I’m sipping coffee and taking a moment after my morning walk. I’ll head to work, next, but this quiet interlude is mine. I’m sitting quietly, looking out into the view beyond and contemplating how I might capture this view in acrylic, in watercolor, in oil, or in a wholly new medium for me – in pastels.
Light and shadow, and an ordinary view.
I am content to sit here with my thoughts, even for hours. This is a pleasant moment.
I’ve tidied up my studio such that I can actually make use of it. Along the way I found an old cigar box with an unexpected treasure within – two small sets of pastels, an assortment of neon colors and an assortment of iridescent colors, looking very much unused since whenever they were purchased. I don’t recall buying them. The shoebox itself is one that one of my parents had used to send me something… sometime around 1995? Older? Old, for sure.
A fun surprise.
I continue to feel inspired by the thought of exploring a new medium, artistically. I picked up a selection of good quality pastels at the local art store, and some appropriate paper, and ordered some woodless colored pencils and pastel pencils. A small price to pay for the joy and growth yet to come.
Colors. Joy in a box.
For a moment, I feel impatient to begin, then chuckle at my human foolishness, because I have already begun! This moment, right here, now, is part of the experience. I smile and breathe it in. Inspiration. Joy. Enthusiasm. Eagerness. Delight. Wonder. It’s quite delicious and I am grateful to enjoy this moment.
I take time to really savor this pleasant moment, and to really “fill my cup” with this quiet joy.
The sun continues to rise. The clock continues to tick. It’s already time to begin again. I’m ready.
I’m relaxing after my walk, wondering if it may continue to rain today. It looks like it might. I’m thinking about the weekend, mostly quite a nice one, spent in the good company of my Traveling Partner. Father’s Day was Sunday, and I even managed to surprise him with a gift (that he also liked).
The weekend was interesting in another way. Chosen changes. Change is, and no amount of running from it (or insisting on standing still) will change that. Sometimes what makes the most sense is to choose change. It’s a useful way of guiding my journey in life.
Here’s an example; I am frankly pretty “over” my current smartphone. It’s an older one, still quite functional but becoming irritatingly “uncooperative” and vexing with each new update by my carrier or the manufacturer. (I get tired of having to go back and turn off a bunch of bullshit and bloatware every time there’s an update, too.) My Traveling Partner pointed out I’m perhaps overdue to move on to a newer (and not carrier-locked) device.
My current smartphone is “only” 5 years old… but that’s also pre-pandemic, 4 employers, and two addresses ago. lol In terms of technology, that’s a long time. We shopped together, talked about the options, and I picked out a replacement. It’ll arrive in a few days and then I can “move out” of this phone that is vexing me so often and move on to being vexed differently with a new one. lol I’m grateful to have my Traveling Partner’s expertise and help with this one; it’s the sort of change that really fucks with me in a multitude of little ways.
Another example of choosing change with self-care and personal growth in mind? Artistically I have been feeling a bit stalled and struggling to “find my voice” after losing my Dear Friend this year. I didn’t have an understanding of how grief would affect me creatively (this time), nor did I anticipate the ways my Traveling Partner’s injury might affect my comfort with being “distracted by” the desire to paint. I find myself unable to begin new work, too aware that he may need my help any time (acrylic paint dries quickly and I tend to “work wet”). Unable to finish old work, because it brings to mind interrupted conversations with my Dear Friend that now can never be resumed.
I just can’t get going “as things are”… and the more I thought about it, the more significant the medium I tend to favor seemed to be. I’ve worked primarily in acrylics for about 20 years. What if I could work slower… oil paints? No, too slow. Watercolor?Maybe…but… too wet? What if I could work slower without “working wet” at all…? Something I could easily step away from and come back to… I found myself also considering size. I generally work with canvases that are large-ish… not huge, but often “over mantelpiece” or “behind the couch” sizes… I had begun to work much smaller in recent years (a combination of convenience and physical limitations). I never replaced my big easel when it finally failed me. I rarely used it anymore. Large work on paper never suited me…but I started as a watercolor artist, working on paper, as a teenager. Is it time to scale back and return to older ways? I feel hungry for something new.
Continuing to reflect on what I’ve been doing artistically, what has inspired me recently, and what is most physically comfortable at this stage in my life, I found myself considering a big change… a change of medium. (That’s a bigger deal than I know how to communicate, and will come with a potentially very steep learning curve.) Pastels. That’s the “big reveal”, I’m planning to try pastels, and may return to working exclusively on paper (less storage space needed for completed work, too). It’s an exciting thing to contemplate.
I find myself in an interestingly “in between moment”, standing poised between who I’ve been and who I may become, at least artistically. It’s less a crossroad in life than a sharp bend in the path in front of me, beyond which I can’t at all see what is ahead. I’m okay with the uncertainty and the unknowns. I’m excited and eager to move forward, to move on, and to grow with new experiences and new knowledge. This change, particularly, percolates through my consciousness in an interesting way. I think of a snake shedding her skin. It’s a good metaphor for choosing change and the growth that can come of it.
…Pastels…? I would be more easily able to do plein air work when I go camping… less to carry, more compact, easier to clean up… I sit with my thoughts awhile… The future is filled with potential.
I think about all the various artistic mediums I’ve tried, all the techniques, and the tools… I think about what worked for me, and why, and where I was in life for each of those things… I think, too, about practices more generally, and what has worked, and how much it has mattered to simply “try things out” to learn what really does work best for me. It’s an interesting journey.
There are new steps to take, and new skills to learn. There are new practices to practice, and old chaos to tidy up. There is old baggage to set aside, and old pain to heal. It’s a journey. A process. Incremental change over time doesn’t have to be all happenstance and wandering; I can choose change. I can choose my path, and choose my opportunity. I can choose to begin again.
This morning I woke gently, aware of what a good day yesterday was, in spite of its difficult beginning (which, honestly, “wasn’t all that”). I found myself musing briefly over how easily a day getting off to a good start can “go off the rails”, and how often a seemingly poor start nonetheless finds its way to a pleasant day. The beginnings do not determine the outcomes. There are so very many choices and opportunities along the way, it seems a poor practice to insist on an entire day being whatever some one moment happens to be.
The morning is off to a promising start. I don’t read anything into it, and refrain from setting myself up for failure by expecting all the moments ahead to be as this one pleasant moment happens to be. I’m also not looking for disappointment or anticipating chaos. It’s simply a moment and I am enjoying it as it is.
As I leave the house to head down the road to a favorite trail, I’m greeted by a peculiar piebald sky. Past daybreak, which comes quite early this time of year, the sky is pale, a faded blue-not-quite-white, and scattered patterns of small dark gray clouds that crowd the northern horizon. Stormy looking, off in the distance. As I drive, a pink and magenta sunrise peeks out from among the distant hills, and I delight in the boldness of the colors with each glimpse. It doesn’t last, and I never quite get a view of it that lasts long enough to snap a picture. Some experiences have to be enjoyed as they happen, and there is no opportunity to save these for later, outside our fleeting memory.
Perhaps rain later…?
I get to the trailhead, put on my boots, and step onto the trail with a smile and my thoughts and a promise to finish this later.
Nice morning for it.
The air is mild and the morning very quiet. I had the trail alone this morning – a pleasant luxury. I walked with my thoughts, which were mostly rather practical.
I began tidying up my studio yesterday, and there’s a bit more to do. Because I had the option of working from an office in the city over the past 8 months, (and with my Traveling Partner injured), necessity and convenience slowly turned my studio into something more like storage than a creative work space. lol It makes sense to get that sorted out, and my studio returned to a clean and tidy work space, now. No office to go to presently, and my partner’s son moving in soon (temporary and welcome), I need this space for artistic endeavors, but also for work (doubles as my office), and even as a “personal retreat”, when I just can’t deal with people and need some solitude. It isn’t intended to be storage space, aside from the closet, in which my stored artworks are kept until they sell or hang somewhere.
…Yesterday was a lovely productive day…
I walked and thought. Nice morning for it. I saw nutria playing along the marsh, at the waters edge. The young ones born this year are exploring their world with playful curiosity. I walked past a small herd of deer, which quietly watched me back as I walked past. (They were gone when I returned down the trail heading for the car.) There were little birds everywhere, squirrels too. The meadow flowers made the air sweet with their scents. The lupines are done blooming and are going to seed. Other flowers take their turn blooming. The trees are all fully leafed out now, and signs of summer are everywhere. Seasons change. Change is.
I get back to the car too early to head right home. I’d like to let my Traveling Partner sleep awhile. I take time to finish my writing and to meditate.
Sitting with my thoughts.
I think ahead to what my next bit of away time might be? I sigh impatiently when I recall I’ve never yet spent even one night home alone in our home. I yearn for that small luxury, but it hasn’t worked out any time my Traveling Partner has made plans to be away. Four years of projects, business, and camping trips cut short by inclement weather, or deferred by illness. Travel plans derailed by injury or circumstance. It just hasn’t worked out; I’ve never been home alone here for more than a few hours, and even then in steady contact with my Traveling Partner throughout. We may as well have been in the living room together. lol Sometimes frustrating. Sometimes disappointing. Mostly I just feel loved. I hold out hope that I may yet experience the luxury of solitude at home, here, eventually… I’m for sure not holding my fucking breath, though!
…I’m not even bitching, really, I’m fortunate to have other options to get the solitary time I need…
So… yeah… sometime in these upcoming summer weeks maybe another camping trip? Maybe a weekend on the coast in a favorite little hotel? Maybe a road trip to see distant friends, with the solitude being a nice interlude between visits? I know the busy-ness and chaos of getting my stepson moved in later this month will take a lot out of me, and potentially leave me scrambling for any kind of alone time at all, grateful perhaps to find even 10 minutes alone behind a closed bathroom door, or in my office during the work day during an uninterrupted hour. I know how such circumstances affect me. I also know to plan ahead in summer months.
…I think about late July and wonder…
…On the other hand, I don’t know that I will be free to travel, at all; my partner has surgery coming up, not yet scheduled but expected to be scheduled soon for a date as early as available (not an emergency, but a high priority)… could be I will need to be home to care for him (and of course that needs to come first).
I sigh and catch myself grousing silently about the inconveniences and difficulties of adulthood… but I silence myself; I’m fortunate that these are the challenges I am facing. It could be ever so much worse. I take a moment for gratitude. Happy to be in the partnership I’m in, with a human being who lives me deeply, and looking ahead to enjoying the summer at home, puttering in my garden, and living my life gently. It’s enough.
I smile, breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the blue sky spread from horizon to horizon. I look over my rather practical list of things to do today and add a reminder to cut back bolting greens in the garden and harvest peas for dinner. Looks like a lovely day ahead and it’s time to begin again.
My walk this morning was early, quiet, solitary, and thoughtful. Pleasant. Nice way to begin a new day.
When I started down the trail, a glance at the sky in one direction revealed dense dark storm clouds, homogenous and gray. Looking the opposite direction the sky was bright with promised sunshine later, and shades of peach and gold. Between these, fingers of clouds stretched across from one perspective to the other, feathering away to nothing into the clear skies from the stormier view. I walked along thinking about perspective.
This morning I am missing my Dear Friend who died earlier this Spring. There is so much I would share and talk over with her. There’s a particular feeling of rather acute loneliness that turns up within me each time I remember, again, that there’s no point in writing an email to share some particular moment with her, to get her perspective, or to share my own. She was always first to see new paintings (after my Traveling Partner, who is right here), and first to read new writing. Now… funny; I haven’t painted anything at all since she’s been gone. I take fewer pictures and rarely share them. I walk on with my thoughts, feeling the solitude from a different perspective.
…I have an appointment with my therapist later this month, but it’s nothing like talking and sharing with a Dear Friend…
I’m 61 this year. In about 7 days actually… I feel strange that there are so few around anymore who will care about that at all, or even know about it, if I don’t mention it. 61 doesn’t “feel old”, from this lived perspective, but I’ve lost (or lost touch with) many friends and family members who might once have been celebrating my birthday. It’s a strange feeling. I walk on.
I find myself feeling a bit blue as I walk. I wonder whether it may be some lingering effect from tinkering with my medication in order to do the requested diagnostic test. Seems possible, but I don’t really know. I keep walking.
By the time I am back to the car, I feel rather as if I’ve experienced an entire day’s worth of emotion and shifts in perspective, simply walking along with my solitary thoughts. I’m okay, and I am okay with having emotions (and thoughts about those), but it still feels strange and somewhat empty this lack of my Dear Friend to share some of this with. It’s not as if she were my only friend, nor even the only friend I regularly email… but it’s her perspective I am missing so painfully. I’m very aware of that, this morning.
…Every time I think I might like to paint, or feel inspired, or feel that inner tug to return to the studio, my heart seems to answer “why bother?”. This is an unexpected outcome of my grief over this particular loss…
I relied on this Dear Friend’s perspective as counterpoint or reinforcement of my own for some 25 years. I guess I am not surprised that I miss that. I know I am not surprised that I miss her.
Tears fall as I sit with my unexpected moment of grief. My grief expands as my tears fall. I cry over the loss of my Mother, although we never forged a close adult relationship, and were rarely closer than “pleasantly civil”. I grieve that lack of intimacy and connection. My tears fall for my Granny, too; she did much to raise me and prepare me to find my own way as an adult and she was more mother to me than my Mother was. I’m not criticizing; we expect too much of women, and motherhood isn’t a good fit for all of us.
…I guess I am just feeling kind of alone with the years this morning, as I approach 61. Strange that it hits so hard on this quiet morning, 7 days from my birthday. Stranger still to feel this way when I am truly not “alone” in life. I have a loving partnership, and a handful of good friends (though some are distant), and the fond regard and esteem of many others…
Feelings are not facts. The map is not the world. The forecast is not the weather. I sit with my emotions and breathe. This will pass. I will begin again. I’m okay for most values of okay.
I give myself a moment for gratitude and reflection. I take time to consider more immediate worries than my lingering grief over lost dear ones. My Traveling Partner’s health is top of mind, often, lately and I find myself wondering if the weight of my worry over that may have provoked my thoughts to turn elsewhere for something that feels more “manageable”? Interesting perspective…
…My Traveling Partner pings me a greeting. He’s awake. It’s time to head home, and begin again.
This morning I woke gently, but confused. It took me a minute to sort out what day it is, and that my plan is quite different from my usual Thursday. I struggled to wake up thoroughly, and had to trek back down the hall twice for things I forgot.
The drive to this nature park I enjoy walking in was strange, too. So little traffic it was quite a surreal (and also relaxed) drive along a route that is generally part of my commute. What little traffic there was, was peculiarly professional, civil, and safe, moving along with purposeful efficiency, and no aggression. Maybe there is hope for humanity?
As I crested a hill, going around a particular curve, the view of Mt Hood spread before me briefly, silhouetted gray-blue against a smudgey peach-colored sunrise. Beautiful. I considered stopping… I always do. Consider it, I mean. I haven’t ever actually stopped at that spot; there’s no shoulder there, really, just a private driveway and traffic is moving pretty fast for those kind of shenanigans. Still, I feel fortunate to have seen that view, those colors, and gotten to enjoy the moment as I passed on by.
Lovely morning to begin again. Even a familiar path can present a new perspective.
I walked as the sun rose, watching the sky change from peach to gold to blue. There are mists clinging to the ground in low spots along the river and marsh. I can hear the highway traffic beyond the park, and the sounds of little birds in the trees and grasses along the trail. A small herd of deer cross the path ahead of me, fearlessly curious at that distance. The morning sunlight reaches the trees and the leaves become luminous, seeming to glow. It’s a lovely morning.
I walked along grateful for new beginnings and new days. Today is, so far, much better than yesterday. I still have no idea what the hell was biting my ass yesterday, but g’damn I was in an ugly mood. I spent the evening after work willfully fighting off my inner unpleasantness and making the effort needed to enjoy my Traveling Partner’s good company. It was, for the most part, a successful attempt to fight off my shitty mood. At one point, he “caught me” in my own head, distracted by my thoughts, and asked me what I was thinking about. Rather oddly, I was considering the complex pattern of a particular rug, rather randomly. Strange. Inconsequential. Probably not very satisfying as an answer to the question “what are you thinking about “. Honestly, it was just another way of distracting myself from my shit mood, which was characterized mostly by a distinct sense of just “not wanting to have to deal with people” at all.
…I’m glad I find myself in a more pleasant place today…
I’m frankly not the most social of creatures. My brain injury results in a certain lack of ability to shut the fuck up, often, and I tend to be a bit of a chatterbox as a result. If there are people around, I have no problem interacting with them. (My challenges are more to do with controlling my speech, recognizing social cues, and listening considerately.) I cherish my solitude, and I enjoy it (and truly need it). It’s hard on me when circumstances give me no time alone. (I sigh contentedly, sitting here by the river in the morning sunshine, writing these words… thoroughly alone, and happy to be.) Lately, and in spite of occasional getaways, I feel “encroached upon” and crowded by people and commitments and the awareness that there’s precious little time for “everything “. There’s a sense that the clock is ticking – and always has been – and I’m struggling to give myself the space I need to truly thrive.
…Maybe I need to spend time in the studio, painting?
I glance at my watch… it’s time to head back to the car. I’ve got an appointment to get to, and errands to run. I’ve got a partner to care for, and dishes to do. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 