Archives for posts with tag: inspiration

Human primates are peculiar. I got so thoroughly involved in my delightful morning, yesterday, I completely forgot about my physical therapy appointment, which was planned to be my next stop after my walk. Instead, I went home and began enjoying my lovely morning further, with my Traveling Partner and the Anxious Adventurer. lol Costly mistake; the clinic phoned me to ask if I was “on my way”… Nope. Miles away, content at home. The caller politely reminded me I would be charged for the missed appointment. I replied that I understood and moved on with the delightful day, and spent it in relatively little pain.

It was a very pleasant and thoroughly relaxing morning. I enjoyed it. I spent much of the day exploring my new pastels, and reading, and some little bit on grocery shopping and helping my partner with this and that. I got some of the rest I have needed so badly.

Today there is laundry to do and errands to run, and housekeeping, but having some help is already significantly lightening the load and I face the day with real joy and enthusiasm. I sigh contentedly, sitting here by the side of the trail, at an”halfway point” I like that has a comfortable spot to sit down for a few minutes. The sunshine is warm on my back. The morning is mild and not yet hot, (but I can feel that it will get there again today). It’s summer, sure, but I can easily remember summers being cooler in this part of the Pacific Northwest than they tend to be now. I frown for a moment thinking about how thoroughly we’ve fucked up this planet. We could do better. It may be too late…

A beautiful morning in a beautiful place.

I think over my list of things to do and add some small tasks that make big differences. I’ve got more to offer, today, and I feel rested and strong. Funny how much difference the thought of having help makes. I don’t feel the need to plan ahead for exhaustion at the end of the day.

I sit awhile with my thoughts, watching the light through the trees change as the sun rises. I watch and wonder how I would capture the qualities of light and the various hues of green with my pastels. I feel content and centered. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a good beginning for a new day.

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.

…It’s time…

…I wonder where this path leads…?

As I came around the last bend in the road before I reached the city, the sunrise greeted me with a messy smudge of coral and orange, like badly applied lipstick. I so earnestly wished to make a right turn and chase that sunrise to wherever the day might take me…

The yearning hit me hard. I don’t find myself wanting to chase things like a bigger house, a more exotic car, Birkin bags, or Louboutin shoes. Sufficiency is generally quite enough for me, and I’m content with the occasional excesses of more modest scale, like garden seeds, or art supplies, or a new keyboard…but… I sometimes find myself faced with a very peculiar moment of yearning and discontent that is very much part of “who I am” (and has been for as much of my life as I can recall)… I sometimes earnestly and deeply want to be free of everything that defines my life – however it is presently defined. As though the constraints of habit and routine, and requirements and expectations, just get to be too much, and something within me spills out and I just want to… go. Somewhere. Somewhere else than wherever I am. I want to “chase that sunrise”. I want to sleep in and when I wake wander to some previously unvisited delightful breakfast spot and linger into the day over my coffee. I want to wander a beach or a forest trail, listening to the birds and the breezes. I want to be… untethered. I doubt this experience is unique to me, and it seems generally very human.

This morning, once my commute carried me to the city, and the car was parked in the usual place, and I frowned at the thermostat in the office on my way past it, as I often do, and made a cup of coffee (that has already gone cold), I sat down and did the payday stuff and the budgeting, like a proper grownup. No tears or terror, no stress, just regular adult shit that has to get done regardless of how lovely the sunrise may be. I’m okay with it. I don’t really need to drop everything and escape my existence, I’ve got a pretty comfortable life that I enjoy very much, and I’m fortunate to share it with a partner I love deeply, and who loves me back so wonderfully. Life is pretty good right now. I’m not objecting to that, or craving change – just acknowledging my restless nature, and maybe wishing it were already “camping season” (too chilly yet for me, personally). lol Funny creatures, human primates – give them everything they want and need in life, and still they find their way to discontentedness, wanting either more, or less. LOL

I sip my tepid coffee, unbothered by any detail of the morning, thus far. I’m okay. I breathe. Exhale. Relax. (Mutter something cranky about the broken heat in this office.) I stretch, and check my calendar. Set up my work day. Email the budget details to my Traveling Partner. There’s no particular stress to the day, so far. Hell, I’m not even in much pain; it seems very manageable so far. The sun continues to rise, and the buildings beyond the office reflect the golden glow and hints of orange and pink. Beautiful. I take a minute to enjoy it, before I sit down to write a few words.

It’s a Friday. I find myself missing my Traveling Partner greatly this morning, and wishing perhaps that I’d worked from home, but we’d discussed that yesterday evening, and he expressed a desire to make the day a quiet one, healing and resting, and to support that endeavor, I committed to the commute and the day in the office. Maybe a short one? I’d love to get the weekend started and get out in the garden again, or try a trail I’ve never walked before, or just… drive somewhere far. lol That restless nature nagging at me in the background almost makes me giggle – I’d be satisfied to spend the day in my studio, on an artistic journey, and as that thought crosses my mind, I realize that this is what I’m yearning for – some creative time in my own head, whether writing, or painting, or in the garden. Well, the weekend is here, and that’s easily done. I just have to begin again. 😀

This morning I took a walk in the cold of the frosty morning, just as daybreak arrived. No pictures. Just walking with my thoughts, and taking care that I didn’t slip on an icy surface along the way. Now I’m home, sipping coffee, sitting here with my thoughts. Same thoughts? Same thoughts. I am thinking about good and evil, right and wrong, and the excuses we make. I’m thinking about the inexcusable horror of war and how terrible and pointless it is. I’m thinking about inspiration, and things I’ve seen that I’d like to put on canvas. I keep the sound turned down low on the playlist I’m listening to, in case my Traveling Partner calls out from the other room to get my help with anything, while he recovers from an injury.

…There’s a bit of grocery shopping to plan, an errand to run, and I’m overdue to finally unpack from my trip to the coast (which now seems so long ago). There are dishes to do. Meals to plan. Laundry to wash, fold, and put away. Life. Adulthood. Taking care of things that take care of me. Sometimes it seems pretty fucking endless, ridiculously repetitive and without any lasting outcome of value. Processes and practices work that way, I suppose. I take a breath, feeling my fingers dance across the keyboard as my thoughts flow across my awareness and on past. I exhale, still finding contentment in these simple things. It’s enough, generally…

I saw a gorgeous sunrise while I was on the coast, and it’s the sort of sight that fills my thoughts for days and lingers in my recollections. Such sunrises are the stuff of inspiration, for me. Sunrises are a little on the nose as metaphors for new beginnings, but there it is; simple and true. Believable. Real.

Begin again.

I breathe, exhale, relax, and look over the many pictures I took on my recent coastal getaway. I spent most of that time working, and so most of the pictures are of the view from the balcony or windows of the hotel room where I stayed for 4 days, with a handful taken on this or that walk on the beach on a lunch break, or some opportune moment when the tide was low. It was time well-spent. I reflect on the time, now, hoping to prevent the nurturing emotional gains of rest, resilience, and introspection from slipping away in the chaos of returning home to an injured partner, and the busy whirlwind of pre-holiday life, generally. Breathe in. Breathe out. Look at the next picture. Repeat.

My Traveling Partner asks about breakfast sandwiches and whether I might make some…? It’s time to begin again.