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2003-10-02 @ 2:33 p.m. |
white crystals raining sideways from the skies just a few minutes ago. it was freaky. i was just in the midst of shaking out all the flea condos from my throw rugs and this big black cloud moved directly over my house, and a big gust of wind, you know, the kind that whipped Dorothy Gale's house in Kansas, threatened to rip the roof off my front porch. and then the skies just opened up for about 2 minutes with these razor sharp white crystals pelting my roof. guess mother nature was pissed about something. I went to my first Expressive Painting Circle today. Had signed up for it back in mid-September. A painting class with a little "therapy" thrown it. A good thing for the "I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell" girl. I knew I was at the right house when I saw a note attached to the front door, "Don't vacuum, I'm meditating" and a "Give Peace a Chance" bumpersticker stuck in the window. My kind of people. Tree-huggers. The teacher was a Canadian who kept saying "Aboot". She had a huge art studio upstairs, with candles burning, feathers, Alaskan art, books about writing and art, drum music playing, tea brewing, plastic attached to the walls over which we taped large sheets of butcher paper on which we were able to slop away our version of art. We had to introduce ourselves first, which is always the most difficult thing for me, since I'm such a shy, retiring flower-type. Told them I was a graphic artist from California and found doing art therapeutic. Also told them I suffered from depression and that doing art helped me escape from said, depression, and that I was a little nervous about picking up a paint brush, since I did most of my art with computers. I used to be one of those perfectionist when it came to art. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be right. But I soon realized that that isn't art and that there are no wrongs or rights in art. Art is what you make it. I was not someone who could draw realistic drawings, but I could draw colorful, whimsical things that had nothing to do with reality. And I enjoyed doing that, and was pretty good at it. And once I decided I could do that, I started having fun. And that's what art is all about after all. Having fun. I was a little nervous about filling a large sheet of paper. I'm used to drawing in little notebooks, but once I got started (I drew a large tornado), I was channeling freakin' Jackson Pollack, slashing paint left and right, jabbing my brush in the water frantically, mixing the three colors we were allowed (I used yellow, blue and purple). It was fun and very freeing. I was nervous afterwards when we had to talk about our work. At least one of the people there did an awesome piece of work. I felt a little overwhelmed by it, but then I realized this was the first time I had picked up a paint brush since 1977. So I just shared my brief anxiety about filling the paper and told them I was bipolar and that the tornado represented me, smooth on the outside, chaotic on the inside and then made the joke about Jackson Pollack. They all laughed which felt good. And now I'm ready to paint some more, although the next class isn't for two weeks. Maybe I'll paint a chartreuse alligator with wings. Older Entries |
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty |
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