Pain, it keeps peering its nasty little head into my body. The weekend. Sometimes it’s great. It doesn’t change my work load, seven days a week I’m up around 6am with work to do. My day ends at 8pm. I keep going, pushing through. I say fuck it a lot. You know, the dishes, laundry, shit all over the place. I just let it go sometimes. It’s hard on the weekends. Expectations and let downs. The worst times are when your partner is super tired from the work week. People who work a regular job, five long days consider Saturdays and Sundays real rest days. I can’t take a rest. I can when Ramona’s here, but she’s only here 3 days part time and the hours go by so fast. I know I’m lucky to have help at all. But I’m working in my studio or doing chores or going grocery shopping. I always have the responsibility of the house and Jack and Fiona and Billy and cooking dinner for my family. You can tell I don’t feel good today. It’s muggy, I want to do nothing for the rest of the day. That’s not an option. I’m drinking a White Ale. The babies are waking up from their nap. I got about an hour break. Alan went for a massage so I had bit of alone time. The babies light up my life. We took them to the park, they were so cute. I don’t think it makes any sense to bring your kid to the park and tell them not to get dirty. I heard a mom constantly telling her girls not to get in the yucky mud. It’s dumb trying to keep your kids clean at all. It’s a complete waste of energy. They are dirty. Just bring a change of clothes and some wipes. There’s a tip for you. Just let them get as messy as they want, then clean them off and change them. I don’t stay clean when I’m hiking or working in my studio. I get dirty. Sunday, still muggy. Alan made an Irish breakfast. He’s reading to Jack and Fiona now, “Where’s Spot?” and then “Polar Bear Polar Bear.” It’s hard to concentrate on writing. I could go into another room but that would seem anti-social, which is exactly how I feel. I’m also too tired and Lazy to relocate my lap top and coffee. I’m in a bad mood. I think that’s O.K. to write here? I just need a whole morning, day, and night to relax.
Month: March 2015
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I’m gonna be in my studio by 1:00. I need to go to tap plastic, the art store, and the grocery store. Bettina and Janie are coming over at 4. I’ll get the plexi glass first. “Hi I’d like a piece of 18×24 1/16” plexi.” His name tag says “In Training.” I need something off the rolls in the back too. I show him, he seems nervous and excited to be helping one of his first customers. He pulls out the plastic and I get 4 feet. He only charges me for one foot, I tell him he missed a couple of feet, he adds two more. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I still got one foot free. At the art store I get some more Lenox 100, Ingres, soft gel gloss, I get a feeling of excitement and possibilities, and fluid titanium white. Its hot today and my girlfriends are coming over so I put on a new little sun dress and pinned one side of my hair back. I feel sexy for a 43 year old housewife mom. I bring my items to the counter. I ask the staff “why is rives printmaking paper so expensive now?” The guy behind the counter say “This is why” and pulls up his sleeve and flexes his bicep muscle. I don’t get it, then he says “the French don’t like us.” Strange. Next stop Whole Foods. I try to hurry but get lost in choice. I want to get appetizers for my friends, fruit for the babies. I need to hurry, I need to get into my studio. I drop my box of strawberries putting my groceries on the belt. Shit, I just pick them up. The girl asks if I want new ones, I say no, I wash them anyhow. I get home, put the groceries away and make it to my studio by 1:30. I have 2 hours. I tear my paper, the Ingres feels really nice, it’s beautiful. I wet the paper, I think about when Joab and I made our collaborative glue and gold piece at Cal State Hayward. We would pour glue and powdered gold and silver I would get from Amsterdam Art. It turned into a huge monster of a sculpture. I start with watercolor, I pour out all the tubes and pick sepia. I take a paint brush, one of the last ones that’s not hard and ruined. I start to put marks on the paper, the paint stains beautifully, I am taken back to the series of watercolors I made right after my mom died. Figures start to emerge, I feel uncomfortable. I’m not ready to go back to figurative work yet. I work with line and a bamboo pen. I finally get the technique and can’t believe it took so many years. A nice light touch creates a nice line. I emerge into the creative process, adding paint, collage, layers. I’m afraid to look at the time. I’m scared it’s later than I want it to be. I get some I really like and another pile of rejects. I look at the time. It’s 3:30. Shit. I’m bummed, but excited to see my friends and drink some wine. I clean up, take one last look. What am I going to do with all these paintings? I have so many, I’m making some new ones I really like. I can’t get anything else framed. I have a shit load of great pieces framed. I need to line up a show. But what about the framing part? I’m leaving now, I’m leaving my studio and these thoughts for the night.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 