I forget that all of my illustrations were once single paintings that seemed to paint themselves. I mean not entirely of course, but I felt led along, certain things came up, little surprises here and there. The beginning of any painting is fun.
Struggle does eventually enter in. Today for example, I’m not a fan of some things, but that’s how it goes. I actually love when a painting becomes a composition puzzle. And a color puzzle. Not liking how it’s “working” is how I come up with ideas to change things. The worst thing I can do at this point is get attached to any part. I might like how that one horse came out or the little fish under the blue glass. I had no intention to paint a fish so I like that it showed up. But again I’m tying for no attachment…
Painting is like a little bundle life lessons. Who needs Joe Dispensa when I’m getting schooled by unintentional symbolism in my own art? I’m kinda kidding, but it’s true. I started out thinking of my artist friend Margi, I still wake up with that Rolling Stones song in my head. If Margi were here she would be painting. Hence the horses. I need them to be more subtle eventually, but for now, this painting is about remembering.
Margi, my dear friend is inspiring me and reminding me that wild horses really can’t drag me away from, well, art. Not Instagram, not book promotion, not query letter writing, not even classroom teaching.
We are artists, Margi and I. At our core, we were born this way and truly, being honest, we love it. Today because I can, and she can’t, I’m painting for both of us.
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.
I started this painting on a camping trip, (without kids)
Have you ever been camping?
Oh I have been camping…
I have camped in many famously beautiful places. I have enjoyed many camping moments, and truly I love nature , but I’ll admit, I’m not much of a camper. Campers know things. Maybe they grew up camping? I did not. We had a cottage. We stayed in hotels. I never saw my father build a fire, or fish or hike Or even wear a wrinkled shirt. I didn’t grow up learning any basic survival skills.
I remember every camping trip I’ve been on because of all the extremes.
Fun can turn on a dime. Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. Just because it’s a sunny warm day, doesn’t mean your water won’t freeze solid over night. Being in the rain makes every tent , (even the nice ones from REI) feel flimsy and inadequate. When the sun goes down it gets really dark. After the fire goes out, there are many many long cold and extremely dark hours to endure before it comes back up again. A headlamp is key, I didn’t know this for most of my years.
Campers know what to do with themselves. They don’t get bored because there are things to do, if you know what you’re doing. Camping with a baby and/or toddlers does pass the time, you do have somethings to focus on, but unfortunately most camping fun is a little dangerous. And dirty. No amount of baby wipes can get a crawling baby clean after one afternoon near a fire pit. Once they discover one, you can not keep them out. Unless there’s a fire in it. My kids had that Margaret Mead sense about a few things. My boys climbed out of any pack and play thing and easily transitioned to trees or fencing pretty early into babyhood. Some kids just love to climb, mine all did long before they could walk. So I spent many camping days running and plucking them out of one crazy thing after another. A head light would have come in handy back then.
Camping with teenagers kept me busy as well. Just feeding them was an all day adventure. Cook, clean up, cook, clean up, get the snacks out of the bear box, put the snacks back in the bear box, cook again, clean up again, then everyone wants s’mores. Huge clean up in the dark. Again with the headlamp. (G and I took eight teenagers camping for two nights. Afterwards he called his mom to thank her for all the work he never noticed her doing on camp outs when he was a kid). We were both exhausted afterward, but it was kinda fun.
Real campers can sleep. How they do this well past dawn is a mystery. I measured how many days I could camp by how many nights I could go without sleep. I was better at it during the baby years. Three. I could feasibly endure three nights without sleeping, I knew this because of the stomach flu again with little kids. After three nights, I can’t promise a good attitude. I hear of people camping longer, but without kids to distract me, I’m not sure I could manage my brain for all those hours.
Also, it seems that I prefer a real bathroom with a less outdoorsy shower.
I’ve had some fun camping adventures. I don’t regret any of them, though I never really mastered the art. I always wanted to be like one of those bohemian girls who are good at being coolly bored. They are usually great in any burning man kind of experience, I wasn’t born with that level of outdoorsy coolness. Or even a campers constitution. I like comfort. I do better in comfort. I do enjoy a trail run or walk or ‘hike’ but then I like a hot shower a nice meal and a comfortable bed.
The sun is shining. G decided to barbecue a chicken. He just left for a town hall meeting so now I’m watching it. It smells delicious.
There is a place close by that has local, small farmed meat. It’s a tiny hut on the edge of a property that works on the honor system. You help yourself to the freezer and pay the box. It’s word of mouth advertised, I found out about it at yoga. True story. The chicken is pasture raised and a good price. G talked to the owner today, comfirmed that the chicken was raised on a sustainable farm nearby.
I made some progress on my painting and am still enjoying it. (the magic of creating is still alive). I’ve tried filming and making reels of me painting. The reels or mini shorts are rough, but I’m learning. You never know, I could get better at this.
I’m surprised by how fast my hand moves while I’m painting. Using a tripod, I forget I’m filming myself. Its weird that I’ve never watched myself much on film before. Doing any kind of art, I’m blissfully unaware of my body and super relaxed. When I first went to yoga I experienced that same sence of relaxed brain and body that I feel while painting. It’s surprising that I don’t move slowly in that state. I like starting something new, not to take away from the books, hopefully this new project helps somehow.
In the meantime I’m enjoying a sunny, but chilly early evening outside in my winter coat. The sun feels nice. Supper will be good.
A good rule of thumb is to not call when I’m feeling homesick. My good friend tried to trouble shoot and thought I should just go back to CA. She had many suggestions for how it would work. None of which were appealing to me. I know that a little bit of home sickness on a dreary gray day isn’t an indication that I need to leave town.
It does have me wondering about what to do next. Do I go sign up for yoga? Do I look for a job? Do I start a new project or keep plugging along on this one? Maybe all of the above?
One thing I want to remember is to appreciate the good things, there are many good things. Just because it’s cloudy and windy outside doesn’t mean that I can’t find some joyful activities to do inside. I found two boxes of paints that I”d saved and brought and forgotten about. I have brushes. I have paper. I have a hot cup of tea, the peace and quiet of my attic studio and no where that I need to be.
We have been working everyday all day long in the yard since arriving and today, there is nothing pressing. The yard is mowed, the garage has been power washed, flowers have been planted, the beds are mulched, bushes have been removed or pruned, The dock is safely tied up and out of the water. I think one day inside, out of the wind, will hopefully be fine.
I love my view from the attic window. I love the option to be by myself up here. I love the potential of this space. I love that we get to plant a garden soon. I love my little containers of seeds in dirt. I love the tiny beach that is practically our own private piece of ocean. I love that we are planning on a little fire pit and a tiny cookout when summer weather arrives. I love these charming little beach towns. I love the friendly neighbors and the vacationy vibe we all seem to enjoy.
My best friend and I talked several times in a single day. We’d talk in the morning, we’d talk through our workout, we’d talk as we cleaned up our kitchens after getting our kids off to school. We’d talk on our errands, we’d talk while making supper and sometimes, when it was super important, before heading off to bed.
WHAT did we talk about?!
Pretty much everything. Every next step, our kids, friends, baseball, my job, books, life. It seemed like every decision or dilemma either of us faced required both of us to make or solve.
Baseball was a hot topic for us and it was ongoing. Her youngest son, who I‘be known since before he was born, little miracle baby that he was, loved baseball. He played on every kind of team. Travelball, Spring ball, fall ball, pick up, any chance to play, From the earliest age he loved everything baseball. If he wasn’t playing, he was watching his favorite team and memorizing stats. Back then, I had a very limited knowledge about baseball, but that didn’t matter, because what we talked about were the politics, the parents, the coaches. Unfair this and coache’s son that.
As the years went by the discussions became more intense. Thomas went from a cute little guy who loved everything baseball, to a high schooler who needed a college baseball scholarship. Wendi was negotiating with three top schools and finally settled on Pepperdine.
Who would have guessed that all these years later, Thomas would be drafted away from college, move up quickly to triple A and now be a top pick for the cardinals MLB team. Who would guess that I would marry a Red Sox fan and learn baseball as a sport AND culture Who would have believed Wendi would be gone.
I spent years rolling my eyes over yet another conversation about baseball. What I wouldn’t give to have just one more with my friend now.
I miss my best friend. I miss ALL of our topics of discussion. It’s not the topic for me, so much as its the person I’m talking to. G taught me everything I know now about being a real sports fan. He taught me player by player, play by play. He made it interesting. I think I like discussing a lot of things if I enjoy the person I’m talking to.
Peace Kit 