Oh em gee, people–NEVER EVER buy Chinese food from the Safeway deli at 3:00 pm, okay? That’s three to four hours after it’s made for lunch and probably about fifteen minutes before it’s thrown out to make room for dinner. Torie and I thought we’d pick up something quick to take back to where she was housesitting, and I think we picked up something all right. I’m-a be sick. Ugh. I’m pretty sure that cooked chow mein noodles are not supposed to crunch.
After spending about an hour at her friends’ house, I decided that housesitting is incredibly boring, I don’t care how many gadgets or channels they have at their place. It just isn’t home, where my stuff is. We ate and because their DVD player didn’t work, and we couldn’t watch the newest Curb Your Enthusiasm, we watched cable instead. Is there anything more boring than television with commercials? NOOOOOO. Every five minutes, six commercials… I wanted to scream. We’re home again now, though Torie will have to go back soon, poor girl, since it’s her particular job this weekend.
I love television though. For the past two or so months Scott and I have been watching a couple episodes of Supernatural almost every night, and I’ve become so steeped and sated in it that the other day, when neither Torie nor I could open a jar, as I was flailing futily at the lid I yelled, “Where’s DEEEAN?” We both laughed but it was an involuntary demand that just flew out of my mouth and kind of scared me with its intensity. Dean really really needs to live in our house with us, I mean for reals, not in our mind.
Today I began the second season of Henning Mankell’s Wallander, the authentic Swedish version, not the stupidy-poopety Kenneth Branagh milksop version. It’s SO GOOD, y’alls. The end of the first season wiped me out emotionally, as two of the main characters left for horrifying and devastating reasons, I won’t say why for spoilers’ sake, and I honestly don’t know how the second season can possibly match it, but I’m eager to find out. The first episode of season two was very promising. The problem with foreign shows is that I don’t know Swedish, so I’m married to the English subtitles and it’s impossible to do anything else while watching.
That’s why I mostly listen to music while I do my work. I’ll show you my latest two pieces. This is a new medium for me, which is actually an amalgamation of media, so I’m getting used to what works and what doesn’t. It’s been a wonderful huge experiment of fun, and sometimes frustration–but the awesome thing I’m practicing is NOT getting frustrated. I figure that because I’m the creator it’s comprehensively impossible for me to make a mistake, as anything I do becomes the way it’s supposed to be.
(Again, the colors are not perfectly represented in the photos. For example, the little circle in the middle is supposed to be bright pink! Nor is the vibrancy, especially of the second painting. I don’t know how to fix that and I’m not really super inclined to learn camera shinola, though I guess maybe I should.)
That said, the above painting didn’t turn out at all the way I’d anticipated. But Torie had a very good point: she said it’s because I was trying to repeat something I’d already done before, and she’s so right! Mass production is boring as all get-out. It’s the art equivalent of housesitting. I’m much happier with the following one, which I just put the finishing touches on this morning. It’s very ’70s-esque:
She’s close to my heart, as she’s dancing freely into a new time of life, one which I am sharing with so many of my friends right now: the perimenopausal phase, the transition between Mother and Beautiful Thrower of the Bones. It’s been hard for me to think of giving up many of my paintings right now, as they all tend to be so meaningful to me as symbols, but I imagine that eventually I’ll run out of wall space. :)
An artist whose work I admire said her goal is to create a hundred paintings in a year because she’d read somewhere that the hundredth painting is the first actual GOOD one. Of course, that’s not literally true, but I get her point: the more I paint, the more I learn. I love to lay the paint colors down on canvas and then layer tissue on top and see what emerges. I love wild colors and the mixture of realism and abstraction. I love when things are a little “off”… but at the same time, they need to be off in the right direction, within context, and that’s the part I’m working on. Maybe by the hundredth painting I’ll have a handle on it.
You know, for the past week or so I’ve been gazing longingly at my other blog, Hedonistic Mystic… It’s so pretty and I would love–LOVE–to share my spiritual journey aloud again, like I used to do here. But for some reason, I’m unable to. I feel a stop every time. I think my spiritual experience is meant to be private for now, and maybe even for good, though I hope not. It feels a little like I’m simmering and am not quite done yet. Not that I’ll ever be “done” in this lifetime–or even in a thousand lifetimes–though I like the idea of being done eventually, cycling my way toward the divine Source until I’m eventually able to merge with it. I would just like to be done-ER so I can talk about it again. Or something. I don’t know. I do know that I’m going to enjoy a glass of sweet merlot right now and snuggle up to another episode of Wallander, while Scott’s away enjoying himself with the boys and beer at Portland’s Oktoberfest. I wish you all well! Love xo