As you may know, I’ve been in Colorado, far from my New England home, due to the death of my mother, artist Lou Rogers. I am profoundly glad and grateful to have been here with her as she went. It has been as it had to be.
But after wresting with the flood of repercussions for some five months, roosting in other people’s houses, I grow desperate to be home again: my own work languishes, my identity evaporates, my bird molts, and I am convinced my mother herself would want me back at my own drawing table. Yet extracting myself brings to mind the great La Brea Tar Pits: ‘I shall soon be safe home again,’ said the Woolly Mammoth to the Smilodon.
Looming: a great overstuffed rental vehicle, oceans of gasoline, dubious motels constituting the journey home... and even the Bates Motel costs money. Thus, I am tempted to transform my blog into a ruthless marketing machine. But... what have I to ruthlessly market at this moment?? Postcards. These postcards:
Clockwise: Daughter of Lir (Swan Maiden), Mushroom Faery, Celtic Mermaid, and Flidais and the White Deer. They look like real live postcards on the back -- you know, space to write, but not too much.