If you’re new to the thrill of staging a production in your living room, using only household items as costumery, and then nailing it, and then your whole mind/body gets flooded with joy regardless of the fact that only a handful of people liked it, welcome. I officially welcome all quarantine-inspired online performers to the joyous joyful most joy-inducing feeling of putting on a show. Here is me inventing that in 1971.
Here is a recreation of the even-more-stunning photo I spent last night trying to find, of my April 1972 living room production of “Jesus Died on the Cross” (original lyrics to the tune of “The Bear Went Over The Mountain” which Amy sung while I wore a bathrobe and taped-on paper beard and solemnly held the space of Jesus the Christ) (same jump rope as above):
I love this photo, and this memory, so much. My search for it, last night, was maddening. And I mean that literally, like at one point after going through every album in every plastic bin in the basement I sat down on the damp shitty crumbling floor and cried.
And then shortly after that I wondered if there could be any way the absence of this particular photo, from where I KNOW it existed the LAST time I went looking for it, could possibly be my husband’s fault.
The Sun, in tarot, is about uninhibited joy. Right now it’s also a cautionary tale about tantrums, and your own personal edge, and knowing when to let go of a vision that can’t be realized despite how good it was.
The Sun says, dance like this is nobody’s fault.
ann rosenquist fee 
Scott looks totally guilty.