Been thinking a lot about paintin’, been paintin’ a lot. Have painted over everything I’ve made lately four or five or ten times. My work for SIMPATICO is at the frame shop. Lucky for me and lucky for it. I may have ruined it all. My hands are covered in paint, strange because: I didn’t have the energy to work in my studio today or write. But here I am doing both. My recent series, in preparation for SIMPATICO, I have gone down a dark path of phylos, burnt umbers, red- blacks, blue -greys, garish pinks, rusts, yellows, figures appearing at times, yelling and screaming, keeling over in pain. I’ve exhausted pieces of paper, my brain, and my body. Obsessive and detrimental; I can’t stop. Pulling out the large canvas ripped open a deep crevice inside me. From the beginning. Painting on large pieces of found wood and Masonite. Large un-stretched canvas tacked on the wall. Painting over and over them until a texture built up on the surface. Like my body. Covered in a thick callus, a chronic thickness evenly distributed on my most used parts. I am growing out of my studio and my mind. I paint obsessively. I must use extreme mindfulness techniques to remain fully present when I’m parenting. I’m very successful at it. If I feel myself slipping away, thinking thoughts like, “I could put on the T.V., give them a popsicle, and run down to my studio.” When these thoughts pop in my head I use re-direction with myself. I figure out some way to get engaged, I watch, I draw and write in my journal, or with the babies, we play playdough and play dirt in the garden. It works. I love my babies so much I don’t want to take for granted the time I have with them. In between all of this I find myself slipping away in despair when I listen to the debate and hear about shooting after shooting. The paintings gain even more importance to me; I have to express myself; PURGE my Soul. I went to the SF MOMA the other day and left questioning what I have to offer as a painter anyhow? Why I paint? What’s unique about my paintings? I do know why I paint, I can’t not paint. My paintings are only unique because I am a unique person and they come from inside me. This makes my paintings necessary to myself, my existence, which would make my painting important to my family too, because I have a healthy outlet. That’s why my paintings exist and why I want to show them, and why SIMPATICO IS.
Category: crazy stuff
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It’s Jacks special morning away with mommy. I decided to do this last night; this week has been the hardest, deepest, most raw emotions and feelings I’ve ever had to deal with as a mother. The most primitive, instinctual, uncomfortable. The dynamic between Jack, Fiona, and I is shifting, I attribute this transition to sibling rivalry and rapprochement. Today as I sat at the duck pond with Jack, feeding ducks, walking from spot to spot, going on adventures around the Marin Civic Center, a Frank Lloyd Wright building; Jack responded to the architecture and sense of exterior space created by lamp posts, benches, the curved building, the tall narrow windows, the large size of everything. There were moments of silence, an ease of togetherness, cohesiveness. Qualities of moments in parenting that don’t come often while raising twins. Jack was a different person to me, an independent little boy. I was a different person too, I ceased being the stressed out bitch, exasperated by saying “No”, or “don’t hit”. The constant trouble Jack and Fiona get into, and me trying to stop them from getting mortally wounded. Even now, as I sit here and type Jack is watching a classic episode of Sesame Street; he woke up from his nap earlier than Fiona. I’m saying “oh my god” all day long listening to tiff after annoying tiff. Did my mom have to listen to me and Danny fight every five minutes over who’s cup is whose? It’s makes it difficult to have quality time with them when it’s a constant stressed out situation. There’s not enough of me. Last night Jack hit me and kicked me in the face, I finally broke and slapped his leg. It didn’t feel right. He looked at me and started laughing and tried to hit me again. He thought it was funny, some kind of game. I hit you, you hit me back harder, like fight club. For a quick second I wondered if my two-and-a-half-year-old was demented? Then I came to the conclusion, that possibly he has been hitting more often because of the rapprochement and I am not able to give either baby enough attention at one time to re-fuel their tanks. So I decided to combat this stressful situation we find ourselves in with more one on one time with the babies and separating them during nap time. They’ve been getting up to no good during naptime, taking off diapers, peeing on the floor, ripping books, spitting water on the floor, driving me crazy. Fiona’s turn is next, maybe the library. Jack is an angel when it’s just me and him, I know Fiona will be just as well behaved. It’s very emotional raising kids. I was so mad at them several times this week. They were bad. I can’t make them happy all the time, they are learning to be human. I am learning more about being human every day. Learning about myself. My heart is beating faster now, it’s time to go get Fiona up, the push and pull about to unleash.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 