Distracted by life

I can't believe it's been ten days since I wrote. A lot has happened in those ten days. On May 14, my younger sister died. She had Hep C and emphysema. Five days before she died, she was given about six months to live. We had no relationship. Still, when I got the news on the previous Thursday that she was so ill and her birthday was coming up on the 24th, I thought that everyone deserves to have at least a glimpse of feeling happy or just know that someone is thinking of them. Perhaps I could send a "thinking of you" or birthday card. My husband asked if I was doing this out of guilt, and I answered honestly - I have done nothing for which I should feel guilty. Victoria was a nightmare. She was a drug and alcohol abusing teen runaway, a thief and a vandal. Then she was an abusive mother to her daughter, irresponsible mooch who never got tired of putting her hand out. Add to that malicious and vindictive, and she was dangerous. How sad to live such a short life and be the kind of person that causes your own family to struggle to find something nice to say.

The day she died was harder than I expected it to be. I am so sad that she didn't have the inner strength to survive growing up in our family. I am sad that she had so little happiness or joy in her life. I'm sad that she never knew real friendship. I'm sad that we weren't a normal family. I'm sad that she didn't enjoy her own child in the way that I've enjoyed mine. I'm sad that she never had a loving partner in life, never took a vacation, never went to a comedy club, never rode a train, never had a good snowball fight, and never knew my son. This list is endless.

Add to this the fact that my father is, once again, in the geriatric psych ward of the hospital. This Vietnam veteran with worsening dementia has, once again, assaulted his family. This time he tried to start a fire in the house with paper and acetone to "smoke out those Viet Cong sleeping upstairs in their house," (the grandchildren who live with them are half Thai) and he attacked my step-mom with his cane. The VA says this isn't related to his service, and basically dust off their hands and respond, "Bummer for you." He's not exactly having flashbacks to his childhood in Montreal.

There's more, but that's the bulk of it.

I'm tired. It's selfish, but I'm tired. I can't help my father and I couldn't help my sister, and I feel worn. I'm afraid of getting sick or dying from something I could have remedied or avoided. I have spent the last couple of weeks working my butt off on the elliptical trying to avoid or delay the things that would make me just like them. I can't bear the thought that I might become like them. I am distracted from my art, distracted from housework, and not feeling very positive today. I want to be someone else and somewhere else just for a day.

Time to administer a kick to my own behind. Must snap out of it!

Where do I go with a blank mind?

Yesterday wasn't such a great day. I guess the fact that we pick our own (less hectic) Mother's Day date caused the clan to think all bets were off on behavior, so dad and son squabbled to the point that I just gave up on plans and shut myself in my studio.

The worst part is that for the longest time, I just sat there. I looked at the bevy of art supplies and just sat with a blank head. There is so much I know how to do, but so much more that I want to learn and practice, and the result is that I'm just stuck. I got out a sketch book and started looking at old ideas for projects. I realized that when I don't make an effort to write clearly, those notes don't do me much good! So I jotted down a few more ideas, then started pulling books off of the shelf. One quilting book reminded me that I'd actually started buying fabric for that project two years ago. Sure enough, I found the stash and started reorganizing the bits to see what I needed to ditch and what I should add. I had to do something, and this exercise helped. Today I'm going shopping for the fabric to fill in the gaps and get working on it.

Since I find it hard to stay focused on a single project, I'm going to also work on finishing the chair I'm painting for my friend's daughter. I promised she'd have it before her 5th birthday. She's getting it on her 4th. :-)

Giving up and giving in are not allowed.

My first ATC!

OK, there's a lot to learn. I've read books and blogs and web sites about this stuff, but clearly missed the chapter on the ATC warping! I have so much to learn. The message that I heard loud and clear (as I last posted) about DOING art and not just talking about it motivated me. This first ATC was an experiment with gel medium, paper scraps I had on hand and a photo of my grandmother printed on plain old paper on my HP printer. The photo was taken when she was 13 years old in 1905. She lost her hearing at age 9 due to a combination of illnesses that occurred simultaneously, including scarlet fever. I was always amazed as a child that while she couldn't hear the doorbell, she always knew (from another room!) when we were banging on the piano or playing chase in the house. She read lips and spoke clearly, so people didn't know that she was hearing impaired. I always wondered what it must have been like to be able to hear until you are 9, then never hear music or the minister's words at your own wedding, or the voices of your seven children.

While this is a wickedly rough start with a new type of art project for me, I'm going to continue to play with the zillions of things I can use to make ATC's just for fun. The stash I have of old family photos and newspaper clippings should keep me busy for quite a while.

Reality slap - ouch!

I started following the blog of my friend's sister, an incredibly inspiring and creative artist. Her blog referenced a number of other creative blogs and web sites, so I decided to poke around and look at a few. The first one has me hooked and feeling a little b*)%^$ slapped with the whiny stuffing knocked out of me. She responded on her web site to questions she receives from readers about, among other things, whether or not one can expect to make a living with their art or whether we must "live and breathe art" to get good at it. This writer is one tough cookie. She is very direct in her opinion that we must stop talking about making art and do it, exercising our artistic muscles every day as an athlete does. Her words had me literally sitting back a bit in my chair, a little bug eyed and feeling she was hollering at me. This is not a bad thing. I needed a good wake up slap.

I am motivated. Between the wonderful and kind encouragement of my friend Debbie and the kick-in-the-pants shove that I felt with this artist's words this afternoon, tomorrow begins a new commitment to art, creativity and no more excuses. Every day, I'll do something - an ATC, experimenting with a quilt square, sculpting a new piece for an art doll...this is going to be fun.

The only quilts I've ever made