Some of us aren’t content with a simple, lovely life. We riot to live on the margins.
Some of us can’t help but let life beat right through us, dancing in joy, writhing in disappointment , sticking its stiletto heels into our very souls.
A friend wrote, “ I realize how lucky I am, to feel everything so hard. It’s why I am an artist and it’s who I am.”
It took me a lifetime to appreciate living on the margins. In my younger days, it felt like mood swings, hormones run amok. My parents had no idea how to handle the intensity and I had no idea how to control it. So, as any obedient young person would do, I stuffed a lid on it and became one of the soldiers; the soldiers who slay their nature and pledge allegiance to duty. I marched on, one in a million – bringing my best to whatever post called me while routinely trudging across the heart of my muse.
Until one day I didn’t. Continue reading “Living On The Margins”
The Unknown forces you bear down on the Now. Days and moments become more precious and important to daily living, as you focus on what’s in front of you.
It may sound like a good remedy for the chaotic wails of the modern world, but that’s only if you’re fearless.
Sometimes, the Unknown holds the hand of its cousin, Fear. Fear has a way of keeping you awake at night and stopping you in your daily tracks. Fear demands you flee, hide or kick its butt. I don’t know about you, but I’m not as bad-ass as I’d like to believe. I’m reminded of this when Fear tags along. I’d like to add, “uninvited,” but we all know that’s untrue. Continue reading “Twisting In Transition”
I’m a work in progress.
It’s taking longer than I thought. Both the unfolding of me and our life transition.
I grasp at lovely things, as if they were branches that will keep me from going under. Until this household move, I had little idea that I thrive on aesthetics, taking in beauty as if it were air.
Since our old home is on the market, loaded with charm and sacred, secret spaces, it needs daily care. I’m constantly, gardening, cleaning, giving it love. But, I’ve given all my love.
I don’t paint anymore. I haven’t worked in the studio for weeks, and weeks. I had no idea this transition would totally take out my practice. Everything is out of place. This isn’t good for an artist. We get irascible when we don’t work….no one wants the business end of a stalled artist. With the exception of Tuesday mornings with my dear teacher, painting does not happen. I’ve started daily ink drawings for Inktober. It’s something.
So, as I often do in times of uncertainty, I look for the lesson. Am I learning patience? Am I learning faith? Is it both….or more? Yes, I’ve considered it’s me. It always is, you know? Not always me, always us…you. We get in our own ways. Continue reading “I’m A Work In Progress”