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Quite some time ago, I made a promise to my dear photographer friend. I said I would one day paint a picture using one of the photographs he has taken and sent to me. Truthfully, I kept delaying it, because I was afraid. I feared I would be unable to do justice to any of his photos. He is a wizard with his camera, and that caused further nervousness on my part. Heck, if his photos were ugly, any painting I did from one would not look too bad in comparison.
And so, I painted this, that, and the other from other photographs. Always intending to keep my promise to him...sooner or later. More later than sooner.
Well, the promise has been kept. I chose one of his iris photographs to work from. I opted to use pastel paints instead of watercolors. There was some artistic license I exercised, as is my right! But, I hope he is pleased with the result.
I must be going through my flower phase. The last bunch of paintings I have done have all had flowers in them.
And I breathe a huge sigh of relief knowing I honored my promise.
"People from a planet without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to have such things about us." ~Iris Murdoch
This parasol takes me way back to my early youth. Elementary school to be exact. It is one of my most sentimental and cherished possessions that has moved with me many times through the years.
My father did much traveling during his lifetime. It was on one of his trips to the Orient that he bought this rice paper parasol for me. I can still recall the moment he gave it to me. I immediately opened it up and twirled it above my head over and over again. Its large diameter dwarfed my tiny frame, and I fancied myself as some exotic creature from an exotic land.
Because I was in grade school, I brought it to "show and tell." Rice paper was not common to really anyone at that age, so it was unique to them and interested them. And the delicate beauty of the hand-painted blossoms still enchants me all these years later.
I keep this parasol in our master bedroom. It is propped in the corner...in the exact spot where I am sitting in this portrait.
(The August Self-Portrait Challenge theme is enclosed spaces and places.)
Thursday, January 27, 2005
7:17:00 AM EST
Feeling Happy
Hearing Sex and Candy~Marcy Playground
#@*&($!+%
::my entire body shudders violently as my head thrashes back and forth, my fingers entwine in my hair trying to still the movement:: Whew! That was a rough flashback. I have those on occasion. I am always glad when they pass. What is it I am recalling that causes me such anguish? Birth control methods. Yep, birth control.
I naively skipped off to my gynecologist's office to be put on the birth control pill one month prior to my marriage. With my soon-to-be hubby just starting college, we decided we should wait until he had his degree before children were to be considered. No problem. Yeah, right. I took the tiny little pill each day and felt quite comfortable knowing I would not have to worry about any unplanned pregnancies.
Flash forward two months. Picture me with the migraine from hell. Picture me lying on the bed literally trying to hold both sides of my skull together from the axe that was desperately trying to split my head in two. Hey, I was a migraine professional. I was used to them, because I had had them since my teen years. They were no fun, they cramped my style, they hurt, and I did not like them. However, I could suck 'em up with not too much of a disturbance in my routine. EXCEPT FOR THAT DAY. Oh my God. I would have had to rally to die. The pain was the most awful pain I could possibly have imagined. Hubby knew this was not my normal reaction to a migraine. He called my long-time family friend doctor who told him to bring me in immediately. Poor little me was taken into the office to be examined. I do not remember very much of the visit except when he asked me if I was taking any medications. I said, "Nothing except the birth control pill." Uh oh...wrong answer. Doc was not a happy camper hearing that. Apparently migraine sufferers should avoid taking THE PILL. Oops. I didn't know. He said something about the potential for strokes and other equally unpleasant side effects I could have had. He told me never to take it again. Then he whipped out a huge needle you could have basted a turkey with and jammed it into my butt. Hubby's parting instructions were to take me straight home...not to stop anywhere...straight home and get me into bed. Alrighty.
I was feeling pretty darn happy by the time we reached our apartment complex.I had no pain in my head at all. It did not matter to me that my head was the size of a hot air balloon. I floated up the flight of steps to our apartment door only to notice the neighbor just across the hall from us had moved out and left her door open. I just had to sneak a peek in there to see if it looked like our apartment. I made it maybe five feet past the door when I thought I was going to pass out. I grabbed hold of hubby's arm and told him to get me to bed right away. He quickly unlocked our door and led me inside. Oh, figures...I had to tinkle. I went, but I couldn't feel any of my limbs, so I told hubby he had to flush the potty. While he was doing that, I entered the bedroom and sprawled across the bed~shoes and all. I think he undressed me, but I do not really remember. (Wait, he's a man...I was helpless...let's get real, he probably at least copped a feel.) I woke up once long enough to yell out for something I could use to barf in. Hubby appeared with a bowl which I promptly filled. ::laughing at how gross I am:: I never woke up again until the next day. God only knows what was in that shot, but it was strong.
That left the two of us with quite a dilemma. If I couldn't take the pill, then we had to find some other means of contraception. The rhythm method is cute, but it isn't exactly very effective. It was ruled out. I suggested condoms. I was promptly shot down. Okay, okay...I told him I would go to the gynecologist and see what he suggested. I made an appointment and went to his office. I received a stern lecture for not telling him about my migraine history. I pathetically explained I was unaware migraines were considered a health condition. Doc and I discussed various birth control options. The diaphragm was decided to be my best choice. Yay! I had something he felt was effective. He gave me one with the instructions, and I went home all content with my new pregnancy-prevention gadget.
Oh dear Lord. I would have rather had a brood of 12 children than to go through the diaphragm experience again. For those who are not familiar with it, it looks like a big rolled-up condom, except the sides do not unroll. It is a disk with a lip around it. You have to put this messy gel around the lip, then bend the disk in half to put it inside of you. Once inside wherever the hell it goes, it springs open and prevents the sperm from swimming anywhere except into that rubber wall. You have to leave it in place for a set amount of hours after sex, because the fishies lurk just waiting for you to accidentally remove the diaphragm too soon, enabling them to head right for that come-hither egg. This thing was a mess. I despised it. Every single time I used it, I had difficulty. It was next to impossible to hold onto the damn disk when there was all that gooey, slippery gel on the part you HAD to hold onto to bend the dumb thing.
One evening I wanted to have sex, so I slipped off to the bathroom to begin the wrestling match between me and the dreaded diaphragm. I wanted it in place so when hubby was ready for bed, I could surprise him and jump his bones. All pleased with my planning, I began the process of applying the gel to the rim of that contraption. I carefully bent the disk and ::boing:: it sprung out of my fingers and onto the floor. Okay. That happens. I tried a second time and ::boing:: up into the air and down onto the floor. By this time, I was getting pretty agitated. I am not a quitter, and I sure was not going to let some little round rubber thing get the best of me. I applied more gel to the rim (after wiping up all the stupid gel from the floor) and very, very carefully bent the diaphragm in half. Yes, yes...this time it was so very close to my body when ::BOING:: it shot out of my fingers, went flying away from me, and stuck itself to the ceramic tile wall inside the bathtub. I was livid. I peeled it off the wall, and once again made the attempt to insert it. It went in, it went where it was supposed to, but I was in a horribly foul mood. I left the bathroom, and these were the exact words I said to my husband (you can use your imagination to guess the tone in which they were said): "We ARE having sex tonite whether or not you want it, and you WILL enjoy it. I just spent forever trying to put in this stupid diaphragm. I hate this thing." We had sex. I think he was scared not to.
Oh, by the way, we switched to condoms shortly after that nite. ::grin::
Today's quote:
"I rely on my personality for birth control." ~Liz Winston
"Only those who truly love and who are truly strong can sustain their lives as a dream. You dwell in your own enchantment. Life throws stones at you, but your love and your dream change those stones into the flowers of discovery. Even if you lose, or are defeated by things, your triumph will always be exemplary. And if no one knows it, then there are places that do. People like you enrich the dreams of the worlds, and it is dreams that create history. People like you are unknowing transformers of things, protected by your own fairy tale, by love." ~Ben Okri
Who cannot be enchanted by those magnificent words and the spellbinding painting (which I embellished, perhaps to its detriment, with sparkles and a butterfly to enhance the magic of the scene)? Only those whose hearts and minds are closed or dead. And I feel pity for them.
Sometimes, sometimes, when a journaler/blogger is writing an entry that will ruffle some feathers or offend people, the writer takes a moment to say, "This is my journal, and if you don't like what you read here, all you have to do is click on the little X up in the corner."
I do not recall ever having said that in my journal. First of all, of course it is my journal. It is why my name is posted on the entry and not someone else's. Second, every dullard in Dullardsville knows what happens when the X in the corner is clicked. I do not feel the need to point it out to them. And third, I think that particular advice is often used an excuse to be rude. Uh huh, I do. If the potential to offend someone is going to be in your entry, then at least have the backbone to say what you want without throwing in an overused and tired line to try to further justify your action. Stand by your words or beliefs, without relying on a worn out cliche to cover your behind ("Well, I said to click on the X."). Or is using it a guarantee that people will read your words? Hmmm?
Whatever the case, gotta admit the above graphic is somewhat amusing.
By the way, X got screwed over by E when Webster compiled his dictionary. Why doesn't "excellent" start with an X? Or "ecstasy" start with an X? Or "extraordinary" start with an X? E had to go and horn its way into taking over some of the best words, leaving poor X a mere few words. So selfish and thoughtless.
"Action, looks, words, steps, form the alphabet by which you may spell character." ~Johann Kaspar Lavater
I feel puny. Both of my ears are infected {insert whine}, and they feel like they will soon be exploding right off my head...taking much brain matter with them. My throat is sore {boo hoo}, and talking makes it hurt worse. I am in a feverish state and shaking like a leaf at what must be subzero temperatures in my house {violin, anyone?}. However, it's Self-Portrait Challenge time, and I briefly entertained the notion of not bothering to post anything for it. Why bother? Sometimes when I see what others post, while interesting and well-done, I fail to see how it really fits the theme for the month. Then again, we all have our own unique thought processes, and self-expression of them is the name of the game when it comes to the SPC. This month's theme is enclosed places. Should I take a picture of the cotton ball that is currently shoved into my ear? Uh, I'll pass. That would actually fit the theme, though. ::grin::
Anywhoooooo, in keeping with the theme of confining and enclosed spaces (and not out there on some super cerebral plane of consciousness), I have posted this self-portrait of me inside a revolving door. It was taken in Chicago on August 4, 2006, just as I was entering our hotel after having seen the King Tut Exhibit.
Finally, something for me to yahoo about!
Lately, my painting has left me frustrated and doing more than my share of kvetching. Creating anything worth keeping was impossible. (That, in itself, told me I needed a vacation.)
Before I left for Chicago, I decided to try an entirely new~to me, anyway~technique. It involves using very watered down watercolor paints on a material called Yupo paper. Yupo is not really paper at all. It is a plastic sheet. It does not warp or buckle, and there is no need to prepare it before applying the paint. At an art show, I had seen a very small abstract painting using this particular "paper." I found it unique. And I immediately bought some Yupo to give it a try. Mind you, I had no earthly idea how to use it, but I am always game for experimentation.
Excitedly, I began to paint on this curiously different paper. Ugh. And double ugh. I was appalled at the ugliness I had created. The bonus of Yupo is that with a damp cloth or sponge you can wipe off the paint. I think I wiped off four different hideous paintings. By the time we left for Chicago, sitting on my drafting table was a blank piece of Yupo. I was convinced I was going to have to find a workshop to learn the proper use of it. And I was none too happy.
Maybe my muse was refreshed after the long weekend away, because upon my return I sat down to give the watercolors on Yupo one final try before giving up on it. And the above is what I created. Yay for me! I got loose! Loose, I tell ya! I have always wanted to quit being such a tight, precise painter. Looseness I wanted, and looseness I got.
I am very pleased with these tulips. I will even matte and frame this painting. ::gasp:: To the majority of people, this might look like a mess not worthy of framing. But to me, it gives me hope that I can express myself in a multitude of ways using various mediums.
Did I mention I got loose? ::grin::
"Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known." ~Oscar Wilde
August's theme at Self-Portrait Challenge is enclosed or tight places and spaces.
I cracked up when I took that shot of my face and put it on a jack-in-the-music-box. It seemed to "go" with me and my personality quite well.
First, I am a joker. I love, love, love to make people laugh. That is the intention of a jack-in-the-music-box, is it not?
Second, I have a sadistic sense of humor. Everyone knows that kids either love or hate these things. They scare the crap out of many young children and might even evoke a jerk out of an adult when the crank is turned just enough to release "jack" from his confines. I think it is a hoot when the kids cry. Kinda like when they sob and scream while sitting on Santa's lap. Hehe. Plus, I hate clowns. I get major heebie jeebies when I see them.
Third, I am always surrounded by music. I would, indeed, find myself lost without it.
And fourth, the idea of being shoved down inside that square box and having the lid latched absolutely wigs me out.
See how well this picture represents me?!!!
Karma is a curious thing. It is veiled in little mysteries and loathe to share its exact origins with its owner.
I have always believed in karma. I had thought I had seen in it in action on numerous occasions, and maybe I actually did; however, now I have to think a bit differently about it. Researching it more than I ever had previously, I came across information I had not known.
Seems there are two main schools of thought regarding karma. Short-term karma and long-term karma. The short-term kind is the here and now. We reap what we sow in this life. Treat others well and perform good deeds, and we will be rewarded with positive karma. Intentionally (intentional being key) hurting others and causing them pain or harm is paid back in this life. Unpleasantly. Religions or people who believe in reincarnation (which I do...I am such a liberal Christian) strongly believe in short-term karma, YET also believe in long-term karma that follows you through every life you have. Yes, each and every life. That was news to me.
So, I thought long and hard about that. It was a twist I had not expected to find when researching the concept. And finally it all seemed to fall into place. It makes sense.
Think about it. How many people do you know who have lived an exemplary life full of goodness and decency, yet they suffer indescribable maladies? And how many people do you know who are heartless and callous beasts who seemingly skate through life problem-free? We try to understand it. We say those cruel people have paved their own way to hell. And for those who have suffered inexplicably, we reassure ourselves that they have a ticket to Heaven.
But is that really true? Could it possibly be that long-term karma is the cause of such occurrences? It seems highly plausible to me. We are not who we were in a past life, but we might be experiencing the aftereffects of the life previously lived. And how we handle ourselves in this life might very well indicate the kind of life we will live in the next one. Until we get it right. Some may get it down perfect in just one or two lives. Others may go through dozens of lifetimes before getting it down pat. Then, a seat in Heaven at God's side is the reward.
I had to chuckle a bit when I had this next thought. When something good happens to me during this present life of mine, will I automatically believe it is because I am being a wonderful person? And when something bad happens, am I going to blame my past life for it? ::grin:: It would be very easy to go that route, and I suspect some people routinely justify their behavior by doing exactly that.
No one can say with certainty that karma does or does not exist. Just as no one can guarantee that God exists. It is all in what you feel in your heart and mind combined whether or not you believe. And I so believe.
“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”
~Unknown
In keeping with this month's theme of tight, enclosed places or spaces at Self-Portrait Challenge, I offer the following:
Uh huh, the "girls" felt quite enclosed in this little oh-so-tight dress. I am not a particularly busty woman, but this dress fits like a second skin. It certainly gave the girls more than a bit of claustrophobia. It also earned me a smile and a lingering gaze right at them in the elevator at our hotel. Did I mention that the smiler/gazer was a stranger and a drop-dead gorgeous hunk of man who I wanted to grab and pull his face to my chest? The matching sweater had long since been discarded before my elevator ride. Hubby was in the elevator and saw this taking place. His response after we stepped out of the elevator was to shake his head at me with a slight smile curving his lips. Hey, I appreciate fine-looking men wherever they might be found! And he knows it.
Yes, I know, I know...I am being naughty. Naughty is fun.
Ahhhh, my trip to Chicago was sheer heaven. The King Tut exhibit (no photos allowed), Stained Glass Museum, Navy Pier for the Tall Ships show, Chicago Water Works facility, Lollapalooza, churches after churches, shopping, exceptional dining. And there were so many other activities and events I wish we had had time to see. If I have any regrets at all, it is that we were unable to stay longer. We tried to conjure up ways son and hubby could take off work for a few more days, but it was not to be. I think I will be returning right after Thanksgiving, sans kids, so I will get another dose of Chicago then.
Of all the cities I have visited here in the United States, Chicago remains the one that has seemingly permanently captured my heart. Oh, how I love it there.
"This is my kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who smile at you"
~My Kind Of Town by Frank Sinatra
