I may be

I have been so wrapped up in my books lately that I may have forgotten why I ended up writing them in the first place.

One word: ART

I didn’t grow up thinking I want to become an artist. On the contrary, I think I was reluctantly born one and then spent a lot of time dealing with the reprocussions. My engineer brained family probably expected me to grow out of it. I probably expected me to as well! Whenever I’m busily engaged in something that stands up as real and important in society , I have a small inking that I might be grown up and cured.

I never am. I always end up with a box of crayons or watercolors, happily acting too young for my age, doing what I love the most, creating.

I would rather do art then anything. Yet I forget this.

I get busy, art is messy, no one else is doing it… Sometimes I feel guilty, like I should be doing something constructive, I have many excuses, but wow, when I get myself back into a painting, I feel like myself. Also, I feel lighter, happier, more calmly confident. Before I had yoga, I had art. Art makes me breathe slower, I think it might calm my nervous system. That is until I’m not happy with my project, which will happen,, but not today.

Today is a good for remembering..

I’m a abstract expressionist as it turned out. I have a style that I can’t help. I modify it, but somehow it’s comforting, like knowing the answers or the procedure. Something like that..

Yesterday I decided to just go back to identifying as an artist. Im not a landscaper, but I do like making things look nice. I really really like making a painting or a whole series of paintings which might end up being another book. Some things sort of decide for themselves.