Bumbling and fumbling words rolling my tongue like a gutter ball on the side of this well worn lane. I am a fool now. Ignored. Unseen, laughed at when seen. I am a fool; not your fool.
Faith
Or Me
Category: Sketchbook diary
Another Long Day
I wonder if my cat hates my job every bit as much as I hated my mother’s profession? How many times have I said to Joe Schmoe, “Here I come?” but made him wait a long time in dead silence? How many times have I sworn to take a break? “Really, here I come.” Sometimes he looks lonely. I worry he feels ignored just like I did.
Instead of papers and pencils it’s paint brushes and canvas.
I enjoy brushing Joe and chatting at him. The aides adore him and take over loving on him; and I let them. When they leave it goes back to being me and him in silence.
He’s sleeping in bed with me again. He sleeps by my head, curled up, back to me, in silence. It’s always so quiet in here.
I’m at the table, back to Joe. Right now I can only hear the trickle of the waterfall in the Betta tank. Ah, but what is this? Joe has turned the tide? He came to sit beside me and break being apart in silence. He kissed my hand and lay beside me. I’ve got to go. There’s no way I can do anything but spend a few moments with him just as he is asking.
My heart is smiling. The day has been given a great gift.
Faith Magdalene
The Crooked Tea Cup – Chatter Art
I take pen to paper and near violently sketch, in order to manage obsessive thoughts and counting. The Etsy painting expresses anxiety building that I needed to manage.
I paint what’s swirling in my head, marching, counting or popping. Art helps manage the symptoms and situation.
When focused, I’ll express how I feel in bright colors next to black lines, and upside down flowers without uttering a single word.
This painting is 5.5×8.5 inches on watercolor paper, unmounted, signed, sealed
“The Crooked Tea Cup” – Arrows direct the path I should take; paranoia is her guide.
Please see my Etsy shop for this raw art original.
Faith
A double shot of usefulness
I’ve not shown off my Philodendron Hope plant in awhile. It’s growing out of two Betta tanks.
I’m going to clip it back soon and allow certain leaves to mature. It’ll look nicer cut back.
I have hope.
There’s no doubt about the hope I have, but the path to it feels difficult at times. Fear is enemy number one.
I know I have hope. I’m just having a hard time keeping my fingers on it.
Maybe it should be enough, the fact that I can see it and know it’s within arms reach.
Well, in typical artist fashion, I’ve got several projects in different stages all going at once. Still, I’m encouraged by the “I Believe” piece.
It seems to carry the same symbols as two other pieces, which is very interesting to me.
I’m so happy to be making art just for me! And I so love that one young girl’s hair is 3 hearts instead of round puffs. 🙂
OMGoodness I have fallen in love with collaging entire works with my own art scraps. How satisfying!
It makes me smile to paint here in this little place I’ve created; sipping tea, dabbing paint brushes, writing letters and such. Recently a naysayer called the entire apartment an ecosystem. He has no idea how happy that makes a girl like me.
I enjoy waking up to meaning, purpose and usefulness in my little ecosystem- apartment. I could use a double shot of usefulness about now.
Covid update – still running a fever. Unproductive cough, mostly at night. I still break out in a sweat which feels different from hot flashes. I have GI issues, a rash on my back, my scalp inexplicably itches, too. My blood pressure has dipped so low that I’ve passed out.
I ordered supplies from Amazon since getting to the store is out of the question. Coconut water, cheerios and of course jello were among many of the supplies. Why do I love jello so much?
Please excuse me, I’ve got some cuddling to do before the day begins.
Faith
Father. Art.
I keep sighing. My heart is heavy but I keep trying to lift it up.
The fatigue is insane.
I’m learning so much about how OCD affects my life and how it affected my mother and sister.
I don’t know why I keep thinking about my father. I remember his voice was kind and sweet. I don’t want to be angry with my mother for separating us. It’s foolish to entertain what-if scenarios but what if one of my parents loved me.
I say my mother didn’t love but I’ve got to retract that statement. The more I learn about her mental health the more I think she had love for me from time to time but was unable to most of the time. There were many things I can point to now and see a shadow of normalcy where love could have existed. Somewhere in that shadow she may have been capable of loving me. Sometimes there may have been a spark.
I bet my mother battled depression after the divorce. I remember feeling like a failure after my marriage ended. Is that why she cried so often? Did she cry because of the divorce and the loneliness?
It’s hard to say she may have loved me while knowing the extremes she went to in order to hurt us.
She lied and told me my father was dead when he wasn’t. Now I wonder if what contact she had with him in my younger years.
Like all my other family photos, my father’s photo is tucked away so I can’t see it. There are no family photos on my walls at all, just art.
Our family of three left a restaurant together. While in the car my mother told me and my sister to “freeze, it’s an emergency, don’t move.” She said look straight ahead and don’t move. After about a minute or so she gave the all clear then said, “That was your father in the car next to us.” It was cruel.
I’m tired. I’ve got to sleep very shortly then get up and eat. The fatigue is heavy.
Original Art
This piece has changed significantly. It now reflects dissociation and PTSD. It’s currently listed in my Etsy shop.
This is more Chatter Art. It’s art that I do to better manage the incessant talking in my head. I’ll put this in the shop too. It’ll be in the section for journal art.
The above is complete and ready for the shop. It too is chatter art. It feels great to finish art pieces. You can see more in my Etsy shop. 🙂
I have a restart button hanging on the wall so if things really start to go down hill I can hit the button, take 5 minutes for breathing exercises then get back to life. I got the button from Dollar Tree.
Until soon,
Faith
Healing. Heart and Rock Art
Drawing and doodling continue to be my primary way of relieving anxiety; however, I may have a new way in a few months. Before the wrists, my doctor approved me to do one hour of vigorous exercise each day. I enjoy exercise. Always have.
I was going to go to the gym on “amputee night, ” as well as other planned physical activities. I can still do some stuff but the gym is going to have to wait. It’s going to be a bit b4 I can do that much.
It’s the small bones in the base of the thumb and wrist area that are broken. I chose not to have a fixed cast bc I’m a bit claustrophobic. So far I’m dealing better adjusting to the ones I have. Still kills me it had to come out of my pocket!
I’ve been painting more rocks while wearing the basic wrist braces I have. I also noticed that lately, hearts have shown up quite a bit in my art. I put in on the chest of figures or hide them in crosshatch or shade. Now I’ve moved to painting hearts on random rocks. I feel compelled to do it. I’ve not explored why, and I probably won’t. But I am allowing myself to paint hearts on rocks.
One rock has a heart on top but the rest of the rock is black. Mixed in the black are hints of blue and orange. I sealed them with Mod Podge. I’ve still got the painted rock from when I was in the hospital. 🙂 These guys make great encouragement when arranged together in a bowl.
The casts kinda hurt and they don’t let me do too much. Using the restroom is interesting. Lol.
For a bit the broken wrists took me back to one of the best years growing up. During my Sophomore year I rode my bike to theater club and loved it. I saw my mother very little. I remember fondly how life was very much a teen movie plot. I remember the summer and how much fun I was having. My sister had fun too but she shattered her wrist that year. She also stole my boyfriend. See what I mean, teen movie drama! The Breakfast Club. Pretty in Pink! There was deception, inner conflict, school life and music 🙂 I remember dedicating love songs on the radio to my boyfriend. I love memories like this bc they’re normal and innocent. Sisters make immature mistakes. We were just kids.
It’s helpful for me to look back and see normal parts of childhood. It feels important to have affirmation that I wasn’t a victim child being abused 24/7, like that was all I was alive for. I had good times, especially life as a student.
Faith
Anxiety. Support. Long Haul.
I bought a second sketchbook that’s small and easy to take with me if / when I leave the house. It’s also easier to hold in bed. And for the first time in a good long time, I had to buy art supplies. I was able to get ahold of the paint needed so I’m happy with that.
Right now I’m making the art supplies area more disability friendly.
Symptoms of the clinical depression (my nervous breakdown) significantly decreased but have crept up again. After my aide left, a person with whom I felt safe) abandonment issues began to derail me. At least this time I know better than to wait to see if the depression, anxiety, etc will get better. I immediately began using the skills I’ve learned in the last year so as to never revisit that horrible-for-everyone, deep, hollow place.
I remember thinking that everyone has an invisible line that represents a division between coping and totally losing it. It feel like as long as I don’t cross that line I’ve still got hope of getting better. Well I blew past that line and had no way on my own to get back. I couldn’t reach inside and pull up strength because I was hollow. There was nothing to pull from. I couldn’t even stop or control the emotions anymore. I felt stranded in the middle of the open sea.
I’m not where I was last time but some of the symptoms are troubling. The decline began shortly after being triggered by the loss of a CNA I felt safe with. Right now I am regrouping and using new skills so I don’t again completely fall to pieces.
I’m grateful for art. I can’t believe I did that mental health crisis with very little art. I had no way to redirect anxiety so it felt like it just sat inside eating away at me.
My included art piece shows individuals with solid black skin. I noticed the color of the shirts as being significant. The person who reflects my current state is wearing an orange shirt. I don’t think I’ve drawn my sister, me and my mother together in at least 5 years. This time it’s definitely all three of us, with me in the orange shirt with one foot and extra long arms.
When I looked at the chart created to record color significance, I could see a bit more into what I’m actually feeling. Come to find out, it’s very much representative of what’s going on in my life right now and what I’ve been thinking about.
The Art Therapy gallery explains color and symbol significance.
- Orange: Fleeting courage or self doubt, ambiguity,
- Purple: Self worth, pride
- Black: Emptiness, vacant, does not exist, emotional death
- Red: Strength, courage, empowered
My mother has been on my mind quite a bit because of my menopause symptoms. I remember seeing some of this as a kind.
I remember one winter my mother only wore a long, thin, black trench coat (it was the 80s ok) despite the fact that it was freezing cold. Several years later she had it so cold in the house that I wore a jogging suit to bed. Fast forward to 2022. The heat is still off. I had no idea menopause would be so life disruptive. My friend said her severe covid was easier than menopause. Wow.
Lastly, I did finish stealing the art piece but I’ve not put new art up for sale. I’m not certain I’m ready for that step just yet. I’m just going to keep at the art while working on emotional issues.
Faith
Life in Pictures – The Assignment
My abandonment issues have raged since the exit of the CNA I adored. She’s been gone for a week now. It’s affected my trust issues, paranoia and OCD issues. Going through the week with her knowing she would be gone in a few days was rather difficult.
I can feel the anxiety and emotion in my throat. I’ve been dealing with it by concentrating on art, plants and the cat. I’ve done so very little volunteer work. Argh.
Poor Joe is going to need a lightweight shirt to wear for the winter. My menopausal symptoms have affected heating the apartment. I can’t take this heat! I had it so the heat would come on at 65 degrees even while I have an 8 inch strong wind fan blowing on me. It’s not good right now LOL I’ve only turned the heat on about 3x since the season changed. How is it possible to be anemic and have hot flashes hourly, daily!
There was a day again where Joe seemed to have trouble with his front paws so I made him a bed, this time it’s on the floor. I would have made a box bed for him but my cat hates boxes. He doesn’t get in them. As a matter of fact, Joe runs when he sees a box or plastic bag. Yeah, he’s odd.
I thought I’d try to track the barometric pressure so I can kind of anticipate his arthritis pain and mine. Getting too cold will only make matters worse for him. I hope getting a lightweight shirt will help. It needs to be light bc cats can overheat too easily.
When Joe isn’t wearing his shirt I could let him use his bed with a safe heating pad that auto shuts off every 2 hours. I can set it to a low temperature and put it under his blankets, like I did last time.
I’ve done nothing more with designing Frog Mansion. It’s set up nicely but it’s not finished. I’ve done nothing to the Tomato Frog Apartment 🙂 I’m not calling it that LOL It’s just that it pales in significance beside Frog Mansion where my Australian Green Tree Frogs live. Anyway, I intend to work on it at the the beginning of December, at which time I’ll also add more soil and leaf litter to the Mansion.
Putting many of my houseplants in the mansion didn’t give back as much space as I thought but it has helped me simplify my watering system. Now I water plants 3 days out of 7 instead of daily. And it only takes anywhere from 20 min to an hour to water. I love how simple it is now.
I’m uncertain if I spoke of my hope plant. I’m seriously in love with this plant bc it’s name is my favorite word; hope. It’s in the peperomia family, which I’ve come to enjoy lately.
I would be lying if I said I’m not going to buy more plants but I will say they’ll have to wait bc I’m going to need paint. I’d like to get to Hobby Lobby but I don’t think it’s going to happen. It would save money though. I’ve never purchased from their website.
I’m stuck on the art piece in the photos because I now regret adding the ghost-like memories leading to and through the house. I’m not certain how I’ll make it look right. I’d remove them if so many other images weren’t dependent on the ghost-like memories.
I’ve got a completed painting that I’m determined to completely seal by Monday. I seal paintings in very small areas at a time because I don’t want pooling, running or gaps in the seal. I’m not going to spray it, so it’ll take a little time.
I’m not sure why I’m procrastinating. In general I’m not a procrastinator but I’ve been putting this off for 3 weeks. I’m having trouble letting go. I think I’ve been unsettled and I’m holding on to things.
To also unsettle me are the recent mass shootings, three back to back with a horrific quadruple knife murder. I don’t even know how to process this stuff and manage my own horrors.
I check the news online once a day, from various sources.
I will continue to have zero friends on my Facebook page so I can limit the amount of exposure to politics and the hatred it produces.
Despite the fact that the world has gone mad, I feel 99% like my normal depressed, anxious, dissociative self. Do I feel strong? No. I feel prepared and supported. I feel I better understand this part of the assignment.
Faith
Uncertain Title – Work in progress
Several years ago I painted two sisters on vacation. They were under the hot sun in summer dresses. There’s a whimsical feeling to it that makes me smile. But the painting / collage of the mother and two children in this entry, gives off an entirely different emotion for me.
When I look at the cropped painting below, I see a family that has traveled a very long distance. What drove her to walk across inhospitable terrain with children? What they are seeking must be worth the danger and inhospitable terrain. And then there’s still this question; Has the family successfully made the journey or do they have further to go?
The mother’s hair branches out like a tree while the hair of the children is circular. I see a difference in the expression of the children, too. The other thing I see is a family that’s held on to tradition for a long time.
I’d say the most striking part for me is the amount of movement, contrast and texture in the whole of the painting. The background itself could tell you it’s story, if only it knew where to start.
I really enjoy using parts of my own art as collage pieces. I use cut outs from art I did, but it didn’t work out. I keep a box of those art pieces so I can use it for something later. I’m working on two more collages in different stages of completion. I think collages speak to me right now, but that’s an entirely different blog entry 🙂
What should I name this piece? I have no idea at all. I’ll have to figure it out soon because this is a piece I don’t intend to keep.
Until soon,
Faith
Words to yourself matter, choose them wisely
Over a week ago I saw my nurse practitioner. We talked about the PTSD from the hospitalization in 2018. I told her that I just can’t paint anymore. I added, “When the legs failed and my foot was amputated, so too was the art in me.” Well, I’ve said that before. I’ve been saying it for nearly two years, but that time I truly heard myself say it and I knew I believe it. That’s a problem for me. Don’t tell me I can’t do this anymore. I was mad at myself. How dare I speak to myself that way?! I can’t be the person I was born as? I won’t accept that.
Point blank, I was born an artist. That art comes in many forms; culinary arts, painting, making dolls and creating terrariums. I’m driven to make things in an artistic way. The only way I stop being an artist is when I stop breathing. It was close back in 2018. Even still I want to be in an artsty urn. It’s already been chosen cause y’all can’t put me in any ol’ thing. I’m just happy I’m not in said artsy urn right now.
When I realized I actually believed that I can no longer paint, like I said, I was mad. Later that evening I got out my paints and started painting. While painting I remembered saying something very important to myself – It doesn’t matter if it’s good, just enjoy the process. That’s the moment things changed.
It doesn’t matter if it’s good! I was willing to have the art piece fail and that is significant. Before getting new depression meds and having a little more clarity, I was too afraid to fail. It felt like I was a failure instead of the art piece not working out. But this time I didn’t internalize its possible outcome. That’s how I know I’m in a different space. I was able to separate the two. I’ve been painting for over a week now. I’m risking a bit more and it feels good.
I didn’t die in 2018. I’m still an artist through and through. Regardless of any amputation, there’s no way to amputate my art. I can’t tell you how relieved I am. I worked hard to get to this day. Oh my goodness I worked hard from the day they told me I wasn’t going to make it until this day. I’ve worked hard. It hasn’t been pretty, at all. Some things I messed up beyond fixing. I know I’ve hurt people by spilling anger or responding while unhealthy instead of just walking away. Why did this happen? Because I’m a speck of dust like everyone else and I do and say reckless things. But I am not a vicious person, just a profoundly imperfect one battling mental health and physical health.
I understand something now. You’d think I grasped this four years ago but I didn’t. I understand that I didn’t die in 2018.
My entire life changed. I can’t walk anymore but I’m alive. I’m extremely limited, but I’m alive! The person I knew myself to be left the hospital and the nursing home, then moved here. I don’t need to be afraid to live.
I was living this life of “why bother, I’m just going to fall over dead anyway. ” I was afraid to live, make attachments and risk a little because I just didn’t want to lose anything else. I feel like I lost so much in 2018 that the thought of losing anything else was unbearable. I was afraid to live. I’m in a better spot but I’m not OK. There’s so much more physical healing and emotional healing to do. I no longer worry I’ll have to endure it without my art.
What I’ve learned is that I believe the words I say to myself. I know you reap what you sew. If I plant tomatoes I get tomatoes. It works that way with words too. I was planting fear in my garden and that’s exactly what I got. Words matter. What I say to myself matters.
Art work – The painting changed quite a bit from when I started. It’s a collage now. And true to form, I’m working on multiple art pieces at once. My studio mascot Joe Schmoe is helping with quality control. He’s such a good studio cat and mascot.
I’ve been putting art in people’s homes since 2007. My 2023 art goal is to fill my own walls with my artwork. It’s time I did that. I’ll give an Etsy update soon.
Speak kindly to yourselves,
Until soon,
Faith