and there was a trinity:
given when light was breath
and fire was body

then they asked...
"what shall she make of it?"

There are times when I can say that I am given a notion, a desire, to rearrange words and construct sentences, to articulate something very specific. I battle with letters and phrases, I argue with my Inner Critic about what sounds too sing-song and is what articulated as the truth; I allow myself to wallow into sentimentality then rape myself with regret; and sometimes, before I see it coming, I have beaten the intent of my heart so righteously that my head has totally outweighed my heart. I say “You suck.”, and then it is over. But the delivery of the words above (My Trinity) was unlike this. It was very unusual. It did not follow the same riotous pattern.

It was as though my Muse crept past my Inner Critic and deposited words at forefront of my heart, complete and concise, unwritten and unreceived, until I was ready to transcribe it. I typed it out as quickly as it was delivered, and I continue to value it as a mirror of the human life I manage. I try to re-member to ask myself, especially when days get a little rattled with the many to-dos and wants, “What shall she make of it?”

I suppose this website is a testament, a depository for that trinity. But, you might ask, what exactly is my trinity, the three things of me, that warrant so much of my foundation? I am not so sure I could, or want, to label them, but, in spite of this, I do believe that it was given to me more to celebrate the notion rather that to define its containment. The notion is, that by my own understanding of my own trinity, my own sight, I have been opened to the familiar trio-pattern throughout all humanity.

There are many triologies defined already: Father-Son-Holy Spirit; Mind-Body-Spirit; Water-Fire-Air; Birth-Growth-Death; and lets not forget the modern myth film trilogies of Lord of the Rings, Batman, and the Matrix They become points of direction, of rapture, of self-absorption, of baptism, and forgiveness for all. Each trio designed to deliver truth as we know it, and whether whether it be of cultural or religious flavor, these trios give points of polarity that bounce us around the universe like a ball in the beloved 1980 video game of Pong. We learn the if-then conditional statement: <if at edge,bounce> But I also ask myself if these identities we live with, our masks, also bounce us around this stage of trinity.

My identities of mother, wife, artist, educator, writer, woman cause me to bounce. I often see them as divisions, tempting each other to draw the lines to defend their own territory, but the more I live the more I believe they are interdependent of each other. As of late, I have been teaching them to stop fighting with each other and be open to compromise their strengths and weaknesses. (I suppose the educator in me just couldn't help herself!)

As an artist, when I enter the two-dimensional cavity, I play with the human figure set before me. I allow myself to get lost within shapes and color as they are presented to me, and for those who have drawn with me you know that I am a pig-pen of a mess when I create; allowing the charcoal dust and pastel crumbs coat my skin sometimes more than the paper destination set down before me. The human figure, with all its entry points, it’s collisions, it’s softness, it’s vulgarity, is my main portal of creation. It has become my schema, my familiar pattern of revival.

As my two boys get older I feel the identity of motherhood shrink down. They do not need me as they once did. I am not their touchstone as I once was. I am no longer the teller of their stories, the sustenance of their days, and I sometimes feel their pulling away as an intensity only reserved for the grieved. But, I remind myself, as I watch them continually grow into young men, that I was able to fulfill a secret promise, unknown to them, provided only to me, and revealed only to their father. I rest on those laurels and believe that promises made while in the womb can carry a torch long into the nights we live.

So, as the days continue on and I play with each identity I maintain, each mask, I will continue to ask, “ What shall she make of it?”