I’m always just strokes away from finishing a project, it’s the same with the painting Twelve. I have a hand full of tiny details to do, then she will be finished. After her I’ll work on one more of my pieces about this size then move into the larger paintings. The two paintings up next are at the end of the post.
My studio looks like the spoils of a police stings from the war on art supplies. I can just see a police officer putting his foot on my chair, and holding an extra large paint brush as he takes a selfie.
Perhaps it’s only that great to me. I may be a bit biased but I love my little studio and I love the
As long as I paint it’ll never be clean. May it never be clean.
privacy of it. My living room used to share space with the studio but I really don’t want everyone and their brother to see every single thing I paint every time I paint something. Besides, I can destroy this little corner by painting one 5 x 7. I don’t want people to see how bad it actually gets when I start working. Having it in my bedroom gives me privacy which gives me the comfort to paint and hang whatsoever I please. Continue reading →
I tried everything I could to photograph, scan or whatever to get this painting to show its true face. I thought because of its online presentation it might be with me awhile, not so.
Passion Flower She now has a wall of her own.
Passion Flower will go to its new home and will take along with it the little girl with the funny feet called Dandelion Fields. These two paintings now have a wall of their own.
Daiseys Valley Pay it Forward
Is my dry spell over? Let us hope so. No matter what, I will keep painting and posting.
Recently I started reading more poetry blogs along with survivor blogs. I can’t help myself, poetry and art blogs are addictive. I’m happy I can’t be seen reading. Lol. Sometimes my hand covers my mouth in shock, something I turn off the tablet, roll to the side and cry. The worst is when I leave a comment. They’re usually full of emotion, very alive! Later I’m a little embarrassed I was so emotional but that doesn’t stop me from returning. Lol Continue reading →
Heavy from start to finish, dissociation and typical switching. Anna and Robert.
Going to therapy and coming back takes up to 4 hours. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting. I came home and went to sleep. When I woke I decided to take the trash out which meant braving the stairs again. One of the best things about not being on pain killers is that I can walk for most of the day. When its later in the day mobility is near zero, but I have a measure of mobility returned to me since I stopped taking pain killers.
Therapy…the dream was processed quite a bit. He and I concluded that I am more aware of the emotional impact that abuse had on my life. That sounds silly coming from a girl with 10+ years of quality therapy under her belt. Anyway, I acknowledged that I understand the autobiographical dream with it’s out there for everyone to see abuse and bigger than life parental force. It was my life step by step only with gender reversal. The young man was convinced that what his father was doing wasn’t abuse. Staying in that abusive relationship served a purpose, approval.
We talked about seeing photos of my 90 year old grandmother smiling. I had such conflicting feelings about her. He asked how I’m going to feel about her inevitable death. I said, her mother lived to be 95, evil lives a good long time. People in our family live in their mid to late 90’s. Still, I said, the pain I’ll feel will be for my mother. If she is able to understand that her mother has died then my mother will be cheated in this life of ever having done, said or become something her mother was willing to be proud of. She will not have her mother’s love, at all. It’s like a final insult. “I snubbed and abused you, denied you of a mother daughter relationship, humiliated you in front of your children and now any fantasy you have about being worth a cent to me is dead.” How hurtful and cruel, especially since my turn will come for the same.
What a strange night. I was talking in my sleep. I remember thinking to myself, Faith, you’re sleeping, be quiet. But at one point I just gave in and kept pointing and yelling at some person in my dream.
I don’t usually do trigger warnings because I expect people to only click on a survivor’s site if they are in a space to read whatever might pop up. However, this time I must warn you there is strong detail in this dream concerning the sexual abuse and sexual conditioning of a boy by his father. Continue reading →
Ah, it’s time to start really thinning things out at home. I’ve tackled one corner of my room that has been bugging me for a good long time. It’s the space where I hold all my old art journals and writing journals.
A person can only have so much art before it starts to come out of places it shouldn’t, so I’m cleaning out the studio. Here’s what I’m doing, as much as it hurts to do so, some complete art journals are being tossed out while some are being kept. Some that are being thrown away have drawings taken out of them that I’ll keep.
As far as the journals that are being kept, they’re being stored in a waterproof and air tight container. The individual pieces are stored in a filing system thingamabob. In a day or two I will start scanning the individual pieces then put them up on Etsy.
Just a few hours ago I felt strong, not invincible but strong. Now I wish I’d laid down with the cat and stayed. I did read with her plump self on top of me and I did relax but sleep is another issue. I run from it. This is the psychiatric part of life, the part that doesn’t want to sleep until the sun comes up. I need a distraction until it does. It seems anxiety is my distraction, that something to fill the time between now and sunlight.
I have a choice. I could take a cup of chamomile tea and climb under the covers, or I could hold myself in the chair and rock back and forth wishing Monday would hurry past Sunday. It’ll be a very long day at the doctor’s office but I want to see Dr. D so the travel time is a non issue. As I look at this I see clear choices. Take the healthy route and let my body sleep or feed PTSD and miss an opportunity for progress.
I went out for a short walk today, this time the sun was up and gave me enough light for a few decent photos of the roses. I was pleased to find a few petals which where quickly picked up. Okay, not quickly but they were picked up.
Here’s the thing, I never would have gone out today had it not been for my right leg which has been swollen for over a week. Despite compression hose this leg and foot remains swollen to the point that I am unable to wear my regular shoes. In addition to elevating it, I had to get some blood flow going. While walking I passed the bed of roses and took a few shots. I was all happy when I saw the petals lying there waiting to be picked up, waiting to be art.
I like the look of dried flowers. I’ve dried tons of them, usually in Bibles but right now I’ve got flowers and leaves drying perfectly in two old Bibles so I had to go to a secular source. Turns out The Hunchback of Notre-Dame was available 🙂 Honestly, I won’t read that book again, but I can not deny it’s artistic value….. and not just for drying flowers. Continue reading →
This is the type of writing where I just write one word after the other as it comes to my mind. There is no major editing, just creative, therapeutic writing associated with steroid rage and bitterness.
I’ve already noted that its like the rage is sitting in my stomach waiting to come up, but that’s not the end of it. I also feel as thought there’s a film on my skin, suffocating it. I’d describe it like a thin layer of tar all over my body holding me very tightly, refusing to let my skin breathe……
No one else can see it, they can’t see that my skin is black like tar. The tar is a mix of bitterness and lemons. At some point bitterness settled on my skin but I didn’t notice until I began to itch. That’s when the blisters came so that I scratched and tore at myself, trying to control what felt out of control. So I went to the doctor and he said, take this. I was afraid but I’d walked so far, and hungered for more than another plate of pain. I took the pills.
The pills were to wrap my body in its ropes, seize it, control it and force it to submit to a painless way of being. There I lay, bound in ropes from my neck to my feet. Many days later the ropes were loose then finally I was unbound. My body felt different. The pain wasn’t so intense that I wanted to shred off my skin, hack off my arm and leave behind anything causing my mind to bend to its painful will. My body was better, but there was still that little itch of bitterness, and something new. There was something in my belly. I could name it, but I hadn’t felt it so powerfully until now. It was small, like an egg. It moved about and formed a ball and just sat there. Odd. How odd.
What a nice surprise for me to find out that I get to be ‘shop of the day’ on the team called “Do Another Thing”.
When I first heard their name I liked it. Do another thing. It just sounds like its telling you to try one more thing, if that doesn’t work then try this and…. don’t forget to include others because the world involves more than just one person.
So today I got chosen to be shop of the day. Here’s the summary of the group as seen on their front page.
DAT (Do Another Thing) exists to help promote, market, and support grassroots authors, artists, and artisans through promotion, treasury lists, social media postings, and direct interaction with one another’s shops and products.
So, uh, what do I have available? Please see the page called Available Art.
She’s so precious when she sleeps or takes a long stretch. She’s strange when she lays spread eagle begging like a dog. Mary Jane is a Maine Coon mix. She has no idea she’s a cat until she’s torturing and killing small prey, then she’s all cat / psychopath.
There was a time that she was outside and found a mouse. Now, I’m not a fan of mice okay, but she desecrated his body. I felt bad for the mouse. That was overkill.