This is an excerpt from one of my journals:
Thinking about the Moon Project, my watchful eye, my travels. Covering things up. Layers of the onion.
I was thinking about a lot of different ideas and bringing them together:
- How can I make a real commitment to my art and still be the wife and mother I want to be?
- How can I move into abstraction?
- What information could I use?
- Looking at Diebenkorn, Pousette-Dart, Alfred Jensen.
- Thinking about the movie about Stonehenge and the really obnoxious British anthropologist who said how could this be a calendar to predict eclipses 69 years apart? These people were illiterate! And that struck a nerve with me. Literate people file their knowledge away in archives, libraries, attics, secret drawers. It remains fragmented and known only to a few. So-called illiterate people depend on memory. they tell and retell the stories, pulling together the group memory. Of course they could amass data that stretched over generations and solve the puzzles of eclipses and lunar and solar cycles.
And all these ideas–commitment, abstraction, esp. based on information, and observing and recording in a non-literate way–plus a feeling that I wanted, I needed, something that would make me go outside–all these factors and more were buried in my head the morning that I spied a crescent moon rising in the East.
I thought it was beautiful, caught in the tree branches. There was a star–probably the planet Venus–close by. It was about 6:30 am and I wondered what the moon was doing, rising at the same time I was. I made an intention to mark it in my journals and to see what I could teach myself, just by looking.
That is how the Moon Project began. November 30, 1994.