Tag Archives: painting

A Cowardly but Respectful Lion

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Yesterday I talked about being brave. But I am still like Dorothy’s cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz. I’m not quite up to snuff, not up to confrontations. Never have and maybe never will. There’s something not quite kosher with the word, ‘confront’. It does not sit well with me. It implies hostility. It’s not the way I want to interact or behave. The word itself already brings with it anger and other mean spirited feelings. It is the word I am eliminating from my vocabulary right now.

Call me cowardly if you will but I cannot behave contrary to the way I was raised. That is my rock and a hard place. I do not want to absorb all the negativity it generates into my being. It is really not good for my well being. With a little creativity, luck and serendipity, I’ve turned into an alchemist. All my angst, from whichever source and direction they came from are very good fodder. They’ve fuel my painting, sewing, crocheting, knitting and my tap, tap, tapping here. All the frustrations, disappointments, saddness and anger are good compost. They give rise to ideas and visions and hope for a better (my)self. Being a queen of self-help, I always aim for a better version of me. Sometimes I succeed. Lately I’ve been failing. I’m picking myself up, brushing off self pity and getting ready to rise above the dust.

Having tapped out these words, my heart feels lighter if not braver. I will not tiptoe around my own sacred garden/yard/the world. But neither will I stomp around in anger and malice. I will treat my boundary and hers as well with due respect as always. If my beans or other climbing vines climb over the fence, well they are trespressing in the technical term. It matters not that they are not invasive or harming nothing. She has a right to nip the trespasser in the bud. I’ve already informed the weed company she uses that we do not want any spray on our property. That is fair, respecting my property.

The day is almost gone. I’ve spent the afternoon and my excess angst cleaning out my car. All the rubber mats and carpets are taken out, washed and dusted. The insides are vacuumed and wiped down. What took me so long? Why have I been so neglectful? It’s the first time I’ve cleaned the inside since I bought the car in 2009. Sometimes you start one thing, it can lead to another. Life can be wonderful this way. I’m stuck between that rock and a hard place. I’m chipping my way out, throwing out the dirt and pebbles. Now there’s room for Sheba.

What better way to rid the dust after a hard day’s work than a swim. None that I could think of. Though I had only a short time, I made my way to the pool. Twenty minutes was exactly what the doctor had ordered. It was cheered considerably by a thoughtful young man who was the life guard. He still looked wet behind the ears but was wise as Solomon in human relationships. I left with a softer heart than when I came. Thank you ___ . He told me his name but of course, I’ve forgotten already.

 

 

HOW I SPEND MY DAYS

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How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. – Annie Dillard

I wish I could write such insights as Annie Dillard. But then I’m not a Pulitizer winning authour. She has written many books. I wonder why I haven’t read any of them, especially since so many of them are in the library. I’ve just fixed that, reserving The Writing Life. I thought I should start with just one book. I’m still working on James Mitchener’s The Source. It’s an ambitious read of 1000 pages. I’m only on  page 207. I have a ways to go.

How do you spend your days? I’ve wondered what other people do with their time. I’m always busy it seems. I’m a doddler, poking away at life. Maybe if I speed up a little, I wouldn’t feel so busy. But it’s who and how I am. I need that slow pace to digest and process. So I can’t get up in the morning and hop to it. I have to ease my way with a cuppa tea and a few pages of fiction. Then it’s breakfast. If it is Monday, Wednesday,or Friday I’ll be heading out the door to aerobics. Saturday mornings I used to swim. Then somehow I got tired of always heading out of the door and I stopped. But I kept it up most of the winter.

I’m a homebody so I was glad to read that Annie Dillard is a recluse, albeit a gregarious one. I wish I’m like that but alas, I have no gregariousness in me. It should be no surprise that I don’t do a lot of frollicking with my days. I’m a rather quiet, somber person. I live within rather than without. That is, I contemplate alot. I like to read and muse. I wonder about the universe, why people do what they do. I wonder about the speed of the changes we are experiencing. How long life as we know will last? I wonder what gives meaning to the things we do. What does it matter anyways? I could have more time if I could just cut down all this musing.

You see, I am no fun. I do have fun though. I have numerous, maybe too many hobbies. I like to read and write. That gobbles up tons of minutes and hours in a day if I let it. Even painting my little index cards takes up at least half an hour. More if I’m ambitious. I’ve picked up sewing again. I went out and bought a fancy dancy new machine. It’s no small endeavour. It took time to learn all the ins and outs. Then there’s the organizing – fabric, patterns, projects. I’ve taken a fancy to free motion sewing, creating a picture with stitching. I haven’t thought about quilting yet. I have all the notions – collected through the years. At least I don’t have to go out and shop for material. I have a fabric shop right in my own basement.

I’m tapping here in my space. I’ve just turned the oven on for the roast. There’s a lot to do every day. Roasts to put in the oven, bread to make, lunches and dishes to do. The guy does supper and getting groceries. I start my own bedding plants for the garden. Been doing that for years now. Sometimes I enjoy. Sometimes it’s work. Well, isn’t everything? It’s worth it. It’s nourishing my body and soul. Even the cleaning and washing. It’s taking care of this business of living. What meaning or satisfaction would I get not doing any of this? Sure, I complain sometimes and wish that everything was taken care of for me. That sounds like being in a nursing home, doesn’t it?

It’s time to shut up and do something else now. There’s the dog to walk yet.

 

 

 

D is for DISCIPLINE

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Saturday

The snow storm came this morning. I was happy it came later rather than sooner. I made it to the embroidery seminar before the blowing snow gave me thought for pause. Being that there was 3 of us made it easier to get chummy and chatty. One of us was already very skilled. I had no experience. She was very generous in offering her help. It’s handy she lives in my area. I will probably call her up sometimes.

Sunday

It was a brief conversation yesterday. I was short on time and energy. But I am back. I’m working on the discipline thing. It would be easy to while the morning away reading  Sue Grafton’s Y is for Yesterday. I should not have read the reviews before I read the book. It colours how I am finding it.  I am agreeing that it is long and a bit tedious, confusing, and repetitous. Would I feel the same if I had not read the reviews? I will never find out now. Still, it is worth the read because it is Sue Grafton. She must have written it while battling cancer. I have a lot of respect for her.

Yes, these mornings I am digging deep to find my discipline bone, to lay aside the book after awhile. I need to get on with other things. It’s a difficult task even if I like doing the other stuff. My body’s natural inclination is to stay in the same old, same old. My brain’s had enough practice now to step in. Put the book down! Paint your 365 Somethings 2018 index card. I heard its voice in my head. I sigh and put the book down. The index card is painted. Projects keep me moving somehow or another. At the end of the year I will have 365 little postcard watercolour paintings. I hope my paintings will be better and better.

The bedding is in the wash AGAIN. For some reason they still smelled of Sheba. We love her but not her stink. She is also laundered two days ago. Now her fluff is floating around. The work never ends. It’s a good thing because if it does, what would it mean? I’m pepping myself up with a cup of decaf. It still has the caffeine taste. That’s good enough for me. I best go and check on the laundrey. They’re probably ready for the dryer now. Then it will be time for lunch. Best not to be late. We have tickets to see Gabriel Dumont’s Wild West Show at 2 pm.

 

THEY’RE JUST LIKE US

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Egads! Having a fur baby is like having a real baby. When there is something wrong, they can’t articulate so that you can understand. They cry/bark and cry/bark. Nothing seems to help. Their distress is distressing. There’s no reasoning with a dog or a baby. This is my situation with Sheba at the moment. We came home after spending a couple of hours at the guy’s boat workshop. It was her mealtime and she was restless.

Saturday –

That was as far as I got yesterday. Things went from bad to worse. She ate her supper with relish as always. Instead of settling down after as usual, she was restless and pesky. She barked to be out. Then she barked to be in.  She sat on the deck and stared at me. I’m not coming in! Was her demeanor. I coaxed her in with a treat. We went through a few episodes of this. Finally I took her for another walk. Maybe she felt shortchanged on her last one. We went at a fast clip. She was happy to trot. But it did not solve the problem at all.

She remained restless and pesky all evening, barking to go out, to come in. It reminded me of another episode a couple of years ago when she was anxious. Then, it was quite clear that she had anxiety, crying, not sleeping and not eating unless we stood guard while she ate. It was quite an ordeal, lasting weeks. She was checked and no physical causes. I was thinking of medicating her when she ‘snapped’ out of it. I wasn’t sure if it was the Omega 3s that I started feeding her. She was having quite a bit of dandruff at the time, too. Omega 3s were supposed to be good for healthy coat and brain. It worked in both cases. The dandruff improved and so did the hair shedding. PLUS she started sleeping and her anxiety subsided.

Remembering all that, I was determined that this was not going to go on for weeks. I willed myself to feel confident and secured, hoping she will read that and feel safe. I was sure by evening that the anxiety was from being in the workshop. She did not like being in there. The first day she was fine and would lay on her blanket. But the second day she paced the two hours we were there. She had trouble laying down at home. She would bop right up again. She would sit with me massaging her back and ears. She could sit focused and engaged through popcorn feeding, one kernel at a time. She is a true Lab. But we could not do that forever.

When we went to bed, she still would not settle. She paced, whimpered and panted around the bed. It was worse when I kicked her out and shut the door. She started barking. Eventually I got out of bed and made myself a cup of tea. I sat at the diningroom table and painted my little index cards. In time, Sheba came and laid down near my feet and licked hers. She really went to town, panting and licking her paws. She was comforting herself. The floor was quite wet. But she did calm down. She allowed me to stay in bed and sleep. She laid in hers, at the foot of ours and slept also. By then it was after 3 am and I had painted 3 little index cards.

Today she is her normal sweet though sometimes barky self. I have a headache, my eyes are gritty. I guess that’s normal for 3 hours of sleep. But I am still standing though not tall.

 

HEAVEN, I’M IN HEAVEN

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I’ve felt the heavens shift today. I think I’m going to be ok. I’ve painted my blues away. When the going gets tough, I fake it and keep going. What else can I do? Pout, stay in bed, cry, give up? I did none of those. I kept my daily schedule. I ate lots of chocolate chip cookies and some ice cream. I said no to exercise classes and swimming. I didn’t shower yesterday. I haven’t yet today. I don’t smell, not sweating much. It’s winter. I read. I painted and painted on my little index cards with watercolours. I’m working ahead on my 365 Somethings 2018 project. That’s what I do with my excessive energy. Now I’m feeling almost like an artist. I am an artist!

Suprisingly, I don’t feel any fatter. Not any slimmer either. I guess I have Sheba to thank. She still dragged me out for walks, like it or not. When I look around the house, it is not any messier than its usual state. Astounding! I must be doing something right, sticking to my good habits. They have stuck with me through thick and thin. I’m ecstatic. I’m in heaven. I could dance without music.

LIKE THE LIONS

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“Patience” and “Fortitude”, the “Library Lion” statues, in the snowstorm of Dec. 1948 from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Public_Library

January 14th, 9:30 am. The sun finally shows itself. The day is supposed to be longer. It’s only so minusculely, lengthening by mini seconds daily. Patience and fortitude are the words necessary for this month. I picture myself sitting stalwart and at attention like the lions guarding the entrance to the New York Public Library. They sit proud and strong, through thick, thin and smog. They do not waver. They endure in sun, rain, sleet and snow. That is how I want to be. That’s how I can be. I have knowledge. I have training. I have tools.

I am sitting in sunshine, in the warmth of my space, starting a new day. I’ve gotten up, dressed up with make-up and earrings even. I’ve smarten up, pulling up my pants and bootstraps. So it is January. It is cold, dark and difficult. What can I do about it? I can turn on the lights, crank up the heat and put one foot in front of the other. I don’t have far to go. I don’t have to go anywhere at all, except to the bathroom now and then. I got tired of listening to my same whiny words. Maybe they were just thoughts nobody heard except myself.

I do believe in the power of words and action. If you don’t like something, do something about it. I find it troubling yesterday posting for Gentle January 2018 for the prompt I WANT. All that I could feel was the emptiness of wants. I do not hunger or lust after any material wants beyond those of shelter, clothing and food. I wonder if a psychologist would label me depressed on an interview. I am not even othered much by Sheba’s hair and muddy paw tracks on the floor. Imagine! Muddy paws in January. It’s no wonder I am depressed if I am.

But wait! I do lust after a cup of tea/decaf, a sit in the sun with a good book. I am not totally bland. I still feel that dull gnaw of ugh in my being. I keep it on these pages only. Who could possibly understand ughs? Oh, certainly not those perpetual joyful souls. I tried to smooth out my whines with my little index card paintings. Sometimes I can eke out some slivers of comfort and joy with brushstrokes in the night. Time is not wasted in sleeplessness, tossing and turning. I have something to show in the morning. Life can be dang challenging. But I did say I like challenges, didn’t I? No worries. I’m going to bake them away making Toll House Squares. There’s nothing like the smell of chocolate baking to chase the blues away. How about you? Do you get the blues?

THE STRANGER AT THE DOOR

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I love the poem Love After Love by Derek Walcott. I first heard it recited by Jon Kabat Zinn, the founder of MBSR  (mindfulness-based stress reduction). It is about learning to love ourselves, to be present and at home in our own lives. I’ve been on that quest for a long time now. Today, I feel that homecoming, that welcoming of myself at my own door. I feel it all as I worked on this painting.

All my life, I’ve been told that I was smart and talented. I must not have believed it. After high school, I was going to take a secretarial course. My public school principal was aghast at my decision and chided me. I have too much intelligence and talent. I should not waste it. Then I got an entrance scholarship to university. That decided it. I went for two years. I got wayward and lost. I did not fail but I did not shine either. I dropped out and became a steno despite my smarts and talent. Four years later, I became a nurse. I emptied bedpans and saved lives for over 30 years.

It was a year and a half ago that I decided to investigate my ‘talent’. I’ve been talking about it most of my life. My artistic training consisted of maybe 4 classes many decades ago. I grew tired and embarrassed listening to myself repeat the same story. I started to feel like someone who people try to avoid. Same old, same old story. It was time to tell a new one. Entered 100 Day Project on Instagram. I did a little art each day for 100 days. I’ve learned that talent is not enough. Practice does make for better.

 

So I’ve finally arrived after all these years. I feel the elation rising. The canvas is my mirror. I caress the face with my brush. We smile back at each other. Strange and strangers to each other till now. Where have you been? Where have I been? The questions echo silently in the air. So many years have passed. You have lain motionless and silent within this body. I did not know you were within though I’ve been lonely and longed for you. Now you have arrived. Welcome. Come in, sit here. Eat.

E************************************************************************************

LOVE AFTER LOVE

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

MY DAILY BREAD

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My daily practices have become my joy and salvation. Seeing the letters and words march across the screen, hearing the tap, tap of the keys, pushing the paint on the canvas with my brush – they all bring me incredible joy. The feelings are so subtle at first. Now I’m infused with them. In this moment with the sun beaming into my room, I can say I am happy. It is enough.

I’ve never wanted much – for myself. Maybe that is why I’ve never felt poor even though we were. My sister felt it and my mother testified to it. Dried anchovies were mostly what we had to accompany the rice. But we were never hungry, except maybe on Sunday mornings. That was the one day the cafe closed. Everybody slept in, even if you were 8 years old and itching to get up, with tummy rumbling for food. We had a roof over our heads though it was an old one. We lived in a little house behind the cafe and near the town’s public bathrooms. Sometimes our house was mistaken for it.

Our next house was along the highway. It was bigger though not newer. My foot crashed through the floorboards of my bedroom the first day. It wasn’t my bedroom long, for our grandparents came to live with us. My sister and I had bunkbeds in the livingroom and our little brother slept with mom. Dad slept at the cafe because he had to open it early. The livingroom was great in the winter. It had an oil furnace. I would undress and dress next to it. Sometimes I got too close and ouch!

Recounting our early days in Canada, I see that we WERE poor. It mattered less to me maybe because I was warm, fed and nourished. Everything was new. I was learning a different language. I had school and friends. The Grey Hound Bus bought me books from the provincial libraby in Regina regularly. I always had a voracious appetite for the written word. The teachers told my father at the Grade One parent/teacher meeting that I have a talent for drawing. In my teens, I drew portraits of teen idols – Elvis, Fabian, etc. I only did trees in art class. My affinity for faces and people started young.

I’ve never made any money with my two loves. They were stuff of dreams. Who doesn’t dream of making it big, writing that novel or creating that painting? I didn’t work at making the dreams come true. I earned my living and money the hard way. I waitressed, worked in an office and slung bedpans as a registered nurse in a teaching hospital. Oh, glory days! Now in the aftermath of my youth, I have lived, am seasoned and have suffered. I have something to say and perhaps the fire to say it.

I was not a child genius, who upon falling out of my mother’s womb, can pick a brush and create a masterpiece. But that’s what it feels like in my senior years. It happened once I decided to pick up my brush after talking about my passion for decades. I push these blobs of paint on the canvas. Somehow a picture emerges. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it is even great. It keeps me showing up for my daily practices, my daily bread. It feeds and nourishes me. God I saved the best for the golden years.

 

WHEN I CAN’T SLEEP

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Here I am, sleepless in Saskatoon. It’s not often that I have trouble sleeping nowadays, but I did last night.  After getting up to the bathroom at midnight, I had that feeling that I wounldn’t get back to sleep. I didn’t. After an hour, I got up. I might as well do something useful instead of tossing and turning. I know that my coming day will not be productive. At least I would have something to show for the night.

What would be the thing to do? Filing would not be a relaxing thing. Nor was my mind up to it. I could read the book, Lawrence Hill’s The Illegal. It’s a good read but I have so many distractions. I’m not getting very far into it and it will be due back in the library soon enough. I decided I was still distracted. I needed something without focus. I decided to finish my palm tree painting. No concentration, just dabbing paint here and there. It was a good choice. 2 hours later, it was finished. I was happy with it. Feeling relaxed but still wide awake. I went back to bed anyways. I closed my eyes. If not asleep, at least I could say I got some shut eye.

I was happy to get out of bed when 6:30 am came. I did managed to get a wee bit sleep – maybe 3-4 hours. I’m feeling a bit strung out, cold and shivery.  Not stressing though. Trying to rest is more tiresome than not. I’m just piddling along with my day, doing the best I can. I’m here, aren’t I, tap, tapping away. I’ve made and ate lunch. The dishes are soaking a bit longer than need be. I’ve done a bit of drawing for an IG challenge. Kitchen and dining room floor are swept of dog hair and food grumbs. I’ve filled the raised garden beds in the back and picked some tomatoes and beans. Sleepless but not stagnant in Saskatoon.

What do you do when you can’t sleep?

PAINTING MY WORLD – Day 175 in a year of…

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Day 175, January 17, 2017 @1:23 pm

img_9005My Tinker Bell and her fairy dust is still out. Now she is on her lunch break. I’m flying solo without a net. My only magic is my keyboard, a loyal and dependable friend. I might as well tap and breathe, tap and breathe while I wait for Tink to return. The going is slow but it’s better than at a standstill. My great, great ancestor did say that a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. I am stepping, finishing my White Snake/Tiger/Dragon maiden. She looks like she’s flying on a magic carpet. Maybe that is enough magic to keep me going.

img_9007I take comfort in making some progress with the beginnings of a little cherub. I can wait for elation to come later. Now the important thing is not to let feelings of inertia and despondency to weigh me down. Perhaps it is not good to dwell on this but it is necessary to know and acknowledge oneself. I am soothing and nurturing this part of me. I might as well use this energy for words and pictures. I like to paint my world with both these brushes – words and pictures.