White Noise

Traffic has been brisk on my little corner of the world. Ambulance sirens mingling with rumbling fire engines and the random roar of the bikers across the way have kept the decibel level high since last night. When the air is just so and the moon is at a certain phase I can hear the Long Island Rail Road's plaintive train whistle. It was one of those nights when all the sound effects mingled into a kind of white noise phenomena. It became quiet, so quiet that it was eerie. I was working on my vampire tale, which I had neglected while soaking in mezcal and cerveza in Oaxaca. Usually, I get right in the groove. It's like a movie is running in my head. I can hear the dialogue and visualize the quick, the dead and the undead plotting and scheming as they enact my story. Not happening last night, not at all.

It was a windy night for a walk, but it felt cool and invigorating. Wet leaves were a slippery carpet. The smell of autumn in New York became those damp leaves and the scent of pepperoni pizza hot out of the oven at Marcella's. Strolling down Union Turnpike, heading for home, I realized the vampires would not be joining me on my return. I'm still distracted, in a good way, by creating assemblage pieces inspired by poetry or excerpts from books. It was back to the drawing board.

I'm working on a piece based on the poem 'Kingman Run' by Scott Wannberg. 'Tonight, Maybe...' also written by Scott, was my inspiration for my Oaxaca workshop piece, which I love. 'Kingman Run' is about love and loss. It's one of the most beautiful poems I know. The sketches are done. The parts are being collected and connected. It's small, like a precious jewel. I hope I can make it shine.