I have a lot on my mind. Life and death. Sickness and health. Want versus need. Chaos and balance.
Several weeks ago at the infusion center a man walked up to me and said, "You don't know me, but Dr. Mandell suggested I should come find you." We hadn't met, but I did know him. I also knew that statistically, he should be dead. We had more things in common than having the same hematologist–the same man that we both credit for saving our lives. He also works in the motorcycle industry and is one of the few people to have said, oh I know Tucker Rocky, when I explained where I worked. Usually, I get a blank stare and am asked to repeat myself…"Tucker-what? Huh?" A few years ago, early in my treatments, I spotted an article or flyer, I don't remember which, on the bulletin board in the snack area at The Center for Cancer and Blood Disorders. This man was about to begin a motorcycle ride across the country. A diagnosis of impending death seems to have one of two effects on people. They either curl up in a ball and cease to function, an even earlier death, or they are spurred into doing the things they always wanted to, but probably never would have because there was always "still time." I liked his page on Facebook so I could follow along on the journey. He told me he did this ride for himself and to bring some awareness to his disease, Multiple Myeloma. With treatment, the survival rate is 3 to 4 years. He's passing 8 now (this is unheard of) and shows no signs of coming out of remission thanks to a stem cell transplant. He volunteers his time to council patients and their families or to just lend an ear as someone who has run through the gamut of emotions associated with a diagnosis that doesn't offer much hope. He is hope. Doing what he can for others, not just living for himself, knowing that the odds of long-term survival are not in his favor. Each day precious. I admire this.
I'm sitting at my drawing table and Ed remarks that I don't look like I'm enjoying myself. Is something wrong? It's not a simple yes or no answer. I don't know about other artists, but for me, painting is intense and it's tiring…mentally, and I love it…normally.
Right now I'm frustrated. I haven't had time to paint on a regular basis and keep having to stop and start and stop and start a painting that I began months ago. I have virtual folder full of photographs of landscapes that I want to draw inspiration from for my 'grasses' series. It can be a little disheartening to see all the photos and realize what little I have accomplished. I want to have an entire show of nothing but grass-themed paintings. Life is interfering with my wants. The limits of Time weighing heavily. Like my new friend, I have come to view Time as limited. I wish it was tangible. I wish I could gather up armfuls of Time and squirrel them away for future use. Put Time in a bottle as the song goes.
At least that's what I thought the main conflict was, but I'm realizing that it's also something deeper. Something more internally motivated. The daily routines and necessities of life are always going to battle for my attention and draw energy away from painting. This is not new. I have a day job. Thankfully one that I love that fuels my creativity, but can leave me mentally exhausted by the end of the work day and at times requires lots of overtime depending on the project at hand. My illnesses wax and wane in repetitive 3-week cycles corresponding to my treatment schedule and can leave me physically exhausted. Then there are life choices that I've made…tending my flower garden which brings me a different kind of creative joy and peace, the plethora of pets that I love dearly, and of course, Ed, who opened my heart again after loss. I want to pay time and attention to each one; each thing that I love. Finding balance is not easy. Again, this is not new. Why was I apparently making disgruntled faces as I painted? What is different, changed?
I had to define painting in my mind as not just a want, but a need. I've wondered at times if it's just a selfish pursuit on my part. If I stopped, I could spend more time with other things, the animals, the other people in my life. The last few months have told me that I would be miserable without my painting. Perhaps it is still selfish, but I need it to be happy.
"Spring Blanket" is the piece that has been sporadically occupying my time. Just when I thought I was nearing completion, I found myself painting out entire flowers that suddenly became distracting and adding in more round puffs of seed heads. Bits of flower petals from the distractors left deliberately to peek through. I significantly darkened up the lower left side to tie in with the trees in the background. I found the seed heads echoed the colors in the background branches. I added sky blues into sections of the grasses. Layering in more and more color, but subtly, so it didn't compete with the vibrant reds of the blanket flowers. My brain was picking apart the design and trying to improve it. It just took me a while to realize it consciously. At first, all I knew was that I wasn't happy with the piece and consequently wasn't happy with me.
I'm trying to seek a balance between the impressionism that I love and maintaining the realism I'm known for. I want my work to be…richer…good a word as any and I'm not where I want to be yet, but I believe I'm headed in a good direction. I no longer think twice about painting something out that I spent quite a bit of time on. I'm more ruthless in my editing. More critical.
I want to keep growing. I NEED to keep growing and yet I also need to recognize life's current restrictions and limits. Some of you will say that the only limits are what you impose on yourself. The only limit is the sky itself. To me that's a nice fairy tale. Something you tell children until they hit the brick wall that is the real world. At that point, you either stand there paralyzed, figure a way to walk around it or blow the thing up (or a combination thereof). Some of us carry burdens that make it harder to move forward, but not impossible. In that sense, I guess I'm not as jaded as I sound. Some limits are insurmountable, though. Some we have no control over and must come to terms with that and not let them ruin our happiness.
So where does that leave me, the realist? Still spinning plates. Still seeking balance. Still fighting that damn painting. I don't have all the answers and am kinda glad that I don't. Life would be pretty boring if I did.
Note: I generally post in-progress photos of my paintings on my personal Facebook account.
Friend me if you'd like to follow along.
No comments:
Post a Comment