I look back frequently on my life, as if glancing over my shoulder, to see where I have been. It is part curiosity and the quest for balance. When my sister and I were younger and still living at home, our chore together was doing the dishes. One washed, the other dried. When I would wipe down the stove, I would always, put the salt and pepper shaker together, side by side, because it appealed to my certain way of doing things... My sister, enjoyed moving the shakers apart...and when I would put them back together, she would taunt me with, "Certain, certain, certain". This is one of our favorite memories to laugh about together...
Ever since I can remember, I have had a inner guide to what is right and wrong, for me and how I want to deal with something in particular. Often, in that persnickety state, it can remove the opportunity to see something a different way. I once read, there were 360 different ways to see any one issue, like in the perspective of a circle...and being so rigid, denied me the opportunity.
Watercolor painting has been a way for me to to challenge my preference for order. Maybe it is also coupled with this particular time in my life... When I was younger, prettier, and had a better body, I was not happy with who I was. Now that I am older, wiser, and more comfortable in my "wider" body, I realize the person I have become, is the culmination of my travels from then to now...
I had a wild side, an emotionally curious nature that took me several places, (I probably should not have gone..) but, that is all part of the tricky tight rope walk in the quest for balance. Growing, maturing, learning, having responsibilities, earning a living, protecting values, and wanting to express myself in a way that wakens my soul. Accessing and contemplating the dance between the two.
Writing, as always been my best friend. Keeping journals since I was 18, I could pour out my heart, be angry, be disappointed, feel on top of the world, the world was my oyster...or so it felt. Just the cathartic effort in capturing thoughts and dreams. It kept me sane. It filled in the gaps and made me feel whole.
Writing comes easier to me, maybe because I have always trusted it more. To paint, to put a visual feeling onto canvas or paper, has always been a romantic dream of mine. I love the thought of being an Artist. As if, it will transport me on a mystical journey... To, one day, have a one woman show of my creations...
Yet, I am not as prolific with painting. It is more sporatic and moody. I put too many restrictions or make too many excuses. How does one capture mercury? Often, I feel like a child, on a windy day, running a futile chase to gather my homework. I want to know... it is a matter of not trusting it, or to realize, writing is more my passion?
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