Friday 6/4/10
4:30 pm
In the same way the physical body is connected to our emotional body, writing is connected to painting and if you can write you can also paint. The type of painting I’m referring to is expressive painting, where you let your brush become an outlet for your emotions. Writing in a journal, pouring out your feelings with a pen is one great way to let go of things. And many avenues of the arts are known to be therapeutic. But when you vacillate between painting and writing, you connect to the deep inner space that has all the answers you ask. It’s a remarkable thing.

6:30 pm
Watching “There’s Something About Mary.” I never saw the whole movie but caught the dog attack several times while channel surfing. It still makes me laugh out loud watching Ben Stiller wrestle with the dog.

Saturday 6/5/10
8:30 am
Working on the details to One. I want to add some of that yellow pearl, no, the super pearl gold and Basic gold. I have tried many other brands in the gold and Basic is still my favorite.

Good and evil are on the fast track toward a collision. And you know who wins. Even though evil tries, in the end pure power remains. It’s happened many times before.

What really happened when the white man stepped foot on this continent?

A German man with dark hair and olive skin lives in my apartment building. It’s funny how I thought of Germans as being light. We think of the Irish as light, too. Yet, the Italians are thought of as dark. When anyone finds out I am 100% Italian, they are surprised because I have light eyes and skin.

4:30 pm
My stomach is not doing well. I took two capfuls of Pepto Bismol and now I’m eating a piece of toast. I’m ready to work on my painting.

2:30 pm
What have I been doing in the last four hours? Talked to London, painted, shook out the carpets, went for a walk, saw Mary (an old boss) and her daughter Rachel, ate left over roast beef sandwich from Pavilons, painted, read “Catcher in the Rye,” went back to Trader Joe’s for cilantro and limes, opened up all my windows because it was stuffy, now I’m writing in my journal listening to squealing, talking and cars driving by.