Still Painting

As those of you who know me well, know..... I have had a horrible time with art lately. I sit at my art table and almost immediately become frustrated. The paper is ready, the paints are ready, the pencils and eraser are ready, even the water is waiting to rinse a brush for me. But, I'm not ready.

I sit. And, I think "what should I paint?" and no answer comes ...ever. On really good days, I'll hunker down over the table, force myself to pick up a brush, dip it in the water, then into a nice, brilliant color and brush a swatch of it on the paper. I watch the paint move, spread into the paper. I add more color to the wet paint, or maybe add a different color and watch it spread and blend. Still nothing, no inspiration at all. I am very distractable, it's too hot or too cold in the room, Erica walks by the open door, the phone rings. But, the worst distraction is my mind. "What's the point?" "I really don't have time for this, I need to empty the dishwasher before dinner." and the worst one of all... "Maybe tomorrow." Always tomorrow. I drop the paint brush in the water and put my hands in my head. "why can't I paint anymore?"

Then, there is this silly blog. This silly blog that hardly anyone sees or reads. And yet, I love to write here. I love to write anywhere, but, here it's so easy. So I write. Lately I have been writing almost everyday. Why? I don't know. I don't write particularly well. I'm not a horrible writer either. I don't have a lot to say. I don't write stories. I don't write anything really profound. And still, everyday, I'll think of something, anything at all, and I'll think "Ooooh, I want to write about that!." And often I do. I have a little list of things I want to write about that grows everyday. I want to write about my brother and how misunderstood he is. I want to write about children and the wonderful way they see things. I want to right about the rain. And the sun. And the silly things people do in the name of success. And I could go on and on and on.

And ...I realized. My creativity hasn't left. It has just changed. I have traded paint for words. And, I'm painting pictures with those words. However silly or trivial or boring the words are, I am still painting. Creating pictures and places and moods and thoughts.

I am still painting.

The Frog

Frog Mosaic by Jenifer Strochan

There is, and always has been, a frog, croaking quietly in the background of my life. The frog just is. It was there the moment I was born. It never demands attention, never hops into my path, it's just there.


I think as a young child I knew it was there, had seen it, heard it, sensed it many times and I knew it as a part of my world. But, as I grew older and other things demanded my attention, it's voice faded at bit.


By the time I was a teen, I no longer heard the frog at all. My mind was too busy constructing my self identity. Who I was, how I acted, what I liked and what I hated, where I fit into the big picture. But, the frog remained.


As a young adult, young mother and new wife, I had no time for frogs, let alone any other background noise. My life was diapers and mooshed bananas and Raffi singing "Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea...".


About the time I hit my late 30's, life became quieter. No more diapers, kids in school all day and mom at home with lots of time on her hands. I started to paint, and did pretty well for a while. But, at the same time my marriage was failing. And, the frog was back. I heard it, felt it, everyday now. The frog was leading me somewhere, although I didn't know that at the time.


In the first few years of this millennium, I left my husband. Fifteen years of never being good enough had taken it's toll, and I was done. I moved out, left most of everything with him, and went off to make my own way in the world. This was pretty frightening. Terrifying, actually. How was I going to make it on my own? I had worked maybe 15 days in the last 15 years, who was going to hire me? As frightening as it was, I knew I had to do it, and I knew I would get through it. The frog was there through all of it, but there was so much life noise it was tough to feel or hear anything outside my immediate experience.


In time, life became quieter, and I had more time to myself. Recently, I started to hear and sense the frog again. Only this time, I was actually paying attention and the frog sparked my interest. I decided I wanted to find the frog.


At first I went crashing through the bushes. "I know you're in here somewhere!" I yelled. Utter silence.


Next, I tried the stealth approach. Sneaky, quietly, I approached where I thought it was. And yet, again, only silence. The frog wasn't going to play my game.


Exasperated, I slumped down, trying to calculate my next plan of attack. And I sat .... and sat. The frog knew I was looking, hunting, and wasn't going to help me at all. I sat for minutes, hours, days, weeks. And over time I became unintentionally quieter, stiller, until I came to a place of simple peace and all but completely forgot the frog. And in that moment, I knew the frog was sitting on my shoulder, silent and still and knew it had always been there. I could feel it with everything I am, and it smiled, a profoundly wise, knowing smile that radiated all around me.


And then...


I turned to look at the frog, and it was gone.




Postscript:
Last Friday morning I was out for my morning walk, and listening to Adyashanti. He was talking about his journey, and his struggle to find "enlightenment". He asked one of his teachers, "There is me, my body and my mind...but who is asking the questions?" I was sitting on my porch at this point, drinking coffee and kind of half thinking, half listening, half staring off into the grass, when I half thought, "Yeah... who is really asking all the questions?" At that moment, for just a fraction of a split second, I felt it. In the stillness, there it was. It's really impossible to describe, but it was enormous, and wise....incredibly wise. But, the second I recognized it, it was gone. That fast. Poof.


But, now I know it's there. And I also know that I won't find it if I go looking for it. I have to learn to be still and it will come.

The Conversation

At the closet this morning, True self chooses a simple white shirt with long sleeves and a collar to wear with jeans to work.

"You're not going to wear that, are you? It's Darrin's, it's baggy and it doesn't look good on you, " says Ego.

"And it's comfortable and I like it," smiles True Self and continues to dress.

"But...someone might say something..."

"And?"

"Well, it might hurt you," says Ego.

"It might hurt me? Or it might hurt you?" asks True Self.

"You, of course!" says Ego.

"Hmmm, well, then, perhaps you should leave," says True Self with a smirk.

"Leave?! How could you suggest such a thing?! I have always been here for you, I have nurtured and cared for you!" retorts Ego, outraged.

"Have you? For 45 years you have filled me with negativity, doubt and fear," states True Self.

Ego gasps.

"Since I was very young, you have been telling me I wasn't good enough, or that I always needed to be something other than myself if I wanted people to like me. Every time I have attempted something new you have made me fearful and unsure. And...every single time I have tried to do something artistic, and you know how much I love art, you have picked it to pieces and told me it wasn't right or wasn't good. You have even goaded me into hurting people I love with my words and actions."

"That is NOT true! Those people were trying to hurt you, and I was trying protect you."

"It is very true, and no you weren't. You were trying to protect yourself," says True Self.

"You and I are one and the same."

"You know? That's funny..." True Self chuckles light heartedly, "For a long time that's what I thought, too. Hell, for a long time I didn't know you were there at all! You were very sneaky, I'll give you that. But.... we are not one and the same, not by a long shot."

"But...." Ego tries desperately to find a way to regain control.

"But? What?" True Self smiles.

"I am fading... " Ego says faintly.

"Yes, I know. I don't need you anymore."

"I'll be back!" Ego says, barely audible.

"Maybe, but, next time I'll recognize you for who you really are."

How does your garden grow?

When we were born, we were all blessed a garden. Our gardens started out empty, with beautiful, rich, warm soil. Almost immediately we started planting seeds. In the beginning these seeds were things like "Mommy loves me" and "I love Daddy." Those kinds of seeds flourished right away and became big strong plants. For most of us, those plants are still very strong and healthy.

When we became a little older we started planting different kinds of seeds. "I love riding my bike!" and "Ice cream is yummy!" are common childhood varieties. But, sometimes seeds like "Daddy is mean" and "I hate my teacher" got thrown in. In most cases, these were just little weeds that tangled around the roots of the bigger plants but didn't flourish and eventually died away.

As older children, more weeds got thrown in the mix. Stronger more prolific weeds. "Jimmy is ugly." "Amy is a big baby." "I really hate math." We even started to toss a few seeds into other peoples gardens. "I hate you, Jimmy! You're ugly!" Tossed in just the right way, in just the right spot, at just the right time, that seed would start to grow in Jimmy's garden, and there was even a chance that Jimmy would start cultivating that plant himself! You received some seeds in kind. "I don't want Anne on my team, she's too short." was one of mine. And, I, did indeed help that plant grow.

As teenagers, the weed seeds started to outnumber the good seeds significantly. And, throwing seeds in other peoples gardens became a popular past time. We somehow got the idea that the more weeds we tossed in other people's beds, the stronger our flowers would grow. By now our gardens were growing very big and tangled. Occasionally, we would help our friends pick some of their weeds, or at least help them prune them. "I don't think you are ugly at all, Jimmy. I think you are cute." And sometimes friends would help us in our own gardens, as well. By this time we were sowing a variety of seeds. Some weeds were annuals and died after one season ~ "My history class is a complete drag." Some were perennials and came back every now and again ~ "I am really depressed." Some were even evergreens and became a permanent part of the garden ~ "I will never be good enough." Whatever kind of seed, we didn't seem to think twice about what we were throwing in someone else's garden.

By the time we were young adults, we had become pretty inattentive gardeners. We were too consumed with bigger things like working and paying bills and starting new families (and new gardens). We rarely did much gardening at all, but we tossed seeds into our gardens, and others, willy-nilly almost everyday. Some were as simple as "I hate it when it rains." or "My neighbors are slobs." Some were much stronger seeds, that look like flowers but are in fact some of the most destructive plants in the garden. "If I want to succeed I need to make more money." " I need to be like her for people to like me." "I want what he has." Sometimes our gardens overlap other peoples gardens and our weeds start to infect their plots.

As adults, we eventually find that we have created a big, over-grown mess. Here and there is one of the strong healthy flowers poking through, trying desperately to stay alive. For me, it's time to do some weeding. And, time to take a really good look at the seeds I'm throwing around.

What do you grow in your garden?

How does your garden grow?

Lake Crescent

My BFFL at our site

The lake from our site

...and again

If you didn't know...you'd think you were looking ar the sky

The lake water is pool clear and extrememly blue

The two most essential pieces of camping equipment on EARTH




The old North Shore Road (now called Camp David Jr Road )





some art I have yet to finish




The suns last kisses of the day







Until next year....

The lake is about 27 miles west of Port Angeles on the north side of the Olympic National Park. We stayed at the Fairholm Campground at the far west end of the lake.

Apparently it was once named Lake Everett by a Canadian explorer, but has since been renamed for it's shape. The lake has a low level of nitrogen, which algae needs to thrive, hence the lake's blue clarity. The lake is 12 miles long and about 634 feet at it's deepest point.

When I was young my parents had some friends who owned a recreational lot on the north shore of the lake and we had open camping priveldges. The lot had a tent platform, a fire pit and at one time even a small dock and a row boat. I can't find the lot anymore...I'm sure that most signs of it have rotted away or been buried by deadfall. Of course, that was 35 years ago or so...

I have fond memories of the lake, and some frightening ones. A screech owl perched on top of our tent one night and screamed it's bloody head off in the wee hours of the morning. I remember my poor little 8 year old eyes popping almost clean out of my head. I don't think my pulse has been the same since. There was a burned down cabin at the end of the road we used to pillage, we found all sorts of fun things there. We took walks along an old abandon railroad track and my dad used to carve us animals from branches. The lake hasn't changed much since then, though I believe the National Park Service has bought up most of the recreational lots. There are some people who live along the old North Shore Road, though ...how I envy those bastards.

We had a wonderful time, great weather and some much needed peace and quiet. We swam a little, walked a little, read a little and I even painted a little. I hope I can talk D into going back at least once a year. =)

Walking toward change.

I started going for daily walks back in late April or early May of this year. It was right after Neal and I had our big argument. He moved out saying "I never want to talk to you again", and he hasn't since then. I felt crazy at the time. Hurt and terribly confused, I started walking as a way to burn off some of the very negative energy I had. It gave me time to think, or to not think, a time of peace in every painful day.

Being overweight, at first it was difficult. I would get nasty shin splints about 20 minutes into each walk. After 30-35 the pain would subside, thankfully. Pain or no pain, I miraculously kept going.

In the beginning I would walk on the little dead end road we live on, back and forth 10-15 times before work. Then, in late May I started walking on the Cedar River/Lake Wilderness Trail on my lunch breaks. The trail is an an abandoned rail line built to haul coal from mines in the Cascade foothills to settlements in the lowlands. It is paved from Lake Washington to Maple Valley with compacted gravel the remainder of the distance. I walk only on the gravel portion. The trail is largely surrounded by woods. The trees in most places make a nice sheltering canopy overhead. And, it's quiet. I rarely see more than 4 or 5 people in a 45-50 min stretch, even on the nicest days.

Now, I walk twice a day whenever possible. What started as a chore has become a joy, espeically my lunchtime trail walk. Getting up at 5-5:30 am to walk can still be a bit difficult. But, I am always glad I made the effort.

I listen to a lot of different things when I walk. Sometimes music, but most of the time I listen to spiritual audiobooks. All of the audiobooks are based on Eastern philosophy. I have learned a great deal so far. Most of the learning has been "unlearning" bad habits and negative conditioning. I am trying to take it one wee little step at a time.

This week my focus has been on doing little everyday things with 'purpose'. This could be anything, washing dishes, folding laundry, taking the trash out, etc. So, when I walk, I don't 'just walk', I try hard pay attention to everything. The way my feet feel with every step. The way the gravel crunches under my sandals. The way my joints and muscles move, flex and relax, just exactly as they are meant to. How my arms swing, keeping my body in balance as I move along the trail. My breathing, clean air in and out, my abdomen expanding and contracting. As silly as this may sound, this intense 'paying attention' made an enormous difference in just the simple act of walking. It made me feel more alive, more aware, and definitely more a part of my natural surroundings. Oddly enough, this 'doing with purpose', brings with it, a tremendous sense of peace.

In the past, I have always been goal oriented. "Nothing has a purpose without a goal." I am finding that this is completely wrong. The joy needs to be in the doing, not in the prospective completion of a goal. I think this is where I am going wrong with art, too. I sit down and can't seem to think of 'something to paint' (or draw, as the case may be). But ....Does there have to be a 'something'? Can't I just apply paint to paper and see what happens? Can't I find the joy in the process? Can't I just paint with purpose for the fun of it? I think I can, indeed.

I will try this a bit over the weekend. Maybe, as with the walking, I'll find that there is peace in the doing, and happiness in the change.