(Short entry today. You guys'll like the next one.)
My first piece for the show is an 8 X 10 color pencil of my favorite race trail, on Mount Marathon. I'm so excited to show it to you, before it's even matted and framed. The title refers to the two trails: the "up" trail, which follows the front ridge, and the "down" trail, which descends to the right, down the avalanche chute, and crosses the up trail right at brush line. Anyone familiar with the race will see it right away, which is why I drew it.
She's a respectable adversary. I like her.
I got an email from Susie, asking if I would please join the summer music festival at the beginning of August. Every year, it comes around, but by July, I'm so far from the music scene that I can't take my trail shoes off long enough to attend a single rehearsal. It breaks my heart--this year, Paul Rosenthal will be playing the Beethoven concerto, and I would love to see it. I want to do it. I'm thinking about it. Will this year finally be year I play in the community orchestra for the summer music festival?
Meanwhile, I've been preparing to give birth to some ideas I've had simmering back there in my brain for a long while. You see, I like to draw. Yeah, I know, you don't read about it much here; that's because I took last year off completely. But I've always liked to go out and see beauty and capture it in art. However, things got busy last fall, when I'd hoped to get some color pencil ideas ready for my annual October show. The show fell through right about the same time I got into the symphony.
The Anchorage Symphony concert season begins in September. Teaching commences around Labor Day. So this summer is it. It's the only time I have to get ideas and assemble them on paper, and this time I'm gonna do it. I'm pretty excited about it, actually. It will be hard; I'll be rusty, for certain. But in October, I will have new drawings to hang on the wall once again. I can't wait.
Now for some reason, I just can't shake this uncomfortable feeling, as I sit here thinking about someone else. Whose strings lie silent. And alone. Just down the hall in that darkened room...
“So, when are you playing again with Sarah and Maria?” asked Joe Dirt at the coffee shop today.
“Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t see them all that much--wait! 4:00, in half an hour, actually. I totally forgot that we scheduled a rehearsal. And now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta run!”
The house was a mess, with laundry on the couch and music scattered here and there. Maria waited while I rounded up the stuff in the living room and the stuff in my brain. My mind is completely out these days. On Wednesday, it was out taking the kitchen’s work crew girls on a hike, and just yesterday it was out seeing Resurrection Pass for the first time. 40 miles in 14 hours and a couple of blisters later, I wasn’t at all prepared to practice with my trio.
We assembled and pulled out the Haydn. I noticed Sarah was sunburned. Maria was talking about her walk on the beach. After battling bronchitis for two months, she seemed glad to be able to get out again.
Despite our long absence from each other, we sounded better together today for some reason. Yes, we sounded much better today.
I know, you’re probably sick of all the photos I keep posting, but I just can’t help but want to share them with you, even if I can’t give you the fresh air and sunshine that goes with them. Who knows, maybe you’ll sound much better, too.
Skilak Lake Lookout
Swan Lake, Resurrection Trail
30% Chance of Rain
Emily Grossman is from Soldotna, Alaska. Biography
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