....and then the Maui fires happened!

I have not worked in my journal for days now, I also have not been productive in the studio.

I have been feeling so traumatized with the fires in Canada, over a thousand blazing at this moment and then there has been the Maui fire who seemed to focus on a small indigenous Historical area, a place so dear and so sacred to the people of Maui. I have been looking at videos posted by the locals for reliable and honest heartfelt testimonials as to what has been going on there. I am horrified at the stories, at the loss of life and that that entire town is lost and there are already investors trying to buy the little they have while they are at their lowest. What is becoming of us as people......where are we headed.

This aside, the idea that someone just like me out there has lost everything they own and are now entirely desolate is so shocking to me and so tragic. Those people do not even own a photograph as a memory of the life they knew a few days ago, maybe not they will have pictures on their phones....they have NOTHING.....they have even LESS as so many have lost childrenSome have extended families to help them out others don't as Canada is made up of immigrants and there are many like me, in my case mother father and singular child all our extended family live in other parts of the world, how scattered we have become as a people. but when I heard about what is going in Maui, I really sat back in horror as there seems to be so much wrong about that and then I stepped even further back and started to question all the fires in Canada, all the People who are homeless overnight. Why....were told our summer has been excessively hot but where I am here in Vancouver BC it has been a typical summer not excessive at all......

So yes Ive done flat-out nothing for days......

Henry King, ‘The Pink’.

But ’tis your uncontrolled power Goddess-like, to produce a flower, And by your breath, without more seed, Make that a Pink which was a Weed. Because I would be lothe to miss So sweet a Metamorphosis, Upon what stalk soere I grow Disdain not you sometimes to blow And cherish by your Virgin eye What in your frown would droop and die …