I am developing a relationship with line. I’ve been working on this for a long time. I used to be free with my use of line, I was fearless. Somewhere along the way I started hating my lines. I didn’t want any to show in the final piece. I would cover everything up. Most of the time leaving a muddy mess. I’ve been working on restraint. I make a mark and leave it. I work on several at a time, going back and forth between them responding to the marks I’ve made. Yesterday I had two sessions in my studio. I was about to clean the kitchen while the babies took their nap. But I got the urge to go throw some paint around. I started with ink, drawing with my bamboo pen. Ink on my fingers. Adding watercolor, collage, and acrylic. I stand back to look. The work I’m doing excites me. Maybe I’ve gone too far already though. No time to sit and mull, I hear Jack and Fiona on the monitor, nap time is over. We eat our Burmese chicken soup with noodles and egg for lunch. It’s enough for all three of us. I clean the kitchen, scrubbing every inch of counter, trying to get rid of clutter. We take Billy for a stroller walk, it’s still humid. I’m sweating. Ramona is here now. I hand over Jack and Fiona. I’ve got more chores to do. I tackle my closet, it’s been weighing on me for a while now. I work for two hours cleaning, purging, and going to the bank. I have a little time left to work in my studio. I go in, it’s quiet. I put away the pieces from earlier. I prepare my paper. I decide to start with watercolor. Black, I use a small brush. I sweep the brush across the paper making imagery that comes from deep inside. I like what is happening. “USE RESTRAINT.” I say. “Trust yourself.” I say. I add collage, acrylic, and ink. “Why isn’t my mom here?” I ask. She would understand what I’m doing. We could talk about it, talk about painting, use of line and mixed media. We could talk about abstract art and go see shows. I can only speak to her this way. I can imagine what she’d say, what she’d like. It’s impossible to work in my studio without these thoughts. I’ve drank my whole French press of coffee again today. I think I might bring the babies into the studio to paint today. I’m really tired though, I woke up at 3 am with violent allergies. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I feel like the purging helped my work yesterday.
Category: introspection
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Images have been in my mind since the day I put Zappa down, blues, whites, grays, centrally located on the paper. I couldn’t wait to get into the studio. Yesterday I took Billy and the babies for a walk early so I could go straight to the studio when Ramona arrived. I took my water and fish, ate an early lunch so I could keep going all day without coming upstairs. I took down my Lenox 100, an economical paper for painting and printmaking. I tore it into several smaller pieces. I wet the paper. Start with ink and watercolor. I feel completely present, it’s quiet, mind relaxed. I channel my mom. I touch the paintbrush on the paper, the color spreads like a spill on the floor. “Mom, this is for you.” I begin adding collage, more paint, I’m thinking of delicateness. Softness like the babies cuddles. Softness which is my body. Transparency of life when you encounter death. A path to explore, more stains to be made. Memories to uncover. Coffee to drink. Cheerios to pick up off the floor. Thursday morning, back in the kitchen. Babies screeching. From making to cleaning. Drinking whole pot of coffee today. No babysitter today. No studio today. It’s play day. A day to inspire Jack and Fiona, to show them something new and wonderful, a petting zoo a duck pond. My mom said I didn’t have the discipline to work in the studio for hours when I told her I wanted to be an artist. She said I could never spend that much time alone. But I crave that time, those hours alone in my studio working. My mom was impressed when she saw me becoming that artist, when she saw my dedication. I wish she could see my paintings now. I wish I could see her paintings now. She was a wonderful artist.
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6:30 A.M., push down the black plastic ball on the French press, pour, honey, cream, taste, it’s perfect. House is dark, babies still sleeping. Time to write. “What did Jack do that was so cute last night?” Alan asks me. He heard me on the monitor while the babies and I were doing our night time routine. Jack put his hat on, a straw hat that Maureen picked out, it reminded her of Mikey Hynes. Mikey always wore a hat. Alan said he would sit in the last row at church so when he took off his hat no one would be sitting behind him to see his bald head, he was in good company too, the row was filled with these men. Mikey would have loved Jack, he would say something like, “He’s a good strong lad.” At night in the nursery when the babies are side by side in their diapers I can really see the width of Jacks back compared to Fiona. His leg muscles are strong, he would be able to work hard on the farm back in Ireland. Sometimes the thought runs through my head, what if he’s giant? What if he develops a love for football and gets used and destroyed way before his time. Right now he’s cuddly, sweet, his cheek always a little damp and cold because of teething. He giggles when I say, “I’m gonna get you.” He’s so fucken cute. The schedules are off by an hour this week, so when I got back the other night from putting Zappa down I was secretly hoping the babies were still awake. I heard them talking in their cribs, I went into the nursery and picked each baby up. I took off their sleep sacks. I needed cuddles from Jack and Fiona. We had missed our routine that night because I wasn’t home at bedtime, Ramona put them down for me. They made me feel better, all their love. Yesterday we mourned Zappa together. We started off going to breakfast. It was our first time. I put Fiona in the front carrier and held Jack, we walked in the door of Le Croissant. I ask if they have high chairs and my waiter sets me up in the way back corner, which is perfect. Jack and Fiona are having a blast, looking at the menu, the ceiling fans, people in the mirrors. I order cinnamon French toast, a jack and avocado omelet, chicken apple sausage, and a cup of milk. For a greasy little diner the food is awesome and a huge hit with the babies. Jack keeps watching one of the waitresses, she comes over a couple times and says, “He’s flirting with me.” One time she asks me how old they are, I tell her one. She then says, “Doesn’t the boy go vroom vroom vroom with trucks already and the girl doesn’t? It’s genetic, the girls don’t do it but the boys do.” I tell her I haven’t noticed that yet and she tells me, “You watch.” We then took Billy on a walk. I let the babies out of their stroller for a while to investigate. Billy was really good, she wasn’t agitated by them at all. But the entire time I was saying, “Jack don’t put that in your mouth. Fiona NO take that out of your mouth.” Little pebbles and wood chips. “Do you want me to make you some toast?” I ask the babies. They are awake now, making funny noises in their high chairs, eating cheerios, pointing to things and squawking. I take out the cinnamon raisin toast too early. It’s kind of soggy but they seem to be enjoying it. I love them so much.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 