Okay, there is no maybe about it. Today is Wednesday, but 35 years ago, the 8th of May was on a Tuesday. My daughter was born at 6:05 pm.
My perspective remains shifted. I feel like I’m laying down the under-painting for this, which may very well be, the last phase of my life.
I don’t have time for self-doubt, marginalization, or tamping myself down to play second fiddle for anyone. I’m coming out. This is me… all of me, bold and beautiful, vibrant, sarcastic, intelligent, creative, and caring. Dimming my light will not make yours shine any brighter.
I am not perfect, that’s for damn sure. I will never look or be how or what you, or anyone else, thinks I should. I have physical limitations, live with disability, make minor mistakes, and royally screw up now and then. The thing is, I don’t need anyone’s permission or approval to be me or to do what I want to do. If I’m not “good enough” or come off as “too much” for you, oh well. The next person who tries to put me in a box of their own limited expectations can go bang their self sideways. I’ll be in a box soon enough. This is my life. I only got one shot at this… reincarnation buffs might argue about that, but who knows? Even if I was here before, this could be my last go. I need to go out with no regrets.
Waxing well means nothing without implementing necessary changes. How do I want to live the rest of my life? What do I want to do?
Make art. I’ve always wanted to live a peaceful, creative life.
For the most part, I have… nothing makes me happier, feel more content, centered, and grounded than making art. At the same time, nothing has made me feel more vulnerable, inadequate, and unsure of myself as showing my art. I’ve always been an artist with a little a, as compared to Artists with a big A… amateur verses professional, real verses fake, a hobbyist. I play with art supplies.
Excuse me, the little birdie in my brain whispers, First Place Mixed Media?
Yes, this leather and copper art bra, donated to be auctioned off for charity at a black tie event that I could not afford to attend, did win first place mixed media. I didn’t even get a ribbon. I was notified by email and, so I was told, there was a card next to it during the month long show.
My automatic response is argue back: one award does not make me an “Award Winning Artist” and don’t say duh… easy count four. Nothing prestigious. Really? Third place cook, too. True on that, used to enter a newspaper’s annual recipe contest years ago, always landed third place in one category or another. And what about… Okay, I get the point. Chapter 12, with a twist.
So, I’m laying my under-painting down. I could tell you what steps I have taken, but action speaks louder than words. When I finish prepping this canvas, I’ll show ya.
Thanks for reading!