A painting by Mondrian.
Long, long ago, when I was a child,
we used to have an ashtray in our
apartment that looked a little like this and I thought, perhaps it was painted by Mondrian. (I wish!) I remember being sad when it broke into little pieces.
Description unavailable (Photo credit: wakingphotolife:)
There was so much anger and resentment in my past, in my youth, it piled up like a bloody automobile accident on an icy winter day. Black ice that you can’t even see, like feelings that you didn’t know you still had. They snuck up from deep inside me and burst, like popped balloons. Years and years of self-teaching and negotiating and drawing lines and speaking up and creating boundaries had finally come. There had been teachers and books and confrontation to arrive at this peaceful place now, a place of breathing and thinking, forgiving and living in the present. It took a lot of work but I was proud of myself, finally.
I had wiped the slate clean and all the baggage of my past was behind me. However, I look across at you, my lover of five years and I fear it is still in you. I begged you for years to come to therapy with me, to work on our relationship but you refused. Does it mean anything to you that I have done all this work for our relationship? You shake your head back and forth and say in a low tone: “Not really.” You scratch your beard and stroke it, a habit that I have come to detest. I shudder from the cold temperatures in the room and in your answer which is void of emotions. You do not like change, I know, why would you like change; you haven’t noticed anything was wrong to begin with. I sigh deeply. I don’t know what to do, how to respond to you, you are a creature of habit and you annoy me now, this highly predictable presence in MY artist’s cottage. I don’t know if you belong here anymore, I mutter that under my breath but you don’t listen to me, even if I had shouted it out loud. You never listen to me, do you? You just hear what you want to hear, as if you were a five-year old boy, plugging his ears with his fingers and screeching some vile noises, getting louder and louder by the minute. I want to slap you but I have to control myself because that would be getting nowhere and I abhor physical violence in every form. Look what you have almost made me think of doing!!
I get up from our scratched wooden kitchen table, I feel sick to my stomach and head to the sink and heave into it, my long brown hair falling far into the sink. I am trying to vomit the destruction out of my body but nothing comes out. I want to look at the decay, describe it, name it, show it, but I can’t. I can’t even do that right. Nothing comes out of my body except the decaying dry heaves of a woman starting to become undone. No, I will not let myself do this. I stop myself and breathe. Slowly.
I lay on the sofa, with a red and blue crocheted blanket tucked around me that my mom made for me years ago. I’m tired, confused and feel very much alone. I don’t know what to do right now. I know in my heart and deep inside me, just one thing, we need to separate. I need to be free, he is stifling me and I feel I can’t breathe anymore. “He had” no idea, he will wail, I’m sure, when I would later say this a mere week later. But, it was in the room with us for a very long time. He just wasn’t paying attention.
Self-Portrait, Spring 1887, Oil on pasteboard, 42 × 33.7 cm., Art Institute of Chicago (F 345). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
“Sunflowers”
A classic beauty
Vincent Van Gogh
Vincent van Gogh – Still Life: Vase with twelve sunflowers (Photo credit: Steve Dorrington)brilliant classic, a painting that you have looked at before or studied in class. I present you with the famous painting by Vincent Van Gogh called Sunflowers.
Not Even A Circle
Drawing For REAL Dummies
I have also wanted to try an art class for drawing and sketching. Most of the time the introduction courses have advanced students in them and that is truly frustrating. I want a no-nonsense, can’t draw a stick figure for the non-gifted class. I want a class with people like ME, not those who sit in the class and deftly sketch a rendition of Monet. I have always admired artists that have had no formal training but I am not one of them. To sketch, therefore, to live.
WHAT MUSICIAN/BAND WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN A LIVE CONCERT?
I don’t think of her as a musician, I think of her as an amazing artist. There’s no one else like her, her voice, her range, her beauty. I regret that I did not see her live when she was playing near the date of my 50th birthday. Major mistake. Epic fail. It was too expensive….nothing is too expensive if it is a lifetime dream. I wish I had been more adamant, I wish my husband had listened, I wish we had gone to the concert, spent an excessive amount of money and gone out to a lavish dinner. It would have been worth all the money to be able to reflect back and remember that memory years and years later.
1) Barbra Streisand
2) ” ”
3) ” ”
so i went to the snooty mall today, all anxious and not knowing where to go. my sense of direction is what legends are made of. as in i have no sense of direction, never did, never will. and jill was not working. yes, jill our gps helper person. of course, when I have to go to the complicated mall jill just shows me an hour-glass going up, going down. i had no idea where i was going. had to stop a car in the next lane and scream to ask for directions. it was all so seventies. there was bumper to bumper traffic, what should have been a 35 minute drive took me over an hour and ten minutes. I was all jittery and hot and flushed since I didn’t want to be late for my appointment and nordstrom’s doors were locked tight and it was like totally dark in there so we were all milling around in the parking lot waiting to see if someone would unlock the doors because eventually they had to. right? i mean it is nordstroms….
i had a 10:15 appointment with the genius ( i kid you not, that’s what they are called) at apple and I was all running over shlepping my computer because the dvd player which I tried at home at least 12 times, was all of a sudden working. surreal, i know, totally really surreal, like going to the doctor with a complaint and then as soon as she walks in the room, it’s gone. cured. just like my computer when he, the genius, put the Ghandi dvd in it that had scratches and i swear that Ghandi himself healed the computer’s dvd. no seriously, Ghandi himself fixed my computer and saved me about 200 dollars.
while my computer was given a free, yes free, new keyboard, i walked around the pretentious mall and wanted to get an iced tea. there was a specially tea store and I swear on my life, they wanted me to pay $4.95 for a small herbal iced tea and i was so “i’m so out of here” because starbucks is even cheaper than this and i have a gift card. i walked around the mall slowly until two people (two different people) accosted me, shoving samples in my hand. and I was all fine and happy that i got free samples until I looked at them and saw they were samples for people with deep, severe, repeat deep, severe wrinkles. now i had two wrinkle cream serums and I thought to myself, omg, I must look so old and horrible and I didn’t even have an iced tea to drink to keep myself hydrated.
i’m in all sorts of pain and my back is all sore especially the lower middle back and i am tempted to cry but am trying to hold myself together because yesterday was a horrible day and everyone was in a miserable mood. today was a little bit better because it must be that Ghandi sent some more healing powers although it seems the genius who worked on my computer did something wrong and now my computer sounds like an airplane on a runway about to take off. but supposedly the dvd player is still fixed, just not sure if i can hear it now.
i met a really interesting friend of my mother’s who is an artist and somehow she inspired me in some sort of creative, optimistic way. i am now thinking about taking an art class even though i know i have zero talent but i’m talking myself into trying again. i failed clay once and i’ve never forgotten it but i was in my twenties then and at 54 i really don’t care all that much. so i need a new hobby and now i have inspiration and a sunnier disposition to think about it. so i will plug away and maybe get involved in something new or maybe i won’t and will be the lazy slob i always have been and dive under piles of comforters and dream of spring.
Image via Wikipedia
I should have known better than to watch American Idol this season after all these years. I wanted Crystal Bowersox to win, the clear favorite who wowed the audience (and the judges) with her 3 performances last night and for most all of the competition. I voted. I voted ten times to try to help. Then, I hear Simon Cowell on The Ellen Degeneres show predicting Lee DeWyze as the winner. There were also articles written on how Crystal wouldn’t win…”can’t people be silent for at least 24 hours before the voting?
Is America not ready for an indie artist who also happens to be a single mom? Half hippie, half eclectic, this young woman’s voice is unbeatable. So she wore her hair in dreadlocks, so what? She has a marvelous range and her singing is clear and simply delightful; like the call of the morning birds or a beautiful pond you just discovered. You can’t help smile when Crystal takes the stage. Apparently, people felt more comfortable with Lee who as the judges always commented “came from working out of a paint store.” Does that really matter? How about Crystal? A single mom working to make ends meet and having a tough life?
My only consolation is that in the past some winners were not as successful as the first runner-up. Remember Ruben Studdard? Barely, his runner-up was Clay Aiken who produced a lot more than Ruben ever did. There were plenty of others as well.
This is my gripe: Crystal was definitely a better singer than Lee, throughout the entire season. So, why did she lose? Last night, it was obvious that she was the leader, all the judges giving her props, the audience practically hugging her along with her powerful voice. Crystal drew people in. At least to the people who would LOVE an indie-style artist (yes, I said artist) that may look a little different or have the courage to voice her opinions.
America? I’m disappointed. Were you just not ready for an original artist? Really? Please remind me in the fall not to tune in because I am tired of rooting for the best artist and having the more: “popular”heartthrob artist win. Crystal: I’m counting on you to have an absolutely magnificent career, a recording contract (probably with Simon Cowell) and lots of money to spoil your sweet, blonde-haired son.
As for Simon Cowell, I will miss you and I think the tribute to you was magnificent and well-deserved. As for Paula Abdul’s appearance, all I can say is “Awwww.” It was nice to see her again, looking so pretty in shocking pink puff. Good luck Simon, not that you need it. Cheers!
Lee, congratulations for being the winner. Crystal, congratulations for being the champion.
Seacrest and me, OUT.
Hibernationnow's Blog 