Monday, April 6, 2009

On being a night owl at my parents' house.

I have a really hard time getting to sleep. I don't know what it is about the nighttime that I find so difficult to let go of! I always find more and more tidbits to read and research, I always want to read one more chapter of my book, I always want to do a little bit more drawing, I always want to think a little more about my practice and my plans for new works, I always want to send one more email... all of these things could be done in the morning, probably with more clarity. But I get this strange giddiness in the wee hours, and just can't wind down. Maybe I'm part moth, or lightning bug, or cricket.

When I finally do get to sleep, I often dream about the work that I'm making. The movements I performed in some of my most recent videos have come directly from dreams--it's interesting to blend my dream world with my insect research. It makes for a strange collision.

I'm still down in Ijamsville with my family, and everyone is asleep but me. The wind is blowing lightly outside, and I can hear the train whistle that I grew up hearing. I'm looking out the windows of the room that used to be my bedroom (and still is when I come home to visit), and it is very dark outside. I can see little bits of sky peeking through the dense forest to the west, and a wide field surrounded by trees toward the east. If it weren't cloudy outside, I'd see lots of stars over the field. Way off to the east, past forests and fields and farms, there's the glow of a city--I think it's Baltimore. When I was little, I used to climb to the top of my swing set at night and look off into the distance toward that glow--I'd imagine the hustle and bustle of the city and yearn for it. But then during the day I'd take refuge in our woods, and play in the creek and love living far from everything.

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