Can't Shop? Create Instead!

I spent my Thanksgiving vacation painting, writing and playing tennis (yes! in the cold wind...it was awesome.)  I attacked with the paintbrush my Delphinus Bloom sketch, which I am sorry to say I didn't photograph as purely a sketch...but it is coming to life slowly.  I do it in steps...always the person, last.  That's the part I want to get perfectly right.  I've been writing a story of regarding my other two paintings, Lady Cecilia and the troubled, scandalized Lord Rosemont.  You know they were meant to be, but how they meet isn't exactly pretty and it isn't isn't sparks and fireworks.  But it will be, oh, you know it will be.

Do you think the creative rush is in replacement of my inability to go Christmas shopping due to severe lack of funds?  Boy, did I feel the pull of pressure from television, ads that were jammed in my newspaper, radio announcers and even relatives on Thanksgiving Day going through my flyers of advertising planning their 4 am attack on Black Friday.  I have no money to spare at this time, with health bills piling up, etc...and I started to feel...guilty.  Jealous.   I was missing out on something.  Ridiculous.  But I did feel it.

I did what I could do.  Paint. Write and had a ball playing tennis with my family.  We all felt so invigorated and refreshed.  Creating something and watching it turn into something that is appealing, alluring, and attractive with colors that make you smile is a reward you can't buy.  Well, you can buy paintings, but to create something yourself is a fantastic feeling...same for writing...putting characters and twisting plots to life transferring from your brain to paper is an amazing feat.  It didn't exist before, the people, the characters, the places, their stories, and then type away. Voila! There it is!  A story.

It was definitely stress relieving...creating in any way, even body movement is a release.  Emotion...means to feel... up and out.....emotions must run through us and out into the universe, otherwise we get blocked and feel awful.

I think I better get painting after I'm done writing here.  I have some "stuff" that needs to get out!!!

Peace.

Not Making The Cut...Man, it Stings!

I'm going to kick that ball.  This time I am going to send that ball to the moon.  Lucy promised she would not take her hand away.  I trust her.  Here I go.....running... running, faster, swing leg back and thrust forward and "AUGH!" land square on my back facing the sky staring at the drifting clouds. 

Sorry, Charlie Brown.  Lucy laughs.

It's that horrible Charlie Brown feeling that never fails to leave a scar: rejection, failure.  My son tried out for the basketball team after playing football, doing marching band and then, exhausted, attended Open Gym night to improve his basketball skills readying for tryouts.  This was going to be his year.  This year he would make the team.  "Your my Big Man!" the varsity coach would tell him.  He felt awesome!  Felt like he was getting in the groove, feeling the rhythm of the game; He was going to be Center.

Wednesday: 5:00pm pick up.  My son was drenched in sweat could hardly walk.  They ran for 2 grueling hours.  Being 6' feet tall and 191 pounds,  that's a lot of force to hit the gym floor for two hours, but he did it.

Thursday: 5:00pm pick up.  Drenched again, but he was feeling great.  Did foul shots, awesome layups, feeling strong and positive.  He wanted it so bad, he could taste it.

Friday: 5:00pm, 5:05pm, 5:10pm.  The first couple kids come out with dazed faces, one trying to hide in his shirt to cover his tear filled face.  Crap.  They posted the list.  Where's my son?  He would have come running out if he had made it.  My heart started to pound.  There he is! He glances toward the crying boy and then, quickly climbs in the car. "I didn't make it."  He says, with an awkward nervous smirk, then straight face and then he puts his head in his hands and lets the tears spill.   Oh, my God...my heart actually ached.  Crap. 

I can't tell you how it slices your heart to watch such utter disappointment being felt by your child.  In the scheme of things, this is but a minor bump in the road.  To my son, this was BIG. This was something he wanted so badly to be a part of, to feel like this is where he belonged.  He wanted that sense of belonging and feeling great so badly; he thought basketball was the way to do it.  He didn't understand.  He was utterly shocked, dazed in disbelief, and then angry.

It sucked. Plain and simple. 

There were so many things I said to him.  One thing doesn't define you.  Hold your head up high because you know you put everything you had in it.  More importantly, he was not alone in not making the cut.  There were at least 3 others of great talent that didn't make it either.  That helped a little.  A little.

He has more fortitude then me as an adult.  I know how it feels to interview and not get the job.  The self analysis is brutal.  I didn't want to ever go through THAT again!  But he picked himself back up signed up for CYO basketball, and said, "Next year, I'm making the team."  Wow.  I would want nothing with the sport again.  That's a quitter attitude I know..but it was so damn painful.  As a parent, I don't want to go through that heartbreak again.  But I am behind him no matter what.

Maybe it'll be like the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree when things actually go Charlie's way for ONCE.  His little tree became a beauty and all of his friends gathered around him.  Then they all shouted to his delighted and happy ears, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, CHARLIE BROWN!"  They broke out in song afterward.  It was the one time, things went Charlie Brown's way.  He kicked that football to the moon!

Next year...

The ballroom is a twitter...Lord Rosemont Dared to Show His Face!

    "Darling!" Lady Montague whacked her daughter with her fan. "Do not look at him, however, devilishly handsome he may be."
    "Oh, Mama," Cecilia groaned, wondering exactly what had happened to Lord Rosemont these past two years, and why has he decided to make his return, here, and now at the Harrington Ball.  "It's hard not too look...hmmm.  His eyes, Mama, his eyes, and..." Whack!  Her mother smacked her again with that blasted fan.  Rubbing her arm, Cecilia was sure there was a mark.
     "Sweetheart, Darling.  He's the rake of the worst order, and there is the scandal surrounding him that he poisoned his wife, poor dear. God bless her soul."  Lady Montague took a quick look at Lord Rosemont striding through the room with lazy purpose like a lion who knows very well that he is the predator and everyone else is the prey, and leaned back in toward her daughter.  "Why, he hasn't even taken a razor to his face!  A disgrace, I say.  A disgrace to his family's good name." 
     Thwack! "Mama!  That hurts."  Cecilia snapped her head away from Lord Rosemont's lucious black wavy locks and back to her mother.
    "Now, you listen to me, my daughter. Stay away from him. Stay far, far away from Lord Rosemont."
    Lady Cecilia opened her fan and covered her face, but stole another look at Lord Rosemont, tilting her head.  Lord Almighty, why must they make murderous rakes so beautiful?  "Mama, I'm going to the, eh, retiring room.  I'm sure I saw Aunt Sophie go in there."  Waving Cecilia's fan rapidly, "Perhaps I'll go join her and cool off a bit."
   "Okay, darling. Oh, look!  I see Lady Winters. I'm dying to speak with her. Ta, dear!"  Off Mama went bobbing through the crush seeking out her old gossipy friend, while Cecilia padded slowly toward the retiring room, and then stole a quick look back seeing her mother reach her destination and was already deep in conversation with Lady Winters.  Cecilia then proceeded to turn in the opposite direction....away from the retiring room.

Even A Lady Bares Her Teeth....Lizzie and, Yes, I Can Bare Teeth too

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jTITjkN664
Lizzie's Refusal of Mr. Darcy's Proposal is not as civilized as her refusal to Mr. Collins...Let's just say she kind of let's it all out...


Look at Elizabeth Bennet how she snarls and spews venomous words as her temper roils up to the boiling point at Mr. Darcy’s clueless rampage of insults. She bares her teeth and literally is heaving afterward like a wild dog after a fight.

I felt like that this morning when my buttons were pushed just the right way on top of the numerous stresses of today’s world have mounted so high, that I, a well controlled, empathetic, schooled in the art of counseling, yes, I lost my temper. I am trying to forgive myself for I am the adult, like Lizzie, was trained to be a lady, to comport myself in the most acceptable manner, and yet, the adult, the supposedly mature one, the intelligent, thoughtful, loving and considerate adult yelled and threw a plate into the sink shattering a casserole pan that had been lying there innocently; it had never done anything to me. I even hesitated before throwing that lunch plate in the sink; I actually thought a mere second before doing so that I really should not do this action, but man, I wanted to throw it hard with everything I got, and did. I regretted it afterward. You can’t take it back. You can’t play rewind.  But I guess I needed to release bottled up emotions that have been stuffed down and repressed and denied for too long.  Was that how Lizzie felt?

I spoke with my family afterward and we all calmly talked about what happened, what's happening in our lives, what we all are facing, going through, and how we all feel about it all.  The air is clear, but I still have to forgive myself for losing "control."  It's not okay, really.  But it happened and I am human and need to forgive myself.  I have a punching bag downstairs I could have wailed on, but anyway....

 I thought of the scene in the rain where Elizabeth Bennet lets it all out on Mr. Darcy like an angry mother wolf. Perhaps, Elizabeth had many stresses in her life too that had been piled up inside her. Actually, there is no perhaps, she does have many worries on her mind.  They have Mr. Collins threatening their homestead, the pressure of being a female and needing to marry well, and she prays to God that she can marry for love…which her friend Charlotte pointed out is a luxury which Charlotte, at 27, couldn't do.  Lizzie refused Mr. Collin's marriage proposal and may feel a bit guilty for she could have surely saved her family from poverty if she sealed that union, but she didn't, couldn't.  Elizabeth is like the second mother of the household and is fiercely protective of her sisters, Jane’s heart breaking breaks her own.  She loves all of her younger sisters and says good night to all of them as if she was the eldest, which she is not. She sees that they are all tucked in safe and secure in their beds.  Perhaps that moment in the rain, when Mr. Darcy makes Elizabeth all too painfully aware of her lower birth, her families’ ridiculousness at times, and her sister's supposed apathy toward Mr. Bingley, Lizzie combusted.

I can’t excuse my outburst, but I think on occasion, it is a relieving thing to do as long as no one gets hurt. The world today has made it so difficult with finances dwindling amidst a more and more expensive technological world, jobs that are fewer and fewer, and the loss of the carefree feeling of security…obligation and duty forces our stagnation. Writing, painting, and exercising are far better outlets for combating the stresses of the world, but letting it out in a verbal tempest is sometimes unavoidable and necessary.

Hey, Mr. Darcy heard Elizabeth’s every word, and used the form of letter writing to rebuke her accusations and maybe, in someway, her snarling refusal of his proposal moved them forward in their relationship.

The same could be true in my household. After “losing it” on the kitchen sink, my family talked about many things. We opened a door to further discussion and understanding of each other. We all have our own pressures; talking about it and respecting what each other is going through is what came out of my snarling tempest.

I'm done panting and heaving...time to get outside and get some fresh air...painting later.  Sir William Rosemont has color!!!

November...

How do we fight the greyness of the world in November?  The skies are filled with plum and smoky skies, the trees are cold, rough and wet, and the world turns out its light too quickly.  Like the forest animals that know it is time to slumber in this sleepy time of year, our bodies grow heavy and want to nestle under the blankets and stay there until the warm sun glows again.  How do we fight the greys, or should I say the blues?

Why fight it?

Find the light.  Make the light.  When the sun does shine, step outside and soak it in.  When those slate colored clouds clear and the day is crisp, the sun is golden and thick.  Make a fire in the fireplace and enjoy the spark and flame.  Bake homemade bread.  Breathe in the warm toasty yeasty aroma filling the house as it wraps around your soul.  Paint a picture filled with colors that tease and awaken your deadened senses.  Put brush to paper and let the dance begin.

Sleep and dream of warmer days to come and rapture in summer memories of leaping carelessly into the river on a summer vacation in the Adirondacks, pure summer bliss.

Most of all, we need to embrace the change of seasons; take a rest that the November skies invite.  Curl up and slow down.  Read, write and reflect.  Slate, plum, mauve, taupe, sage.... colors that soothe,calm and caress.

November...

Well, Darling, You...Are...The Only Exception....Paramore

Surgery Done - Now I Have Painter's Block

I need art therapy, but I can't seem to paint.  I'm afraid to touch Sir William Rosemont with color.

It's been a while since I've last posted because I was going through a rather scary time in my life...I had a lump in my breast biopsied and resulted in my visiting with a breast surgeon.  The first breast surgeon was so awful; I don't even want to recount how inattentive, uncaring, harsh, rude, pessimistic and whatever negative term to describe a horrible doctor she was.  I, then, decided to get a second opinion.  I knew my outcome would be the same: surgery, but I wanted to be assured that one, I was in good hands and two that I liked my doctor.  With those two things, I could go into surgery with confidence.

I got through the torture of the consultation, but the doctor was so knowledgeable, so kind and re-assuring and it was in a place that dealt exclusively with this kind of thing giving me the confidence I needed to know I was in good hands.  The surgery was no minor thing...It ended up feeling all too real with the shower caps and face masks under bright lights with tubes up my nose. 

Well, it's done and I have a rather long scar; bigger than I thought it would be. I really didn't think I'd care about having a scar but funny, I do.  It isn't pretty and there is an indent like I can see where they removed a part of me.  But in the end...I'm not high risk; it was benign and I'm still a yearly mamo/sono patient. 

But here is the thing....I can't bring myself to paint my male regency rogue.  I'm afraid to touch it.  Once color is applied, there is no going back.  It looks cool as a sketch- at least, I think it does...but I can't seem to break out the paints and get going on it... Why?  I love the look in his eyes and if I mess that up, I'll be sooo upset.  His lips are perfect and adding color may make them look awful...and I need a background. Haven't found a background that I can plug in there behind him.  I really like this picture and it's all about the face and the expression....Lady Cecilia was dress, couch, and  small face....This picture is all about the face and that is the hardest thing to paint....maybe tomorrow?