recently i went thru a bunch of old poetry and journals. i copied stuff out, read it out loud and i can't believe how effected i was. it all just sat there for days as i tried my best to smile for the kids and listen to them ask me all those VERY IMPORTANT QUESTIONS RIGHT NOW MAMA. bed time comes and i tuck them in all happy and spent and my mind can return to it. part of me just felt so sad, like it was all so wasted. sitting there. but then something clicked for me, i can't remember when, coulda been walking home after school drop off, washing dishes after omelettes, watching the boys in the tub, the words were and are information. they are an emotional snapshot of a time that couldn't ever have been recorded any other way.
i have been painting for awhile now and was so uncertain about my voice for so long but i think with maturity i see it coming together, it was always there, i just needed to find the best way express it. so much practise with the paint. so much experimenting, what an affair. in one of my writings i draw beside it. as i read it i can see the colours whirling around, creating washes and blending. contrast. line. a little of both over here. faded over there. i'm picking up my brushes daily now and thanking myself for providing clues and material for what i can now express.
thank you clay for giving me the time i needed to build my skills. i just didn't expect it to effect my painting this way. i want my paintings to be authentic and emotional, i feel i'm achieving this. (god i hope i am) will post nearly finished painting based on some writing soon.
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