Dear Santa

It’s been a rough year. The death toll is staggering… more friends, family, neighbors, and acquaintances have departed than I can count on three hands. I cried too many and too often silent tears, lost myself in bottles, sought comfort and love in warm brown arms, then sunk my bare feet into the muddy waters of reality until my toes found solid ground on the south side of Youngstown.

So, may I have some paints please? Oh pretty please, dear Santa?

Here’s a link to my wish list at Dick Blick as I’m a bit particular when it comes to art supplies.  I also added a full set of pencils, as one should always dream big when dreaming out loud.

Odds are that I shall find the equivalent of another lump of coal in my Christmas stocking, if the jolly old elf bothers to stop by here at all. The children have noticed, they already know… they say grandma’s a bad girl, that’s why Santa doesn’t bring her anything.

~

Truth be told, I am a bit scared. My appointment with the retinal specialist is today. What if the sight cannot be restored? Depression is already swirling, will I sink into a deep abyss? Paints could save me… art is therapy, I could paint with one eye, fine line details not required.

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I do so want to paint again…  I quit when I first became disabled, took up pencils because the medium was dry and I could draw little pictures with minimal body movements while stuck in a chair for endless hours. I still cannot stand at an easel, but paints could be next on my artistic journey.

I could always express emotions in paint, much more freely than with pencils… let the brushes take me where they want to go. Like in this painting below, my 3rd of 1998…

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It is actually two paintings in one… the left side was painting out an emotional storm, then my thoughts turned to a man I barely knew in 1998, an elusive artist with unknown entanglements. I did not know what had him so bogged down back then, but I could feel it. It’s a bad portrait… beard too thick, &c.

I’ve been hanging art… can’t hang that one, still mourning the loss of our friendship, and with every painting comes the urge to paint again.

The wish list of art supplies is just words to the wind… come January, I will slowly start ordering what I need. Thanks for reading! And wish me luck today.

Art Supplies?

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Every time I take the Buckeye bus up Poland Avenue, I always think “art supplies” when we roll past the hills of rusted savage.  Here’s another view.

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It always makes me smile.  I weld like a drunken sailor on dry land, so no worry of me raiding the junk yard.  I do like to make assemblages out of found objects, but on a much smaller scale.

I’m in rare form, bit happy these days tho I have moments when things go down that worry me.  Oh, just kids… par for the course to worry about them even when they are grown.

One of the decisions made in my moments of clarity is a bump that, why should I let some strangers in another part of the world discourage me from blogging on my own blog?  I have documentation of my use of “barnbees” on this internet dating back to 2009 so who cares if some rock-a-billy blues band changed their name to “barnbees” in 2012… if they don’t like me blogging as barnbees, they can buy me out, cut a deal and throw cash my way.  Otherwise, OH WELL. 

I did change my email addy, or rather just started a new one as I still cannot remember my password to access my “barnbees” email addy.  It will pop into my head someday.  But this blog AND my facebook shall remain barnbees.  Yes, OH WELL. 

Here’s one more shot of the junk yard.

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The sky is pretty, funny how the fence aligns with the horizon.  I shall miss riding the back roads into Youngstown when I move out of the burbs. 

Should I tell you where I’m going?  Or just wait and snap a view out the window?