The dark shadow under the eastern side of the oak tree catches my attention as I sit here and ponder the question, “What do I have to do right now?” The babies are on a special day away at their babysitters’ house until 5:00pm today. I’ve spent the morning painting and working in my studio, getting work started on new stretched canvas, acrylic, working on the same painting over and over again, changing it and changing it, starting new work on paper with brown ink, teal acrylic paint, magenta, and pencil. Working on the collab canvas piece I’m bringing to Carl tomorrow, getting work ready for the unframed work on paper exclusive sale at Fourth Wall Gallery, $250 each. I still need to type up my information for each piece, like titles! Which I need to think about. I need to take Billy for a walk and take a shower. I’d rather sit here and write for a while and relax until I need to go pick up the babies. So what do I have to do right now? Am I asking the right question? What do I want to do right now? What can I do right now? What if I got lost between those three questions and sat here paralyzed, unable to move? In an alternate universe. Is the world shifting? Or am I shifting? Echoes of a basketball hitting the ground and the rim, motorcycles on the freeway, a blue jay squawking, car door shutting, front door slams, crow caws in. The world keeps on shifting and so do I. This morning I got sad. It was such a deep feeling I sat with it for a minute. It surprised me. Jack and Fiona were sitting in the kitchen, cheerios, toast, and milk in front of them. I said, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to the bathroom.” I’m sitting on the toilet and I hear a squabble then something fall. Then laughing, then more things spilling and falling. I can barely wipe my butt, I run to the kitchen and see milk, cheerios, cups, bowls, and toast thrown all over the place. Babies covered in milk. House just cleaned yesterday. As I see this mess my heart sinks, I feel as though I’m going to cry. “Get out of the kitchen” I say. “That really made me sad, that was bad, it’s not funny” They continue laughing for a minute then hide in their tent. Then Jack walks out and acts like he’s going to pee on the floor! I say “NO, go potty in the toilet” I cleaned up the mess and when they asked for more toast and cheerios I said “No, you should have eaten your breakfast, it’s in the garbage now”.
Category: Depression and anxiety
-
Thank God for my notebook project. I would be lost without it. It gives me space to breath. Right now I’m working in one GAP collab and six personals.
My nose feels huge and sore today. My head aches and I think I have a sinus infection. I can’t tell if it’s hypochondria. It’s been hard to write. I feel I have to reflect deeply on everything I write, how it may sound, the tone it takes. I don’t want to give the impression I’m unhappy. I want to write about the ever growing pile of dishes and ants. I tried to keep the house clean. I failed to do so. I ended up exhausted with the same amount of mess. I spent hours cleaning on Sunday. It smells like rotting food, dirty diapers, and green snot rags. I don’t want to sound unhappy. I’m just reporting the situation, getting it out there, airing my dirty laundry. That makes me happy. I’m communicating, I’m talking about things. I don’t know why I spend more time writing about shit instead of flowers. All the good things, it’s the bit of misery of living that’s got it’s hook in me. What I see through my eyes, how I feel, maybe it’s my anxiety, my inherent craziness, being an artist is crazy.
It’s almost time for the babies to wake from their nap. I wanted to make “The Greens Early Spring Vegetable Soup”, Fresh Baked Bread, and Bittman’s “Salad Nicoise”. But there’s no way I can do all of that and take care of the babies and clean the house. I need to pare it down bigtime, I’ll make a simple list, the most important to-do’s: 1. clean the kitchen, 2. make snack, 3. dinner, the Salad. Then it will be bath time and bedtime. As for our afternoon activity, we’ll pick fresh plums off the tree to bring to school for snack tomorrow. (My car is so disgusting, maybe we should clean the car. No, that requires too much work.) Oh God, As I glance over to my left dozens and dozens of little crumbs peek at me and the smell of rotting food reminds me I have to take out the trash. And I think about how I might have a sinus infection again. One time someone asked me if I really thought I was a manic depressant after I had written about it here. “no” I laughed. “But my mom was, and I definitely suffer from the highs and lows”. That’s what I told my husband too, about my writing. “When I’m PMS’ing, I get depressed” I said. “I write anyhow, and it may sound sad.” The emotions come and go. What’s true one moment may not be the next. The other day I said to my brother, “It’s interesting how when writing people can make a judgement about what I write, they can make a comment about my emotional state, and how I think about something, even if they take what I’ve written in an unattended way, but when I paint there’s no way for someone to prove exactly what a painting is about. I think that both are art. Some people say it matters that people get your true meaning from your art, others have said it’s up to the viewer and as the maker it’s not your responsibility to make sure everyone gets it, what it means to the artist who made it .
I’m letting the babies take way too long of a nap today. I should wake them up or they’ll be up late again. And it’s time to attack those ants, dishes, garbage, dirty diapers, crumbs, to get up and do something.
-
Old blue paint. Mixed in the past. “oh cool, I can use this” to get me started. To be a gateway to the days’ work. To start off my time in my studio I have today. Time I’ve been short of for a while now. I have a sitter today. I worked in the morning on projects organizing crap on shelves and nooks. Deals purchased on Amazon we don’t need. Extra packages of boogie wipes, butt creams, potty watches, instruction manuals, an infra-red camera, nuts, screws, coins, things I try to put out of reach. “I’ll deal with it later” I keep saying, until the box of things gets moved to another location, somewhere hidden. “I’ll do this project later” I say. Until there’s boxes of miscellaneous things in every closet, up high. Forgotten, replaced with a purchase of the same exact things because we’ve forgotten we already have them.
I came in my studio today, finished organizing my art supplies, I have allocated 1/3rd of my studio to my babies. “I’m such a nice mom” I said to myself. To give up part of my studio, my only me space left, even though it’s not taken seriously. “Just a hobby” That’s what some people say. “You have been so happy without a nanny. The babies make you so happy.” He says. “Yeah, I love it but without help I won’t have any studio time, time to paint.” I say. “But you could give up art and still be happy”
I sit here today reeling with feelings of sadness and confusion. What do I want to paint? What for? Well especially now, took the Room show down yesterday and didn’t sell a thing. How do I prove my value and worth when some view everything in monetary terms? Art feeds the soul. It’s who I am. There’s no reasoning with it. There’s no understanding any of it. The only thing to do is to do and let the chips fall as they may. I think I’m doing my best. But I don’t know. I used to come into my studio so excited and so optimistic, I had goals and ideas. I guess I might again tomorrow. I feel like just planting a ton of tomato plants everywhere.
I’m gonna work now. I can’t let other people define me. Even though they do. Such gossipers.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 