forget
Sometimes I worry that you will forget about me. Maybe for a day. Maybe for an afternoon. Of maybe just for even a moment. Just long enough to change everything.
unblogging
I haven't been blogging much lately. Not that I blog much anyway. I've been "arting" on canvas which is a step up from doodling, I guess.
Tonight I painted this:
...whilst thinking of my lover who is out of town for work tonight.
Now I'm going to go pee, brush my teeth, put on very un-sexy pajamas, cuddle up with my dog in bed and read my book ("The Gum Thief" by Douglas Coupland) until I fall asleep.
the honest vagina
I was asked to write about honesty. This is hard for me. Not that I lie or don't tell the truth. I'm just really private. I'm uncomfortable with my honesty. I'm not one of those "Here-I-Am-Look-At-Me-And-Listen-To-My-Deepest-Feelings" type of person.
A lot of the time I'll shroud my honest feelings with a "pht-wave-of-the-hand" or a "Whatever, no big deal" statement.
And maybe that's what I'm doing with this post, but its pretty honest nonetheless.
I have lump. Its in my vagina. Kind of to the left side. Its painful. Not nearly as painful as it was a couple weeks ago, but I still sometimes shoots a vicious pain through my vagina and up my spine and into my brain -- the pain begging me to stop doing whatever it is that I'm doing. And usually it comes when I am running or climbing the 1000 stairs up the mountain which I've taken quite a liking to. By the way, nothing makes running easier than going up a 1000 steps beforehand.
So, soon after including stair climbing into my workout repertoire, I had sever pain and a big lump in my vagina. Left labia, to be exact. The lump the size of an apricot. Pretty big for a place that's not too big to begin with.
Naturally, I self-diagnosed myself. Actually, my boyfriend diagnosed me. He said it felt and sounded like a hernia. Yay! A hernia! Of all the things that ran through my brain, a hernia was the most plausible and benign explanation. And I was sure that that's what it was. My mind was at ease. It made sense. Sudden stair climbing = hernia. Good. Easy to fix and not life threatening. Perhaps a minor surgery and all would be forgotten.
I went to the doctor with my self-diagnosis. I blabbed on about the events leading up to the lump, the pain, the intensity. I wanted to convince him that it was just a mere hernia. As I was talking I noticed he didn't seem to be paying much mind to my chatter. He examined me. He was mostly silent. Straight-faced.
So, as it turns out, its not a hernia -- it is a lump. Lumps are always scary. With lumps people always think the worst. Lump. Such a little word that holds so much fear and uncertainty. And you start analyzing everything you've done or consumed in your life up until the lump that may have been a likely cause. Bike riding. Smoking. Un-organic fruits and veggies. Sex. Sun. Whatever. Maybe it isn't a lifestyle thing. Maybe it just is.
But I'm not worrying about it just yet. At least not until I see a specialist. So, I'll take the aggressive drugs that the doctor prescribed me in the meantime (as much as I hate taking any sort of meds) and see what happens next. Surgery is inevitable, but what comes after will be what will make me worry, if worry is even an factor at that point.
But this, what I have just told you, isn't the honesty. It's not "my honest vagina" as I have titled this post.
The honesty is this. Coincidentally a friend of mine is having her vagina cut open because she is having bladder surgery. I will be having it cut open to have this lump removed. And we talked about it and both (somewhat guiltily) did a little happy jig because we would both be getting mandatory recovery-time off work.
"But you're getting your vaginas cut open!" you may say. I say, "There is always a bright side to everything."
ghost
I am moving next week This is my last weekend in this apartment and I wonder what ghosts I will leave behind. What memories that only these walls will know and never speak of. The person who moves in here next will think that my ghost liked vibrant, rich colours. And that's the only part that will haunt her unless he or she paints over these colours and then my ghost will be gone.
Which makes me think of all the ghosts that I've left behind...the people that I used to know, the lovers, the old jobs, old bosses. Ghosts that I don't even know about. The people that perhaps I made an impression on that I don't recall. The people I've embarrassed myself infront of that I don't remember either. Perhaps there is a cashier somewhere that remembers me. Or someone in a bar who's name or face I don't remember.
Everywhere we go we leave a piece of ourselves. Often we don't think what part of ourselves we're leaving behind as we zip from point A to point B.
So, after this weekend, I'm headed to point B and I feel like I'm leaving a lot of ghosts behind that I'm not ready to leave. But I'm headed for somewhere else where I'll be creating new memories which in time will turn into more ghosts when I head for somewhere else. That's just the way it goes.
perhaps one of the best days of my life
It was the St. Paddy's Day Pug-A-Lug at the Urban Dog last Sunday in support of Pugalug Pug Rescue in Toronto. It was AWESOME.
Dozens of pugs on the loose. A dream come true. All these little fur balls running up to me looking for attention, giving kisses.
I'm not sure if Daisy had such a great time. He prefers humans to dogs, but I hope that he took away something positive from this experience -- a bit of interest in other dogs, a curiosity of what they are about. He's very tentative around other dogs, only going up to them when they have turned away and he thinks they are not looking. I hope that he got over some of his fears that day.
My heart swelled during the times when he left my side to investigate his surroundings and check out other dogs and greet other people. I was so proud of him.
There may be more pugs in my life. Steve and I are moving in together in 3 weeks and we will have a BIG backyard and we`re considering being foster parents to rescued pugs without homes. I think it will be difficult for me to say goodbye to the pugs after they`ve been placed with their forever families. And how will the new BEIGE couch fair with all the pugs, I wonder. There`s also the issue of Steve not wanting the pugs to sleep in our bed with us (other than Daisy, of course). Hmmmm...not sure how I feel about that. Falling asleep in a bed with Steve and a couple of snoring pugs sounds like a sweet dream to me. We shall see how it goes.
Might be time to upgrade to a king size bed. I`ve always known my heart was bigger than a queen size.
To see a photo of ALL the mommies and daddies with their pugs click here.
soup
I took a much needed day off from work last Tuesday to recover from a depression that I didn't think I'd be able to see my way out of. I spent a day playing, laughing, loving, and eating soup at Hamilton's annual Soup Fest. Maybe soup is better for far more than just colds. Not that I'm credit soup to my feeling better. I think my depression just ran its course as it does every once in a while.
When it was over (which I'm hoping it is) I remembered a recent conversation my life coach and I had. Its not often I ask her questions about herself, but when I do, or when she offers information about herself, I devour her every word and secretly hold back joy when she divulges pieces of herself. So, anyway, we were talking about the concept of the things we know for sure. These are the things that we truly believe. Listening to what you believe from the depths of yourself, beneath all those layers that the world around us has enveloped us in. When she presented this question to me, of what I know for certain, I was stumped. Not a single thing ran through my mind. So, I asked her the same question and she answered it effortlessly. And not only did she give me one answer, but she gave me several. One of her answers was "I know for sure that love conquers all". She knew what it sounded like when she said it -- cliche, ordinary, simplistic. But when she said it, I believed her. I could tell, without her telling me everything in parentheses, that this woman has been through some shit in her life and now she believes that this is true.
So, upon my awakening from a selfish, loathsome, mean waking sleep, I remembered her statement of love conquering it all. I remembered it in parallel with the memory of my lover holding me while I cried, yelled, and tried to push him away. I remembered it at the memory of my lover's face filled with helplessness and tears because he didn't know how to help me. I remembered it at the memory of my lover not leaving my side as I raged against him, tried to kick him out of my apartment, tried to break up with him. He loved me during every ugly minute.
universe
She sat on the edge of the universe and dipped her toe in the water to see what it would feel like. The water was cold and it frightened her to not see what was beneath the surface. But then she said to herself, "This is my universe.", which is what she sometimes said to herself to lessen the fear.
dress
I wasn't sure if I was excited about the party or if I was excited about the dress. I quickly realized when I arrived at the party that it was the dress. The dress was a month in the making. I chose the style. The pattern. Had four fittings. Saw it from conception to its birth. A dress all my own. A one of a kind. Fit me perfectly. Like it was a part of me.
I felt pretty that night. I don`t normally feel like that. It felt nice.
I also wasn`t feeling social that night, so I spent the evening trying to avoid people, which isn`t easy at a work Christmas party. I think that I`m just not a social person in general. Actually, I don`t think that. I know that. But what I am, however, is completely comfortable being in the spotlight. Put me in front an audience and I`m on. Which is precisely what happened at the party. I was trying to hide away in corners, but when it came time to draw the names and announce the winners of a game that we were playing in front of a group of people I felt completely at home.
Which is weird because I`m supposed to be presenting four training sessions at work with my boss, and he had to back out of two of them. I went into total panic mode at the thought of doing the training sessions by myself. Suddenly the spotlight was frightening to me. I went to him and told him that I felt uncomfortable doing the training on my own and told him that I think that I lacked the `charisma` to do it on my own. He laughed and offered up someone else to accompany me and said, `You bring the knowledge and I`ll find someone to bring the charisma`.
In that moment I felt immense relief at not having to present the training on my own. But truthfully, I kind of wish that he didn`t let me off the hook so easily.
I think sometimes I just need a little push to do scary things.
Perhaps if I wore my dress, it would make this stint in the spotlight a little easier.
family
You. You waste away on the couch. In front of the television. Day and night. Day after day. Living your life in talk shows and game shows. You feed your depression with anger, indifference, gambling, cigarettes and alcohol.
You. You haven't left the house in years. Haven't picked up the phone. Have done nothing.
I tried to help you. I told you how much it pained me to see you this way. How I've been through the same thing and got better so that you could see that there was hope. How to watch you do this to yourself made me unwell.
You. You cried. You told me that you had nothing to live for. That you were just waiting to die.
You. You accused me of being a narcissist. Selfish for trying to help you. You hated me with all your might in that moment. I could feel it.
I had to walk away.
You. You are my mother. And I'm standing here alone just like I was when I was a little girl, not knowing what to do next. Not sure if there is something to do next. I'm just waiting for this to be over.
i am
I am longing for summer and fall has just begun. I am mourning summer as I do every year from October through April -- when I can walk Daisy straight out of bed in the morning without having to put on layers and layers of clothes.
I am in my apartment alone and loving it. It is clean and tidy and there's nothing better than just hanging out alone in a clean space with nothing to do apart from things I actually want to do.
I am in the middle of painting a painting on a canvas which I haven't done in a very, very long time.
I am watching a remake of the original 'Night of the Living Dead' and its scaring the shit out of me because zombies are my BIGGEST irrational fear. But I've watched enough zombie movies and read enough zombie books to be confident as to what to do in a zombie situation.
I am tired and going to bed soon and I am going to leave the bedside lamp on because I am spooked after having watched that movie.
alone is not lonely
My lover had some difficulty understanding this picture. And I was perplexed as to why he didn't understand.
I love living alone. I love coming home to an empty apartment after work. I like cleaning the bathroom at 7am before work if I feel like it. I like having the whole bed to myself. I like cuddling my dog when I sleep. I like the silence. The stillness. The calm. I like having no demands. I feel fortunate for this. I relish it. I can do anything I want without distraction. Without having someone ask me, "When are you going to be finished doing that?" or "What do you want to do next?" or "When will you be home?" or "What do you feel like having for dinner?"
He doesn't understand this. It scares him.
And I don't understand why he would want to be so enmeshed in my life. And it scares me.
In my perfect world I picture myself living in his own space and him in his own. And we breeze in and out of each other`s lives when we want to.
The funny thing is...the more women I mention this to, the more I discover that I'm not alone in this. These are women who are married. These are women who are single. The desire to be with someone, yet be alone.
cleaning out boxes
I had my heart set on cleaning out the spare bedroom tonight -- going through boxes where I've stored old receipts, old household appliance and electronics manuals, random papers and ex-lovers. I wanted to cleanse myself of some past lives and create space. Not space that I can fill up again. I just wanted to create space. I've never been a sentimental person and its not difficult for me to throw away letters, photos, mementos. However, my unsentimentallity combined with my bad memory means that without the mementos, I may forget things forever. I'm okay with that, though.
But there was one thing that I could not throw out. Amongst the photos, notes, a manual from my first cell phone, critical life insurance policies and the like, there was a letter. From about seven lovers ago. He had written it to me years after we had broken up. He loved me fiercely. The sorrow and reget in that letter -- his words -- still break my heart. I want to keep that heartbreak. Even if its only his and not mine. Its the saddness that I want to keep. Hurt and saddness are things that are often pushed out too quickly and rushed to be forgotten.
Maybe I just want to remember that I was once loved so much.
aha exclamation point
This week in my Life Coaching session I had an "Aha!" moment. You know...when a connection is made in your mind and you realize why you do the things that you do and your life suddenly makes a little more sense, but it FREAKS you out that you went about living your whole adult life not knowing.
My "Aha!" moment was slow to register. I had it in my session on Friday, and I started freaking out about it the following Tuesday.
Here's a brief, itemized synopsis of what brought me to this pivotal point:
1. I started Life Coaching to work on the following things: communication, transparency and career advancement within my company.
2. Life Coaching took a drastic turn after the topic of my love of creating art kept coming up. The focus continued to be on communication and transparency, but the career development part turned into a two-year plan to get me out of the corporate office world and into one where I'm living a life where I'm doing what makes me happy and harnessing the confidence to believe I can sustain myself doing it. And then actually living it.
3. I posted a while ago about how I was raised to believe that expressing emotion was highly undesirable, which was a post that spawned from one of my Life Coaching sessions.
4. In my most recent Life Coaching session I realized that I express my emotions through my art, but I keep my art small, generally hidden, and I don't take care of it after it is finished.
5. The actual "Aha!" is this: I do the same thing with my art that I've been taught to do with my emotions...keep them hidden, highly private and undervalued. Of course I've always done that! My art is an expression of feeling and feelings are NOT to be expressed (or so I've believed all these years).
No wonder its such an embarrassment to me to talk about my art, display it, or accept any sort of compliment about it. And what if someone CRTICIZED my art? Would that be a direct attack on my emotions? I probably would have thought so before last Friday.
i do believe
I do believe that I'm standing in a different spot now. The view from where I am now is a little different. I am in a bit of awe...I have a little wonder. I am certain. I am fearful. I am climbing. I am washing all the floors in the world. I am accepting this task.
I do believe that I am opening. And I am climbing out of the box that I've been living in and seeing all the dust that has settled around me and I am washing it away.
A slow and arduous task it is. I am hating it and relishing it at the same time.
I do believe I've heaved myself out of a tiny little box only to find that I am within yet another, bigger box and will have to heave myself out of that one and stand on top of it as well. And wash another world of floors. And when I am done, I will do it all over again.
A constant shifting and reshaping of life. Constant change. I read the other day, "We are all unfinished portraits." How true that is. How utterly boring life would be if we got to where we wanted to go and stayed there. Closed the box. And let the dust settle.
let go
You have to let go of certain things to let new things in.
break my heart
Love isn't typically part of my vocabulary when it comes to men. If you are a man, you will never hear me tell you that I love you. I will sign my letters "luv" or scribble a heart above my name. I cannot say "love" to you. The word is reserved. I don't know for who. I don't know when or if it will ever come out of my mouth. I feel it sometimes. I feel it sometimes so much that there is an ache somewhere inside of me. And not letting the word come out makes the ache stronger. But as is with most aches, it goes away. I let it pass. I let it go. It goes away. And I get over it.
Backspace...backspace...backspace...backspace and its gone.
I imagine that if the word were to ever escape my lips it would be a spillage. Bright red letters flowing from my mouth onto my pillow and pouring into your ear.
And I wonder what would happen if those words spilled into your ear. Would they make it from your ear to your heart? What would happen? I don't know, so I don't take the risk.
We are laying in bed. I say to you, "Its been a really long time since I've had my heart broken. Like, really REALLY broken."
You say, "I would never break your heart."
"Its okay. I'm ready." I say.
the daisy weekend
I devoted this weekend to Daisy and painting. I'm working on four paintings right now, but I can't post them just yet. I'm really pleased with them, which for me, is not an easy thing to admit.
I spent most of this weekend making Daisy's food. It is no small task: three hours of prep work on Friday and five hours of baking on Saturday. I won't have to do this again until mid-September.
Today was bath day. Look how cute.
After a bath comes an hour of brushing out all the loose hair, ear-cleaning, teeth-brushing, and nail clipping. He's not very happy with me today.
whimsy
To me, when I think of the word "whimsy", I imagine a frail branch that extends from a very strong tree. Even though the branch is attached to something very strong, even the slightest wind can sometimes make it feel as though it will break off at any moment, but it won't.
That's not the definition of the word, but that's what it made me think of. To me, its like a combination of the words flimsy and wind and wit and will.
I painted this tonight, not thinking about much of anything. Often I'll paint and then decide what it means to me afterward.
Sometimes I go down to the market and buy daisies. Some people think that they are weeds, but I think they are pretty. And sometimes I feel like I shouldn't have them in a vase on my kitchen table -- that they should have been left to grow in a field and live out their lives in a more natural way -- not as some pretty thing in my apartment, only to be thrown in the green bin two weeks later.
This painting makes me think of all the beautiful things that we destroy in order to create other things that aren't so beautiful, but we think that we need them -- more suburbs, more highways, more bridges, more golf courses, more parking lots. More, more, more. Lets just destroy all the beautiful things and look at what they used to be in magazines.
illustration friday: wide
I've been feeling a little bit exposed lately. So, now I have two choices: hide in a corner or dance. I think I'm going to dance, even though it makes me feel a little bit silly and awkward. Even though it it may not look pretty. Even if its a little messy. Dancing never, ever made anyone feel bad, right? (And just so you know, I'm using the word "dancing" as a metaphor. I'm not really going dancing, but you probably already know that).
On a different and somewhat comical note...here's a little story:
I haven't been home much this week. When I'm not home my apartment tends to get messy. I can't stand it when its messy, but there's not much I can do about it when I've suffered four fashion crises four days in a row in a messy blur trying to get ready for work. There were jackets and shoes on the living room floor...dishes in the sink from the DAY BEFORE...dog hair all over the carpet.
So, last night I was home at a regular-ish time, so I decided to tackle the bathroom first. While I was scrubbing and sweeping I heard a knock on my door.
It was my neighbour, Martha, from downstairs. She's this awesome lady in her 70's, but you'd never guess it. In the past she has given me muffins for shoveling her back deck, her amazing embroidery as a welcome gift after moving into the apartment, pie for Thanksgiving.
Anyway, last night she came up to my apartment to ask me if I would bring her mail in the next day because she wouldn't be home until late the next night. I noticed that as she was talking to me that she was glancing around my apartment, but it didn't even occur to me that she was taking in all the mess around us.
So, today, I came home from work and I saw in front of my door a pile of magazines with a note from Martha expressing her thanks for bringing in her mail. It totally made me smile. How sweet.
Upon entering my apartment, I looked through the magazines that she had left me. Among them were such magazines as, "Home & Country" and "Home Basics" with articles that featured "97 Simple Secrets to Clutter-Free Living", "Small Spaces -- Quick Solutions for Every Room" and "Pretty Decorating Ideas".
At first, I didn't think anything of it, but upon second glance, I couldn't help but wonder...did she give me these magazines because of what she saw last night? And that thought made me smile even more. Martha is lookin' out for me.
emotion is bad
This is what came out of my Life Coaching session today. This is how I’ve been living my life up until now. This is how I was taught to be. This is what I believe.
I hate bringing up the past for fear that I sound like I’m blaming someone or something for the way that I am now, but in this instance, I think it has a significant bearing. In simple terms, I was raised by a mother who doled out severe repercussions for having emotions. Growing up, I cannot recall an instance of being hugged or consoled when I was upset, nor was I ever asked what may be upsetting me. Instead, any tears or sad faces were met with yelling from my mother demanding that I smile and be happy.
So, I developed a coping mechanism: to smile and be happy on the outside (but not too much because that would arouse suspicion) and keep any negative emotions and feelings tucked away. And that strategy seemed to work throughout my childhood. I compromised the person I was or could have been in order to satiate my mother’s constant bad mood and mood swings.
But this strategy didn’t work so well for me in the real world when I started coming into adulthood. It didn’t work with other people. It kept me from developing deep relationships with people, kept me from talking about myself, kept me from connecting with people, kept me from experiencing life fully. I didn’t know how to handle all the emotions that come with growing up, with change, with the adult decisions that I had to make and how to be in adult relationships.
Suddenly, what had once proved to be an effective coping mechanism was about to burst – everything I had so skillfully masked was about to be exposed for all to see and that was not something I was ready or capable of dealing with at the time.
Hello eating disorder. You saved me from emotional catastrophe. For over six years you kept me focused and unfeeling. I had you to tend to during my every waking moment which freed me to continue to bury anything that resembled emotion. Even the good stuff (in time it became difficult to even distinguish good feelings from negative ones).
I have been recovered from my eating disorder for a long time now, but I’m still going through life unaffected, or trying to be.
So, I’m sitting there in my Life Coaching session today reluctant to fully participate for fear of this or that, you know how it goes. It took everything in me to share with my life coach that I believe that I was raised to not show emotion. Now I’m at the point where even if I did try to express it, I fear that it wouldn’t come out genuinely. I don’t know how to let myself do that. Not only did I reveal this information, but along with the revelation came tears. Here I was, doing exactly what I have been taught not to do.
And now I don’t know what to do with this newfound insight. It’s like there is this gigantic, messy clump of emotion sitting beside me staring at me and willing me to look at it, however, I’m reluctant to make eye contact with it.
Okay, yeah I KNOW you’re there. You’ve been there all along, but today is the first time I’ve been able to become acquainted with you. Just give me sometime to let this sink in before I deal with you head-on. I’ve let you get so big and unmanageable that, right now, you look very scary to me.
seed
Daisy loves three things the most in the following order: me, eating, going for walks.
Used to think that eating was at the top of his list, but one day I found out that I was #1 when I had put his food in his bowl and went to the front door. He freaked out because he thought I was leaving and he left his food and followed me.
I coloured this pen drawing in photoshop which now I am thinking was definitely not the way to go. I thought that it would look cleaner and neater, but I like the messiness of watercolour.
this plus this equals that
Me + Daisy = Art!
Daisy has, for a long time now, been a huge inspiration to me and my art. I just finished making 16 cards in 2 evenings, each featuring Daisy. He wasn't my only inspiration though...I just finished reading Julia Cameron's memoir. It was laced with references to one of her books, "The Artist's Way" in which she urges artists/writers to write three pages per day. In one month, three pages per day will equal to roughly 100 pages -- easily the beginnings of a novel.
Now, I don't write novels, but I did start off with three cards per day and used older art to make the rest of the cards. If my cards were a novel, it would be titled "Waiting for January...". The "waiting" part is because Daisy is seems to always be waiting for me...waiting for me to wake up...waiting for me to give him breakfast and dinner...waiting for me to come home from work...waiting for me to go to bed...waiting to go for a walk...waiting for me to say something in my conversations with him that he recognizes, like the word "treat" or "walk" or "car" or "grandpa". The "January" part is because that month always holds some hope of new beginnings for people, or a renewed sense of hope -- everything old suddenly seems new in January. And that's the way Daisy (or any dog for that matter) lives. Each day to Daisy is like January 1st.
So now I have 16 cards. I have no idea what I will do with them all. And I have no idea what I will do with the ones that I create in the coming days...months...years. But I do know that I don't want them stuffed in a closet like the rest of my art.
choose
Choice. Choose. Chosen. Hmph...how easy is it to choose? There is a huge web of thoughts behind each choice. From the apple you choose at the grocery store...to the absorbency of tampon you purchase at the drug store...to the people you choose to have in your life...to what the latest possible time you choose to wake up in the morning and still make it to work on time. Choice is usually a quick, messy calculation in my mind. I think I choose well. I don't know. I choose and hope for the best. So far, so good.
blanket
Snow has blanketed everything in sight today. Cars are encased in it...tree limbs are sagging under the weight of it...the sounds of the city are muffled by it.
Normally I despise winter, but today was different. Today was the day I fell in love with winter. I left work early, came home and took Daisy out for a walk. Usually during the winter months I get annoyed that he takes so long to do his 'business' and I just want him to hurry up and finish so that we can go back inside. But today Daisy discovered that he could eat snow. It was the cutest thing ever. He was hyper-energized eating snow and running around in circles. And I discovered that Daisy loves to chase snowballs. We were out in the back alley for the longest time eating snow and chasing & throwing snowballs and it didn't feel cold and we didn't mind the snow. Whodda thunk that after all these years together we would discover new things about each other.
ice
I despise winter. Well..I like it when I'm snowboarding, but I haven't been snowboarding in ages, so I can safely say that I completely dislike winter 98% of the time (I do, however, enjoy it when it is so treacherous that I can not make it into work).
I perhaps wouldn't hate winter so much if it wasn't so hard on Daisy. In this cold, icy weather his delicate little paws can't take much. He starts to limp from the freezing cold snow and the sharp ice and salt. Most times I end up carrying him home because he can't walk anymore. It breaks my heart.
Now that he's getting older, it breaks my heart even more. I keep thinking that I hope that he'll make it through the awful winter so that he can run freely through the green grass again. Morbid. I know. But I think about it a lot. Seriously, Daisy is the reason I'm here today. Still. He came to me when I was at a really horrible time in my life. And throughout all following horrible times, he has always managed to make me smile. I just want him to be happy all the time, just like he's made me. And I know that this crap winter weather doesn't make him happy.
birds
Birds. Yup. I like 'em. Unfortunately, the sound of their singing in not what wakes me up in the morning, instead its the sound of traffic streaming through my bedroom window that gets me up in the morning. But once I step out of my bedroom, I can hear their songs floating into the kitchen where my neighbours have a two-storey bird feeder just outside my kitchen window and I can see them if I crane my neck just so.
illustration friday: juggle
I was in a meeting at work this week and suddenly I blurted out aloud, "I'm not happy. I'm really hating my job right now."
There was a moment where I thought to myself that I probably shouldn't have said that out loud. But I'm practicing a new philosophy....say what you honestly feel and see where the balls may land.
artist trading cards
Goodbye summer. These cards are dedicated to you. I will miss the butterflies, the dragonflies and the feeling you gave me...as though I, myself, had wings. I am sorry that I could not spend more time with you this year. I spent my days longing to be with you whilst chained to a desk in a building determined on making me forget that you were even there with its horrid climate control that forced me to wear a sweater and tinted windows that would not allow the sun to penetrate. Now you are leaving far quicker than I had imagined you would. I'm not ready for you to leave just yet.
These artist trading cards were done in ink and painted with watercolour on watercolour paper. The wings are tissue paper. Tissue paper I will be using to wipe away the tears of summer's departure.
procrastinating
I'm supposed to be cleaning my apartment tonight, so instead, I'm playing around in Photoshop and posting pictures of Daisy.
comic book jam
It goes like this....one person draws something and hands it over to another person who draws something who then hands it over to the next person who draws something else and so on -- a bunch of people who barely know each other creating a singular piece of art together. This is the Comic Book Jam.
I was worried when I first arrived, not knowing a single thing about comics and not knowing how to draw 'comic-book-style', but James assured us that it didn't matter. And it didn't. It was so interesting to see the story unfold with all its twists and unexpected turns. My character, a cute girl innocently taking her dog for a walk, ended up getting struck by a meteor, a car and a lawn mower, then turned into an angel and ended up in an alien space ship. Just a typical day in comic book land, I guess.
illustration friday: alphabet
This was a fun one. I couldn't find and animal beginning with the letter "i", however. Is there one?
watercolour
You sit down to paint and at the end of it, you end up with this. "It's okay..." you tell yourself, "Not everything you paint has to be a masterpiece." But, at the end of it, you recount your formative pieces and it hits you that you have never created a masterpiece. A masterpiece implies that you have created one piece of art that you are truly proud of and will compare all others to. Nothing of this sort exists in your collection of things you have painted. Mainly because you never keep what you have painted. But you seem to recall one painting that you created a long time ago and think that you perhaps were quite proud of, but it ended up in either with a friend you never see any more or a garbage dump somewhere. And the image of what it may have looked like is blurred in your memory like a chalk drawing on a sidewalk in a rainstorm.
So, after you have finished your little watercolour painting, you hold it in your hands, turning it this way and that, wondering if there is any way to make it look better. Nope, you think. So you scan it into PhotoShop and chop it up in hopes that it will help. Nope, you think again. You're embarrassed about putting it up on your blog.
But you post it on your blog anyway. You put it up there not because you, in anyway, think its even remotely good. No, not at all. But you put it up there because it reminds you of a two year old that, whenever he sees you, always asks you to draw something -- a helicopter, a boat, a triangle, a heart. And when you do, it always ends up looking like whatever he asks for. You think its so terribly cute that he is so extremely delighted that your scribbles resemble whatever object he has asked you to draw.
So, you post your painting of a fish, flowers, the sun, seaweed and bubbles. You are proud that they actually look like what they are supposed to. And it doesn't matter to you that all those things, together, look odd are floating behind a window in which the panes don't line up. They don't make sense, but its fun to paint with abandon. Like a two year old.
breakfast and bed
What a life -- wake up, have breakfast, go for a quick walk and then back to bed again. I wish I could do that some mornings.
moon
I should be used to it by now, but I'm not. The moon inspires awe in me. If I happen to be with someone when the moon is illuminated, I can't help but say, 'Oh! Look at the moon!' And when I'm alone and the moon looks especially beautiful, I have the urge to call people and tell them run to their window and look up at the moon. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to be on a planet that has more than one moon and how amazing that would look. Everything looks so pretty bathed in moonlight.
seven
This is just seven types of many animals that hang out in my neighbourhood.
The one laying on the ground is, by far, the most popular. Daisy is (i think) the most popular dog on the block. In the seven years (almost eight) that he's been in my life I have never been on a walk with him where he hasn't made someone smile.
And I can count on smiling at least seven times a day when he's around.
illustration friday: twist
I wonder how it is possible to mourn something that I have never had. Tonight my mind and heart are at the beginning of the end of their tether. And it is contorting the rationale that I have spent many years trying to cultivate.
Unrelated to that thought, but as long as my mind is meandering and pushing its way through hallways that have been long blocked with rubble, I will make a confession and admit that today I said something to the effect of 'Poetry is so highschool'. As soon as those words escaped my mouth, I could see them hanging in the air in front of me and I wanted to quickly pluck them out of the air and stuff them in my pocket with the intention of throwing them in the garbage as soon as I got home.
...and I wonder....'at what point did I abandon myself?'
Had it been five years ago, a thought like that would have never crossed my mind.
At what point did I attain this armour that keeps me from being connected to words...to thought...to feeling...to people?
Where did I go?
Anyway, this doodle was done with gouache, which I have never used up until today. My strokes were tentative, as I was afraid of it. My medium of choice has, for the past few years, been watercolor. Gouache is okay. Perhaps one day I will be daring enough not to water it down so much.
illustration friday: your paradise
Ideally, my paradise consists of animals. Pigs, sheep, giraffes, lions, tigers, groundhogs, deer, elephants, zebras...the list is long. Here I have limited myself to just a few. The birds in my neighbourhood who sing the loveliest songs...Diablo (Kyle's cat)...Daisy, my precious pug whom I love more than anything. And finally, the little pug beside Daisy, who is still nameless because he is not in my life yet, but I hope that he will become a part of my family in the very near future.
plural effusion: memories
I walked to my old apartment tonight. The one I used to live in with my parents as a little girl. I was instantaneously flooded with memories of myself playing outside...climbing the gas meter on the side of the building and thinking I was so high above the ground...playing red-rover with my friends in between the apartment buildings.
I remembered my dad teaching me how to ride a bike in the back parking lot as though it was just the other day. I remember him setting off fireworks across the street at the park on Victoria Day just for me. I remember him hastily pulling me out of the bathtub because he thought I was drowning, but really I was just counting to see how long I could hold my breath underwater (I was an avid swimmer at the time). In those moments I truly felt that my father loved me.
These childhood memories bombarded me so hard and so quickly I couldn't help but cry standing there between the apartment buildings tonight. So vivid and clear were those memories. What I also remember so clearly is that in those moments which were so memorable for me, my mother was not there. I still wonder where she was.
What I do remember about her, though, is a photograph. It was of her and I on the sidewalk. She was crouched down beside me and I was holding a bouquet of wild flowers I had picked. I think I was about five years old. And I remember vividly how uncomfortable I felt posing with her in that photo.
signs: circles & squares
I've always been one for straight lines and squares. Maybe I should give circles a chance?
illustration friday: citrus
For months I'd been making this face every time I stepped outside because it was so cold outside. I'm so happy that spring is here and summer is close behind and the only thing that can make me make this face is lemons.
settle me
Here I am sitting in what is now my office. I am facing the window and can see the sun setting slowly behind the escarpment. In the background flamenco music is playing and the smell of butter chicken fills my apartment as it cooks in the oven. Ahhhhh...I am here. Finally.
paint me
14 hours of washing walls and painting. I alloted two days for painting. Its a small apartment. Originally I had thought that it would only take one day. This was day one and we managed to wash most of the walls and paint the living room and kitchen. Two more to rooms to go plus all the doors and the baseboards. 
My feet are aching I am in desperate need of a massage. I'm longing for sleep. I have less than eight hours before I start painting again. I think a drink is in order tomorrow evening when all the painting is finally done. Maybe two drinks. Or three.
move me
So, here it is. Finally. It may look a little drab in these photos, but come this weekend, it will be full of vibrant colours. It's been a month and a half since I first went to look at this apartment, and upon my arrival today, I was a little bit disappointed. It seemed smaller than I had remembered. I even second guessed whether I had made a good choice.
But looking at these photos now and envisioning what its going to be like, I'm beginning to get excited again. Oh, no...now its gone. Oh wait! Yes, yes I feel it....its back again. Yes, I'm excited about this again.
Change is weird. You can be looking forward to a particular change in your life more than anything, yet, when it actually happens you just want to crawl back into that cave you've spent so much time trying to get out of. Know what I mean? I guess this is just the "adjustment stage". Is that even a term? I don't know. Probably. I'm in the adjustment stage.
Anyway, back to the apartment. I know what you're wondering. "What colours will you paint it, Bozena?" Well, the living room will be "Maple Leaf" and the kitchen will be "Myhic Forest". You would think (if you are Canadian) that "Maple Leaf" is red, but in fact, it is an orange with the slightest hue of brown mixed in. "Mythic Forest" is the deepest shade of teal that you will ever see. 
Currently the bathroom is a horrid purple, but that will be painted white and accented with my navy blue and lime green accessories (I even bought a lime green toothbrush to match).
And the bedroom is a mystery. I have no idea what colour I will paint it. Any suggestions? I'm open to any colours other than any shade of pink, burgundy, hunter green or yellow.
The painting party commences this Friday and ends Saturday evening. The moving party is Sunday from 10am to 3pm and beyond. I am so grateful for all the people who are helping me paint and move my furniture this weekend. So, a big shout out goes out to everyone. Thanks!
plural effusion: consequence
Pin me to your bulletin board like a butterfly whose wings can no longer. It is in those constrained moments that I am truly free. When my hands aren't able to do anything to distract me. When I am forced to be. With. Myself. In front of you. Spent and helpless. That's the only way you will see me completely naked in front of you. My colours drained, leaving only an echo of words that I didn't say.
I am scared to tell people what I am thinking. Always thinking of the consequences. Waiting for the question first. Waiting for a safe moment. Never wanting anyone to be uncomfortable in my presence. Dammit! I want to tell them the answer before they even ask the question and take the consequences as they come rather than worrying about them! That's what I really want to do. Offer something up without waiting for an opportunity to do so.
It's funny, because that's the way that I used to be. But something happened. There were people in my life that taught me that being completely and fully myself wasn't acceptable.
And in my adult years, I have somehow come to accept this. And have lost the ability to ask myself the question, "What do I want?"
Now, a mere two days before my 28th birthday, I've made a promise to myself. To allow myself to speak freely. Take the consequences as they come. And remember that the word 'consequence' isn't always negative.
i blog
I haven't blogged in a long time. Well...I never actually "blog"...I post periodically. But there is a reason I've been so absent lately. A couple reasons, actually.
I've been working on a real-life version of my previous post. Previously, I drew the below picture with a "deep-space black" pen (really cool) on a 11"x14" piece of paper and coloured in each mosaic tile in PhotoShop. In total, it took about three and a half hours.
The real-life version was outlined in a "deep-space black" pen and coloured in with acrylic paint and then outlined once more with the special pen on a 24"x30" canvas. It's not quite finished yet -- I've been working on it for two weeks and have probably put 40 hours into it. 
Almost finished.... I had a New Year's resolution this year ...it came about while sitting on Bar on Locke sipping wine with a friend of mine...to sell a painting this year. Perhaps this is the one? We'll see. I'm thinking of auctioning it off at a Habitat for Humanity silent auction. Or, I could take the more difficult route and shop it around to different galleries around town...but I really don't think much of my art, so I'm not sure that I would have the guts to do that.
Oh...and did you notice the empty bookshelves in the background? I've given up 48 books so far to a Habitat for Humanity book sale. This was one of the hardest things I've ever parted with -- my books. For weeks now I've been trying to figure out why I am so attached to my books. I'm not sentimental about anything in my life. But books...well...I don't know what it is about books, but they are difficult for me to give up. After much deliberation, I decided that giving up some of my books will give me the opportunity to invite new books into my life. I am finally at peace with this.
The rest of my books are currently residing in boxes which brings me to the other reason that I've been absent lately. I'm moving. Finally. I've been shopping for my apartment and packing. This a momentous step for me because it will be the first time in my life that I will be living completely alone -- no parents, no roommates, no boyfriends. Just me and Daisy.
And a big shout-out to Kyle who found this place for me. After months of looking for the almost-perfect-place, and when I was ready to settle for an almost great place with a flighty landlord and a loud, party-hard tenant on the first floor, Kyle made an unexpected appointment for me to see this place and it is perfect.
art & architecture
This was a true test in patience for me. It lasted three-and-a-half hours from start to finish -- only taking two five-minute breaks to take the Daister out for a pee. I'm not sure that I've ever spent that much time on one thing before. I'm the person who will finish your sentence for you because I just want to get to the point.
I think that one thing that kept me going was the music I was listening to -- a mix of Sia, Snowpatrol, K-OS and Death Cab for Cutie.
And while I outlined each mosaic tile and filled in each colour making sure that each shade wasn't side by each, yet monochromatic within its own boundaries...I listened to the music, my mind wandered and I had thoughts and ideas that I may not have had otherwise.
And just the other week I said to someone, "I've never meditated before". But I think that this was a form of meditation for me. And I didn't rush to get to the point. I just enjoyed the journey. That's new for me.
illustration friday: communication
I wasn't thinking about anything in particular when I was drawing this. In fact, after the final pen stroke, I sat there staring at this wondering -- what does this mean?
So, I started painting and in the middle of painting the pants, I realized what my subconscious was telling me.
This illustration stems from a conversation I had with someone just the other night in which the person posed an idea.
The content of the conversation can be bypassed here, but what the point is -- the point is I wasn't entirely receptive to this new idea. And I really wanted to be, but in that moment, I just couldn't pick up that receiver.
