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Everything is Finite

6/9/2015

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Just before her death, my mom shared some information with me about the father I never met.  She told me he had been a "troubled man" and was either bi-polar or a manic depressive--she couldn't quite remember which one--and that he'd had "some time" in an institution at one point.  These were things she had gathered from his mother.  As I sat at her bedside listening to this revelation I remember thinking "...that explains a lot." 

I'm going to tell you a story, a short one, a confession of sorts.  I have a secret, and I've only ever told my husband.  I have depression.  Clinically diagnosed-by-four-different-doctors, full-on depression.  Don't worry, it's okay. I'm okay. Mostly. 

When I was a teenager, my pediatrician wanted to start me on a stabilizing medication because of some stuff I would say to him (or to myself) when my mother would leave the room.  You see, I had one of those extremely religious parents whose motto was to 'pray away' everything. I knew that she thought pills were for crazy people, and I didn't want to face her judgement. She also had a terrible habit of over sharing, and I did not want a single soul to know that I have "issues". So I begged my doctor not to bring this up with my mother, or prescribe me anything.  Because Dr. Smith and my grandmother were childhood friends, and the fact that he had also been my doctor since birth he decided on a more gentle approach to my care.  It was a bit unorthodox, but we set up weekly telephone calls. I had to call his office every Thursday afternoon at 4:00 pm so he could see how I was doing. To me they were just silly conversations about my life, but I grew to depend on these talks.  This went on for years. 

Dr. Smith would give me coping mechanisms and mental exercises to help me get through. I'm eternally grateful to him, and whenever I'm in my old home town I lay flowers on his grave and say a prayer and send a loving 'hello' to him.

In my 20s, I finally got on a medication that helped me. I could focus, be more coherent and process my thoughts one at a time, instead the swirling tornado that it was. My problem now is that I'm pregnant and these kinds of medications would have a negative impact on my growing baby. I've had to take a hiatus from them for most of this year, and rely on those old coping skills Dr. Smith taught me. Some days are manageable, some are not. Some days I avoid everyone, and dream of blood and death and feeling like I'm in a dark, cold cave and other days I feel like running through a rainbow meadow giggling wildly. Some nights I can rest just fine, and others I can't sleep and feel achy and stiff all over. When I have these bouts of insomnia I try to do something that will distract me, for even 5 minutes.

I've been working on this painting for a few weeks. It started as something floral, but that made me feel bad so I thought of something that makes me feel good. Water. I love hearing, feeling, smelling, and seeing water--even when it's not so pretty. Frozen, steam, falling, green, blue, loud, still--I just love water. So I thought of rain. I closed my eyes and pictured a soft rain falling onto my windshield, on a leisurely long drive home. The kind of rain that you barely hear, and doesn't threaten your trip. It's heavy enough to coat, and blur lamp post and night traffic all around. It makes oil spots seem twinkly, and twilight exciting. This is my finished piece.

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This is my favorite way to see this painting, mid-morning when everything is brighter and clearer.
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"Rain" at dusk, just as the sun is setting.
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This is "rain" in ambient lighting.
It's the same painting, just at different points of the day. I look at it and try to remember that things change. Almost every part of life is temporary, including what I'm experiencing now. I know this, and my hope is that if you are experiencing something overwhelming and grueling to get through...please remember, there is an end in site.




Thanks for visiting.~Grace K.

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I Have the Pregnits

5/19/2015

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"Children are like grandfathers...they don't give a shit if they're clothes match." from the book Sh*tty Mom: The Parenting Guide for the Rest of Us


I dunno if I should say that with an exclamation mark to let you know that "yes, I'm cool about it and happy" or a flat period as a matter of fact. I mean...this is my THIRD child. I have a boy, 4, and girl, 21 months so I'm not pressed to find out the gender of this child until d-day, nor have I made a big deal of it to the few friends and family members that I have.  There's a reason for that.

You see, When I got married a couple of years ago, most of my friends dropped me.  Like a cold dish rag. I got married (didn't know I was already pregnant) 8 or so months later I had a beautiful boy, went back to work, and regular life, and started to notice that my main hang out buddies were all of a sudden distant or busy...all the time. I got the "let's see" about having lunch from one friend so many times that my child was nearly a year old when I saw her again.  I began to realize that some of their assumptions were "Oh, she's a 'married mother' now so I have to get ghost. For years it made me really really sad, but I've had to realize that, indeed, as your life changes so do your relationships with people. Like it or not. Good things came from it too though. I've picked up a few new people and learned to let the old ones go. When I think of them here and there, I send thoughts of love because losing someone isn't always a loss.

...now back to this 'pregnits' situation. 

I know there will be questions, so here are some some things I'm willing to share:

1. I will not be announcing the arrival of my child via any social media platform. I may mention something months later (if at all) but I'm just not into this overly intimate notion of posting ALL my business on the interwebs. Call me old school...

2. ...if you are a complete stranger or someone I barely remember from who-knows-when, please don't ask me to share any details about my pregnancy. I don't know why, but it weirds me out to get "What are you having?/When are you due?/Can I touch your belly?" from people I don't know. The introvert in me is like "Whoa nosey!!!"

3. If I have your number, I'll send a text letting you know that I'm in delivery because I do so LOVE face-to-face interaction much more than I like this here screen stuff.  However, if you live too far to come, just inbox/text/email me your physical address and I'll send you a traditional baby announcement with info. & photos later. Promise.

__________________________________________________________________________________

MOVING ON TO THE 'ART' PORTION OF THIS BLOG:
In thinking about buying baby clothes all over again, I had a hilarious idea.

RUDE BABY T'S! 
Okay, hear me out...
I am already fatigued with these syrupy sweet, extra cutsie-spoopsie-toopsie baby clothes.  Like seriously, who is making these clown clothes? Kids have all their likes to be ecentric, so I thought to myself 'hmmm...how about some graphic onsies that say what babies are really thinking when stared at by a stranger AND what some parents want to say but are too afraid of offending?"

So I sketched a few ideas of my "offensive" baby designs. Remember, these are meant to be tongue in cheek and (hopefully) witty.
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Strange Fruit

4/7/2015

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"Southern Trees...they bear a strange fruit. Blood on the leaves and blood at the root..."

Billie Holiday was born 100 years ago today. Her rendition of 'Strange Fruit' was one I wrote about in college. It still inspires me. It's a haunting song that I've loved and revered for years. My grandmother used to whistle it sharply through the house as she swept the hall in the afternoon. She looked so much like Ms. Holiday that it used to creep me out, now it just makes me smile. In fact, her most famed song it inspired me to paint a serious of memorial like pieces in dedication and individual acknowledgement of our attempted genocide in American history. Geez, this sounds so serious and heavy (and it kinda is), but my intention within the artwork was to say "I see you." And isn't that what we all want? To just be seen. Acknowledged. Felt. Represented. Heard. Hear my art.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4ZyuULy9zs



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I miss you, sometimes...

4/6/2015

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Let me tell you how lazy I am. And how trifflin' I am. The 'c' key has been missing from my keyboard for 3 months now and I've yet to go buy another keyboard. I have three friends whom I've been meaning to call (Esti, Sabrina, & B.) since last fall, and I've yet to call not nan one of them.Since. LAST. YEAR. They probably hate my guts by now, who could blame them. I can't even hide behind my introversion, because I know that's just bullshit (not the introversion, but the excuses). In addition to that, it's been almost a year since I've blogged here and I'm not going to apologize or promise to do better. So let's just move on. 


Yesterday, I watched the documentary "Life Itself," a film chronicles the life and last days of famed film critic, Roger Ebert. I knew it was going to be sad, and I'm not normally one to cry...like it takes a lot to get me to that relm of emotional expression but when they spoke of Gene Siskel's death my heart got really heavy. I think it was what Roger said about how if he were to discover he had a serious illness, he wouldn't hesitate to tell those whom he loves and who love him about it. I thought that was profound. I felt compelled to share part of this poem I wrote about missing my mother, who also died of a fatal and debilitating disease. 
I miss you but then I don't. Mostly I do but it chokes out my voice. It clenches my stomach with longing for you. I swallow hard the nine-year-old scream I hold at the thought of you lying forever in a casket. I subdue my fingers from balling into fists to fight in your stead; you the mother who should have protected me from your molesting man. I shut my eyes tight at the tears that threaten to spill when I remember that we will never share anymore inside jokes or laughs over phone lines. Sometimes, on rainy cold afternoons,I sit by window blocking out the warm memory of those slouchy black boots you loved to wear... 


You see my mother died of Multiple Sclerosis. She died just a few days shy of Valentines Day, 2010. She told virtually no one, until the disease had progressed so much that she was experiencing memory loss, dementia, and a whole host of physical set-backs. If given a few years warning, because she knew for at least 10 years, I think we could have surely prepared better. People who knew her, that I didn't know knew her, could have said goodbye. I understand sparing your loved ones the sorry of watching you slip away, but remaining secretive is not the way to go. It's selfish. Yes, it's self-serving. You don't have the right to inflict your sudden departure (when you know it's immenent) on anyone...unless you're some supervillan...or my Uncle Rodney (same difference). 
Adieu, Grace K.
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Written Art

12/12/2012

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"A work of art is above all an adventure of the mind."
Eugene Ionesco said that a very long time ago, but it is a timeless reality. Lately I've been venturing into my own mind to see what other art lies within me.  You know, for so long I've been a painter only. I've dabbled in sculpture a little and played with graphic design but I always come back to the paint brush. It's what I know. It's what I'm familiar with. It's what I'm comfortable doing. But is that the only art I can do?

A few months ago I was outdoors laying down the wet elements of a beautiful full blue-green daisy-like painting.  I was in the middle of an exciting portion, when a bug crawled into the edge of my canvas. No, I'm not joking--I mean a LITERAL outdoor creature got into the inside binding of my canvas and freaked me out so bad that I made my husband immediately walk it to the dumpster....I think it was a spider?... Anyway, I put all my stuff away and took it as a sign that I needed to continue my hiatus from painting and revisit other elements of art such as writing.

I've always been drawn to books that are so detail heavy a picture easily forms from thought. I love deep, thought provoking, brain stroking, rainy day, enthused, infused, gut-wrenching, joyous, porous writers.  I don't read often, but when I do it's usually something written a long time ago by someone long dead, or it's something on the lines of Eckard Tolle (I'm still working on that ego thing).  Usually my non-fiction reads are poems, but my favorite fiction authors are those like Toni Morrison.  She's that kind of writer that makes one mourn the end of the words when you breathe those last lines of her books.  She's fantastic! I wish I could write with such grit, and intelligence like she does.  However, I know the faithlessness of TRYING to paint like someone else so I do NOT try to write like someone else does either. I've been inspired lately to create from more than just a paintbrush and pallete. In fact, I've been writing up a storm and subsequently stopped reading anything already published so that I wouldn't be influenced.  My hope, my dream really, is to one day publish the stuff I've written.  I've been writing poems since i was 9 and one day it hit me that I should write a memoir that includes some of my poems.  I toyed with the idea and put it on the shelf of my mind, until my mother's passing February 2010.  After her burial there were so many vacant nights that I longed for her voice in my ear that I was beginning to unravel a bit. I didn't know what to do with my crushing grief.  To cope sometimes I'd re-read old emails from her.  While doing so once the thought occurred to me to write out my feelings (both good and bad) about the life I experienced with her.  And so I did. I wrote and wrote.  
Now I have 120 pages done, with 2 of the 7 chapters I plan to include in the work.   I'm honestly really excited about where this will go, Whether it be picked up by a publishing house or simply handed down to my descendants.


Originally I started this book because I wanted to write down all the lessons that Joyce Croseford had taught me in her 51 years of existing on this planet, and in this form.  I also thought of my grandmother and my great-grandmother and all the wonderful and ordinary things that I wish had been written down for me to reference long after they had also passed away.  It would be beautiful to have my great-great-great grandchild able to archive my written life, in my own words, whenever they feel curious about who I was.  
I encourage you to think about those that you will one day leave behind.  Hopefully they're memories of you will be filled with a tremendous amount of joy and great stories about who you really were.
 
This poem (below) is an homage to my mother. I hope she is happy, pain-free, and enjoying her new life wherever she is in this Universe.

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Museum feasts!

4/25/2012

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I have a tiny confession to make.  I haven't painted anything in about six months.  I've sold about three paintings in the last year, which is not bad considering the fact that I haven't been actively advertising, blogging, or participating in any exhibits in as much time.  That's okay though, art flows in when it wants to,  not in continuous sonic waves.  In the meantime, I've started writing much more and every now and then I'll pick up my sketch book, shut out the world (give my toddler some cherrios to distract him) and let my pencil roam free on my paper. However, I've got to get cracking on some new pieces sooner or later because my inventory has dwendled down to a handful of canvas pieces.

To gain some inspiration I recently took a visit to
Crystal Bridges Museum in Bentonville Arkansas.  Let me tell you, it is AMAZING! The architectural design of the premise itself is phenomenal but the art selection is breathtaking.  My favorite colection, of course, was Modern and 19th Century displays.  The photos on the site do them NO justice, you must see these pieces with your own eyes.  Honestly, they glow. The art comes alive in such a unique way.

I was fortuate enough to remember my ipad, so I will upload a youtube video later and link it in another post.  I'll tell you now, you'll have to ignore all my "wow"s and "oh my g-d!"s lol.

Be Inspired,
K.
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A Whole Year?!

10/31/2011

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It's been an ENTIRE YEAR since I've blogged about my art. shame, shame, DOUBLE SHAME on me!!! You know what? I can't make the excuse that I've been 'busy,'  because I've had weekends where I've literally layed in the bed, eating icecream with my baby and laughing at the Golden Girls. I can't make the excuse that I'm just a tortured artist who can't BARE the thought of any images flying through my mind, because my sketch pad is full of new scribblings. Well, I'll just blame halloween...yeah, that's right...um, halloween's to blame....(I've really got to do better :)

So much is happening in the art world and SO much more in my own little hemisphere. Firstly, are you watching "
Work of Art"? I really hope you are, cause that show is making me a little crazy.  Last seasons artist were FIERCE, I must admit.  They totally challenged my own creative concepts and commitment. There were pieces I absolutely loved and pieces I vehemently hated, but never have I ever questioned an artist work until season 2 of that show.  This years group? They totally suck (well not all, but most of them do).  That guy "SuckLord"...geez. And the one guy or gal who wanted to make 'piss art'??? Shock art is not SHOCKING it's just filthy.  I find myself yelling at my TV and criticizing their work every Wednesday night, while my 7 month old, sitting next to me, giggles at mommy's hissy fits. 

Hey, I'm passionate about art. And it is with that same PASSION that I've decided to put my butt back in school so that I can: A. actually get a degree and make my mom proud (may she rest in peace), and B. be able to stick my nose in the air and call myself a professional artist instead of an amateur-self-taught-since-childhood artist. I have about 1.5 years to go ( I hope) but I'm ready to argue with my art instructor and be up way late at night for more than just diaper duty.
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This is a Cold War

10/11/2010

12 Comments

 
I'm a moody artist.  That doesn't mean I walk around sulking or with my head in the clouds, it means that I create from my feelings.  In fact, every single painting that has ever sold for a significant dollar amount came from a deep part of my psychological make-up.  However, the pieces that I hold most valuable emerge over months (sometimes years) of work.  They're quiet, tranquil, and peaceful--when I'm at my most content.  I can be red hot mad, or deeply depressed and sad in one moment & force myself to compartmentalize those feelings until I need them later.  I can push them away & carry on with my day. 
(Here's a mental exercise I do often:  
Close your eyes and imagine a green ball in your lap.  It that holds a really sad memory or feeling.  Now there's a shoe box in your lap.  Imagine placing that green ball into the box, putting the lid on tightly, then putting the box on a shelf just behind you.  Then that shelf zooms away life a subway taking off.)
  Thats what I do with those moody feelings.  Because I understand that moodiness is only a temporary state of being; they're what I call "quick emotions." Like the fright one feels on a rollercoster ride, or the delight a 2 year old gets when you hand them an icecream cone with sprinkles.  That quick emotion leaves just as quickly as it comes. 

On my last blog post, I was experiencing moodiness and quick emotions.  As you can read below, I felt really really bad and uninspired.  Mostly because I was sick, and had missed an art exhibit (that I was specifically asked to be apart of).  Out of the blue, one of my husbands relatives calls him, very concerned that he was making me unhappy...sounds ridiculous huh?  I forget sometimes that if I mention someone (other than myself) in my blog, there is the potential for faux drama to insue.  I don't mind my art being judged or criticized.  Heck, when I painted
this a few people I know gave me strange looks. :)   As I was attempting to explain to my husband what I actually wrote, I found myself feeling like a Janelle Monae song or the washed out parts of a Claude Monet painting--totally misunderstood & judged unfairly.  Don't you just hate that feeling?

Don't forget you can follow my site on
twitter or become a fan on facebook. 

  Before you go please leave a comment on the site!  I welcome all suggestions, compliments, complaints, or criticism. :)  In fact, tell me about a time you were misunderstood as an artist or person.
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getting back to me...

10/5/2010

7 Comments

 
I've felt so drained lately.  I'm talking seriously lacking interest in life.

Unmotivated, unenthused, unhappy, joyless--just plain blah! And don't let that exclamation mark fool ya, cause there isn't any excitement towards my art either.  Every five minutes I'm blowing my nose, and still on antibiotics from a strep throat infection and sinus inflamation I had last week.  Oh, and did I mention that I'm 4 months pregnant?  My husband is driving me madd (and I'm so okay with him knowing this), I totally missed an opportunity to be featured in a summer exhibit (because of my own lack of planning), and sleep? HA! forget about it! Who could get comfortable at night having to pee all the time and with a brand new bulge in the front giving me back pains?   Add to that, I really really miss all my old friends and kids I used to teach.

Now before you go feeling all empathetic for me, I know this is just a phase and I'll work through these feelings.  I won't be pregant forever, in fact I'm due late March/early April.  I'll pick up the phone soon and get back in touch with old friends and the family I care to speak to, and through social mediums (like twitter and facebook) I can at least see pictures of my pre-K class from my old job. 

I've been an artist all my life, and it's not as nifty as one may think.  I used to struggle with not having an overly exaggerated ego and remaining hubble at having a gift to draw & paint.  When I was younger, I was so much better at art than I am now.  My thoughts hadn't been miseducated by stupid art courses & high-school painting classes.  I was a pure artist with free forming work.  People would tell me all the time that I was indeed an artist, and a good one at that.  I would smile politely, and shrug off the compliments.  Not really knowing how to accept a compliment, and not get a big head about it. 

Just this year have I embraced the fact that, yes, I AM an artist.  Certain sounds make me literally see color combinations in my mind.  I can hear rain beating down on concrete and close my eyes and see yellows, golds, and harsh coffee colored sparks of color.   I'm always visualizing how an everyday scene or person would look painted.  How I could bring out the subtle emotions from a swaying group of trees.  Sometimes its just too much! I get overloaded and have to block things out to the point that it's a bit too quiet.  I know that sometimes you don't wait for inspiration to float down from the heavens and enlighten you.  If you're an artist, you just pick up the damn brush and begin the piece.  You grab a molding knife, and a piece of clay and squish it between the fingers until a form appears.  Why? Because it's apart of who I am. It would be like a thirsty man resisting water.
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Tigers and ipads

5/17/2010

15 Comments

 
I'm really mad at myself.  I just read my last blog post, and now I feel like weeping but at the same time I feel like rejoicing!  Funny how two emotions can battle on the inside, yet I look totally undisturbed on the outside.  Well, anyway...

Last month my fiance took a three week work trip.  The day before he was to depart, I sketched out a black and white tiger (mouth wide with teeth snarling, and brows furrowed) and presented it to him.  He was pretty impressed until I told him I sketched it because that was how I felt about him leaving me for so long.  He let out a  long laugh, and empathetically gave my neck a nuzzle telling me how much he was going to miss me.  To ease the blow, he also gave me a gift......a new Apple ipad!  "There goes all my attention!" he said as he shook his head at me and laughed at my delight.  The work trip is over now, and oh how correct he was!
He doesn't even know how organized he's helped me to become!   Now I can manage this site from virtually anywhere, keep all my client contact information with me, edit digital pieces and constantly check paypal for new orders, all with just one touch!  I know I could have gotten a blackberry or something similar but that small screen would have done me no good- PLUS I can dabble at my piano app. I don't have to lug around a pictorial for potential buyers to thumb through anymore either, now  i can show them a much more vivid example of my style by flipping through my ipad photos.  And the greatest part is that when I'm in the frozen food section at the grocery store and get a sudden burst of creativity, I can pull out my trusty ipad, do a quick sketch (with color!) and not worry about losing the idea later! 

How grand is that?
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