Archives for category: The Big 5

Well, I suppose the aphorism is slightly different, for most. “Home is where the heart is”, is more likely to ring true. For me, it hasn’t been enough… Do I lack ‘heart’? That seems unlikely from the vantage point of being generally well-regarded, mostly valued, and living life embraced by love. But… living in a particular building, or at a specific address, has not been sufficient to define ‘home’ for me – even though I live with loved ones, in a generally comfortable, pretty contented day-to-day sort of way. It has seemed very odd for some time.

I’m not always sure what being an artist means, precisely. I’m not sure how being an artist defines me differently than being someone who paints an occasional painting, or creates something of great beauty once in a while; it’s the beauty created that matters more. I am uncomfortably aware in recent months that my own art speaks to me, myself, with an earnestness and import that has resulted in feeling pretty displaced and homeless not seeing it displayed all around me in my daily life; it hadn’t been hung. There’s a lot of it. One or two paintings made it to the walls over the past couple years… I have… dozens. Hundreds? I paint like a madwoman, I am not shy about admitting that. The bare expanses of wall started working on my mind, over time; the stacks and stacks of paintings at the ready, the cabinets of smaller ones, the carefully boxed (between layers of protective acid-free tissue) unframed watercolors… all waiting…all part of who I am…all disregarded in favor of day-to-day minutiae and drama, and seeming unimportant to anyone but me.

The pain of it diminished considerably when I realized in an honest and aware moment that the bare walls left me feeling quite ‘homeless’ – more ‘deployed’ than ‘moved in’; it wasn’t about anyone else’s choices or actions, and I hadn’t expressed how important seeing my working hanging really is for my day-to-day comfort and contentment. I could communicate the experience once I found words for it, and phrasing that didn’t sound like an attack on life and love. Communication is a pretty big deal, and best done in an explicit and clear way on practical matters, such as the hanging of art… or the care and feeding of artists. 🙂

Use your words. Seriously. (Also, use them gently!)

"Emotion and Reason" 2012 detail

“Emotion and Reason” 2012 detail

I arrived home last night to find that quite a number of paintings had been carefully hung… really, more ‘installed’ than hung; the care in hanging them, the considerate and meaningful placements done so skillfully that ‘hanging paintings’ hardly describes it. I sat, in the evening, feeling very much more ‘at home’ than I previously had for 2+ years. Does it make ‘everything right with the world’? Hardly. Even the delight of the artist herself, surrounded by her work, isn’t ‘everything’, is it? I do feel loved, and greatly cared for to see so many of my very best pieces hanging all around.

There are more to come, more space for art, walls as yet untouched by color or vision…and I certainly have enough work to take care of that! I expect there may be some movement, some changes, swapping this one for that one… My traveling partner has a keen eye for color, contrast, form – and a lovely aesthetic. If I have the choice between hanging my own work, and having him do my installations for me, I definitely prefer to step aside and give him room to work. I frankly just ‘hang paintings’, and not very well – they’re level, sure, and generally at an appropriate height for viewing… but I’m prone to just shoving as many pieces into a given area of blank wall as what I think will fit… resulting in a dizzying mosaic of color and glow that suits only me, and overwhelms anyone else.

I have no idea what today will hold…but I am already looking forward to returning at the end of the work day, to be surrounded by what matters so much…love, and art.

I am thinking of a hot summer day, humid, sweltering in the still air, waiting for a summer storm, or a breeze, or an excuse to retreat to any room with an air conditioner in the window. I am thinking of the past. It is a metaphor playing out a bit like a video in my imagination. Car on blocks in the driveway, hood up, and a sweat soaked mechanic head down over the engine, peering into the darkness below the machinery, gesturing vaguely with a wrench and calling out probably relevant information over her shoulder. “Yep…Here’s yer problem! Wiring’s crossed. You got no spark.”

It’s not a moment of ‘real’, it is a fiction, and I smile as I walk on toward the light rail station to head to work, thinking about the things that work, the things that don’t, and the colorful gentle humor of the way I ‘communicate with myself’ while I walk – not quite fiction, not quite memory, sort of ‘live action’, something like a screenplay, a bit like watching a ‘choose your own adventure’ video… and as useful as any other thought I might craft, truly, without the potential hurts of assuming it is ‘real’ and therefore more valid, or valued, than other thinking. I let my imagination jump the chasm across my injury to bring insights from me to myself. lol I learn some things through my mind’s eye and the Theater of Absurd Conclusions… and sometimes I just enjoy it.

Spring is approaching. My daydreams are filled with trails, trees, wee creatures watching warily as I pass, plans for hikes, and camping to come, and thoughts of home, and home making. (Go ahead, define the difference between ‘house’ and ‘home’ and get back to me; I’ll wait.) I am in a place in life when ‘putting down roots’ and feeling at home – really ‘at home’ – matters a great deal… but it isn’t something I’ve experienced very often in life, and learning good practices for building a sense of home isn’t as simple as it once seemed in the abstract.

…I am quite fortunate to be well-supported, emotionally, by my traveling partner on life’s journey (and… the secret is out – that’s why he is my ‘traveling partner’; we are traveling, together, on life’s journey). It’s quite a long trip from where I once was, to where I someday hope to be – it’s nice having some company along the way. 🙂

So for now, I walk on, still learning, still practicing, still putting intent and will (and some verbs) into finding my way ‘home’.

I can feel at home in a tent, among the trees... so home is not a building.

I can feel at home in a tent, among the trees… so home is not a building.

There's something about garden flowers that feels like home.

There’s something about garden flowers that feels like home.

Home is where the art is.

Home is where the art is. “Summer Meadow” 12″x16″ acrylic on canvas w/glow. 2014

 

Feeling at home transcends permanence.

Feeling at home can transcend permanence of place, but I don’t count on it; some places never feel like home.

Home is a feeling...

Home is a feeling… or a matter taste.

Something that connects who we once were...

Something that connects who we once were…

...and who we are, now...

…and who we are, now…

...with what matters most. "You Always Have My Heart" 8" x 10" acrylic on canvas with glow.

…with what matters most.
“You Always Have My Heart” 8″ x 10″ acrylic on canvas with glow.

How will I "find my way home"? "Daytime in The Nightmare City" 10" x 14" acrylic on canvas with glow, glitter and micaceous oxide. Indoor light, charged. 2014

How will I “find my way home”?
“Daytime in The Nightmare City” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas with glow, glitter and micaceous oxide. Indoor light, charged. 2014

 

 

Pain sucks. A lot of people (me included) live with some measure of physical pain, moment-to-moment, day-to-day, or occasionally. It doesn’t matter at all how common pain is; it still sucks to experience it, generally. Pain is largely unavoidable, even when it is treatable, manageable, or resolvable. We feel pain, because we feel, and some stuff hurts.

Outrage is a different sort of feeling, although it generally falls into the set of ‘feelings beside pain that also suck’. Outrage is that peculiar mix of anger, despair, frustration, annoyance – and pain – that we experience when confronted with something that ‘just isn’t right at all’ and nothing seems to be getting done about it. More or less. (Your results may vary) Outrage is the stuff movements and causes are made of. Outrage sells newspapers, and advertising spots. Outrage gets us to show up and take a stand. Outrage is painful, and floods us with a cascade of negative emotions, as well as increasing our level of arousal – readying us to fight, to take action. Outrage is motivating… but it’s probably not really ‘healthy’ to linger in that state. I know, for me, outrage builds over time to slowly become fused with an ancient feeling of ‘learned helplessness’ that eventually develops into a sense of futility. Despair and frustration become dominant in that experience, as the urge to take action generates no positive outcome (generally); often we are being stoked into a sense of outrage for marketing purposes. There is no intent to drive change at all; we’re being used.

Outrage, delightfully enough, is not unavoidable. It’s totally avoidable. Outrage, generally, is optional. Quite optional. This is a new thought for me, or at least I think so right now.

Where is your outrage getting you these days? If it is solving problems, and moving you through your difficulties, and finding you in an improved place with your fellow human being – and finding them in an improved place, themselves, you are having some success with outrage. If your outrage changes one thing – any one thing – for the better, truly, then your outrage is effective. I’ve got nothing but gratitude for people who can endure outrage long enough to drive positive change. I’m even impressed.

Outrage generally just upsets me, resulting in agitation, frustration, arousal and leading to my PTSD symptoms flaring up, and my disinhibiting TBI definitely gets in the way of managing outrage appropriately. Over time, outrage takes me over, colors my experience, and renders the world a seeming palette of horrors, and despair without end. It’s unpleasant. It’s also totally avoidable.

I changed how I consume media, day-to-day, and in general it alleviates my experience of chronic outrage. There is plenty in the world to be outraged about, and certainly there’s enough for every human being to take a strong stand on an important issue and change the world…but…there’s actually so much potentially ‘wrong’ in the world, it could certainly ruin any one person’s day entirely to embrace all of it as a personal cause. I still care. I am learning not to allow myself to be dragged into chronic outrage. It’s not easy. I often catch myself getting pulled back into an issue through a link shared by a friend; it matters to me a great deal what matters to my friends and loved ones, and before I quite know how, I’m caught up in measles at Disneyland, or gun safety concerns, or police brutality, or any number of feminist issues that are of direct and immediate concern to me personally, as a woman. It happens fast.

Good self-care sometimes means putting down the device. Scrolling past the news article. Refraining from commenting. Taking a few deep breaths and letting it go. Why does it matter so much to manage chronic outrage? Emotional experience is tied to our physical experience pretty directly; emotions are chemical. Pain is physical – and emotional. Chronic outrage seems (in my own experience) to correlate to an experience of pain feeling more intense, less endurable, and less responsive to treatment. Hmmmm… give up chronic outrage and hurt less, or… don’t. Yeah. That’s an easy one.

Relax. Have a coffee. Think about something pleasant for a moment. Enjoy this moment, right here; it's the only one quite like it.

Relax. Have a coffee. Think about something pleasant for a moment. Enjoy this moment, right here; it’s the only one quite like it.

Today is a good day to be aware of media manipulation. Today is a good day to enjoy each positive moment with at least as much attention, passion, and engagement as I might bring to any cause or concern. Today is a good day to let small stuff go, and to choose my battles. Today is a good day to change the world.

The family arrived home yesterday much earlier than I expected. It was a happy homecoming of tired travelers, making the pot roast dinner in the slower cooker a welcome touch for later. It was a relaxed afternoon, and a pleasant end to the weekend.

Late in the evening I felt a touch restless, and my pain was aggravating me; I went for an evening walk. It was well-timed…for a duck, or a goose, perhaps, or some other sort of waterfowl; I got as far from the house as I intended to go, and the skies opened and it just poured down rain. I returned home utterly soaked – and laughing. It didn’t do my arthritis a bit of good, but I felt revived and refreshed, and delighted – like a child – with the sensations of it.

I crashed fairly early, slept fairly poorly, and woke in pain this morning. Somehow, I am still merry and content. Love is amazing stuff. My coffee is delicious, and as a treat I bought some almond milk creamer for my morning coffee, making this Monday morning seem just a little unusual. I’m still groggy and waking is coming slowly. I woke quite easily at 11:11 pm, after crashing early. I woke again, quite easily, at 2:52 am. Pain? Some other member of the household moving about in the night? There was no anxiety or distress, no need to fight off some stray attack by my own brain; it was simply night, and something woke me. In both cases, I returned to sleep with relative ease using meditation and breathing. As I opened my eyes in response to the aquarium light coming on with a quiet ‘click’, the alarm started to beep. I shut it off. I’m still trying to wake up completely.

What a lovely weekend. I enjoyed me. I enjoyed life. I enjoyed fellowship. I enjoyed love. I also enjoyed pot roast; my best one so far, I think.

It could be that I’m figuring out some of the changes with sex, love, sensuous connection, and intimacy that have come with menopause… I don’t actually know. I know the weekend felt natural and lovely, and that from a physical perspective it also felt nurturing, satisfying, and complete. This morning, that’s very much ‘enough’, and I don’t find myself making emotional demands on love’s future performance-to-goal; neither love nor Love take kindly to direct supervision, and are unlikely to accede to mortal demands. It’s pretty pointless to make a To Do List for Love and start insisting on things. (Inventing systems of thought and rules for loving hasn’t done much to improve humankind’s ability to love, or success with finding and keeping it, just saying.)

A few words on a pleasant Monday. I’m glad love has returned home. Today is a very good day for love.

Mmmm...Love, love, and loving.

Mmmm…Love, love, and loving.

This morning my pain woke me. Twice. Once around 2:00 am, and again at 5:30 am.

The first time was a classic moment; I got up sleepily, went to the kitchen and got a drink of water. It was in many respects identical to all such ‘drink of water’ moments in the wee hours. Squinting through the harshness of artificial lighting, going through the physical motions of getting a glass, filling it, drinking, and finally setting the glass on the counter rather randomly and returning to bed; it’s the same process however young or old I have been since I’ve been old enough to do it without help, and so habitual after all this time that there are likely uncountable such moments that leave no recollection at all.

The second time, I got up feeling a bit relieved that it was finally an hour at which I could take my Rx pain relief, my morning medication, but not late enough to be off on my timing. I tried to return to sleep, but this morning my pain got the better of any such desired outcome. I got up, and began the day in a distracted and disorderly fashion; I wasn’t really quite awake at all, but in too much pain to take things slowly first thing. When I realized my pain was driving haste, I stopped, sat down, and meditated for a few unmeasured minutes and started over.

I remind myself that these are all self-care practices, because they do require practice (otherwise they’d be ‘self-care thoughts’).

It’s quite a lovely morning. The fact that I hurt doesn’t really detract from that, it just made starting the day a tad challenging. Enjoying the morning solo, there was no one potentially between my pain and my coffee, or my not-quite-awake volatility and meditation. As early in the morning as it was, I put on favorite dance tracks (think The Crystal Method, Nicki Minaj, and Jesse J) and took advantage of the solo morning to dance; it sometimes really helps with my arthritis pain (which is in my spine) to move. That is certainly the case this morning, and I’m grateful to have a solo morning on a morning when I need that so much. (Not everyone wants to start their morning with Lil’ Jon at 6:00 am!)

Later today, the house will fill with family once again, gentler music of shared tastes. It’s been an excellent solo weekend; I am far more ready for a homecoming than I am for the weekend to end. I’m grateful things will happen in that order. 🙂

"Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment." Jon Kabat-Zinn

“Each time for the first time, each moment the only moment.” Jon Kabat-Zinn

Today is a good day for music, dance, and joy, to embrace simple delights, and take things slow.