I’m moving my dailies over to tumblr. And I don’t know what I’m going to do here, but it depresses me to look at stuff I don’t take a long time on here.
I’m still not sure what I want to do. I just know that I want to have a larger vision than a daily 30 minute watercolor. It’s hard to know what to do when you don’t know where you want to go. I’m hoping to get that figured out soon. Since the kids will be starting school next week (kindergarten! How has my little boy gotten so big?), I’m expecting a little less hectic all day long.
I love my kids, I do, but I hate how my body and mind aren’t my own when they’re around.
...probably has something to do with the fact that I last worked in 2008. “Worked for money” that should say. I work every single day. Sometimes it’s noticeable. Most of the time it is not.
I love and hate this experiment in watercolor. They’re hard. I can’t fix something when I notice it’s wrong. They’re always wetter or dryer than I think. Colors dry much lighter or much darker than I expect. Layering makes them so much brighter than mixing, but I think it’s more fun to mix, soooooo… I like watching the paint mix on the paper. So much so that I’ll let it happen even if it really shouldn’t. I still don’t know how to make a REALLY dark gray for black (hence my reliance on pens…will the internet approve of my overuse of the word “hence” I actually use it in real life, where I grew up we used a lot of archaic words). My sketch pad paper is not the best quality, compared to others I’ve used. And I forget how much it warps. I REALLY like watching the paint mix on the paper. And run. And make those pretty edge lines where the color dries. It worked one time where a green left a beautiful blue hue all around the edge… yeah, I really like that.
All the late-night adventure stories, turning herself into the hero of each. Love stories she whispered of the sweetest: the first love, when each touch was an embrace, each slap a display of affection. Should she have explained the wisdom which comes only with age. The knowledge that love doesn’t hurt, that possession and desire needn’t go hand in hand, that those we love would not shut us out from those who love us. A child’s understanding of love, and she allowed it to thrive in her daughter’s heart.
These stories she had convinced herself were fairy tales, for her own sake, for her husband’s, her daughter’s. She had told them over and over, had laughed at parts she now realized were full of dread, of deadly terror, of DEATH. Now she saw her stripped innocence and her daughter’s same loss.
This return–unchanged, seemingly un-aged–to steal away her child. This guilt, heavy and pulling, because mingled with the fear and desperate longing for her daughter was a jealous rage, all that she had left behind and her own failure to be taken again. Should she have expected him to seek for her: strands of gray, a new sagginess to every part of her body. Knowing she could be so easily replaced by her own daughter. It was two kidnappings: the child, and the dream-child she once was.
Her husband’s hands, which had taught her, daily, the truth of love, the gentleness of desire, sought to give comfort that was unavailable. They spoke with the authorities who would no more find their child than she could. And she kept quiet, knowing that to tell the truth would make him fly just as far to escape her wickedness.
Okay, here I am again. There are issues. Of course, but when you’re only taking 30 minutes/1 hour, you’re going to have that. Daily. Can we say daily? If I grab time during the TV time I have with the husband I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating, and I don’t pay attention to that.
But I made the mistake of telling a few people that I’m doing this … okay, so that was the point. Tell people and then I feel like I’m failing if I don’t have something done.
…the blue looks a lot more blue here… I should probably try to find something better than my iPhone.
Tomorrow restart the index cards? I loved those. I miss them, but it’s amazing how hard it is to fit little pieces of art into my day when I have no free time from the children. You’d think “hey, children love art, this should be easy.” No. No, it is not easy. It is difficult. Art likes flow. At least, for me it likes flow. And I’ve heard other people say the same. And flow does not work when little fingers reach for things. Or little voices ask for a snack. Or for your help in removing Legos. From things.
But, what are you going to do. They don’t like it when you sit in chairs and cry. Baby steps.
I would like to start a larger project. I wouldn’t even mind just taking this photo (from two years ago?) and making it a longer project. I think that would be wishing for too much. I had one really nice piece going, but I lost it. I think a child stole it. It probably has crayon all over it. Which, would be fun, but it does make it harder to convince myself to start again.
Another day, another drawing.
I need to work on getting my colors brighter/darker. Less muted. Also, I hate my lights in my kitchen. Stupid fluorescents. Mess with the shadows. In classes this happened, too, but there were more, whereas here there’s only one. And no sunlight at all. I can’t wait to live in a place where I can change all my lights and not have to have these awful things.
Anyway. I need to work on color build up. La la la.
I’m amazed at how little things take up a larger part of my life nowadays, with kids. I find Legos everywhere. And those little animals we get from the dentist (I love our dentist). And doll clothing. Little teeny tiny pieces of crap. But I sort of love it. Even as it annoys me. I love it. I wouldn’t change it.
This duck has sat on my desk for months now. Because I’m shit at cleaning up. And because no one else seems to think it’s a good idea to bring it back in the bathroom where it belongs. Why? everyone needs to see it. There aren’t a whole lot of yellow things in our lives, so it stands out. And I think, I’ll go to the bathroom and bring this along. Only the timer dings for something, or a kid comes in and starts talking to me, or I decide it’s time to do something else. It doesn’t really matter. Things never seem to get done when they don’t include food or clean clothes on kids. So what am I doing? I’m forcing myself to spend 30 minutes a day on a watercolor painting and posting it. Because… well, why the hell not.
I don’t know what the stupid (bad word! we don’t use that word in this house! This is the rule made up by my 5-year-old, and, okay, fine, we don’t use that word… only some things are stupid.) ink marks in my book are from. But I refuse to waste a page just because there’s something on the page. And it makes sense with the reason for this drawing. I’m annoyed with all these little things, but they’re part of my life. I can’t change it, though I may try. I may be able to get them into other places, but I can never eradicate them completely.
Except that doing this has somehow freed up more time. How does that make sense? Suddenly, with forcing myself to do this every day I’m finding more time to get things done. Priorities? Is that all?
Anyway. I’ll find time to work on something real someday. When the kids are back in school or something. But for now 30 minutes a day works. I work on a large painting for about 10 minutes every weekend, but it’s not yet at a point where I can show anything.
And since I’m not patient enough to wait for things to dry (why does watercolor need so much patience?!!!) I’m going to try doing this Index Card A Day Challenge. The idea for me is to not think too hard. Just put the paint down. So when I can’t find a place to paint on whatever 30 minute thing I’m working on I add paint or ink to the index card. It may not be the best way to do things, going back and forth between seeing and random, but I enjoyed it today. And I don’t really care. 🙂