Field of Visions

Happy Friday, friend, Friday is typically a studio day for me, and I’ve been doing some printing today. I have also been - very excitedly - preparing for the first deliveries of the field note! I can’t believe this, but I surpassed my subscriber goal and am extremely excited to be sending some of you mail soon! There is so much energy here, and initial treats are already on press.

Hello! Recently, in my 100th post, I mentioned my desire to channel the energy I put into this writing project toward something tactile. I have been longing to do this for a while! Three and a half years ago to be precise, when I acquired my studio risograph.

Greetings, friend, and happy Spring. The daffodils around here have popped, the birds are reminding us they are colorful, and it is alternating between sun and gentle rain. Henry (our 11 year old) is near the open window asking “is it pittering and pattering outside?” It’s such a paradox to find such intimate joy and peace at the micro level during a confusing and frustrating global endless-string-of-ugh.

Hello from the field ✿ I saw on my dashboard that this here is my 100th post for Field of Visions! This prompted me to look back to my first post: I realize that for over about 5 years this project has organically taken on different forms within itself with little shifts that kind of just happened. For example, I used to make a little graphic composition for each entry, and somewhere along the lines I switched to whichever photograph made me happiest.

Knock knock, who’s there? What does a shard of glass, a halved rock laden with iron such as our hearts, a coldcut meat honk of a stone that looks raw and juicy inside, and a very softly rose colored pebble have in common? One perspective is that they are equally random happenstance scraps that I happened to lift up off of the Earth.

It is almost Valentine’s Day and I am thinking about roses. I am thinking about how roses smell next to the ocean. Imagine the scent of hundreds (hundreds) of drenched roses in the morning. Painstakingly alive. The fragrance on the tongue is earthy bitter and semi-salty. The flavor is Day Glow Fuchsia. Those are all equally smells, sights, tastes, and moods.

There is so much to process. But right now I am processing one flicker of a moment in particular, as I clock out from news-induced heartbreak to remember, again, that I can never un-know how to be enchanted. The flicker of a moment is that of casually walking out of the library yesterday with my kid. A soft whoosh of snow lit by the sun so golden from behind iridescent clouds. This perfect combination stopped time for a few seconds. The sparkles were moving in the slowest of motion.

Being alone is where I go to recharge, but not always to grow. Lately I have become more aware of something I have always known: I thrive best in spaces and communities with shared intentions. In addition to the (epic) joy of community, there is something about having external, reliable standards for understanding my efforts and quality of work. I normally wouldn’t say something like that.

PSA: My 30% off holiday sale on printed goods ends today at Worthwhile! It is all of a sudden the first day of December. How? I hope I can explain correctly. In a recent Yoga Sutras lesson, my teacher emphasized that in this system of philosophy, time itself is not recognized as real, but change is. Observing matter changing in form is how we experience time. Change creates the reality we perceive, and the rate of change is determinate of the rate of time. I believe it.

Dear loved one, I write to you under a cloudy sky with a pot of apple cinnamon oatmeal taking wayy too long to cool off, sitting in front of a loud space heater and wearing wool socks that somehow are not keeping my foot bones warm enough! Perhaps this discomfort is a good place to write this from. (send help).