It's been 7 months since I began painting again.
I had to look back and find the WET PAINT post to see when it actually began. The truth is it actually began with the well sown seeds of caring friends who were obviously tired of hearing me bemoan what I used to be and do, by reminding me that I still am who I've always been. They could see that what I had closed off from myself, bottled up and put on a high shelf, was stifling me. It was a void that cried to be filled, and I had the power to allow it all along. I certainly have the time.
I have to say that I don't believe it's a big co-inky-dink that I have been so asymptomatic through this time. I have been off all DMA's since last December. I use Lyrica and and pain meds as needed. I have had flares of symptoms here and there, possibly from the heat or overexertion, but they didn't get me down long. My MRI's have shown no new confetti. I have been more physically active. I have traveled. I feel like I have regained my sense of self. My attitudes are brighter. My attentions have shifted from the unwanted to the desired.
My palettes are wet, multiple easels are in use, my flowers are blooming and I have been very busy. When the damn of self expression gives way the torrent can be jarring and even unfamiliar.
Recently I've been writing more words. I posted one once before that surprised me as well. I don't know if they qualify as poems or lyrics, but I do recognize them as being self portraits in a sense. More so than a picture of pretty flowers or fruit in a basket. I must be holding back. I think it's time to REALLY let some paint FLY.
I have no title for this : ( probably out of fear of really revealing the entity you know as Bubbie...LOL)
But I recognize your soul
The bridge between our worlds is damaged
dangerous to cross.
I lose myself on my way to you
A sacrifice unholy.
A prize that leaves me lacking, a meal that weakens
and a discordant song to dance alone.
Both the fool on my shore or your bank
I gaze across the expanse
I grieve to know you built it unknowingly
with all the rotting planks of lies
and words sharpened with razors from your desperate wrist.