So after I made the last house shaped piece, I became obsessed and made another one, this one. And then I went into our stack of wood pieces in my husband’s woodshop space and found a super long piece and just started chopping them down and I made about 10 more panels. And then in a fit of a creative splurge I made 3 more encaustic mixed media house pieces last week! Well, one is not quite done. And I have so many ideas in my head for what is next. Not sure why the house shape is inspiring me so much more than a rectangle piece of wood. Kind of odd.
Sometimes I approach titles as notes to myself. Sometimes little inside jokes to myself. Or observations of something happening in my life. I think when people look at nest images they think of new young life that has left its original shelter. There is a tenderness there. Tender thoughts towards childhood, infancy. And then, differently, perhaps a tenderness, though, of emptiness.
My 16 year old says a phrase that I’m not sure is just her, or from her age group, but when someone’s acting immaturely she’ll say wryly and incredulously “He’s doing that at his big age?” even if the big age is an 8 year old. Which actually makes it funnier. She was a camp counselor this summer and came home with great stories every day. Anyway, I’m not an infant, nor an 8 year old and so very far from 16 years old. In fact I am solidly middle aged, perhaps older based on the AAARP mailing I found recently in my mailbox.
I mentioned in a recent post about being in that “Sandwich Generation” where you are taking care of children and taking care of elderly parents and I have to be honest, I am feeling pretty tender at my big age.
I wrote that out, laughing to myself, but 100 percent true. Tender and a little tired.