In the mud.

Feels like I am just slogging through all this.
How to be the person I want to be, how to take care of those I love. I am just barely making it through, and it is so frustrating because I feel like I am doing it in a vacuum. The changes to my self that feel monumental, are barely perceptable to others. The things I would love to do have to be put on hold which frustrates even more my temper which I am constantly losing a battle with. I feel a shadow of my self and a shadow in my life.

But what do I do?

Here’s what I am trying to do.

Taking part in Flora Bowley Bloom True Course.

I thought one way I can keep pushing forward in my dreams is by trying to keep learning more skills in painting and finding a community. The course has been amazing and I am learning so much and meeting fellow like minded people from around the world. Right now though, I am completley and utterly frustrated that I can not dedicate as much time and energy as I would like to, and in answer to that I am mad, sad and completely frustrated by what I am putting out and what I am getting in return.

Make a support network.

I have been mothering in an isolated corner for about 2 years since we moved, and as anyone who has been parenting for any amount of time knows, it gets lonely. No matter how wonderful your partner is ( and mine is pretty wonderful!) I just have not been able to make friends like I did in the city. I don’t know what I am doing wrong and it just hurts. It seems no matter what at some point in the conversation it turns careers, and everyone I have meant seems less than understanding of how I can be frustrated being a stay at home mome and being an artist. Really don’t I have the best of both worlds? And I am completely written off. They talk about how it sucks working part-time and juggling that, and home life, and partners. And I feel for them. I really and honestly do. Its somewhat akward for me to discuss though the guilt I feel some day when I would rather just run away than stay for one more day in a house where my art supplies sit and find a thousand excuses (both real and imagined) to not be able to use them. It rips my heart up.

Myself.
I have been working on myself and all my not so good parts. That hot headed part, that selfish part. I am trying. I am trying to figure out who I am in this world and this family while at the same time trying to guide little souls to be their best and sometimes it just gets all murky and mixed up. Its hard to guide, when your not even sure where things are headed yourself.

Okay, so this seems like a downer of a post. It wasn’t not really. It was an airing of dirty laundry. The truth that settles in my heart. Hearing my voice, even if in a void. What do you do when you feel like your getting mired down? I would love to know? Maybe next post a list of wonderfulness in the mess of life to combat the negative energy of this post? Maybe this post wasn’t really negative, but just me, letting some things go.

Before I paint…

Before I paint there is a sketch. This is my most recent sketch for a soon to be painting…

Aardvark….

I started this journey 2.5 years ago on this project and I think it may finally be ready to see the light of day. Stay tuned to see where he turns up next…  ( He’s so cute I may have to use him somewhere else too!!)

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Above my desk…

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Photos of those I love. Mail I’ve gotten that has inspired me. My favorite artists, including my son.

Making a Commitment…

 

The time is now, it not next month after my son’s birthday, next week when things get a little better… I need to do it now. Its a commitment to myself that I can do this.  I want to be able to create, which I do already, but with a focus on sharing it, getting it out, letting it live outside of my head.

Often at the end of the day, my head is numb, my brain is dead with the why and whine I have heard all day. In the past year I have made a concious effort to eat healthier , exercise more, and have my family watch less tv. So why not take care of my creative side? Good question. Fear. Fear of being laughed at. Fear of being belittled. Noting hurts worse than knowing you used your 1 hour of quiet in the house to make a complete pile of junk and now you have to clean it all up with two kids dragging on your leg, wondering why you are only giving them half of your attention. Being a failure as an artist is one thing, but being a failure as a mother seems completely unacceptable…

So I am here, I am making a commitment to be more present in my art life, which i suspect in turn will make me more present in my everyday life.  Anyone else out there?

A mother’s love…

I fear it, every dream, every day and every breath. It is my ultimate fear, one I am more afraid of than any other one or combined fear. If my child should leave this world before I do. Just typing this brings an ache to my chest a heaviness to my heart and tears to my eyes at even the unthinkable happening. But it does happen, it happens every day to people we know and people we don’t know.

Babies lost before their face is ever seen, babies lost within their first breathes but loved an entire lifetime in that one breath. Children who have the unimaginable happen to them. Children who live in the face of death every day.

And yet every time I think about the unimaginable happening, I always have one wish and only one. That if I can not save them, rescue them, that I at least want them to know the full force with which they were truly and deeply loved.

This week while looking for photo references for my art, I ran across these photos on this blog. This blog has heart breaking pictures of what has happened to the children of Gaza. This mother spoke to me. The look on her face showed the depth the reach of how her love encompased her child, her strength, her warmth, her motherhood. Her boy who reminded me so much of my own first-born with his deeper than chocolate eyes.  She actually has the courage to work her face into the warm comforting face the boy so desperatly needs. Despite her inner pain and anguish she attends to her child first, knowing that these might be the very last few minutes she has to feel his warmth in her arms before it slips away. The image would not leave my head… it was aching to come out my fingers in its own translation.

So to mothers, our job is great, our Heartache often deep, but our love is bigger….

 

Next week hopefully something more upbeat sticks in my brain.

( Also the images on the website are of an Iranian woman and child, but the author used them to drive their point, which I guess also works in my favor also…)

I miss…

The prairie. All the time.

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