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new ceiling

it took a pry bar to remove the parts of the chrysanthemum ceiling left behind from however they were removed.  good bye dear flower.

now, is now.

i dreamt of the stars again the night before.  i thought about the visions at HopiLand, the place of my dear relatives and ancestors.

i talked with other artists, and then, decided, the ceiling would now be a reflection of those special imaginings, a star sky, a homage to the souls that are among us.

star, spirit, ancestors, Helpers


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thank you to Barbara, Scott, and all others, at the Whatcom Museum, for your patience, help, acceptance, care.

so i show up in Bellingham with my art piece, and it’s damaged from its last venue.  i didn’t know, no one told me.  i find out 10 hours before the car movers are scheduled to pick up. what could i do?  breathe. pray.  its very clear, art must arrive at its destination ‘show ready’.  Forest One, wasn’t. oh Spirits, Helpers, be with me, please. Thank You.

lucky lucky lucky Barbara and Scott accepted the piece for delivery. gracious! they also granted me a beautiful shop space within to work to fix the back seat, the ceiling, the this and thats damaged from hard-handed visitors at its previous place. (i rebuilt the mats at the hotel).

here is a picture of the shop where i worked. THANK YOU Whatcom Museum.

loading bay, whatcom museum

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so, i went to the venue to wrap my car in blankets for the shipper to  pick it up to its next venue.  i was shocked. the car interior had been somehow torn apart.  the floor mats were gone; in their place, someone had tossed a bundle of the spokes on the car’s floorboards.  how did that happen? i don’t know.  the chrysantymum ceiling, made of biscuit joinery and a mirror, in pieces in the trunk, in the backseat, all over the place. the backseat, unraveled, twisted.  lord, what on earth?

no one had warned me, i had no idea.  all i could do was wrap the car, and go on.

Justin, the car delivery man from JT Hotshotting, true to form, completely dependable, picked up the car, and met me at the US Canada border at the duty-free store parking lot.  thank goodness for him.  and for no lines at the border!

a search from homeland security, a scan of my passport, and then off to the Whatcom.

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new venue: June – September 2011

Whatcom Museum, Bellingham Washington


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flying view








on view until mid May, 2011

Squamish Lil’Wat Cultural Center

Whistler, BC Canada Squamish Territory

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thank you to the commentator who asked for a final thought:

my friends live and farm in a land that has belonged to their families for thousands of years.  the coming, dreaming, and making of the nuclear bomb in that same, Sacred place, means plutonium is in the garden, the farm plot, the dragway for matchbox cars and kindergarten kitchen for mud pies.

i recall asking Dr. Hans Blix, what of the problem of remediation from the damage of nuclear waste?  he said, in part, the skills to clean up nuclear waste exist, although, lacking is the political will to fix this terrible unknowable mess.

so, when with my friends, i drink water with americium and God knows what else, and eat the food, and track through sand tested and proved to hold nuclear waste.

i think, it is the work of human hands, with the help of the Spirit World, that will put it all back together, make it all clean again.

hands, the transformative power.

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new project, new blog

hey so you know, i think and think and pester myself and stay awake all the time.

my favorite thing these days is a nap.

i pray, try to, and i think of those saints.  i call my dear auntie.  ’emma, who is the saint to help with this?’

‘what?’  english is her third language.

’emma, what is the name of the saint who can help with real things these days?’

‘what do you mean, real things?  the saints are real.’

she goes on, convincing me again, and again.

‘i know emma.  but who can help with practical things?’

‘like what?’  she is eating a hard candy.

‘crossing the street in the city when the light is broken’

‘christopher.  he is for travelers.  did i tell you about anna downstairs, you know that man she sees is married. he has a woman and children and’

this goes on for a while.

’emma, who helps for over-population?’

“why do you think about that? how is work?  did you call your papa?”

i ask again.

‘don’t worry.  these things are terrible but that is people.  did you finish your car?’





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