x-peck-tah-shin

I’m not, nor have I ever been one of those with perfect handwriting. What pours forth from the ink to the page falls into any category between cursive and chicken scratch. All too often, I myself cannot even diagnose what the word was originally meant to be and find the closest substitute that might make sense if I were indeed sober and awake when I wrote it. But usually I’m not.

There is a sort of filter on thoughts and things lately. The filter that shows me what I could have versus what I do have. Or, maybe, perhaps, that is just my perception on things.

The hot water boils on the stove, gets poured into the mug, then turns into something drinkable. After it cools. Because I have no inclination to scald my tongue on freshly heated water.

Distracted. Again. I do this. A lot.

I believe I was talking about handwriting before the water whistled for me to get up and come retrieve it from the burning coils on the stove. My handwriting or someone who wrote for me, I’m not sure now. All that fetches in my memory right now is the whisps of a note now forgotten, the glimpses of dreams that floated by in the last few hours, and the potential that there really is light at the end of the tunnel.

Of which I wasn’t aware we were in. Huh. Did I miss something here?

Nevermind.

It is my mind that is the one guiding this after all.

The basis of what I think I’m trying to say right now is that sometimes things change.

There. Simple enough. Now explain.

That I am an artist who makes large strokes with a paintbrush, large gouges with a sharp knife, who full heartedly jumps into projects, who fully embraces another person in a hug, makes me not the sort of person to pay attention to details. But I do. The things that when you step close to the painting to discover the small dots and lines, blended or standing alone, to give the piece a finished perspective. The things that when you run your fingers over the finished wood, you feel the flow of the cut as well as the flow of the grain, making it seem as if it was already there. The things that include charts and research out the wazoo, the customer perspective, and the bottom line, that show this project is based in this reality. The things that when wrapped in a hug, my fingers instinctively find the tension in the back or neck, in a gentle rubbing to say hello or goodbye, helps release just a little bit of the pain that was being held on to too tightly.

Sometimes finding out that what you see and feel may be something entirely different, well, that’s just cause of alarm. Or for drinking heavily and cursing. Or for screaming in fear and cowering. Or for dancing wildly and spastically, falling down on purpose, and realizing that “Hey, the world looks different from down here.”

Indeed, it does.

So, perhaps this tunnel is not the tunnel of lore, where you walk out of it, or where a train comes at you, or whatever those loring tunnels are.

This tunnel may be one of those that’s more akin to a well, Or the caves in the rocks we climbed as kids, where half the climb was straight down, crawl a bit, then climb straight up. Remembering that now makes me wonder why in the hell we did that, on purpose? I mean, snakes, nettles, scrapes, darkness, spiders, bats, flash storms, all sorts of things, were threats. What were we thinking?

And when did I let myself slide from fearless and adventurous to an adult? Yuck.

The tea cools enough to drink. I transfer the words from notebook to computer and come up with something that sounds like what I might have been trying to say in the wee hours of the morning. I take the last gulp, looking down into the empty, deep mug. Only by turning it sideways does anything fall out. Yet another different perspective.

Anyway. We climbed cautiously we worked in groups, pushing each other up, or pulling each other up. We skittered under boulders, around crevices, sliding along on our butts an awful lot. By the end of summer my jeans had lost all their back pockets to those rocks. And it didn’t matter. We went through, we found more, we crawled and got dirty, we made our way out in time to go eat dinner.

So this tunnel I’ve been in is like looking up out of those rock caves. I’ve forgotten that I am not alone. I need to get a little dirty, scoot off the rock I’ve been perched on, and ask for help climbing out.

filler

It's hard to actually express what I do, or think about, while I paint. It helps if I'm actually in the mood to do something, because then it flows. Like every move, every inch, every idea just falls right into place and fills itself in. Those times I can work for hours and not realize it at all. I've gone several hours without looking up from a piece, only to find that when I eventually do - I'm hungry, thirsty, and have a sore neck from leaning over so long.

This is not those times. My giveadamn is broken and I have to force myself out of bed, much less to put clothes on that aren't sweats. So I've been filling these in maybe once, twice a week. As an effort to distract myself, or an effort to try and reclaim something I like doing. Or I'll spend hours working a fierce level sudoku, just to keep out of my own mind. Really, working on something like a carving would be much better suited...

Anyway, I don't think of muchwhen I'm actually working, except the piece. It is a good way to focus and stay out of my head. The conundrum is, when I don't feel good, when I'm spending too much time in my own head, is exactly when I probably should be painting.

Working on getting back to that.

Meanwhile, a few more photos of this. It'll be done soon, I promise, for the handful of you who are bored with it already.

More Red

Another red added.

A few more circles filled in.

It looks less like the large greyish stretch of nothing now and more like what I had in mind.

I know, the pictures do not do it justice. I prefer the tactile medium of the paint over the plain visual of the photograph myself, but all too often there are things caught in a click moment that someone else posts on their site and I sit in awe at the beauty they are able to capture

more shots

The wide shots, the close up shots, the in-between shots.

dark pink

The darker pink now lays down. I pour it on thick, making waves in the creamy, rich, pink paint.

I do this with all the colors, trying to give the piece a bit of texture.

Beach

I alternate between feeling like crap because I'm depressed and feeling like crap because I'm sick. So today, after spending entirely too much time in bed and then more than a few hours searching the classifieds and job hunting sites, when Rob said he was heading out for a walk, I suggested the beach. Today was unusually warm, about 80, and not rainy for once. So we meandered to the beach.

He loaded his backpack with weights, so he can stay in shape for his PT stuff. I took my shoes and socks off not long after we started walking. Yeah, the water was a bit chilly, but I acclimated pretty quickly. There were people swimming and surfing, so it couldn't have been too bad.



I watched the waves roll over my feet, it's disorienting. Like my focus shifts with the direction of the current, or like everything is moving and I'm standing still, but I'm moving too..

The darker silt gets left behind on the lighter sand, as if the waves were painting their own landscape. Joggers and little kids playing in the surf leave footprints behind in the wet-packed sand. The birds light little prints, Y out as they move in and out, swooping off in search of someone throwing bread.

The sun starts to set, the colors of the sky reflect in the surf, soft pinks and purples blending into the oranges and blues. The moon has risen just enough, but not so much I can't capture both it and the ocean in one shot.

dark red bubbles

So the color scheme is falling into place, much as the bubbles are closer to "popping" out on their way down. Or up. I'm not quite sure which with some of these, really.

The idea sketched out was a couple of circles in a couple of colors, red, pink, and black. It has grown to fit a 24 inch canvas, with many circles drawn in all over. The hard part so far is when painting in the different colors, not getting them too close to each other. As in the reds can't overlap each other as they blend right into each other. Same with the pinks. (That comes next post.) Anyway, I'm aware that the blending would make it more, well, blended, but I want this one to stand out on it's own. And so far, it really does.

Valentines Day

Amber sent me flowers for Valentine's Day. I cried so hard, she's so sweet. It's very hard being away from my friends and family for so long.



Rob got me an adorable card and he included a hand written note sharing how he feels about me. He made me cry too. He's simply lovely.

What gets so hard for me is that I do love him so, but I don't feel right being here. I miss my family and friends, I miss the space and supplies to create, I miss the sunshine. But he makes me smile. He comes home after work and we wrap together in a hug. It's his smile that makes me melt, his heart that makes me love him even more.

adding black

I layer in the black bubbles.

The black paint is thicker, it responds to the pressure of the brush, to the light from above me.

I'm in the frame of mind where I need something that works for me. Right now it may only be the paint, going where I guide it to go.

Add the pink

Adding the pink bubbles to the red.
Layering of sorts.
Filling in in random increments.





I like the contrast of colors so closely related.

Closeup of Swirls

These are the swirls put into the second base coat to give a bit more texture.

Closeup of Red

Starting Out

Primed canvas.
One coat of light grey.
Next coat of light grey, thick white, metallic white - give some color variation.
Use brush to make circles as texture on canvas.
Draw circles.
Big circles.
Little circles.
Overlapping circles.
Red.
Paint a few random circles in a red.