I’m not depressed, just melancholy. About all the time that has passed, all my life that I’ve already lived. How little time is left, how little time is always left at the end of every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year. The disappearance of time. In my studio today thinking about disappearance, things, people, life, fading away. Two hours, that’s about the amount of time I have to paint. I’m rushing around, I almost knock over a glass of water. “You’re getting crazy now, you need to calm down.” I say to myself. Green gold is a nice color, it was one of my mom’s favorites. I start painting, first a stain with watercolor, green gold. Some stained with grey. I think I like them, but I don’t know, I never can tell. Especially when I’m in these moods. My mind is cloudy, I keep hitting my toes and head on things. I hate when I have one of those ambiguous days in the studio. I get obsessed, I can’t think of anything else but the problems I’ve created, the search for the answers. But today is another day. A non-studio day. Time for a second cup of coffee. Today is my birthday, my 44th. Stumped. When my mom turned 44 she never would have thought she only had 15 years left to live. I’m being greedy. I want more time. I don’t want to die. Babies really show you how fast time moves. How quickly they grow. How can it be a year since my last birthday? Fiona and Jack were so small and sweet, only one month old. Last night Fiona stood in front of Jack and I. We were on the floor, I was putting on Jacks diaper. Fiona pulled the tab and opened one side of her diaper. Jack started cracking up and so did Fiona. I hope they don’t start taking off their diapers already and pooping and peeing everywhere. But that’s how fast they grow. We’ll have fun today, we have a great adventure planned and Fiona gets her new hearing aids today. She’s been without them for a week. That will be exciting. Happy Birthday to me.
Tag: art
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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.
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I’m gonna be in my studio by 1:00. I need to go to tap plastic, the art store, and the grocery store. Bettina and Janie are coming over at 4. I’ll get the plexi glass first. “Hi I’d like a piece of 18×24 1/16” plexi.” His name tag says “In Training.” I need something off the rolls in the back too. I show him, he seems nervous and excited to be helping one of his first customers. He pulls out the plastic and I get 4 feet. He only charges me for one foot, I tell him he missed a couple of feet, he adds two more. I shouldn’t have said anything, but I still got one foot free. At the art store I get some more Lenox 100, Ingres, soft gel gloss, I get a feeling of excitement and possibilities, and fluid titanium white. Its hot today and my girlfriends are coming over so I put on a new little sun dress and pinned one side of my hair back. I feel sexy for a 43 year old housewife mom. I bring my items to the counter. I ask the staff “why is rives printmaking paper so expensive now?” The guy behind the counter say “This is why” and pulls up his sleeve and flexes his bicep muscle. I don’t get it, then he says “the French don’t like us.” Strange. Next stop Whole Foods. I try to hurry but get lost in choice. I want to get appetizers for my friends, fruit for the babies. I need to hurry, I need to get into my studio. I drop my box of strawberries putting my groceries on the belt. Shit, I just pick them up. The girl asks if I want new ones, I say no, I wash them anyhow. I get home, put the groceries away and make it to my studio by 1:30. I have 2 hours. I tear my paper, the Ingres feels really nice, it’s beautiful. I wet the paper, I think about when Joab and I made our collaborative glue and gold piece at Cal State Hayward. We would pour glue and powdered gold and silver I would get from Amsterdam Art. It turned into a huge monster of a sculpture. I start with watercolor, I pour out all the tubes and pick sepia. I take a paint brush, one of the last ones that’s not hard and ruined. I start to put marks on the paper, the paint stains beautifully, I am taken back to the series of watercolors I made right after my mom died. Figures start to emerge, I feel uncomfortable. I’m not ready to go back to figurative work yet. I work with line and a bamboo pen. I finally get the technique and can’t believe it took so many years. A nice light touch creates a nice line. I emerge into the creative process, adding paint, collage, layers. I’m afraid to look at the time. I’m scared it’s later than I want it to be. I get some I really like and another pile of rejects. I look at the time. It’s 3:30. Shit. I’m bummed, but excited to see my friends and drink some wine. I clean up, take one last look. What am I going to do with all these paintings? I have so many, I’m making some new ones I really like. I can’t get anything else framed. I have a shit load of great pieces framed. I need to line up a show. But what about the framing part? I’m leaving now, I’m leaving my studio and these thoughts for the night.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 