sketches of my day May 2008 - Nov 2010

June 3, 2010

storms

It is storming outside, dark and rumbling, kind of what I am feeling, kind of, not totally. I feel “rumbly”, not dark. I get this way when I have time, time to stop and think.I realize that my job keeps me from looking inward, it keeps me “busy” and occupied and that time to turn in and reflect is replaced with tiredness and distraction. Well, on this third day of June within the silence of my house I do think about things, a lot of things. I find my first thoughts go towards the lives of my children, I go down the list and think of each one and I am happy they are all healthy and unique  am thankful for so many things in regards to them but one thing that quickly surfaces for me is their ability to be their own people – they are not swayed by trends and propaganda, they are genuine and free and for that I am so thankful. Next, I think of my art and it is here where I feel frustration. I am not anywhere where I want to be right now. I know that, like any problem, I must face it head on and not ponder but just “do”. I have four canvases started and today, this stormy day, I plan to sit there in front of my easel near the window and “do” art. I hope that by the end of the day I have reached a more satisfactory point. Some days I feel so inept and some days I feel quiet able. The third thing this stillness makes me think of is all of this “stuff” and how I have a love hate relationship with it. I do not own much in terms of monetary value, but I possess my past in terms of sentimental attachment. I look at this as a weakness most days but then on some days I look at this as a connection to what was. To say I struggle with this would be accurate. I have lost both of my parents and all of my grandparents; I know how the story ends; I know where all of this “stuff” ends up. I have to lighten this load; it is going to immobilize me at some point.

 “A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can afford to let alone."
— Henry David Thoreau (Walden)

a  pear

The cost of a thing is that amount of life which must be exchanged for it.
Henry David Thoreau  

b u

p s