Cold November hands. Dancing in the grocery store. Jack and I bob our heads to Earth wind and fire. People looked annoyed. I’m just acting out, I’m in the fuck it stage of grief. Going into the numb stage. With a pint of fear under my belt. I must keep it together for my kids, to an extent. I’ve been hanging out more at parks and talking to people in person where ever I am, I’ve found a lot of solace finding out everyone’s not an asshole. I still judge them and wonder about them. I wonder if they voted for Trump or if they didn’t vote at all. I wore my Hilary button for a few days, I couldn’t believe how many people came up and talked to me, shared stories of being disappointed and worried about our Government. I wanted people to know I don’t support Trump. Today I realized it doesn’t matter anymore because we’re all in this together. Whatever shit is about to happen; we’ll have to deal with it as a country. Or we are doomed. (and maybe we already are) But I am still alive. I have work to do. I can’t prevent everyone’s suffering. I missed the studio today, I kept jack and Fiona up all day. I woke up at 4:30am and knew I wouldn’t last long tonight. I wanted to make sure they are as tired as me, with the early dark skies it’s a treat to crawl into bed early. Tonight, it’s going to be cold. A cold November night. This weekend I will be meeting with people, I am doing a talk at the Fourth Wall Gallery in Oakland about my Book project. Tomorrow night I am going to a neighborhood meeting I helped start. Fifteen people are attending; I can’t believe it. It all started because I posted “Does anyone know of an anti-Trump rally this weekend”. I was flagged. I was told to “Grow up” and “get over it, I’m just mad because we lost”. Then a ton of people came to my rescue. They said I did nothing wrong. Then this lady asked if we all wanted to start a discussion group to start healing together as a neighborhood. And possibly turn it into some action, helping in our community somehow. The very next day, after the connections were met I deleted my Facebook account and my Nextdoor account. Now I’m on Twitter and Instagram. I feel the need to share my writing and my paintings. But I don’t want to get into the mousetrap of politics on the Internet. (Unless it’s a real news article). But I don’t want to trade comments or constantly be bombarded with all the atrocities in the world. It’s too damn depressing. I’d rather read about it and talk to someone in person. Preferably over a bottle of wine!
Category: Simpatico show
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Kneeling on the cold bathroom tile, head over the toilet, muscles contracting in my chest, my back tightening, aching, body heaving; there is nothing left. I feel a warm hug around my back, it’s Jack. I sit up and sob. “I feel so bad” I say. “I feel bad I can’t be here for Jack and Fiona today” I say to Alan. He has stepped up today, his longest day yet taking care of Jack and Fiona. I told him this morning, “I might need to stay in bed today, up all night with the flu”. Wednesday it was Jack, Thursday Fiona, Friday me, then true to form Saturday Alan was on the couch with the flu; I was back in action. I missed Jack and Fiona on Friday. I missed our morning routine, our bed time routine, this was the first time ever to miss both. They understood though, they knew I was sick and they had some understanding of what it felt like; even though they are only two and a half and true empathy doesn’t develop for years to come, but I felt something, something I have taught them, to care.
Today I am recovered, Monday morning. Taking time for myself in my studio. I notice that “Creepy Kitty Lady and Scary Pumpkin Face” need more work. I white out the whole painting. My hands are covered in paint; I should be wearing gloves. I re-work my “Creepy Kittty and Pumpkin Face” and love it. Lately I’ve been thinking ambiguity is the death of paintings. A painting needs a clear intention to be successful. That can come quickly or through tortured time, but when I paint something genuine I know. It might take time to know. Sometimes I think a painting I’ve done is really good, I post it on Facebook, then the next day I feel it isn’t right, I get a new idea to make it better, more specific. That’s the process. The process of painting. Which brings me to my “Book Project”, I am so stoked on my books. I am working on many at one time, experimenting with new ways of displaying them, it’s really exciting and so “Me”. I will be “un-veiling” my new series next October during my “solo” show! (hush hush-more details to follow throughout 2017) I am also planning on publishing my “Naptime Paintings” Memoir. I will “un-veil” at the same time. My brother has taken the job of “editor” for “Naptime Paintings”. I’m really excited.
I used to get so down in the dumps when I’d miss time exercising or painting from being sick or the babies being sick or just life getting in the way! Especially during PMS!!! I used to be SO much more filled with SELF DOUBT! I feel like I’ve really changed, it’s been gradual and hard coming, but I finally feel all my mindfulness practice is paying off. I can look at things now in a “general” way. I can tell when I start going down the rabbit hole and can stop myself. I don’t wake up and say “I’m gonna change my life: start eating better, start exercising more, do this and that better, stop doing this or that.” I’ve grown past that into acceptance of “the way things are at any given moment” and the way I AM at any given moment. It’s quite a change for me, and a welcome one at that. Maybe it’s an un-shedding. A letting go; A welcoming of good things, not thinking I don’t deserve them. The guilt, such a waste of emotions!!! I realized today I am taking “being a painter” as a real job! The sales I’ve made at my show at The Fourth Wall have really helped propel myself into this direction once and for all! I know I won’t “make the mortgage” or anything like that selling my paintings! But at least now my pieces are starting to be appreciated and taken to new wonderful homes and hung on new wonderful walls for people to enjoy!
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Naptime. Jack and Fiona sleeping, I just finished my paintings for the day. Was a good session. The opening of SIMPATICO on Friday was a huge success. It was great to be back in the East Bay! I love Oakland. I am surprised that I was able to get right back into things with a passion. Many times after a show, especially one that I work so much for, I take time off, relishing in my accomplishment. But this time I feel like the opening was just more inspiration for my continued work, right now that is predominately painting. I was surprised people didn’t respond to my tiny little paintings I painted last week, I love them. They are dark though, and dark works don’t seem to be very saleable. That doesn’t matter too much though because I must paint what comes out of me regardless of what people like. But I have been consciously changing my palette’s and experimenting with lighter colors. I am pleased with what I came up with today.
Over the weekend I attended a bridal shower. It was really nice, I didn’t know anyone there, except my friend getting married, so I met a lot of people. One of the women and I started a conversation, her sister is pregnant with twins and my friend told them about Jack and Fiona. At one point I asked her if she had kids. She did not. The woman told me about her horrific and painful experience she went through trying to start a family, sometimes saying sorry as if she was telling me too much. She felt like it wasn’t going to happen for her and questioned her age, if she was too old now. She said, “Can I ask you a question?” I said yes. “How old were you when you had your babies?” she asked. Oh my god, I thought. All the time I worried about my age, the ticking clock, calculating “if I get pregnant this month I’ll still be under forty when I have a baby” Month after month, year after year, until there was no more under forty. “I was 42 when Jack and Fiona were born” I told her. “But I tried for ten years and I had to use a gestational carrier and an egg donor to finally have kids.” We talked and talked for a long time. I gave her my number and e-mail address and said I was here for her if she wanted to talk or cry or yell!
I was so concerned with my age, my inability to “make a baby” of my own, in my own body. I read articles with opposing views on age, on how women shouldn’t have kids when they are “Too old”. I read the hateful words of people condemning surrogacy. I worried about what the other moms at the park would think of me. What my kids would think of me. I worried about my skin, my varicose veins, how my body wasn’t smooth and tight like a twenty-five-year-old. Would my kids think I was ugly and old? Once when they were babies someone asked me if I was their grandma. I was distraught. I had to fight hard not to let that get to me. Not to care what other people think of me, my age. Now I am completely comfortable with myself, my age, being a mom. I was so cruel to myself. I read someone said he was sick of women playing the victim, in regards to the Trump pussy thing, the sexism, and Hilary. I don’t think women are playing the victim. We are the victims of sexism and ageism. It’s everywhere, it’s institutionalized just like racism. I am thankful I woke up and saw that my “thinking I was too old” to be a mom had NOTHING with the way I felt physically it had to do with a constant bombard and conditioning to think once we are past our fertile stage we are done. We are no longer young, able to raise babies. As my baby calls me from his room. Naptime is over. Time to be mom. To finish an un-edited rambling post today I’ll just add I’m proud of my 45-year-old self. I am proud of Hilary Clinton and think she’ll be a great president! Pussy’s rule! Older women rise up and don’t take any shit!!!
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 