I wish i could write about the darkness that Jon's death has visited upon me, but I can't, so i''m posting a couple of images that are maybe, hopefully, part of my journey back towards a lighter place. 
I am struggling at the moment. It would be a lie to say otherwise.  I am trying to make sense of the past ten years, to filter, to sort, the good from the bad, to let go of that which is worthless, and hold, if holding is appropriate, that which was good, that which is worth holding. It's not easy. I feel lost and not in control. Every so often i'll find myself resting in a moment's sanctuary, but those moments are still mere moments. 
I am posting on my blog to document this time for myself, maybe to some it may feel like i'm boring on and should shut up, the scold and the boor in me act as gags, binds and beating sticks, and tho' i know these heavy censors would have me quiet and docile, i do not want them to break my spirit again. 
So the work i've been doing is scribbling really, here are a couple of images. They are notes for  larger projects; mapping the galaxy and inside my mind

Ugh, feeling sad .. not much to be done about that .. i'm feeling sad about Jon, about the man who was easy to love, the joyful loving man ..  and i'm feeling sad about the hard and nasty man he was too. I feel sad that the he'll never feel sunshine warm the back of his neck again. 
Actually the sadness is overwhelming this week and has taken me aback because i began the year with a mind to be strong but my heart is faced the other way, so i am having to step back and accept that i'm still broken up and fragile. 
I have been in my studio making work of little consequence in the hope that working will act as salve - it does a little - but as my heart is a raw mess a little salve goes only a little way.   

This is my seventh attempt at writing a blog this past couple of days. I feel like my words are stopped, that my voice is broken. I do not know how long I am allowed to grieve a man who left me. I wonder if his other lovers, before and after, are grieving as i am. 
This week my sleep has been dream filled. This morning I dreamed that a man of cruel character had sewn up the eyes of a dog. The dog was not mine but I was looking after it. 
The night before, Jon and i were walking along a beach, maybe Southwold - tho' not exactly Southwold as is the way in dreams, the sun was shining, and we bought pencils but they turned into pipe cleaners, we went to put them back but the place had disappeared, we just carried on walking until we passed a big house which we hadn't seen before so we knew that we were lost, i woke when we were at the bottom of a narrow up-hill road leading into a great dark wood.
I think my dreams are telling me to go into my wild. My wild isn't so very wild, i'm not physically brave, it's more likely to be a kind of quiet insanity, i will fall in to fairy tale country, there the light always eventually breaks through. If I am deep in my mind no one can reach me and I can untangle the mess of threads  running through my head.  
Because I can't write or speak well at the moment I am playing in my studio, hoping that what I need to say will come out of my finger tips. This is how I work when I need to exorcise something that really hurts. Generally the doing leads me to where I need to go tho' sometimes it takes a while. At the moment I am printing, and scribbling with wire, and making paper, and looking at shadows, and thinking about mazes and labyrinths.