I notice the sound of my hands on the paper as I smooth down a piece of collage. So quiet and peaceful. After days of no break, no studio, no writing, no quiet time, this feels right. It’s been a stressful week, politically it’s been just like FUCK!! Keeping up with the news is a fulltime affair, what kind of crazy shit is Trump going to do today I think as I get out of bed. Please don’t let us be entering another war or starting a new war. I obsess about what countries could hit us with a bomb, could we be invaded and taken over or is America going to just obliterate every population of people that disagrees or get in the way of “American Interests”? It’s frightening, so when I get my break, babies asleep, I NEED to write and paint, even if it’s just for an hour. So many things have happened lately I’ve wanted to write about. Sweet things being mom. The other day when I was packing our picnic for the beach I wrote everyone’s name on our sandwiches with a sharpie. When I got to mine, I wrote “MOM”, her name came into my mind at the exact moment. “Mines the one with Mom written on it” I say to Danny as he’s handing out the sandwiches from the cooler, on a sunny shore, Point Reyes in February, we celebrate our freedom. Alan is upset because I don’t have Dad written on his. “It was personal” I say. I can’t think of the right words to describe the emotions I’m feeling. But it was because I was thinking about my mom, how we were a family, Danny, me and Mom. For the first time, I realized I’m the mom in our group now, in our family. I have entered mom’s role, taking some of that space, breathing some of that air she used to. I call myself mom for the first time and own it. I just now notice the fan blowing. My hands are cold and I realize I am running out of time in my studio. I have several paintings started, I want to get more painting time. Yellows and blacks and whites, collage, notebooks, need to add some marks. Need to get back to painting before I’m back in the house, in my life of wonderment and surprise.
Category: Art and finding balance
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Afternoon. Monday the 30th of December. Studio. Painting. Just wrote a piece about how I’m “Feeling”, politically. Can’t publish it. I’m scared. Scared of a police state. Loop in my mind. Back to the same thing here, again. Nothing we can do to stop them. Except something I’m afraid to write publicly. I don’t feel safe anymore. My computer doesn’t feel safe. Maybe it’s best if I don’t write anything about politics. Every time I think about what’s happening now in our government I start thinking the worst. I don’t feel like the politicians we have on our side are tough enough to stand up to the Trumps and Bannons of the world. I need to stop thinking. Breath. Worked in my studio today. Made some nice marks, once I let go of my literal mind. I can only do that. Make art and let go of my literal mind. I am completely totally open. Even in my pessimism I am a walking talking fully engaged smiling person. I love people. Sometimes I hate people too, but mostly my heart is filled with love.
Saturday, we went to Limatour Beach. The weather was perfect, sunny, fine sand. Jack and Fiona ran their hands through the sand and watched it fall to the ground. My husband, brother, and I drank wine and ate roast beef sandwiches. I felt like I needed to celebrate the last days of life as I’ve known it. I felt things shifting, my brother told me not to worry, that the courts can prevent a lot of what Trump is doing. It was a great day at the beach, and every day is a great day for me. I work in my studio, I write, I take care of my family and my dog, and I enjoy life. I’m one of the lucky ones.
I have one hour left. I feel the toll the stress I’ve gone through over what’s happening has taken on me. My back is tight and I’m tired. I got in trouble by my friends on Facebook this morning for sounding pessimistic about our resistance against the Trump presidency. I apologized, I don’t want to sound discouraging. I feel right now that my body and mind are fried. I am frightened about the fate of our world. I am disturbed about what’s going on. I say I shouldn’t write about politics anymore and here I am again. Maybe I’m panicking?
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Jacks says, “No, we’re just here”.
Bouncing, my weight pulling down the airplane three-person teeter totter. We’re the only ones at the park.
Civic Center. Marin Civic Center. “The Mitten” in giant book version read on the library bus. I’m the most excited child here. Thank God. I thank my lucky stars. Kids clamoring on me. In a good way. Jack, Fiona, their best friend from school, on my lap, the baby brother making googly eyes at me. I’ve got it. I’ve got my inner light back. My intuition.
My hands are slightly clammy. I’m in my studio now. Jack and Fiona sleeping. Naptime. Naptime writing and painting and notebook entries. January 12th, 2016. Political talk in parents’ group. My two compadres from Fiona’s school. One lady from Israel, one from Mexico, and the therapist. A BRIGHT RAINBOW. We talk politics. I love them. Count my lucky stars.
Jack, Fiona, and I stop by the park today after the library bus. It’s not raining but Jack falls more than regular as his feet slip of the wet rubber climbing structures. We all go on the teeter totter, I’m so big. I start bouncing it, saying “we’re on a rocket ship” going to space. “No, we’re just here”, says Jack. I think, and say out loud, “Yeah Jack, that’s cool. We’re just here, on this teeter totter on a wet, strange, Thursday afternoon.” Last night I had a dream I was watching the babies play make believe and something inside me said, just let them play, don’t play make believe with them unless they engage first.
Just pure image. I’m buzzing. In realization of my painting practice, which is really mixed media, lot’s of drawing, chance, texture, surprise. Always about memory. Time, everything’s about time.
Reading a ton lately. Trying to learn as much as possible. This story is about to end for the day. Jack and Fiona will be awake soon, and we’ve been having quality time lately. Poor Jack has another cold though. His poor nose.
I do wish I had more alone time today.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 