Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes

I Trust Myself

February 3rd, 2018
Blue and Turquoise, abstract color play, figures, gardens. February painting. I never stop doing what I love, painting. I always paint, it’s consistent and will remain so until I die. In the last two weeks I have found myself not taking celexa. At first, it wasn’t a conscious decision to stop, I was sick, missed a few doses. Then I consciously decided not to take it anymore. That night we were in the kitchen, I was preparing dinner. I told Alan, “I have something to share with you”. I can’t remember what detail I went into about how long and what drugs I’ve been taking for the past three years, but I said, “I’ve decided to stop taking my Celexa, I didn’t do it right, so I don’t what’s going to happen.” Alan knew I had tried some things for PMS and Insomnia. He told me I should try to do it right, go back and ween off the pills. I didn’t listen because I’m so impatient. I really can’t tell which discomforts I’m feeling are from the celexa withdraw or my flu. I had questions about what would happen when I quit, but painting in my studio just now I realized I’m just like always, I always do the things I love, no matter if I’m depressed or not. This week I’ve also been trying to quell any negative self -talk. I started to wonder if the whole reason I had to start taking anti-depressants was because of my terminal negative self- talk. I drove myself to madness. The next thing that pops in my head is, “You’ve always been crazy and done crazy things.” But is it necessary to change? To not do crazy things? Or think crazy thoughts? And where’s the red line? As I took my medicine for longer and longer and increased my dose when needed I started to distrust myself. I am afraid to see who’s behind the door, but it’s only been three years. How could that person I am have slipped away? I definitely got through a super rough patch, I started them six months after Jack and Fiona were born. Before that, at the very end of my journey through infertility, I took klonopin for insomnia and depression. That was great, but I was scared to let go and trust my bodies own ability to rest and sleep. When I stood back and looked at my crazy painting I did today I realized I’m an artist, I’m a painter. I trust myself in my studio. I trust myself.
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Sour Grass

February 1st, 2018
I cough, start to type. Today I am going to my studio to paint. It’s effort because I have a cough, woke up at 4:30 AM. It starts with a little tickle. The Nyquill and hot whiskey from the night before has worn off. I think, maybe the coughing will stop, maybe I can go back to sleep. It doesn’t, I don’t want to wake up my husband, or children. I go upstairs, pick up my phone, touch the Facebook Button. Spread butter and sun butter on my toast and drink unsweetened coffee. I scroll through the internet looking at haircut styles, I want my bangs back. I jump on my Peloton bike for a 6:30 AM Heart Rate Training ride. I beat my PR, have a great workout. I still have gunk in my chest. I make beef and bean tacos for lunch, slather them with hot sauce, drink two cokes. I still have gunk in my chest. I want to burn out the gunk. I feel tired, so instead of going to my studio I’m tempted by a sci fi movie on Netflix and a hot bath. Maybe another Whiskey Sour, I mean Hot Whiskey! But I’m going to my studio. Let’s see what happens. It’s 11:08 AM.

I went outside first, before going into my studio, to get some sunshine. Two Nasturtium leaves, dark green with dark brown, damp earth underneath. Two bright yellow sour grass flowers??in front of a full Meyer lemon tree. It’s almost spring. Now going to studio. I look around, turn on some tunes, pull some old works out of the flat file. I decide I’m not going to start anything new anymore, or frame anything. This collection will be re-worked and New Note Books. I mix some paint, white and blues and golds and greys. I try not to conceal too much of what was there before, on the old drawing, but once the works taken a hold of me I can’t stop until it’s done or ruined. Except in my notebooks. It is impossible for a Note Book entry to be Ruined. I was inspired by sickness and gunk and my body. My growing body. My changing mind. The loops I’m going through. Fact or Fiction? Pink or Grey? Thick Lines or Thin?
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I Trust Myself

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Sour Grass

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