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.

journey

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.

Gouche Ground Prep for Art Therapy

Perfectionist?

I feel contentedly subdued today, as in “quiet and rather reflective” and NOT “depressed” if you check online dictionaries. A peaceful calm has settled over my nest and I am energized as in revived, able to take on tasks postponed far too long, such as scraping the old paint off the old bathroom tiles. That has been on my “to do” list ever since I moved into this place.

Am I a perfectionist?

Words echo, circle in my head, audio memories in other people’s voices: if you are going to do something, do it right. If you can’t do it right, there’s no sense doing it at all. Rip it out and start all over. Learn to do as many things as you possibly can and learn to do each well, someday you might need a loaf of bread. A is for average. Three strikes, you’re out. Trained by the best to be the best. Error free, hit the mark, dead on. Precision, precise, perfection?

It’s not a piano. Precision not required to build a crude crate. Nor apparently, to paint apartments. It will take hours to scrape down the tiles, days because I am in no hurry. Whenever I go in there, maybe scrape a little more. I’m doing it because sloppy workmanship drives me nuts. Yet, it is par for the course. Another echo: not everyone does things like we do.

I think I am a perfectionist when precision is required. That’s a given… as a tool & die maker, I worked to close tolerances, often plus or minus a tenth. That’s ±0.0001″ for those not familiar with the lingo. So yes, I am a bit of a perfectionist per training and conditioning. I definately expect more from myself than I do from others, especially if I know that I can do better. But not about everything… not everything is a piano.

What I am asking myself today: how much tolerance do I allow myself and should I work on loosening that up a bit?

Well, I can’t be too much of a perfectionist if I have lived with THIS (see photo below) for damn near a year.

Thanks for reading!