Last of the starry eyed pigment steppers, Sonja knew the way a paint brush felt when she was in the womb. She also knew: how to make love stay, why poetry never takes its close off, how a bumble bee can fly, the secret of string theory, and the destination of all the lost believers and make-you-believe's. Leaf on the wind, driftwood in the creek, dandelion parasol Sonja.

She's a lover and a creator...
a plant and the dirt, all the same.

My time is better spent with Sonja.

Somewhere in the early nineties (...or maybe the late eighties? Age and abuse weaken the memory...) I was going through what was my longest stretch of zero contact with my virtual brother Phil. Before and since we’d had fallings out but they had never lasted more than a few days at worse. This was a particularly harsh parting, his partner and my partner (incidentally Phil’s sister) had reached the breaking point of an already strained friendship and Phil and I had thrown a little gas on the fire ourselves. It reached our ears through a third party that Phil and his lady were pregnant and mere days away from having a child and there was much weirdness and pain in not hearing it from Phil and not being included in the event.

A few months passed and it was Phil who broke the ice. He called in the quite shamanic state of total self reinvention. Fatherhood had motivated him to create a whole new template for the levels at which he was willing to live his life, personally, economically, and in his interpersonal relationships. We had a heartfelt and warm reunion and began making plans to collaborate as we often had in the past. I was starting a screen printing and tie-dye shop in the cradle of civilization, New Hyde Park Long Island and we immediately hired Phil to be our production manager.

A few days later I had given Phil the company van to run some personal errands and he was swinging around to pick me up. I opened the passenger door and hopped in the seat. There was a little bed covered in blankets on the floor between the seats. Sleeping peacefully in it was the most angelic creature I had ever seen. Her head was crowned in a halo of golden white hair and her face was delicate and fair like a fairy child from Yeat’s poems.

My mundane reality was completely undone by this tiny being and all thoughts of the days business dissipated like smoke. Unclehood hit me like an emotional wrecking ball and I was close to tears and totally in love.

15 odd years later, Sonja still possesses her enchanting beauty though she has redesigned her her hair color multiple times with the broad strokes of a passionate young artist. To her attributes of birth she has added a gentle grace, a penetrating intelligence, a poets pen, an artists hand and eye and the family disdain for arbitrary authority.

Okay, don’t ask me to be objective, I don’t have to be. She’s my niece and
and my hearts still riding in that van awed and smitten.

Sonja is trademark misnomer, totally ripping and shining. goes well with earth.absolute blue-stocking, capable of stomping the avenue in dark arcs of switch step syncopated with rain slapped puddles reflecting calfs hidden in rubber boots.displaying the unusual idiosyncracies of a juvelnile revolutionary last commonly observed in France. the societal quirks are often seen as a preview of the release of energies post re-alignment of whatever structure must be unmolded.skilled lace work.
proof's in the puddin and aint it high proof.a remarkable speciman, yes yes.