Being there again. Old drawings have become notes to self.
What's great about this one is it is not dated by year but by season. It is in my mind as a time and place though. Because unlike randomly written words, it is a picture. And because it was drawn from life. I can go back there to remember. Of course it drifts further than just life but the fantasy part of it is resting in reality. It brings back thoughts in a more concrete way. Pictures create words for me. And more pictures. Like, for others, words create pictures and then more words. I might redraw this. Or alter the image for how I feel today. Until then...
I stitched this.
I have become overwhelmed with the volume of my own work. How did it happen? So much. And still my mind is full.
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