August 19, 2012
Sweetland, ON
Gentle readers,
Now that I’m back in the blogosphere at last, you shall not be able to get rid of me. Today, I’m taking a load off at the Sweetland family ranch, after an epic excavation down in the basement. An incredibly successful excavation it was, enough to make Indiana Jones and Sydney Fox proud! Up to the point where a framed photograph I took at the Burning Man Festival thirteen years ago, fell from the top of a cardboard box tower right onto my toe … Ouchy.
However, it did not diminish the joy I felt upon finding everything I had been searching for! Missing photographs from the early days of my self-portrait series, old journals, and a pair of pink sparkly running shoe roller skates. The purpose of retrieving said articles -sparkly roller skates excepted- is for the glory of my new “Adventures in Sweetland” book of photography and magical road stories! In moments like this, I am deeply grateful I have been a record-keeper all my life. Right now I’m focusing on researching myself during the early days of my portrait series, and endeavouring to determine at what moment I evolved from “photographer” into “self-portraiteuse.” Although I discovered two very early photographs of “my feet and the scenery” -One in 1994, atop a mountain in Idaho, and one in 1996, enjoying the midnight summer solstice sun in Arctic Norway– I reckon the “first self-portrait ever” award goes to me in a red dress on the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah, October 1996.
So now that the Captain Dirt & The Skirt new album project is well under way (and almost appears to be recording itself…) I have some creative time and space to finish putting the book together, hopefully in time for Santa! It’s a plan. And I will definitely keep you posted.
Besides the aforesaid excavations, I spent much of the weekend with Ursa the family beast. We like to go out and wander gaiely through the sun-speckled woods of my youth. We venture down under the bridge, along the river, through the forest, and all the way to the secret clearing behind the old Sanatorium. This route has been a tradition with me, and every Sweetland family beast in history. A long winding path lined with wild carrots, creeping jenny, and stinging nettle opens up into a old willow grove… There, in the middle, stands a prehistoric basketball court that has been completely reclaimed by nature. This is where we sit, and I throw the little dog ball, over, and over, and over again…
It’s quite the forgotten world down there, and at times I’ve wondered if I’m actually the only one who can see it. But yesterday, for the first time ever, I came upon someone else in the secret clearing! I saw her from a distance … A small, round, older woman picking little yellow flowers from a shrubby bush. (St. John’s Wort, I soon learned.) Then she, a herbalist with a mysterious accent, then proceed to clear up all my questions about the local vegetation, and its medicinal properties. Thank you stranger! But now that I think about it, I’m not convinced she was entirely human, or even really there at all. Fae perhaps? I did go home with a handful of St. John’s Wort, but not to consume for its medicine. Instead, I pressed the little petals in my journal so that in 20 years, when I’m writing the next book, I shall remember that day well. And fondly.
This afternoon it’s back to the big city once more! And just in time for my True Blood date tonight. (Fang face.)
More new album info, gig announcements, photos, and other exciting news coming soon!
Stay tuned,
x
K
