Amelia Carson: I draw, I write

 I have been writing: tiny snippets of tiny things. Sentences that float on the page to be harvested and woven into something of substance in some kind of future: or they just float as I lack the heart to pin meaning upon them….. My drawing is in a similar place and I am feeling rather disjointed.

I wonder how am I supposed to convince my audience there is a sense to all this: or at least a reason to look, when I struggle with the sense bit myself. 

You see I wonder if I should be dedicating myself to the work that gets the most feedback and perfecting it or do I trust my chaotic, bitsa this bitsa that work ethic to get me there in the end?

Should I be embracing the idea of discipline or do I accept the vague notion that I have a natural dislike of such impositions and tend to lie on the couch eating cheese if I “should” be doing something. So, maybe its best whilst I have to cope with all the other “shoulds” a mother has to digest, maybe it is best that I just float.

 In that spirit of floating I am posting a mixed bag of the last couple of weeks produce:

Oh and nothing is finished, nor connected: it has been a bitsa week... you'll forgive me won't you and feel free to leave a comment- it helps the float.
 

This morning is recycled coffee

and a second son forced into patience and adaptability

It is

unstitched eyes waking between a starched neck and folded toes.

Breakfast gives false start to a day that never ends

In case your wondering what her head says, this is it. An ode to cheese:

Love

Swealtering on the couch sweating vinyl slouching

Love

Lying in pool of myself eating rich creaming

Love

Rolling the thick cheese round my thick slippery

Love

Letting the thick slippery creamy oozing decadent moment

Drop