My kids and I painted tonight. This was my go at the canvas.
Standing next to me on our back deck, painting side-by-side, my son was so excited, “Mommy, we’re all artists!” He sounded as if we had won something.
I’d like to talk about the act of creation, but I keep turning in the opposite direction. Being stuck for so long, I have to remind myself that being stuck isn’t who I am—just the seat I’ve taken on a bus that’s going God knows where.
I’ve had more dreams about bathrooms. In one, I was on a deserted island with a public toilet that was defunct and in serious need of a scrub down. I convinced the others who were stuck on the island with me that the first thing we should do is get the bathrooms in working order. We took a truck into town and while shopping for supplies it occurred to me that I had left the island.
In trying to clean the bathroom, I discovered I wasn’t stuck at all.
Part of me has an urge to get out of bed right now and go scrub my own bathroom. Don’t worry. The saner part of me is too tired to do anything but stay here in bed, snuggled up to my laptop.
Instead, I will do my best to remember the metaphor—how in preparing the place where one finds the most visceral form of relief (literally), I found I wasn’t trapped at all.
Sounds like transition to me, Josie. That urge. That pressure. It’s a good, good place.
this transition started well over a year ago—it’s the longest freakin’ transitioning period i can remember. i don’t think puberty lasted this long. i want a word for transitions that last long enough you forget you’re in transition.
transcontinental?
I love it. The painting and the potties.
Your son is right—you’re all artists and you all won.
Exactly. You all won.
i agree. as much as i whine on here, i am fully aware i’m leading a blessed life.
i have two greeting cards that have been secured to the front of our fridge with magnets for nearly three years.
the first reads:
Happiness consists in realizing it is all a great strange dream.
the other:
We just might be the luckiest people alive!
i believe both full-heartedly.
(i have a smaller magnet that reads, “Some mornings I wake up bitchy, other mornings I let her sleep.”)
You are awesome.
My only literate fridge magnet says “Some Caffeine Required.”
I love that painting. It reminds me of weeds growing on a rocky cliff leaning toward the sunrise. Lean into it Josey.
And how much do I love the dream, to be off of the island so focused on the pedestrian, earthly task you left behind, you didn’t realiize you had left it behind at all.
Time to start anew, toward the sunrise and away from those barren cliffs, and dirty commodes that plague our dreams.
Time to fly.
i like that it started with the bright yellow and pale blue and deep oranges and then i covered most of the bright colors with the dark terrain. it’s my path right now–walking up these darker landscapes, knowing all along that sunrise is there, beneath it all.
I was just this morning talking to my youngest about her dream and thinking how I wanted to help her understand the nuances of it but of course, when you’re young, dreams are mostly just so strange and scary–at what age do we realize the power of them, I wonder? I love that you know that, Josey–I am always hanging on the images of my dreams, always open to understanding what they want to say, even if I don’t always want to hear it.
Digging the hell out of the painting. And I understand exactly what you mean about trying to get unstuck. It really is about the toilet brush, the mundane preparations and routine activities that quiet the mind. A couple of days ago, I copied a couple of pages of my own work word-for-word, longhand, just to help myself remember my voice and get back into a groove. It helped.
It is exciting being an artist, isn’t it? The other day I was in line at a bakery with my youngest, who is just learning to read. There was a sign in the window she and I read together– hiring a baker, $12 per hour, etc.– and she pulled me down, held my face in her hands, and whispered, Mama– you could be a baker! You could bring us bread every day! She understands the importance of bread. When she can read, she’ll probably understand the writing.
Beautiful writing and my god look at that painting. Wow. You paint, too? Wonderful!
That painting is amazing. Seriously. If I were you, I would hang the hell out of it on a prominent wall. And yes, we ARE all artists, and yes, we have won something. (Even if that “something” is sometimes crippling anxiety and shame. Still worth it.)
The painting is beautiful. And I love the toilet metaphor. Cleaning bathrooms always makes me feel better.
I’m picturing the water in the bowl with no color, just swirling around and around and around, going nowhere until somebody else hits the flush handle. And the painting, the color and life of it, being the antithesis of that swirling water.
Side note: I will do just about anything to avoid touching a toilet bowl. I’ll have to ponder on that.