One day when I was journaling, the memory of Lucille came to mind. Lucille was a children’s book about a horse who became a lady, dressing in fine clothes and listening to the radio in the house with the farmer’s wife. Eventually Lucille decided she preferred to be herself and returned to the field alongside the farmer who loved her.
I enjoyed this book so much that when it was time to return it to the library, I hid it under my bed so my mom couldn’t find it.
So much to unpack there…why I was so captivated by this story….and evidence that a desire to get my needs me existed in me at such a young age. And when, I wonder, did we ever return Lucille? Did I ever confess or did it just magically “appear”?
As this memory came up, I realized that thanks to the internet, I had the ability to see if Lucille was available. While I could not check it out from my local library, I found it on a used book site. Three weeks later, a yellow book with tattered spine arrived, and Lucille was mine again.
The girls liked the book; but for me, Lucille held many questions. What about this story was my younger self so drawn to? What made this deep of an impression?
I suppose we all want to be loved and known for our true selves. We all go through periods where we try other personas, wear figurative masks, but the surest way to happiness is just to be ourselves. And find people who love us for this too.
such a fascinating memory to explore! Reminds me of 'Writing in place' by Brett Lott (Rose Metal Press), on the book that shaped his whole writing life!
First I would like to express how excited I am about your work, Suleika! I have been observing all along, especially the pieces done at the hospital. My daughter was so quiet during those months on the 8th floor and when I saw your work, I thought this may very well be how Anjelica felt as well, the transfusions, the naked vulnerability, the expression of life, death, nature, dreams and emotions. And the jellyfish, I love how they can be terrible or benign. I recently came across a photo of myself at age 21. A headshot taken by a professor of art and photography at Stamford University. I worked as a waitress in Palo Alto at the time (I was also a student) and he was a customer. He asked if he could take some photos of me and I agreed. Its a sepia finish and my youthful, passionate eyes gaze outward, reminding me how full of life and energy I was, how philosophical and passionate I was then. It was a wonderful reminder of the young woman I used to be. That young woman still lives deep within myself. The photograph also reminds me of how much lust for life I have lost over the years, how much passion has been buried. It has inspired me to dig deep, to reach out and touch that young woman within, full of intense inspiration and creativity, to bring some of that forth into my life today.
I had to pause when I read your name because I went through 12 years of school with a girl by the same name in Boise Idaho. She was always shy but very nice. I am sure you are not the same person but I wanted to say hello anyway. Hello Marilyn!😀
Becky Ridenour.... Sorry, I am not the girl from Boise, Idaho. I live and have for most of my life in the Texas Panhandle.... extreme northern part. Reading the words from Isolation Journal contributors, has made me realize there are so many of us.... we all have our truth, our challenges and our successes. Spouse's name probably should have been spelled Janke, but with handwritten immigration forms and translation of some names.... it came out Yanke.... we pronounce as if Yank..... dropping the e entirely. Have a good day!
Every three weeks I must fly for chemo to MDAnderson where my wonderful team of doctors is trying to keep me going with my incurable cancer. My appointments didn’t start until noon this day so instead of pacing around waiting for them to begin, I had an idea. Let’s go to the zoo!
So, in the pouring rain in my scan-anxiety state of mind my 62 year old self and my 28-year-old daughter ran from one covered venue to next at the Houston Zoo. We found shelter and stood watching the jelly fish and the world and the rain went away.
I am far from a painter like you even though I did go to art school. I cannot make those jellyfish come to life through illustration and words. I am a photographer, but this day there were no photos, I just watched.
My daughter and I got to the hospital and sat in our wet clothes looking like the mess that we were waiting for scans and my news. It didn’t matter that we were drenched and freezing, we had that moment where it was just her and me under the sea where there was no worry of what would happen to me.
Many years ago I was in a small town in the south of France shopping. In one of the shops I eyed a necklace with bright red stones shaped into a cross. I was mesmerized by it. I bought it. I soon realized I love all kinds of sacred symbols and found if they were symbolic of religion to many, they were symbols of sacredness and spirituality to me. I also realized this cross had special meaning to me, because when I was around 9 or 10 years old, I realized my family never celebrated Hanukah, but my closest friend was Catholic, and sh would always invite me over to decorate their Xmas tree, and we’d share Christmas gifts together and sometimes I’d go to midnight Mass with her. Love sitting in churches to this day and love lighting candles, and would even go with her to confession and sit in church and wait for her, secretly wishing I could hear her conversation with her priest. Many years later I became an interfaith minister, and while in my training, was requested to go to many different denominations of churches and find out about them. Then I took my vows to become a Buddhist. The sacred symbols of many religions that I wear seem to hold a power for me and compassion for others.
Suleika praying you come through with flying colors when you are tested. Bless you, Jon, Holly, Carmen and our community
Would it be alright with you, Sherri, if I share your words here with my daughter? (She isn’t on Substack.) When Elizabeth was in junior high, she decided to educate herself about every religion in the world. Literally. Our school librarian helped her a great deal, as did the librarians at our local library. We raised her in the Catholic Church, but she wanted to know the beliefs & practices of all religions at a very young age and so she set out to do so. I cherish the vision I have of her coming into our home after school, her backpack with her school books on her back, and her arms loaded with a stack of library books on various religions. She continued her endeavor for quite a long time. Elizabeth is an agnostic who practices Buddhism. I am a practicing Catholic who incorporates several eastern practices in my daily prayer and meditation. I have a gemstone pendant cross that was personally made for us by a professional jeweler that I am going to take a photo of to share with you. Are you familiar with the chakras? My mother asked this jeweler to make crosses with the colors of the chakras for me, my daughter, my sister, my niece and herself. He did a beautiful job in creating them.
How lovely. Absolutely please share with your daughter and I would love to see the photos. How wonderful you encourage d Elizabeth’s curiosity. This is all so wonderful!❤️. Sherri Rosen
I tried my best to be a strong role model for my children while also instilling their own personal uniqueness in them. (I am a very curious person by nature & I never wanted anyone stunting my curiosity, so I encouraged it in my children.) I have the photo of the cross pendant I want to share with you, but I don’t see any options to post it?
Really enjoyed your description of the jellyfish. Immortal jellyfish. I wonder if we do some version of this recreation of self- the capacity to begin again - perhaps through meditation, prayer, writing....perhaps the creative act is simply this- stepping into the capacity to begin again with curiosity and hope...
After my grandfather died my mother and aunt went through his items and found a few pieces of jewelry belonging to my grandmother. My grandmother had died many years ago so most of her jewelry had already been given away. I was given a locket. The locket is oval and is several inches in diameter. It is a black polished stone with a white stripe down the middle. I have never been able to find out what stone it is. I tried to look it up and I think it is obsidian. It is set in gold surrounded by tiny pearls. It is on a double gold chain with little pearls. Even when it is doubled it is about twelve inches long. On the back of the locket is a photograph of my grandfather wearing a suit and smiling. In the background is a brick building so I assume he must have been standing on the roof of a building or someone’s balcony. The photograph was probably taken around the time my grandparents got engaged which is probably in the late 1920’s. My grandfather had unruly curly hair like mine so I am unsure how he got it to behave for the picture. I love this photo because Grandpa looks so happy and confident.
I do not know anything about this locket and I am not sure whether my mother and aunt remember my Grandma wearing it. There is something about it I find very comforting and I like to wear it if I know I will be having an unpleasant meeting at work, if I have to take an exam or anything else I am concerned about. I feel that it somehow protects me.
Beautiful. I, too, believe that my grandmother protects me from wherever the beyond is. Driving to the ER yesterday after receiving a call from local police that my husband had been found in his car at the dentist nearly unconscious from low blood sugar, I found myself praying to my Grammie to watch over him until I arrived at the hospital. Thankfully he recovered. 💜
Curiosity and floating is so beautiful. Such an ethereal, tender feeling came over me - looking at your jellyfish painting- and then layers and layers of more meaning.
Like how I imagine diving deep into the ocean would be. Both a bit scary, then moments of draw dropping beauty, mystery and magic.
“It was only after I was finished that I began to see an undercurrent of meaning.” This surprise in creative writing has been my experience the past 18 months after connecting with you, Suleika, and the Isolation Journals community. You have taught me to stay open and playful, not controlling or “impatient” in my writing. For years I had done the opposite. The antidote in public speaking or teaching was to write narrative outlines then speak with jazz blues improvisation. This worked, time and again. Yet not for writing--except in a journal. Thank you for so courageously exemplifying “a wild patience that has taken us this far.” This is true not just for writing or painting, but in living, and waiting with wild patience.
I love that phrase and idea, “wild patience”. I’m going to be unraveling that picture for awhile. Such opposites, when you think of it. Wild, a bit out of control, carried along by any whim, which can be creativity’s calling card. But then patience. Sitting. Watching. Waiting for angel dust to land. I’m glad you’ve found a place, your journal, to follow your muse.
Thanks for fleshing out the deeper meaning of “wild patience.” Yes, it is sitting or living in the crucible of paradox. In the last year following my muse has overflowed from journal to Travels with Charlie. Gratitude.
So many thoughts about things that call my name!! Every object in my house tells a story. I love much!! I have a bowl of perfume stoppers/tops, no bottles. I felt bad that no one desired the beautiful tops, so I had a mission to find them. I have a pink little glass bowl holding these jewels.
This year for Christmas I bought a tablecloth from India, that is hand stitched, from worn beautiful material. I walk by it daily and touch it, pure joy.
I lost my precious son, 24 years old to drugs, 17 years ago. Such depths of pain, no words come. But my ability to find joy around every corner, increased after his death. Pure joy in art, music, nature and objects have saved me. Throw in friends, families and a black lab!! All medicine for my broken pieces.
It’s a job to walk the tightrope of pain and joy. A gut wrenching, hard job with Joy just waiting.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I understand how painful it is to long for the one who is gone. But, you know the truth. About joy. It will not let us go. Bless you!
There is an oil painting by Fantin-Latour at the Art Institute in Chicago entitled Still Life: Corner of a Table. It depicts random exquisite serving pieces from an elegant affair that is taking place. I first saw this many many years ago and was immediately drawn in to its quiet lighting and elegance. I could hear the chatter of guests, clinking of wine glasses and silverware tinkling bone china plates. It's an exquisite depiction of a corner of a refined table with a wine carafe, bone china cup and saucer, bowl of fruit, sterling sugar bowl - all under subtle illuminating lighting. It's so real you feel like you're in the painting. I have thought for years why I continue to be so bewitched by this canvas and I realize it takes me to my childhood. My mother used to formally entertain a lot and I recall when it was bedtime for me, I could still hear the clinking and conversation from my room as I fell asleep. There was discussion and gaiety which were reassuring. I always visit this painting every time I'm there for an exhibit and often as my only destination. Thank you for bringing the power and pull of this work to mind .
i looked up the painting. i could feel the soft, smooth tablecloth. i have the same memory of "company" at our house, hearing the conversation while falling asleep. now i have the decorative bone china cups and saucers.
If only our bones were soft as a jellyfish... Time slows to a crawl leading up to a bone marrow biopsy. Such a barbaric procedure to check for proof of life. As a fellow cancer wanderer I always enjoy your ruminations on the strange currents that tug us around between sickness and health. Best wishes for the biopsy (and results).
Loose change rides nearly forgotten in a small yellow-golden cloth pull-string bag, about the size of the mug that I drink my morning tea from. The change bag rides in a larger cloth bag that holds two pens, my check book, sunglasses, and my wallet. I rarely think about this change bag, and search for it only when loose change is, or might be, needed.
All of the above is not really what I wish to write about. Even more “out of sight” inside this change bag is a small dark stone, a rock. Where I found it, what special place it came from, is it connected to a special person in my life? All forgotten over the years. It is only when I empty the change bag, poring out its content to pay for something, usually something small and inexpensive, in that moment the rock reappears. “Ah,” I quietly mutter, “you’re still here”. I hold the stone in my hand, wanting someone to notice and inquire about this unexpected guest midst the loose change. However, I also don’t want anyone to notice. This is a secret relationship, this rock and I. I hold it for only a few seconds, feel its weight, gather in its mystery, and gently return it to the darkness inside the change bag. Then place the small bag inside the larger strapped bag, and all is forgotten, until loose change might be needed again. And even then, often, I have to dig around inside the larger bag, looking for this small change bag. I sometimes think it is hiding from me, from the world. Almost every time I use the change bag, which isn’t often, I need to tie and knot the black pull-string on one side of the bag. It keeps untying itself while waiting to be found and used, opened again.
Someday soon, I’ll need some loose change and as I empty the bag into my hand, there it will be again, as always, this forgotten charm of a rock. How reassuring, momentarily.
I love your painting very much, Suleika, and also your sentences "But rather than working out what it meant, I tried to remain in a nebulous headspace. As much as I can, I try to create from that place of mystery, to trust that intuitive pull without quite understanding it." This sort of trust without analyzing too much was sometimes the biggest present I could make myself and has always led to the good.
The jellyfish is my spirit animal. And when I also heard of the immortal jellyfish species it blew my mind. I wrote a visual text piece around it. Good luck on the medical front next week. Best wishes.
Just finished reading your latest prompt. Marc read it too. He said, “Je suis médusé par Suleika “ and he sent me some of his jellyfish snaps.
They are mesmerizing.
Your take on jellyfish, “les méduses”, “men o’ war” is very different to mine. I am unable to move beyond their “threatening” highly creepy nature to uncover the beauty and mystery you so passionately describe. They wash up on the beach and look like something that a passing whale who lost its handkerchief has sneezed onto the shore. Yeech. They are phlegmy and squishy and moist and the idea of stepping on one fills me with dread and horror. There must be some Greek phobia term that defines my intense, visceral aversion to them, “jelly-fish-o-phobia?” Anyhow, thanks to your eloquent ode, I promise to try and look at them the way you do, the way Marc does.
We send you oceans of brightly-colored, strictly friendly sea creatures to protect you on the next part of your journey.
Thank you for the prompt!
One day when I was journaling, the memory of Lucille came to mind. Lucille was a children’s book about a horse who became a lady, dressing in fine clothes and listening to the radio in the house with the farmer’s wife. Eventually Lucille decided she preferred to be herself and returned to the field alongside the farmer who loved her.
I enjoyed this book so much that when it was time to return it to the library, I hid it under my bed so my mom couldn’t find it.
So much to unpack there…why I was so captivated by this story….and evidence that a desire to get my needs me existed in me at such a young age. And when, I wonder, did we ever return Lucille? Did I ever confess or did it just magically “appear”?
As this memory came up, I realized that thanks to the internet, I had the ability to see if Lucille was available. While I could not check it out from my local library, I found it on a used book site. Three weeks later, a yellow book with tattered spine arrived, and Lucille was mine again.
The girls liked the book; but for me, Lucille held many questions. What about this story was my younger self so drawn to? What made this deep of an impression?
I suppose we all want to be loved and known for our true selves. We all go through periods where we try other personas, wear figurative masks, but the surest way to happiness is just to be ourselves. And find people who love us for this too.
Amazing that you were able to reclaim a treasure from your childhood. 💜
Love this memory! ❤️
such a fascinating memory to explore! Reminds me of 'Writing in place' by Brett Lott (Rose Metal Press), on the book that shaped his whole writing life!
Lovely. ❤️
First I would like to express how excited I am about your work, Suleika! I have been observing all along, especially the pieces done at the hospital. My daughter was so quiet during those months on the 8th floor and when I saw your work, I thought this may very well be how Anjelica felt as well, the transfusions, the naked vulnerability, the expression of life, death, nature, dreams and emotions. And the jellyfish, I love how they can be terrible or benign. I recently came across a photo of myself at age 21. A headshot taken by a professor of art and photography at Stamford University. I worked as a waitress in Palo Alto at the time (I was also a student) and he was a customer. He asked if he could take some photos of me and I agreed. Its a sepia finish and my youthful, passionate eyes gaze outward, reminding me how full of life and energy I was, how philosophical and passionate I was then. It was a wonderful reminder of the young woman I used to be. That young woman still lives deep within myself. The photograph also reminds me of how much lust for life I have lost over the years, how much passion has been buried. It has inspired me to dig deep, to reach out and touch that young woman within, full of intense inspiration and creativity, to bring some of that forth into my life today.
I feel "how much passion has been buried." Thank you! Yes, to reconnect with our creativity!
I had to pause when I read your name because I went through 12 years of school with a girl by the same name in Boise Idaho. She was always shy but very nice. I am sure you are not the same person but I wanted to say hello anyway. Hello Marilyn!😀
Becky Ridenour.... Sorry, I am not the girl from Boise, Idaho. I live and have for most of my life in the Texas Panhandle.... extreme northern part. Reading the words from Isolation Journal contributors, has made me realize there are so many of us.... we all have our truth, our challenges and our successes. Spouse's name probably should have been spelled Janke, but with handwritten immigration forms and translation of some names.... it came out Yanke.... we pronounce as if Yank..... dropping the e entirely. Have a good day!
There is a longer narrative in your post. So much that could be said. Thank you for sharing.
This is so moving - I love it - thank you.
I have to chuckle……
Every three weeks I must fly for chemo to MDAnderson where my wonderful team of doctors is trying to keep me going with my incurable cancer. My appointments didn’t start until noon this day so instead of pacing around waiting for them to begin, I had an idea. Let’s go to the zoo!
So, in the pouring rain in my scan-anxiety state of mind my 62 year old self and my 28-year-old daughter ran from one covered venue to next at the Houston Zoo. We found shelter and stood watching the jelly fish and the world and the rain went away.
I am far from a painter like you even though I did go to art school. I cannot make those jellyfish come to life through illustration and words. I am a photographer, but this day there were no photos, I just watched.
My daughter and I got to the hospital and sat in our wet clothes looking like the mess that we were waiting for scans and my news. It didn’t matter that we were drenched and freezing, we had that moment where it was just her and me under the sea where there was no worry of what would happen to me.
Many years ago I was in a small town in the south of France shopping. In one of the shops I eyed a necklace with bright red stones shaped into a cross. I was mesmerized by it. I bought it. I soon realized I love all kinds of sacred symbols and found if they were symbolic of religion to many, they were symbols of sacredness and spirituality to me. I also realized this cross had special meaning to me, because when I was around 9 or 10 years old, I realized my family never celebrated Hanukah, but my closest friend was Catholic, and sh would always invite me over to decorate their Xmas tree, and we’d share Christmas gifts together and sometimes I’d go to midnight Mass with her. Love sitting in churches to this day and love lighting candles, and would even go with her to confession and sit in church and wait for her, secretly wishing I could hear her conversation with her priest. Many years later I became an interfaith minister, and while in my training, was requested to go to many different denominations of churches and find out about them. Then I took my vows to become a Buddhist. The sacred symbols of many religions that I wear seem to hold a power for me and compassion for others.
Suleika praying you come through with flying colors when you are tested. Bless you, Jon, Holly, Carmen and our community
Would it be alright with you, Sherri, if I share your words here with my daughter? (She isn’t on Substack.) When Elizabeth was in junior high, she decided to educate herself about every religion in the world. Literally. Our school librarian helped her a great deal, as did the librarians at our local library. We raised her in the Catholic Church, but she wanted to know the beliefs & practices of all religions at a very young age and so she set out to do so. I cherish the vision I have of her coming into our home after school, her backpack with her school books on her back, and her arms loaded with a stack of library books on various religions. She continued her endeavor for quite a long time. Elizabeth is an agnostic who practices Buddhism. I am a practicing Catholic who incorporates several eastern practices in my daily prayer and meditation. I have a gemstone pendant cross that was personally made for us by a professional jeweler that I am going to take a photo of to share with you. Are you familiar with the chakras? My mother asked this jeweler to make crosses with the colors of the chakras for me, my daughter, my sister, my niece and herself. He did a beautiful job in creating them.
How lovely. Absolutely please share with your daughter and I would love to see the photos. How wonderful you encourage d Elizabeth’s curiosity. This is all so wonderful!❤️. Sherri Rosen
I tried my best to be a strong role model for my children while also instilling their own personal uniqueness in them. (I am a very curious person by nature & I never wanted anyone stunting my curiosity, so I encouraged it in my children.) I have the photo of the cross pendant I want to share with you, but I don’t see any options to post it?
Really enjoyed your description of the jellyfish. Immortal jellyfish. I wonder if we do some version of this recreation of self- the capacity to begin again - perhaps through meditation, prayer, writing....perhaps the creative act is simply this- stepping into the capacity to begin again with curiosity and hope...
After my grandfather died my mother and aunt went through his items and found a few pieces of jewelry belonging to my grandmother. My grandmother had died many years ago so most of her jewelry had already been given away. I was given a locket. The locket is oval and is several inches in diameter. It is a black polished stone with a white stripe down the middle. I have never been able to find out what stone it is. I tried to look it up and I think it is obsidian. It is set in gold surrounded by tiny pearls. It is on a double gold chain with little pearls. Even when it is doubled it is about twelve inches long. On the back of the locket is a photograph of my grandfather wearing a suit and smiling. In the background is a brick building so I assume he must have been standing on the roof of a building or someone’s balcony. The photograph was probably taken around the time my grandparents got engaged which is probably in the late 1920’s. My grandfather had unruly curly hair like mine so I am unsure how he got it to behave for the picture. I love this photo because Grandpa looks so happy and confident.
I do not know anything about this locket and I am not sure whether my mother and aunt remember my Grandma wearing it. There is something about it I find very comforting and I like to wear it if I know I will be having an unpleasant meeting at work, if I have to take an exam or anything else I am concerned about. I feel that it somehow protects me.
Beautiful. I, too, believe that my grandmother protects me from wherever the beyond is. Driving to the ER yesterday after receiving a call from local police that my husband had been found in his car at the dentist nearly unconscious from low blood sugar, I found myself praying to my Grammie to watch over him until I arrived at the hospital. Thankfully he recovered. 💜
Glad he is recovering!
it would be fascinating to see if they do remember, and where these memories might lead ...
Asked Mom. She said. She does not remember her mother wearing the necklace, but that in those days the kids never saw the parents dressed up.
Curiosity and floating is so beautiful. Such an ethereal, tender feeling came over me - looking at your jellyfish painting- and then layers and layers of more meaning.
Like how I imagine diving deep into the ocean would be. Both a bit scary, then moments of draw dropping beauty, mystery and magic.
Layers and layers.
Thank you 🙏🏽 🪼 🤍
“It was only after I was finished that I began to see an undercurrent of meaning.” This surprise in creative writing has been my experience the past 18 months after connecting with you, Suleika, and the Isolation Journals community. You have taught me to stay open and playful, not controlling or “impatient” in my writing. For years I had done the opposite. The antidote in public speaking or teaching was to write narrative outlines then speak with jazz blues improvisation. This worked, time and again. Yet not for writing--except in a journal. Thank you for so courageously exemplifying “a wild patience that has taken us this far.” This is true not just for writing or painting, but in living, and waiting with wild patience.
I love that phrase and idea, “wild patience”. I’m going to be unraveling that picture for awhile. Such opposites, when you think of it. Wild, a bit out of control, carried along by any whim, which can be creativity’s calling card. But then patience. Sitting. Watching. Waiting for angel dust to land. I’m glad you’ve found a place, your journal, to follow your muse.
Thanks for fleshing out the deeper meaning of “wild patience.” Yes, it is sitting or living in the crucible of paradox. In the last year following my muse has overflowed from journal to Travels with Charlie. Gratitude.
So many thoughts about things that call my name!! Every object in my house tells a story. I love much!! I have a bowl of perfume stoppers/tops, no bottles. I felt bad that no one desired the beautiful tops, so I had a mission to find them. I have a pink little glass bowl holding these jewels.
This year for Christmas I bought a tablecloth from India, that is hand stitched, from worn beautiful material. I walk by it daily and touch it, pure joy.
I lost my precious son, 24 years old to drugs, 17 years ago. Such depths of pain, no words come. But my ability to find joy around every corner, increased after his death. Pure joy in art, music, nature and objects have saved me. Throw in friends, families and a black lab!! All medicine for my broken pieces.
It’s a job to walk the tightrope of pain and joy. A gut wrenching, hard job with Joy just waiting.
Sharing stories, heal.
Love to you, my dear Suleika
I’m so sorry for your loss. I understand how painful it is to long for the one who is gone. But, you know the truth. About joy. It will not let us go. Bless you!
There is an oil painting by Fantin-Latour at the Art Institute in Chicago entitled Still Life: Corner of a Table. It depicts random exquisite serving pieces from an elegant affair that is taking place. I first saw this many many years ago and was immediately drawn in to its quiet lighting and elegance. I could hear the chatter of guests, clinking of wine glasses and silverware tinkling bone china plates. It's an exquisite depiction of a corner of a refined table with a wine carafe, bone china cup and saucer, bowl of fruit, sterling sugar bowl - all under subtle illuminating lighting. It's so real you feel like you're in the painting. I have thought for years why I continue to be so bewitched by this canvas and I realize it takes me to my childhood. My mother used to formally entertain a lot and I recall when it was bedtime for me, I could still hear the clinking and conversation from my room as I fell asleep. There was discussion and gaiety which were reassuring. I always visit this painting every time I'm there for an exhibit and often as my only destination. Thank you for bringing the power and pull of this work to mind .
i looked up the painting. i could feel the soft, smooth tablecloth. i have the same memory of "company" at our house, hearing the conversation while falling asleep. now i have the decorative bone china cups and saucers.
Awww - it's funny how something can conjure up such magical moments. How lovely that you now have the china to do just that.
I also looked up the painting and found several others by Fantin-Latour. Thank you for enrichening my evening.
Beautiful!
If only our bones were soft as a jellyfish... Time slows to a crawl leading up to a bone marrow biopsy. Such a barbaric procedure to check for proof of life. As a fellow cancer wanderer I always enjoy your ruminations on the strange currents that tug us around between sickness and health. Best wishes for the biopsy (and results).
Loose change rides nearly forgotten in a small yellow-golden cloth pull-string bag, about the size of the mug that I drink my morning tea from. The change bag rides in a larger cloth bag that holds two pens, my check book, sunglasses, and my wallet. I rarely think about this change bag, and search for it only when loose change is, or might be, needed.
All of the above is not really what I wish to write about. Even more “out of sight” inside this change bag is a small dark stone, a rock. Where I found it, what special place it came from, is it connected to a special person in my life? All forgotten over the years. It is only when I empty the change bag, poring out its content to pay for something, usually something small and inexpensive, in that moment the rock reappears. “Ah,” I quietly mutter, “you’re still here”. I hold the stone in my hand, wanting someone to notice and inquire about this unexpected guest midst the loose change. However, I also don’t want anyone to notice. This is a secret relationship, this rock and I. I hold it for only a few seconds, feel its weight, gather in its mystery, and gently return it to the darkness inside the change bag. Then place the small bag inside the larger strapped bag, and all is forgotten, until loose change might be needed again. And even then, often, I have to dig around inside the larger bag, looking for this small change bag. I sometimes think it is hiding from me, from the world. Almost every time I use the change bag, which isn’t often, I need to tie and knot the black pull-string on one side of the bag. It keeps untying itself while waiting to be found and used, opened again.
Someday soon, I’ll need some loose change and as I empty the bag into my hand, there it will be again, as always, this forgotten charm of a rock. How reassuring, momentarily.
Love these quotidian mysteries. Lovely writing
I love your painting very much, Suleika, and also your sentences "But rather than working out what it meant, I tried to remain in a nebulous headspace. As much as I can, I try to create from that place of mystery, to trust that intuitive pull without quite understanding it." This sort of trust without analyzing too much was sometimes the biggest present I could make myself and has always led to the good.
The jellyfish is my spirit animal. And when I also heard of the immortal jellyfish species it blew my mind. I wrote a visual text piece around it. Good luck on the medical front next week. Best wishes.
🪼😳🤯 < immediately starts googling immortal jellyfish >
And go down the rabbit hole of discovery regarding what has piqued my interest, the world in which it lives, and what is conjured by all of it.
Just finished reading your latest prompt. Marc read it too. He said, “Je suis médusé par Suleika “ and he sent me some of his jellyfish snaps.
They are mesmerizing.
Your take on jellyfish, “les méduses”, “men o’ war” is very different to mine. I am unable to move beyond their “threatening” highly creepy nature to uncover the beauty and mystery you so passionately describe. They wash up on the beach and look like something that a passing whale who lost its handkerchief has sneezed onto the shore. Yeech. They are phlegmy and squishy and moist and the idea of stepping on one fills me with dread and horror. There must be some Greek phobia term that defines my intense, visceral aversion to them, “jelly-fish-o-phobia?” Anyhow, thanks to your eloquent ode, I promise to try and look at them the way you do, the way Marc does.
We send you oceans of brightly-colored, strictly friendly sea creatures to protect you on the next part of your journey.