From The Studio
Yes, I am painting. I'm not sure why when we think about what other artists are up to, we even wonder if they are creating new works. Do we ever stop doing that? Even if we go for short spurts away from the easel, the act of what might be in a painting never ceases to play over and over in our mental visual. I'm posting a blurry and dark image of what is being worked on right now. Nothing finished, lots with hope of being masterpieces. Canvases leaning and laying and waiting. Painting for a date of being featured in a gallery brings on a whole new momentum. So far, not stressed.
I thought I should check in here with some more current news since last April. I'm feeling a bit sad I missed the summer, where did it go? Oh, I know, it's still here officially, but the hint of fall is in the air. Stores and news screaming from the rafters Back To School is near. Such advisories still cause a slight tension in my gut brought on by nerves over the unknown we must march forward into. I think sending our kids back to school was more anxiety inducing than me going for myself. I just wanted them to be happy. Not such a big request in life, eh. It's still number one on my bucket list.
I also am constantly thinking about what I could write a book on, or an online blog, or journal, or word share, etc. In a few ways, I miss being a member of the online social site world. In many many ways, so glad I don't use my precious and limited time doing that. It's an addictive way to cultivate my already hard to control glitch called procrastinator. Instead of getting to what I had to do, I'd scroll and find ways to distract myself. Especially if I had a deadline I had to meet. I remember when I was in high school, I'd sit in the kitchen and whine and belly ache over the anxiety of a massive ( to me ) project I had to do. Mom would say, " all this time you've spent sitting there grumbling and complaining over what you have to do, you could have it done by now. Go do it. " I can't imagine how those years would have been if I had social media at my fingertips. Makes me shudder to think, bad enough to find it during my Bucket List age. Which, in a way, is very similar. Instead of during my teenage hormonal age, I found social media during my menopausal hormone age. Both of those phases that graze my memory banks bring a lot of shuddering and saying to myself, what the hell was I thinking?? I don't think we give enough credit to how extensive an influence hormones have on our sense of practical thinking. I should write a book on that.
Or, I should write a book on my life. Not sure who would want to read it. Do people buy books anymore? I know they write them, I read that online. I hope anyone reading this will smile at my sarcastic sense of humour. Seriously, tho, do we not all have a story? All artists use their medium in sharing their story. Music composers give us songs that come from a personal part of their soul. Even if it's a fictional song, it reflects something very personal about them. Since I discovered a radio station in Sequim that I put on Alexa everyday, I've learned more about music makers. This station plays EVERY genre of music. I have become a scholar on recognizing who wrote songs. I have become a scholar on recognizing styles, signatures that only that individual could have written. Okay, Professor Google in my hand held device helped me along the way. I so wish I got onto the smartphone thing while Mom was alive. She would have LOVED us being able to look up artists and celebrities on those Saturday after shopping evenings. Sorry, I missed the beat on that one, Mom.
Or, should I write a book on how to be an artist. I think it would end up being more a story on how to not be one. I've tried. I have announced my retirement, done, can't take the stress, just can't do this anymore. My husband waits until my rant is over, then tells me to go paint, and I say okay. I couldn't write a book on how to paint. I could never teach, not in me to take on telling people what to do. I do admire those who teach. In any subject, teaching is a huge responsibility. Perhaps I feel this way because I have learned since Professor Google came into my life, and Sara and Robert Genn letters, I am an HSP. This is why I sing better in the car alone than I do on stage, I'm an HSP. This is why I paint better on my own and not in a crowd, I'm an HSP. HSP stands for Highly Sensitive Person, by the way. And, this is why the thought of teaching absolutely terrifies me, I'm an HSP. I'm so glad I don't have to teach.
If I were to write a book about living as an artist, it wouldn't be a how-to book, no. It would more likely be about perspectives on being a human being. The common thread that sews us together in ways that makes us all of the same material. Thinkers and dreamers. Riders on metaphorical rides of highs and lows. My perspective today is optimistic, even though I do have a civilian cold, nothing fancy, just a cold, I feel somewhat enthused that today will be a great day. Sun is shining, it's not TOO HOT, Gerry is having a day without too many horrendous OFF times ( Parkinson's sufferers will understand that one ) and I'm excited about what I am painting.
Okay, on that optimistic note, I shall go and paint.... and maybe start that book :)