The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 88
Juliette was a low, slow moving cloud who one day decided to stop directly over the place I lived. She hadn’t moved now in three months. Birds flew behind her, on her sun side. She rained on the old car fenders outside, sanded them smooth, primed and painted them to look like exotic tropical fish. All I did was hang them in the gallery from invisible 50 pound wire in Calder-esque fashion.
Sometimes tiny fingers danced inside her swollen black belly from patternless, centerless bursts of dull orange.
Sometimes she slept.
She chose the bamboo, selected the gold and silver sequins, the batik fabric, the wire mesh and metal and smooth stone to layer atop the canvases I’d painted in a triple, one to one mix of raw umber and ultramarine blue that created a black depth behind her designs you could literally fly into.
And of course she made those astonishing, mesmerizing GIFs into which I’d incorporate a layer, or two, or more of juxtaposing imagery.
But she was that far away, as far away as a low cloud is to earth. I wanted her closer but to tease her down meant seriously messing with that crazy magic at the heart of our double muse connection, perhaps even killing her place within the Manipura or—my greatest fear—it meant chasing her away, leaving only empty sky above the place I lived.
There was an alternative: going back inside that room of mirrors, dissolving, evaporating, floating up to join her.