The man I love is an artist. As is often the case, this has made him many other things as well. These other things have a way of taking over and keeping him out of his art studio, which is really a state of mind. Sometimes they can keep him away from that place for weeks, even months, on end - but never quite a whole year... because, if nothing else, every February he goes there to make me a sculpture. He delights in charming and making me laugh. And I get the profound pleasure of knowing that - because I am here - he spent time playing at what he loves best. It's good for both our hearts.
Hard to choose, but here are some favorites.
(Insider note: Strangers probably see hearts. We see copper, spheres, and symbolism.)
"She loves copper. She loves spheres."
(The first.)
"Heart of Nails"
(Deliciously dark. The truth: We went to an exhibition of nail fetishes that year and were both blown away.)
"My Caged Heart"
(The year we got married. What can I say? It was traumatic for him.)
(PS. Have I mentioned he read Bukowski into the ceremony?)
"Jumpy"
"Martini"
(Heart-shaped copper bowl on top holds 108 ball bearings.)
"Weaving"
"Sisyphus"
(I think we can all feel what kind of year that was.)
"A Case of the High Strikes"
(That's what my great-grandmother called hysteria: "a case of the high strikes." Sometimes the struggle to maintain balance can be positively hair-raising.)