Saturday I woke up with a pressure on my chest. That feeling lingered. My husband got home yesterday from a gig out of state, he hadn’t slept in almost 2 days. At 3:30 pm, he was in bed until this morning around 9 am.
I felt this loneliness. This void in my chest, in my life. Sometimes I feel we are closer than ever, that our marriage is stronger than ever. Then there’s days I feel the saddest person in the world. Today was one of those days.
He got up, did some car repairs and left to run errands. My heart broke. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of days and as soon as he’s here he leaves again. I needed to get it out or at least attempt to. I took out a canvas and paint brushes and I started painting what I feel the most to paint, a face.
I see faces. They’re always in my head. I can’t really see their details but they’re always there. I don’t know why I avoid painting them. I started with a sad colorful man, and then did a second woman. Actually she’s also sad. All of my faces are sad. I think she’s actually a man. A clownish pathetic man. Maybe I’m afraid to paint them because they reflect something inside me. But what’s so wrong about that? I feel the need to get them out.
My husband saw the paintings when he came home. He liked them actually, I saw it in his face. It lit me up and made me emotional to think I block out what I shouldn’t. He told me I needed to paint my faces.
Today I make a promise to myself. I will paint those faces that linger and haunt me at times. Those faces that sit like shadows behind my thoughts. Those faces that laugh at me at times, the ones that cry with me and the ones that reflect that happiness, that twinkle in my eye. I will paint them. They need to see the world, and the world needs to see them. They exist for a reason and I have kept them in secret for way too long. Not anymore.
I decided to invite my cousins and one of my dear friends to one of those paint and sip places. My cousin’s birthday is on Valentine’s day and we got to celebrate a bit late her day and have some laughs.
I recently lost my best friend and by lost I mean we aren’t speaking any longer. It crushed my heart. But I’m moving on. I’ve decided to spend more time with those that make me smile, the ones that don’t judge and that no matter what if we talk or not, if we see each other often or not, when we do it’s like we never left each other sides.
Laughter heals the soul in my humble opinion. Last night my soul had some much-needed healing. We shared laughs, drinks, chocolate and art. It was a perfect night.
I can still feel my gel nails. I feel a warm tiny blanket over them. I know it sounds crazy but I feel them. My husband loves my nails, he was so happy to see me try something new and that I actually enjoyed it. It’s annoying to have that strange warm feeling on my nails but I think sometimes it’s worth it. I can’t help how my body and brain feel about certain stimuli but I can choose how I react to them.
I got home with a feeling of relief and peace. Relief that I made it through another day. And peace because I was able to put my feelings of happiness on a canvas and share those moments with wonderful women. They have no idea the struggle or how much it meant for me that they took time of their busy schedules as moms and wives to do this. I secretly thanked each and every one of them.
We painted happy sunflowers. I think I was able to express my happiness of the moment onto the canvas. Isn’t that what an artist does?
It feels as if when I need it the most is when I least want to pick up a brush. I know it will feel good. I know I will release any thoughts and feelings onto the canvas. But I am usually afraid of how it will turn out. I don’t understand me. Why am I so afraid of even the smallest things. I don’t consider myself a great artist, just an artist. I just paint when I feel like it because it makes me feel good. I hardly expose any of my art in my personal media. I don’t do art shows or try to sell my art. Yet I am afraid somethings to let out what I have inside and let it come alive on the canvas. How is it that I came about to live in fear? I wonder about that constantly. Something must have happened. Was it my childhood? Did someone say something to me and caused me to be a person who lives in fear?
My biggest fear when it comes to may art is having someone laugh at it. I know it’s nonsense because someone will. Anyone that paints or creates art will have someone that doesn’t like their art. But I’m still terrified.
I painted him last night. My mother in law took the kids to the movies. My husband was working on his studio. The house was quiet. I could’ve finished one of the 3 books I’m reading and can’t seem to get myself to pick them up and finish them. But something called me. And I felt the urge, the URGE I should say to pick up a brush instead.
I’ve painting this guy twice, go figure. I don’t know why, it turned out very similar to the last one. I love him. He seems sad and lonely.