I was staring at a painting in my studio, hung with six push pins. I hung the paper up today, painted it and collaged it. It’s a large piece of thick water color paper, 50” x 48”. I started it and finished in one day, which is impractical. It’s delicate paper, it’s large, where will I store it? If only I had another show lined up or someone to buy it? I need to start working smaller. I love working big, but I need to work small. I went on a walk today, up the trail, past blue bells and hedge parsley. Past the decaying tree stumps, getting smaller than they were last year. So many kinds of little green plants, clovers, grasses, dead leaves on the ground in ruby red and dark brown. The air was cold, my hands freezing. The sun was out, the sky so clear, I thought it would be warmer. It was my last day of having three-year-old children. My last day I could get away with calling them babies. I love Jack and Fiona so much, they have turned out to be good kids. It’s hard to believe when I reminisce of the past, of Jack and Fiona as infants, of life before they were born, my mind is filled now with beautiful memories. The sad memories of my most difficult times have diffused, leaving a stain, but not a strong stab to my heart. I have healed in the past four years. I have a collection of paintings that document feelings I’ve gone through. Lines and color, paper and canvas, lots of the work framed. My studio needs to be cleaned, to make space for my new collection, my new work, from the new me. Or the same me? The original, more confident, less broken me? I don’t know. I just know that this year I have changed.
Tag: motherhood
-
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?
