She's a young one with sad eyes called "With all her imperfections."
Can you love her with all her imperfections? Can you forgive her moody ways, her tendency to frown instead of smile? Can you love her shyness, her uneven horizons?
She spits out poetry like she's on a stage show before college kids smoking herbal cigarettes and talking about diversity. She'll never fit in with them because she thinks they're shallow, but she can't bring herself to stop the verse.
Her eyes have been wide shut to ambition, calling it the true path to unhappiness. Her eyes have been wide shut to the clamor of panels on the news telling her how she should feel about the newest outrage, describing it as "woke". She can't stand it. She feels too much, says too much, writes too much and excels at imperfection, but she needs you to love her. With all her imperfections, can you still love her?
Her face is the canvas of her few years of life. There's still room on her cheeks for roses, still time for the love of life to kiss her lips pink. The brow line still rises and behind sad eyes there is living hope.
Can you still love her? With all her imperfections, can you still love her?
what I require.
gentle words, soft hands, moss under my feet,
rocks to turn in my palms and run over my fingers.
water to flow and fish to fly
the purr of the cat
and a pillow that doesn't reveal my prayers.
Fish in the air
Fish wish to fly.
They spread their wings in a watery sky.
They dance and dive like sparrows,
hold heat under their wings as an eagle, and
Circle like a crow.
To their dismay, grounded they remain like a laughing, senseless ostrich.
Today's therapy discussion focused on family matters: mother's thorough brainwashing and effective divisive tactics, scapegoating, emotional boundaries between myself and all birth family and a recap of nightmares from a few days back. After writing this entry I was reminded of the paintings "Resilience Tree," so I included them in the entry.
I was awake all night and until around 10:30 this morning. I had my session to go over the graphically violent and blood dream about cannibals and going to a psychiatric prison for the mentally insane because I was guilty of murdering my child self, the inner child of my sister and the inner child of my brother. I'll pick up more on that topic later.
We talked about the complete lack of protection from my mother: physical, emotional and spiritual responsibilities were ignored or out right withheld.
This was another painting that was very difficult to photograph. I did the best I could.
This painting called The Last Lullaby was started in 2015 when I was bed bound due to Lupus and Fibromyalgia. It was one of the worst years ever but I painted all through it and I painted in bed. That's' why the paintings ended up being called The Lullaby Collection. This is the last painting of that series as well as the largest. This one was created about 75% while in bed but was completed on my desk.
Although this art is personal to my experience, it doesn't need to be that way for you. You can enjoy the imagery of day and night creatures living peacefully. Enjoy the flight of a woman's hair as it blows in the night sky and fades into a rainbow sky. ...continue reading →
One little girl goes to kiss Grandfather on the cheek to say goodbye for now, but he doesn't know how to respond to love. He is a provider, period. He is an orphan, too. He grew up in an orphanage from age 10 until he graduated and went into the navy.
He knows nothing but order, so a soft kiss from a child makes him squirm, but he doesn't reject the expression. The sisters double team him and kiss both cheeks. He grins.
The youngest of the two taught Grandfather how to kiss by placing her cheek against his scratchy, mustache hidden lips. She made an exaggerated kissing sound. Months of this training eventually produced Grandfather's kisses, and his ear to ear grins.
There is only one thing I desire today and that is self care. It's Friday, that means there are a lot of one's to be counted. These are not all in order.
One woman, one foot spa with fresh lavender and Epsom's salt. One square of 90% dark chocolate, one glass of red wine. One small pizza, one large cat. One chick flick, I'm thinking Jane Eyre.
As the night moves on I'll be rather relaxed so I'll finish details on Twelve. I'll finish details on The Last Lullaby. Slowly but surely I move through each project to its completion. By the time I reach The Last Lullaby it'll be late, but sleep won't come that quickly. I hope it's easier than other times.
Growing up in a toxic household I found myself playing a role for which I never auditioned. We don't get to choose which role we'll play, we're cast and then put on stage. It's another realization of just how powerless we were as children and young adults.
I made her laugh. I looked away when that was called for. Most of all I never showed true emotion and never even knew what it was until well into my adult life. When I was a in her home I did whatever I could to survive the impossible.
A Jester or clown puts on a false face, parades around and makes a "fool" of himself to get a laugh. He distracts people from the real world around them and for just a tiny bit they forget. I hate clowns for that very reason and yet I've been compelled to paint them. ...continue reading →
After lightly spraying the surface of the paper, I laid on top two bags of Sweet and Spicy Tea. I then added blackberries and blueberries so that they could leave their mark on the surface. I allowed it to dry then added white watercolor paint to the surface. Small details were added such as the single bloom yellow flower and the small metallic dots below the fringe of her white, sketched shawl.
Art Title: Strawberry Kisses
Art by: Faith Magdalene Austin
Medium: Watercolor, Tea, Blackberries, Blueberries,
Size: 6.5 x 4.5
Style: Modern, Whimsical
This sweet girl is currently available.
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