So many ways to measure time, to envision time, to mark time–by seconds, by minutes, hours, days, months, years. I wondered, recently, how many days I have been alive so far. Turns out more than 26,000, only a few of which I remember as distinct, given days. Some were significant events like the days my children were born, or my wedding day. Some simply a day, in the form of an image that imprinted itself in my memory. But, of course, I don’t remember every moment of even the most memorable day, or even yesterday for that matter.  And both days remembered and days anticipated are only impressions, perhaps imperfectly

remembered and certainly the future is even less reliable. I remember lying in bed, as a child,

anticipating an event that would happen the next day, feeling immensely frustrated by the

“nowness” that I was trapped in, with no way to skip quickly to a day that still did not exist

. As an adult I still feel that impatience–“how can I get to that day when I will step onto a

plane to Italy, when time seems to be standing still?”  “How can I get back to that time when I should have done something different?”  Time shimmers and folds in the distance, a pattern

of days that were and days still to come, but the only time that is real is now. Today. 

“The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

Albert Einstein

One Day

pieced and fused fabrics

14” x 20”