By CB Parrish
I just got done listening to the three of you talking about the pink elephant event and, once again, I’m mowed down by it. This mowed down thing: It’s not like a roadrunner cartoon. It’s how my whole up/out here gets mowed into my whole down/in here, shoving me into my inner cosmos, flying around in it, when I listen to you.
I try to do as much of my buying as possible through Etsy, so I can be helping my fellows instead of enriching the guys who are gunning for me. There’s a lady in Oklahoma who makes pins out of flip top lids… generally makes art out of stuff that would otherwise, mostly, end up in the recycling bin. She’s SO cool, I try to get little talismans from her for marking events or feelings or attitudes.
She made me this out of a baby food can lid. Realizing that putting wings on me with a pink elephant and the word was going to be too much for one pin, I just asked her to put wings on the elephant. But the WHOLE truth is my wings have been misplaced, and sorely missed, for a long time. I catch a glimpse of them from time to time, but never seem to get through the piles of accumulated disappointment to them.
I know it’s like looking everywhere for your glasses when the whole time they’re just shoved up on your head, but each time I hear or see any, or all three, of you, I find my wings again, right where they’ve always been.
XOXOXOXOXOX
Love, nines
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hungryholler: Gourd Art and Mirror Mosaic Art With A Difference
