While growing up, art was always realistic. I mainly did sketching and pen and ink. I did a lot of portraits and pictures of animals and I had to make sure they depicted perfectly what I was drawing.
Now, I am inclined to do abstract, but still find that I hold myself back due to wanting it to look like something.
This is something I have been working on....really letting myself go and feeling my way through it. The few paintings where I had no preconceived ideas before hand are some of my best pieces.
But, as I said, this is still a struggle for me. It comes from all of those years of sitting and drawing and having my dad come along and say..."start over, it doesn't look right".
Anyway...I had something happen to me back in December that hurt like hell. I mean, it crushed me so severely, I was depressed for months.
I tried letting it go and ignoring it, but it would come back up in various ways.
The situation happened when someone who claimed they were my best friend did the most cruel thing to me (and having a whole group of ladies join her in it) and then would not tell me why....it was out of the blue and very viscious.
Not something to easily get over, especially when all of them wouldn't say why it happened.
It reminded me of something a group of snobs would do in Jr. High school.
I realized that instead of it going away with time, it was growing inside me.
I needed to do something to physically get it out of me...to feel the pain, the anger and hurt and finally have it released. I needed to bury that friendship for good.
Time does heal all wounds, but with some, you do have to go through releasing them, or they sit and fester for ever.
So, after hours of crying one night this weekend, I knew what to do.
Sunday, I had the house to myself. I wanted rebellious rock and roll playing (I chose Block Party, Aerosmith and The Rolling Stones), I got a board ready, jotted down the poem below to word my feelings then I set about painiting the feelings.
I was very physical and it felt so good!
Below is the poem I wrote (and please, its not meant to be good poetry, just getting words down)
It's there in that bottom drawer
All that stuff
that wanted to break me
I know-
it's hard to get open,
it's so damn full.
I don't open it often,
sometimes I don't even recall whats in there
till something is said or
they show up again.
My heart tightens and I think
oh yeah - I put that in the bottom drawer.
You and your bitch squad were the last I stuffed in there.
You labeled yourself as my best friend, the only one you confided in.
Then out of the blue, I really have no idea why
you needed someone to hurt,
maybe because your daughter had hurt you,
I still don't know.
But, you fired them up, and they took pity on you.
Of course, thats just what you wanted,
someone to pay attention to you,
someone to see you as that nice lady,
who shouldn't have any heartache.
So, like zombies in a horror flick,
the whole gang came at me
in the dark, without any warning.
Steely cold knives sliced and crushed,
killing blows to an already
fragile soul weakened by all the other stuff
in that bottom drawer.
Here is the first layer of paint. My intentions are to carry this through to resolution, not just leave it at anger.
5 Comment(s).
I like all your photos in here, especially the band pix. I'll be back. 
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