Life is Art

"A man who works with his hands is a laborer; a man
who works with his hands and his brain is a craftsman;
but a man who works with his hands and his brain and
his heart is an artist. -Louis Nizer, lawyer
(1902-1994) ~~

And I thought that kind of applies to me, too. And
many of you - if not all. I mean, I do work with my
hands, my little brain and my heart. I'm an artist in
this life in a way, I think. I like myself when I
think that. It feels better than some of the other
things I think about myself.

Then I was thinking - what is my medium? Myself? My
Wit? My never ending quest for information? My desire
to understand the people I am raising, so that I can
help them continue on in the world? And a zillion more
questions.

Art doesn't reproduce reality.  Art takes a spin around
it and allows things to be seen from different angles.
Is that what we do as we walk around and interact with
our children and our families and friends and strangers?
Are we not inferring some type of reality?  I.E. life is
good or life is bad, or life is boring, or life is nothing
but a string of days that are hard work?

But everything I touch is a tool. I have
to decide how to use it best to represent what I want
to have known ... or what I want to say. And then
someone else can interpet the cookies as they will?

All this, and I am still not sure of my specific
assignment. Just have an endless list of questions.

Yesterday I wanted to count all the lives I have come
in contact with and my head got really like
--boy-oy-oy-ing --. I just couldn't recall.

I had a down moment this weekend.  Just a crash and burn,
I think from so much activity.  Some people call them
'bad moods' - 'black clouds' - 'being stressed out' --
Whatever it was, it's over now.

I have recovered my heart.