot of devastation in my life, and this event was a heavy hitter. Still is. But. What's different now than in many of my previous experiences, was that I refused to become a victim. Instead, I focused on staying afloat in each moment, rather than sinking in fear and suffering. Most of the time I've managed to keep my nostrils above water. Barely. But what's helped is the art. It's been a life saver.

Last Saturday, while Silas and I were trying to figure out how we were going to survive said trauma, I started collaging in my journal as a diversion from all the various aches: heartache, mindache, bodyache, soulache. And by the end of the evening, instead of wanting to take a gun and blow my brains out, I felt like maybe I could sleep. This was no small gift, as I'd laid awake the night before and had been up for 48 hours. The next day, Silas took my collage into Photoshop and started creating his own version of it. When he was done, we were both so excited, we called Aimee to see if she might want to play with it as well. And that's how the SEVEN DAY DIGITAL ART SMACKDOWN was conceived.

The painting, drawing, and collaging over the past ten days has saved my...what? Life? Sanity? Heartbreak? I don't know, but it's certainly been the salve on a terrible pain, and given me a shift in perspective that's allowed me breathing room. You know how--when things are so overwhelming and so shocking and so painful you feel like you cannot breath? And maybe don't want to? And you don't know how you're ever going to put the pieces of your life back together in a way that even remotely resembled something familiar? Well, that's what our family has been going through. Sitting at the studio table has anchored me to a sense of beauty and peace and hope.

Maybe creating isn't just therapy. Maybe it's life itself.

Hope you enjoy our project, and the daily in-progress snapshots from the studio.

My table:

My gorgeous studio partner:

My constant compaions (steadfast "lifelines" always at my feet):

My first collage in-progress "Figment"

My heart is a diamond matchstick box
full of flowers
bright, blossoming, incendiary
petals
strike me and I
burst into bloom.

My heart is a nautilus,
endless chambered spiral circle,
ancient siren song
embedded in ever-widening circles.
Cradle me to your ear
for a lullaby of waves.

My heart is a feathered faraway bird
a phoenix rising fierce and free
Burn me. Blaze me. Bury me in the ashes
and I rise
a wounded healer,
a trail of glory,
my tears the balm that soothes,
the medicine that mends,
the poem that calls us home.

My heart is a Rose of Sharon,
opening, opening.
A broken glass turned mosaic,
a fractured emerald turned hummingbird,
a shattered door becoming
a ruin
a portal
a promise.

My heart is a word lottery
admitting many,
a box of colors containing
Princess Power Pinks
Huffalump Purples
and Atta-Boy Blues

My heart is a pair of striped stockings
a cold sassy tree,
a sasparilla sipped through
a long straw
a cotton candy carousel,
a Xanadu,
a Wonderland,
 a magic carpet ride from
Amen to Abracadabra.

My heart is marzipan
and cinammon
butter-brickle serenades
Zanzibar honeycomb
dripping poems like paintings
like parasols
and parades.

My heart is a pair of snake-skin boots
hot pink spike-heeled boots
worn-out, faded-in leather boots,
thigh-high, make-you-beg-for-it boots,
black vinyl say-it-like-you-mean-it boots,
turn of the century tiny silver button boots,
pointy-toed Witchypoo boots,
steel-tipped-stompin'-round-the-block boots--
My heart is a pair of these-boots-were-made-for-walking boots
and they're gonna walk all over you. Or dance.
Maybe the tango.

Silas and I get stuck in plurk (play + work = plurk) mode and forget there's a gorgeous world of beauty outside our door. I must admit, it's nice to play tourist in our own town. Mountains, parks, ski lifts, great restaurants, hot air balloons and charming boutiques. And as far as retail therapy goes, nothing beats Le Chambre Blue, created by Taosueno Sybil Dunbar. Sybil's been traveling the world and bringing back beauty the rest of us cannot live without. She's a true merchant of marvels and when we're in need of an inspiration-dose, we go to her magical, mythical shop.

Recently relocated, Sybil is now inside a tiny cubby of an ancient adobe, behind our favorite local cafe. When we heard her shop would be occupying that forsaken, dark hole of a space, we shook our heads in disbelief. But just LOOK at what she's done with the place. She's an enchantress, no doubt. Time bends, unravels and seduces inside her doors. We were lost in a wonder for over three hours.

I was so moved by her acts of beauty I simply had to make this composite to share the goodness.

Double click to see the scrumptious details.

I cannot completely express my love for Kit Carson Park. It's just a tiny little park in the middle of Taos. It connects to an 1800's graveyard, a playground and shares a parking lot with the Community Arts Building. It's the only place in town that art and craft shows are ever hosted, and most outdoor concerts take place there. Kinda boggles my mind, 'cuz the whole thing just seems so tiny and...intimate. We try to take the girls for a walk there several times a week, and just observing the park, its trees, and the light shadows cast from the cloud dance that takes place daily at the foot of the Taos Mountain is enough to send me into quiet bliss. This little unassuming spot of green is what I think of when the words WELL BEING enter my mind.

And speaking of blissful well being, Silas and I celebrated our sixth anniversary today. We didn't do much. A delicious lunch at Antonio's and then a stroll with the girls through the park. It's completely unlike me--the champagne, cupcakes and streamers were missing. But walking next to my beloved under a moody sky, the two lights of my life trotting alongside us, winds gently whispering, tufts of green grass waving hello, yellow dots of flowers heralding spring, I couldn't have been more grateful. Our life circumstances can be very, very challenging at times, but our relationship is a walk in the park.

I hope these images provide a few snapshots of my gratitude.

So here's another five-minute poem, prompted by Susan Wooldridge's "I am/I am not/I used to be" exercise. Totally off the cuff, but it's got a kind of raw charm. (Am I allowed to say that? Good, 'cuz I just did.)

Barely There

I am not your whispered saint
your hungry ghost
your Barely There.

I am a pregnant lantern
a quivering incantation
drinking up the light
to spill, to surge the
sacred silver silk of
hope.

I used to be a traveling bazaar
a devil-may-care genie
in a bottle
opening magic caves
with fire-eyed abracadabras
and a swish of my tail.

But now you're gone
and I am a lonely barker
a wandering moon
over an empty fairground
sawdust and stars
my only companions.

Barely There ©Angi Sullins. Thanks for not reprinting without permission.

If a picture's worth a thousand words, what are twenty five photos worth? And does this have anything to do with a train traveling from Saint Louis moving at forty miles an hour meeting another leaving from Atlanta hurtling down the tracks at ninety miles an hour? The price of tea in China? The number of fleas on a camel's back?

Here's the math I'd rather stick to:

Artfest Tuition: $600
Canon Powershot  Camera $196
Airfare from Bali to arrive at Artfest late due to a missed flight: $XX27
_______________
Laughing like hyenas while playing in a world filled with color: PRICELESS

(Guess the Mastercard folks won't be hiring me anytime soon to do their commercials.)

But the memories truly are priceless.