Don't Make Plans. Have an Adventure

Drive with no destination. Paint with no reference. Show up uninvited.

Too much preparation kills inspiration. Too many plans mean every single moment is just practice for the future. This long weekend, let’s be extemporaneous.

Process of painting the shadows cast by a bench. This series of paintings is an attempt to paint time. Every moment the shadows shift and I'm a step behind in tracing them. Paint drips. Clouds cover the sun. I try to catch it all.

Here’s a poem about that. And also about how I feel bad when I’m being extemporaneous and everyone else is making plans. This is how I talk to myself when I’m trying to justify disappearing for a while. I’m sorry for not calling you back. I’m sorry for not picking up. But I’m trying to hold on to now. So, to make me feel less guilty, join me. Throw your plans out the window. Best laid and all that. Let’s live a little.

Don't Blow On the Blossoms

It's not avoidant depressive disorder 
if what you are avoiding 
is being dragged 
from the present to the future prematurely.

Every phone call to plan for then
steals minutes from now.

Extemporaneity? No!
People are terrified
of what may come.
But what may come comes anyway.
gusting against us.
It hurts.
It hurts to be a flower on a schedule. 
The pencil points of petals bruise too easily from that follow-up text, stranger or enemy or love,
when no reply is owed.
Don't blow.
Don't wish.

Leave me to bloom.
This is the only moment I've got.

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Thanks for reading, loves. Happy wandering.