The Ghost of Painting Past

"When she came to the boxes of her father's painting supplies, the artist's daughter opened each box.  The smell of the paint reminded her of sitting in her daddy's workshop as a little girl, watching her daddy paint bright colorful abstracts.  She remembers how her daddy would make up a story for each one, just for her."

So....things are going BET TER.  ...In The Studio.   I have kept my promise to paint everyday....no matter what.  And my flu is getting better.  The above is a tiny itty bitty detail of the painting that I'm working on.  I dare not show you the full image before the painting's finished.  I can't even stand the idea of my studio mate seeing it.  Each night when I leave I tuck my easel in my closet, painting first.

About a year ago, I bought a box of oil paints at The Harwood yard sale.  Every year, the harwood has this huge yard sale and lots of people donate stuff.  Some of it is art supplies but mostly it's just a hodge podge of this and that.  So I bought a box of oil paints for $20.  It was a hell of a deal.  There were over 30 tubes of oil paints....the big ones, not the tiny ones.  Some of them were trash, they were cracked or all dried up or in some way unusable, but most of them were good.  (Stay with me, I'm getting somewhere with all this.)

Some of them still had price tags on them....with prices so low, they couldn't have been sold in the last 20-30 years.  And although they were the same brands I've used before, they packaging design was totally different.  And the tops were encrusted on.  I had to use a pair of pliers to unscrew the tops.  Occasionally I needed pliers AND man power (by which I mean "Honey can you get this? It's too hard for me!")

So as I was painted tonight, I was using said paints.  (I should mention here that oil paints never "go bad."  As long as they're not dried up, they're good forever.)  And as I was painting I was thinking about these tubes of paint.  I was imagining that an old artist had passed away in the 1970s, leaving all his paints and supplies behind.  He had been a serious painter and had experienced some commercial success but had always felt that he had yet to make his best painting.  His masterpiece lay ahead of him.  He felt this way about his work until the day he died.

His paints sat in a box in his attic for decades, until his wife passed away in 2009, at which point his daughter and son-in-law took it upon themselves to go through everything in the house.  They threw out many things, mailed things to relatives they knew would appreciate it, and donated the majority to charity.

When she came to the boxes of her father's painting supplies, the artist's daughter opened each box.  The smell of the paint reminded her of sitting in her daddy's workshop as a little girl, watching her daddy paint bright colorful abstracts.  She remembers how her daddy would make up a story for each one, just for her.


Slowly she squeezed the squishy metal tubes in her hands, one by one, and thought "I can't throw these away."  So she takes the paints and all his other supplies to a local community art center and donates them.  Hoping they'll find their way to someone who will use them.  But they sit on a shelf in the storage closet behind downstairs bathroom for a few months and then finally come out to join the yard sale one friday in April.

And this is how these paints came to me.

And tonight as I shuffled around my studio, grabbing tubes and squeezing tubes and mixing colors and dripping oil and slapping paint onto canvas,  I imagined that old artist sitting in the corner of my studio right below my light, cheering me on.  "Yes!  Just like that!  That's perfect!  Oh that's the PERFECT color!"  He's delighted that I'm using his paints!  And I'm delighted that he's delighted!  And he's so proud of me!

The Confrontation

I mentioned yesterday that I had a rough night at the studio. I took some pictures to document my....my struggle. Documenting something...to me....makes it less horrible. It's comforting. It takes it out of the realm of reality and puts it into the realm of art. Everything is better when it's in the realm of art.

It was still day when I got there. I wasn't feeling so good. I also mentioned yesterday that I have the flu. But I was determined not to let that stop me.

I haven't worked on a painting that wasn't a commissioned portrait in about 2 years! Until last night.

Trying to start a painting is always a bit trepidatious. But lately I've been having real issues with painting. Every time I looked at my big white canvas I thought I would pass out. Maybe that was just the flu though.

I was so scared to get started. There's a very specific feeling that I've had before: it's when I start a new painting....and an hour or so into it...i just know it's wrong....and i know it can't be saved.

And the fear of that feeling, is ....well ...it's scary. I want this to go WELL. I don't want to cry.

But it may not. That's a possibility I have to face. But right now, there's so much potential.

The minute my brush touches it....everything will be different. I feel like I could throw up. But that's probably just the flu.

I wonder when Brenden's gonna be here with my tacos.

How am I going to do this painting in a week? Have I ever done a painting in a week?

Okay I need some music. What the right song to begin a painting to?

Ok...Lykke Li...Melodies And Desires.....okay here i go BIG STROKE OF BLACK AHHH!!!

Chug Chug Chug Puff Puff Puff I think I can I think I can

so...i don't know how well tonight went.  i'm just so exhausted all the time it's hard to even sit up.  i had planned to do this painting in black and white and i started tonight.  i did start.  and then i took a break because brenden came and brought me tacos.  and as i sat there on the couch staring at my recently begun painting it just looked so chalky.  it made me think of chalk and then i thought of chalk in my mouth....like chalkboard chalk....and that made my teeth hurt.   and i mixed a whole palette full of grey paint....and now i don't even want to do it in black and white.  and the idea of going back into the studio tomorrow makes me want to turn into a puddle of mylanta.  so now i'm just in this impossible head space where i need to take more action desperately to get out of this head space but i can barely gather the strength to stand up.

The Fear Of Painting

I didn't go to Las Vegas.  I have the flu.  You know that one that people get the flu shot to avoid getting...that one.   I began falling ill Thursday night.  I've eaten enough ibuprofen in the last 5 days to kill a mule.  Nevertheless, I am TRYING to get to my studio today.  I have a painting that I need to make and it must be done by this saturday so that it can be dry and ready to hang by thursday in time for the Harwood's opening on Friday.

This afternoon as I lay in bed feeling helplessly stuck in a body that won't cooperate and I thought "Why?"  Why?  Why did you get the flu Juliet?  What was happening Thursday night that made you want to get the flu?  

Do you want to know what I was doing?  I was painting.  I was in my studio, lights off, high wattage clamp lights on, lighting up this little canvas where I was half-heartedly (1/9th heartedly, let's be honest) painting a dog.  It was a commission.  And I was miserable.  But I was strong.  I held my brush and my palette and put paint to canvas and did it again and again until the underpainting was done.  

And then I drove home.

Then then I got home.

And I felt like a creature made of a hard yet brittle substance.  Like some sort of bug that could be squashed under my black payless boots or be eaten by my cat.  And  don't I hate it when she crunches those things in front of me.  And I can hear her crunching.  I really hate that.

And I opened my laptop and opened pictures on my hard drive and plotted out my painting for the show at the Harwood.  

And all the while, from somewhere hidden, this voice said "Why do you bother? This is a waste of time.  What are you going to accomplish with paint?  You're gonna be miserable.  It won't come out the way you want it to.  Oh Lord, Here we go again?  Why can't you just quit painting and stick to it!"

I don't know who's voice that was.  Maybe it was a demon.  AN INCUBUS!!  (watch the movie ink if you haven't seen it yet!)

So, I realized today that I'm terrified to get back into my studio and paint.  This is what I wanted and I'm terrified.  So terrified I contracted the flu.  The best ever excuse not to go paint.

About an hour ago, I had a conversation with Painting.  Don't ask me what I mean by this.  

Ok fine!   I was sensing a being who was the representation of the art of painting.  It was a she?  And I sensed that she wanted me to paint.  So I decided to talk to her directly.  I asked her if she had something to say to me.  And then I wrote down her answer.

She said to give her a chance.  She said I had to go to my studio everyday and put on my gloves and open my tubes of paint.  She said I had to try.  And that I could doubt myself but not to doubt her, just show up everyday and try.

So it's 4:15 pm and I'm lying in bed wrapped in towels, doped up on flu medication, and feeling like I'm at the halfway point between dead and alive.  But I'm going to get dressed and I'm going to get in my car and I'm going to go to my studio and try.  Don't wish me luck.  There's no such thing.

I will be in Vegas until Monday night....on a secret mission.

YAY!!  the new business cards are ORDERED!!  I'm so excited!  oh they're gonna be soooo bangin!

wait till you see....a work of art.  designed them myself.  took me FOREVER.  but it's DONE!

I bought "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron today.  A book I told myself I'd never read.  Because so many people had told me to read it.  I read the first 10 pages today and I LOVE IT!  DAMN IT!  I really tried to roll my eyes and act like a too-sophisticated/hipster/know-it-all but instead I ended up all wide-eyed and giggly, underlining away, and having the subtle sensation of a small child-like angel tickling my face with goose feathers.  

Anita Of America

Tonight I feel cold to the bone.

Last night I dreamt about Anita. Her and I were on a plane flying south. I was taking her home.

Last month her mother finally decided she wanted her and her brothers back. They'd been living with their aunt and uncle and six cousins in a trailer in a rural part of the south valley for nearly 2 years. Friends of the family drove the 3 children to Juarez, where they would meet their mother again for the first time in 2 years and be shuffled onto a bus headed for the southern tip of Mexico.

I gave her Henrietta. Henrietta is the stuffed dog I've had since I was 2,3,4,5, I'm not really sure how long. She's rough and worn. She's been chewed on and drooled on and come through countless laundry cycles. When I was 7, we had matching nightgowns...Henrietta and I. The nightgown had a picture of a cat playing with yarn. I think.

There was a day last fall when I thought her family wanted me to adopt her. Wanted us to adopt her. "You should take her!" They'd said (jokingly?) so many times in broken English and then one night I started to think they meant it. I spent a day calling every one in the city of Albuquerque who knew anything about the ins and outs of adopting a quasi-abandoned Mexican child who technically didn't exist.

Roxana is her big cousin. Roxana's been like a mother to her the past 2 years. Roxana is the 15 year old who's become like a little sister to me in the last year. She tells me everything. Sometimes she spends the weekend at our apartment. She needs the break from the cramped trailer full of 7 little boys and a girl. Several times she brought Anita.

Anita loves making art. I used to let her draw on my walls with chalk and glue and cut and paint all day long. This shy, polite, quiet little girl would turn into a different creature all together at my house. Running and shouting and laughing and rough housing until she was blue in the face.

She was obsessed with washing her feet before bed in the warm water in the bathtub. And I gave her a tiny gold tea cup that she used for everything whenever she was at my house.

One day Roxana and I dressed her up. I tore the American map that had been hanging on my wall for God knows what reason and started cutting and taping it on her. I cut and taped until she looked like she was wearing a little gown and then I cut a piece off to make a bow for her hair. For some of the pictures I told her to look sad (like the one where I had her hold her hands up). Roxana was trying to help me by talking to her in spanish. After a couple minutes I thought "Ok either this kid is the best child actor ever, or Roxana's being mean." "Roxana what are you saying to her?! Why is she crying?" Roxana said, "I told her that if she doesn't do a good job, you're not going to buy her ice cream." This is why 15 year-olds don't make the best mothers.

"Roxana! Tell her I didn't say that!! Anita! I didn't say that! I love you no matter what you do. You don't have to do a good job for me. Do you really want ice cream?"

This child is so sensitive and good. She cries at a moments notice but doesn't make a big thing out of it. She cries silently and she loves everyone. Absolutely everyone.

Roxana said Anita told her that her mom used to pull her by her hair. Once I was brushing her hair and I tugged on it a little. She immediately burst into tears and cried for nearly 10 minutes.

I've wondered about this woman. I've been told she drinks a lot. And gets into fights. And neglected her children. And that her sisters/brothers/parents always had to take care of them. I heard that when the time came for the children to leave, Roxana's father was on the phone with his sister begging her to just let them keep Anita.

In my dream, our plane made several stops at several airports as we flew further south. On the last lay-over, I took Anita off the plane to walk around the airport and go to the bathroom. As we were walking back to the plane I thought "What if we just missed our plane? What if I just kept her?"

The Yellow Balloon Of Victory!

I was out jogging just now (Yay! Good for me!) and I looked up into the sky and this bright yellow balloon was zooming southward in front of the dark grey sky in the north. It was so beautiful and I thought "O My God! I wish I had a camera on me right now!" And then I thought "Oh don't be one of those silly people that's so busy taking photos and video of everything that you never just stop and experience something."

"SO I WILL PAINT IT!" I thought with satisfaction. I will paint this moment from the photograph that I've downloaded in my brain...I'll paint it just as soon as I get a studio. Which guess what people?! ...IS TOMORROW!!! YaYAH!!

I got an email this morning from this nice girl who has a big beautiful brightly lit studio at The Harwood and heard from the Harwood's Director that I was looking for a place to paint.

All these different things this week have just been falling into place. I know my father would be horrified to know that I've quit my day job without having another job lined up or another source of income but I'm just so enthralled with all the possibilities I'm creating and the looming threat of starvation and imprisonment (you do know it's illegal to be poor right, email me privately if you want to know how i know this) at every moment. It's like...Once again there's electricity is in the air....once again there's magic. And once again...I'm starting to believe in fairies.

The Freezing

We have 3 computers. And none of them work well. I usually only use my mac. It's a 7 year old IBookG4 that's just hangin in there as best it can. It has no battery life anymore. If the power cord loses connection I have about 1 minute before the computer powers down entirely, resetting the date to 1970. Why is 1970 the default date?! The power cord is a precious little thing that needs everything to be just so. For the last 10 months "just so" has meant that it has to be plugged into a power cord, not the wall, a powercord. And then I have to wrap a couple elastic hairbands around it to ensure a tight connection. And then prop it up against some cushions or random object nearby so that the little darlings stays comfortable the whole time I use my computer.

We have 3 computers. And none of them work well. I usually only use my mac. It's a 7 year old IBookG4 that's just hangin in there as best it can. It has no battery life anymore. If the power cord loses connection I have about 1 minute before the computer powers down entirely, resetting the date to 1970. Why is 1970 the default date?! The power cord is a precious little thing that needs everything to be just so. For the last 10 months "just so" has meant that it has to be plugged into a power cord, not the wall, a powercord. And then I have to wrap a couple elastic hairbands around it to ensure a tight connection. And then prop it up against some cushions or random object nearby so that the little darlings stays comfortable the whole time I use my computer.

This system has been working for me for 10 months!! Sure I bitch every once in a while "Why does every one but me have a MacBook Pro?!" "How come I can't afford a half way descent computer?" And how come TODAY was the day my feeble little darling of a power cord finally bit the bullet? Thus forcing me to interact with the other 2 as never before.

So all day today I've had things I needed to do with computers. Not big deal things. Just simple things. Things that should take me 5 minutes, maybe 15. And everything took at least 20 times as long as it would have on a better computer...maybe one that was made with in the last 5 years. Maybe one that my husband didn't put together all by his little self on the living room floor one week in 2007 (Ladies and Gentleman: I give you...computer #2)

Don't sneeze! Don't twitch! And heaven for betsy do NOT walk across the living room in your socks and then TOUCH the thing. Because it will die! Or at least power off only to be resuscitated by it's maker (in this case the high Latin teacher I share my life with, the man of my dreams...the man on the other side of the bed, "the lucky man" as he's widely known by so many fellows on the days I just can't seem to find my wedding ring....) BRENDEN!! HELLLLP!

And then there's the lovely HP laptop he was issued for being nice enough to work 70 hours a week educating the youth of america, teaching them to believe in themselves and contribute their latent gifts and talents to the world, in exchange for a bi weekly paycheck that any part time prostitute would snicker at. If you want to SEE what you're doing, while you're doing it (something I enjoy while I'm editing photos) you have to jam your thumb against a certain place under the screen until the lights come up and then HOLD it there for as long as you want to see what you're doing. I mean...I have literally done nothing BUT struggle with computers all day...except go to the doctor and get diagnose with a sinus infection.

But I'm not JUST complaining! (though i'm trying to make my complaints as artful and entertaining as possible and thank you for reading) No no! I have a POINT. "A POINT!" I say. And that point is....."when the going gets tough, the tough get going!" And I have just joined the leagues of The Tough!

I FEEL it!! ...It's like "uh hey stupid ass maddening life circumstances.....you wanna piece of me? I SAID "DO YOU WANT A %$! D@MN F!@#ING PIECE OF MEEEEEE!!!!???" ...or what?

It's like my work ethic is suddenly on steroids. Which is funny...funny that I should use that metaphor that is because I actually am on steroids technically. My doctor prescribed me some prednisone today...for my sinus infection. I really like prednisone. Last time I took it I had so much energy and was so upbeat and hungry...like i woke up in the middle of the night..every night..to wander into a darkened kitchen and kneel in front of the frigerator and eat munster, milk chocolate, olives, cottage cheese, and bread in alternating bites under the flattering light of that lightbulb in the frigerator that turns on when you open the door...

And it's so auspicious that I have begun my quest to rise from this impoverished obscurity on the very same week that my fair city of Albuquerque New Mexico (that's right we're actually not in Arizona...or Texas) has chosen to rise out of her obscurity! (or atleast any obscure references to Bugs Bunny) and make national headlines both in Weather and in How-The-Hell-Can-They-Be-So-Incompetent (but any news is good news) notoriety.

You guys have heard right? We've been having below zero temperatures all week. We were "the coldest metropolis in the lower 48 today. Meaning Alaska is colder but whatever. 2 important things to note there? 1. we can get cold here (cold enough to burst yo mama's pipes! uh oh! no she didn't! what now!?) and 2. We're a metropolis people!! ya!ya! what you don't know nothing 'bout albuquerque. thought it was a place Bugs Bunny made up?? some po'dunk town in the middle of NOWHERE??? You should be ashamed of yourself! You should be ashamed of yourself!

I'm just so proud! I really am! I don't know how she DID IT! I mean getting schools canceled all week long? I mean I really didn't know she had it in her.

And bursting all those pipes. And gas outages in HOW many suburbs?? Goodness! I just...I feel like a proud mama!

The Jupiter Salute

Last night I dreamt I moved to Jupiter.  As in...the planet.   It took 6 weeks to get there.  It's exciting when you think about it because that means my astrobody actually went to Jupiter last night.  And Jupiter has always been my favorite planet.  Did you know that there is a spot on one of Jupiter's moons that is absolutely perfect for human life?

They were sending whole shipload of orphans there.  All I had to do was take care of 6 orphans during the 6 week space voyage, and that was how I paid for my voyage.

Today it snowed.