Last year after three and a half years of writing every morning I stopped writing. My dad found out he had cancer. Morning pages are for me a letter from god. Julia Cameron author of The Artists Way, my favorite book ever, says the first one and a half pages are complaints and in the second one and a half we tap in , so to speak.
So I guess I was just mad at god?
I don't know
But lately I'm in pain and the wise calm yoga instructor looked at me in class last week as tears rolled down my cheeks and gently informed me of the mind body connection.
Online I read that emotions, when stifled, can cause physical pain.
And I remembered that when I write morning pages I cry. Tears tears and more tears. No sobbing. Just plop here and there on the page there will be tears. And usually the tears land on little sentences like "you are an artist follow your heart it's ok to be happy"
This higher power that shows up is for me so very kind and knows me so well.
So today's blessing was morning pages. I wrote and wrote and cried and cried and we'll see. Maybe my body will hurt less today?
Today I'm supposed to paint the page in Lyndas book where cancer enters the book (in the form of a character, but still!)
I don't want to do it. But an image arrived in my head this morning.I sketched it out in blue ink on my notebook. Which is not the same as painting it but it is a baby step right?
When people ask me about motherhood I say it's like a checklist and all the boxes are checked as complete on mine but there are no gold stars. There may be a couple Fs like the time I waited so long to take Avery to the dentist that one of her teeth needed a crown and she had eight cavities total. An F. That time.
Write something real right?
Well that is how I feel.
Of course while driving to yoga I remembered the sweet video my friend sent me of kids saying all sorts of great things about their moms( right after the clips of moms talking about their failings).
Finally wrote in orange on this giant white painting.
LOVE my studio.
Love that the sun shines in the back door and today the kids were playing with the new zip line and I could paint and hear their cute voices at the same time.
Love that when I'm painting my leg and back don't hurt.
Love the Nie Nie Dialogues that Andrea told me about. I have been reading them- SO IN AWE -and got inspired enough to schedule long overdue family pictures.
Love that we leave for Taos in two days!!!
Last spring my dad had cancer. I wrote down about a zillion things that I'm grateful for about my dad. I do that kind of thing a lot, have these great kind thoughts about people and forget to share them.
And since this blog started the day after my friend reminded me " you only live once", why not? I'm off to gather lists and find envelope and stamp. AND get it in a mailbox. (I'm also great at doing two thirds of tasks and then quitting.)
The Blessing list is no longer just art stuff. It has people's names and go to the dentist and all kinds of other stuff. art and life all mixed up.
Ps its in the mailbox!
Some of the things from my list are
1) swimming with pigs
2) lists of words to learn taped to bathroom walls
3) the fact that my mom and dad love eachother enough to have their initials in concrete outside their house
4)being very little, home sick from school, and waiting ALL DAY for my dads hug that would make it all better. The hug, which really did make it all better, and always comparing the hugs of guys I dated to that hug, so that I really know how much a dads hug matters.
A couple years ago I did a painting for a family who had lost their little boy. The other day the blessing ( I decided to name them blessings instead of fears!) that I chose was to paint for him.
I wrote all over the canvas. I wrote this
Remembering
A dream that was not mine
My tears falling falling for the love
Of a little person I never knew
I had to stop and wipe the tears away
Bent low in the light of a single lamp
Alone in the darkness with my
BEAUTIFUL DREAM OF YOU
Soft and sleepy in your grandpa's arms
I am so grateful for that dream of you.
When I paint I wonder if God paints for me. And shows me only the most beautiful parts.
Still limping around the house tied to a heating pad. Not a message to slow down or anything is it?
In meditation just now once again I got reminded that I need to do a workshop at north Texas Cancer Support Community.I'm selfish by nature. It's just a fact. So when I was asked to do my first workshop there I felt so nervous. My mom, a cancer survivor herself, reassured me that it was ok if all I knew how to do was tell them how to make green. And she was right.
And whoever said that giving blesses the giver is so right. No fear of color or of paint or of whether it's perfect or right, these people just threw paint on canvas like so many six year olds! I have gotten to hear stories that give me goosebumps. I thought it would only be cancer survivors. It wasn't. It was their friends or family too. I thought everyone would paint something for themselves. They didn't. A lot of them painted for someone else. To suffer and have pain like that and to still be giving. I have left in awe and gratitude every time.
Being there feels like standing in front of a beautiful sunset with no idea how it got made but feeling grateful just the same .
I think in some ways I am afraid of going back, afraid to fall in love with these people. Afraid to see suffering? But it's been a while and their bravery and love is so huge and I miss it. I sent a note and hopefully there will be another angel workshop soon. Maybe I'll share pictures! So I'm
still selfish, see? I just want a little view of how deep love really goes.
It's not a painting. It's the first ever non depressing photo I've taken of myself bald. And despite the dog slobber on my mirror and the flash, I kind of like it. What would have horrified me four years ago when I was newly bald , I now kind of like. Glad it's a little fuzzy to be honest, but it's ok. Maybe that is the biggest thing I'd say to the newly diagnosed person with alopecia. It's going to be ok. Really.
I took the picture in front of a piece called Haven. Anyone with alopecia knows we need a haven. And yes. Its true. Your family will still love you.
When I lost my hair a few years ago I made this piece. The pain felt like nails to me. This year I wrote all over it with a sharpie. ( I have alopecia. It just means my body doesn't grow hair) So through a window of tears I have seen that my best friend can even make me laugh in the wig store. Right before I shave my head and give up on the last few strands of hair. I have gotten to feel my kids little hands on my head, I've realized that I still love crescent moons and cowgirl boots. I've gotten to see that strangers offer help when they see pain.
Every now and then I miss my hair. I cry. Like a child who has lost a lovey. But the empty space between the nails is getting filled up with love.
Today when I closed my eyes and put my pen down it landed on "draw and/ or paint the shower tiles." Just like we see pictures in clouds I see pictures in my shower tiles. There is a girl on a horse, an angel watching birds fly, a pot of flowers, a tiny woman under a huge tree. I see them every day. And I never paint them.
So today I marched back there and stepped right in. I ended up with wet socks and this sketch.
Why a horse with a flower , god? Last time this horse showed up in a painting someone bought it and told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was Joan of Arc. A horse with a flower- seems like a toy my eight year old would want. My back hurts. Bad. Makes me wonder if just the thought of stepping past these fears is painful . . .?
Painting things from dreams, from shower tiles, is strange- knowing they are not my ideas, that they just show up . . . And this time she isn't even holding on. I am pretty sure this enormous white horse I dream of over and over is FAITH, is love. I am pretty sure she is the times when I actually stop to listen to my kids , to really see their delicious faces. A story , a life, in paintings? Is it possible?
Another thing I realized I am terrified of is Lyndas book, because the illustrations tell my story, or at least one of my stories. So added it to my list of things that scare me.
If I tell my story , if I paint the dark places I've been then I must also paint the JOY that rises out of those places.
Every day when I put my wig on I see the quote I wrote on the styrofoam wig head. " Do one thing that scares you every day" - Eleanor Roosevelt. Well I have a zillion things that scare me. So one thing a day. For a while. I don't know how long. A list of things that scare me. We are here once, right?
Last year after three and a half years of writing every morning I stopped writing. My dad found out he had cancer. Morning pages are for me a letter from god. Julia Cameron author of The Artists Way, my favorite book ever, says the first one and a half pages are complaints and in the second one and a half we tap in , so to speak.
