A lot of my work lately is about two things:
1. the tactile nature of creating with my hands rather than a brush.
(Ok, I do use a brush once and awhile, but not for spreading paint!)
2. the self-reflection and pep-talks needed to get through the Tough Shit.
Sitting on the floor is not the most comfortable position, but I now have a better understanding on how Frida was able to paint while in bed, or a wheelchair. I always wondered how she mustered up the energy and passion needed to create despite terrible pain. She's been an idol of mine for years, and helped with creating my couch box for art while in bed/on the couch. Still, I'd be tired, and in pain, so I would just look at my phone or watch TV.
When you have a real passion for what you're doing, when you *must* express your inner self, pain becomes fuel, not the blanket that smuthers it out.
Somehow, once I get into the flow of things, I forget myself past my thoughts and hands. I allow myself to stay in the moment by focusing on the feel of paint between my fingers, the way chalk sticks, the little bits of glue I habitually peel off (getting glue off my fingers is one of my favorite quirks). When I need a moment, I wash my hands in my water jar. Leaning over, leg going numb - none of it matters when I'm playing on the page or surface.
Honestly, I've been painting on the box an Amazon order came in a few weeks ago. It's just cardboard, so there's no pressure to make anything nice or perfect. I can work without thought, letting the colors I've spread inspire me for the next step. Little bits, big swaths of color, details, paper. One leads to the next. Over and over.
And there comes a moment when I stop. The colors aren't inspiring any more. The space is filled. Call it magic, call it the unconcious, but I get to a moment when I *know* what I need to write. What I need to get out to help clear my mind of distractions. Most of my pieces are pep talks or kind suggestions to myself.
You see, I've yelled at and hated parts of myself for years and nothing ever got better. So I decided, why not treat myself with love instead? Just try it out for a week, see if it helps. And it does! Yes, I still struggle, but I'm so much more gentle with myself.
So I add these words. They just...come to me. Like they're coming from an unknown source that knows *exactly* what I need to hear/read to help calm whatever's rubbing me the wrong way. And no, I don't just create when sad or depressed. Sometimes, I create to help someone else' pain. Or something I feel people need to hear. I don't really question it, I just *do it.*
(And yes, when I got up last night to put my sheets in the dryer since Edie threw up on them...ugh...I had to walk hunched over because my back had frozen and straighten was not something I wanted to do. I shuffled to the dryer. It isn't far. And I was able to tolerate that because I'd just created art I liked, art I've always wanted to make, so...so what if I can't stand up? Or that my leg goes numb, my knee flares up. The reward of art created, of feelings processed, that makes it worth it. I also relax and watch tv or read to loosen up before bed.)
There is so much more I could write about, or share. For now, I'll just show you the art and the details I love.
