Look, things have been going down hill for awhile. I've felt like my last breath is only half a breath away. Sadly, each day is worse than the last, yet I'm still here. I don't want to be.
I went to see a new doctor today, a guy who ranks in the top 500 in the state. He says he can help me. I didn't say anything. He told me I need to do physical therapy. He said you need to lose 130 pounds. I laughed out loud, apologized then said, please, go on. He said I want you to work with our nutritionist and to join a gym. He said, it'll only cost you $10 a month.
I'm having difficulties with the shoes for the doll I made. I refuse to paint them on because I could see me spilling paint on her little dress. I don't even know where to get dark blue or black socks. If I did, I'd leave it at that. Soo, that's the hold up with the doll.
My mother has not died.
She doesn't hold the same sway over my sister as she once did.
My sister has allowed me to take steps to reconcile with her. It's strange really, to think I'd on some level have a sister willing to notice "peace offerings" left at her door. I have this image of a banished wolf trying to reunite with the pack by brief acts of submission and bits of meat to win a place back in the pack. My sister and I are not wild animals, nor are we enemies. We are strangers kidnapped from safety, removed from normal familial interactions, and turned against one another. My escape preceeded hers.
I look at the drawing called "The Hide" and question how much I should reveal concerning it's symbolism. I'm sure if viewed long enough it will interpret itself without me or anyone else having uttered a word. However, if one word were to wrap up how I felt as the ink crossed on paper, that word would be vulnerable. Vulnerable is the dominant emotion felt when I display art that expresses Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Dissociative Identity Disorder.
My heart sinks with each intricate line that builds a fortress from the inside out. Figure after figure emerges with each level of lines. Though the staircase would appear to lead down to the central black figure, in my mind it leads up. The figure is in a fortress of her own making, and that fortress is..... I'm not sure how to end the sentence.
I remember she was resigned to living but not dedicated to it. This Faith had a better attitude about her situation than I have. She was willing to look past the imperfections of others and willing to be wrong if it meant the other person had time to cool down. Though her body was failing quickly she was the strongest she'd ever been.
A year ago I flashed this photo. It's only been a year.
In that year her heart was stolen. How amazing is that?
That Faith planned on doing what her friends do, hold free personal Bible studies online through applications like Skype.
She was very well aware of what her body was doing but she wasn't aware of the emotional destruction caused by physical deterioration. That reality hit when the next big change forced itself center stage - a blood clot in the shoulder, close to the neck after an injury.
For me, no matter why a relationship ends prematurely, it still feels like a huge personal failure.
I saw the pain specialist (Dr Red) for the last time today. I'll see the new one soon. I can only shake my head at how things went with her. My general practitioner is on his way out, too. He's cocky, dismissive and condescending. Dr Red is argumentative and unapproachable. Both places usually end in tears and upset. I hate ending a professional relationship (or any) just because the other person refuses to have a reasonable conversation.
I should have left Dr Red a long time ago but I wanted to lay down some roots with a doctor so that we could make marked progress. To uproot is to pause progress for a list of medical issues that fall under the category of "morbidity" and "guarded". I need every advantage I can get. ...continue reading "Rejection and Endings"
When I painted this piece I wasn't necessarily thinking about natural disasters such as a hurricane, tsunami or an earthquake. I was thinking of the disasters of the mind. I was thinking about events that leave us feeling crippled and isolated.
What Remains is a painting with many brush strokes, strikes with a toothpick and with black ink. Everywhere you look there is something filling the space. It's full, overwhelming the canvas with flowing color, splashing contrast and texture that digs at the heart of the matter.
Art Title: The Growing Process
Art by: Faith M. Austin
Medium: Acrylic, ink on artist paper, size 8.5 x 5.5 , signed, sealed, unmounted.
The Growing Process is ready to ship today.
Monday afternoon I showed a friend this painting. He said,
"She looks sad". I replied, "You would be too if you had the weight of the world on your shoulders."
Yes, she does look sad, and yes great responsibilities are hers. There's a lot riding on her actions or inaction. However, she has not given up, nor has she slowed the growing process. ...continue reading "The Growing Process"
Art details: Orange rays and white beams meet in the red sky. Down the middle grows an old oak tree where two red birds (cardinals) and a raven swirl between the branches above a solid white figure. From the figure extends points of light. Her hands reach up to the branches and grow into them. Two blue figures have fallen from the sky; they've joined the merge as well. ...continue reading "She waited as long as she could"