The grace of carrots and the in breath

In breath, 16″ x 20″ acrylic on canvas, available

I’ve been eating a lot of baby carrots over the past few months.  It’s just that I don’t always have the mental capacity to figure out what I want to eat when there are forms to fill out, mail to read, closets to clean, and tears to shed, when life cracks me open. Just today, I’m reminded that no matter how much I love someone, there are some struggles that I can’t offer to take on in their stead, nor can I think or pray away this moment in time. I’m not happy about that at all. And then I gave my husband the right number, then the wrong number, then the right number again, to call his cousin.  I love myself when I’m a little bit clumsy.  I hope others can do the same. I’m usually afraid to be this clumsy, but it comes through in (mis)transcribing numbers, typos, and failed attempts at cleaning closets. Because life isn’t nearly as committed to my masks as I’ve been, ha!

And I ate a handful of baby carrots. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch…I believe that is the sound of grace. (Credit to Anne Lamott for getting me to think about grace.)

I’m remembering that this is it…the sweet spot.  The in breath…  I breathe in to clear it all out. I suck in the cool air of the atmosphere, remembering the days when I had more time for yoga. I remember a few asanas and the in breath.  The in breath is my prayer.  My “I’m trusting you,” floating out to the unknown and unseen.

I really don’t remember

I’ve had so much on my mind….  A heady cocktail of things to do and worries, because I’m good at thinking about these things.  There were some helpful reflections in there too… Growing out of people pleasing, a list of style-enhancements (including gel nail polish and a really cute tunic to cover the spot that I bleached on my favorite new jeans)…what to write?

I think about three times as fast as I paint, but I paint at least twice as fast as I write, so I can’t always keep a good picture-to-story ration.  I thought I wanted to talk about yesterdays and lessons learned. Or maybe about the holiness of a dry brush scraping the canvas to create that cloudy look that I can’t get over…

Phoenix, Angel #12 10″ x 10″ commissioned piece

And then there was this very special Phoenix I painted for a very special person who asked me to maybe consider changing her expression.  That flat(ish) expression is my thing, ya know, but she won’t live with me, so I changed it…and you know what?  I don’t know everything.  I loved how that little curve of her lip gave her such a knowing and “We got this”  sort of interaction.

I love that about this life.  I don’t know everything.  Knowing that has really trimmed down the number of things I think I need to fight for… I’ve even forgotten some things that I used to fight for.  (DId you get the sly music reference?!)

Phoenix with a smile

And then I painted some more.  On the bigger canvas, I got lost in burnt umber, celadon, and cadmium red. among other colors.  I visited a world where it all connects…where I all connect: soul, mind, body, and paint.  I forgot whatever else I was thinking about.  I forgot whatever else I was.  There was just now and there was joy.

Release, 30″ x 40″ acrylic on canvas

Painting all day = happiness!

Because she was free

Because she was free, 16" x 20", acrylic and pastels on canvas

I’m awake and making friends with the mundane… or attempting to.  Who am I kidding?  I’d rather be floating… painting, studying snowflakes, watching the sky… noticing.

And they shall be given over to their obsessions

Gray splotches. (Inspired by my son’s stellar color mixing on cardboard.)

Turquoise.

Spots.

Peach.

Face 2. Available for purchase.

 

Antiquing.  (A new obsession.)

The smell of raw wood.  

Lipgloss when I’m feeling anxious or need to be able to think clearly.  These go hand in hand for me.Back at that old church I mentioned a couple of posts ago, we read the King James version of the Bible (holieth coweth!)  In the Old Testament, God would sort of threaten that the people who were misbehaving would be given over to their sins or something to that effect.  In essence, that’d be handed over to whatever was carrying them away. That wasn’t a good thing.

And yet, when I’m deep in my obsessions, I feel carried away and so alive.  When I’m at a certain point in a piece, I ask myself “What are you obsessed with?”  If I don’t see it in the piece, it seems to lack depth and emotion.  I’ve ruined pieces that way too, ha!  But was it creativity without ruining a piece or many?

When I’m in that juicy, obsessed place, I think I’m “given over to my obsessions.”  And I giggle, because there is a part of me that is so terrible.  I really like that part of me 😀