Widowed Without A Manual

Some of us grieve longer then others. I will not be rushed out of my love, that still inhabits my heart.


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Our Art Can Tell Us

I’m sitting here again in my room over flowing with paintings that have originated from my sketchbooks,which originated from my thoughts and emotions and fears and frustrations. All originates from the deepest parts of us.

I draw obsessively, its the way I cope. It’s also the way i record images that a camera does not interrupt, at least to that extent.

Images come to me and I don’t think about them I just get them down or get them out! They run around in my body like a crazy person. Drawing or writing poetry  seems to be some of the ways they will be released. Sometimes its my self portrait photography.

Now that I don’t have a gallery to show at I feel a sense of freedom to not hold back. I wake in the mornings with this unquenchable thirst to paints some more!

I should be doing my taxes!

I should be packing!

I should be working on waxes!

I should be finishing my bronzes!

I should be walking to get ride of this fat I have taken on!

But I don’t do any of these things do I. Am I hiding? I know I’m still depressed just by the fact that I would rather stay in this room and watch reruns and paint. I have piles of clothing that should be washed. I go to valueland and don’t buy anything or, I buy books that I don’t read. I do see my books as works of art. they should be regarded as such for the written words can be works of art.

It’s past noon and I have not eaten yet. The sun is shining and that annoys me. I work better when it rains. The rain gives me energy and inspiration. It seems to heal me for the time being.

 

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Today a friend wrote the most beautiful poem. As I opened her link the image of a broken heart with a bandage on it appeared. I was shocked and well shocked for I had just finished drawing that heart on my new painting.

How do we explain these connections? Is it that we are both exposing our inners in hope to ease our pain? I wake and feel two desires. One is to top up my caffeine the second and more ever powerful is to continue working on my paintings. My walls are full! The floor is slowly being filled as well yet there is this aching at times numbing pain in my chest and arms. No….. I’m not having a heart attack, that would be too easy. In a couple of days it will be 18 months of being without my love. How can that much time have already passed! I have painted many canvases and added many pounds to my belly. I don’t feel any better just as lost really. People call and I sit and watch the blinking on the machine. I don’t pick up often. I have become very good and reflective in never going outside without my mask. People love masks. It allows them to be happy and leave me alone. I like being alone. I wish only to have enough money to be alone and sculpt and paint and pay my bills, that’s all. I wish I could buy my mother’s home. She is in every room but when we sell we will be selling her as well. My siblings need this for they have their family their husbands.

I left for a while and had great time laughing. It was sort of a hysterical kind of laughing i think. I laughed so hard i did not have to think. Now I sleep eat apple pie and paint. 

Stuck on Empty

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Just returned from five days with sister. She’s in distress and I react. The days were fine but having to swim in her world can be difficult. Its a world of cooking shows and renovations. This sets her up for excitement, but her excitement means that she will fight with her family for everyone is so tired of changes and monies spent.

I did try to stay in my mind. to not loose my footing. Creating one painting was a start. Still, these times leaves me exhausted.

I sit here with nature sounds from the t.v. and looking at all the paintings I have done this year. I don’t know if they are becoming a way for me to hide or just a desperate intensity to get out of me all these feelings of sadness.

For what ever reason I decided that yesterday was the day to cut back for foam mattress that B and I slept on for so many years. Now it has gone from a queen size to just a double. The strange things we get attached to!

Cutting off slices was like cutting parts of our life. I don’t want to let go, I realize this.

Others want to move on, I don’t.   

I can’t seem to find any reasons to move on. My body is strong and will not fall ill. How would I paint the emptiness I feel? Maybe that is why I continue to  to crave the paintings inside of me. Maybe when I get out of me what really is inside I will have accomplished something.

Yesterday I rushed out of the house with only one feeling and that was to get out!. I found myself in the art store and there displayed all around me were canvases on a great sale! What normally would have bought me two I received five plus gesso. I then started to feel sick to my stomach which is a common occurrence these days. I wanted to sit in a restaurant with B and read a book or draw, like we always did when we came to the city. But he’s dead. He is not here. He comes to me in my dreams but he does not often speak.

I feel weak and foolish for not not being stronger. I’m in my 17th month.