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  • The Artist Messenger: Clairvoyance Made Visible

An Unapologetic Rebel

6/8/2014

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They and Them exist. They are the ones who try to follow rules, the harmless ones, never pushing or exceeding outside of the boundaries established. They don't think for themselves or create themselves in the most authentic ways and resent others who do... perhaps they wish secretly that they could? That they had the nerve? When they take out on us, how do we deal with them?

I have no idea. What I may not necessarily like about myself, I've learned to accept and use to my advantage in art. I am insubordinate and rebellious as hell and tried for years to get rid of it. The first words I used had to do with rebelling. Also, I've been painting, drawing or creating since I was in diapers, my first complete sentence had to do with something about art. The two are as much a part of me as my eye color.

I've been a professional artist for 20 years and know well the "rules" applicable to art-- and CHOOSE to break them and break them often. This doesn't go with their vision of what art should be (a random sampling of safe "Corporate Art" that looks great in libraries, public facilities, hard to decorate hallways or over couches.)

Here's a hint: real art isn't copied from a photo, unless the pic is mixed with other elements to convey something. Real artists who are making the real art also communicate (a concept, mood, social issue, secret wish) with their art, too, or push a limit that has been too-long-enmeshed in our culture. Sad truth is that real artists will have to stifle themselves to be found in outwardly criticizing/inwardly complacent galleries, and will usually be shunned.

We stand out like sore thumbs, which is a good thing. Whats happened to us is that we got so good early in our lives that we got bored and moved on into challenging realms.

If you're not being shunned for something, you're doing it wrong. Whether its your subject matter, how your shadows fall across a wall or how its framed or isn't, get some kind of criticism and then be ballsy enough to either ignore it and/or make art out of the criticism. Its like a ladder: make one thing, take inspiration from their reactions and make another piece. Paint the cool stuff that happens in between, too: there is no such thing as a dry spell or artists' block when you do this.  

Respect. I can't listen to someone I don't respect about a subject that is close to me if they aren't more experienced in the direction in which I want to grow. Talent, I've got. Talent and being good at what you do is the easy part. Being professional is also easy as hell.

Courage. Where this inclination comes from is that I don't believe in authority figures (usually toe-the-line-traditionalists) and the world is full of those who think they are exactly that just because they can follow rules to a T. You've met them, the bossy ones who think they know it all, when in reality they're just talented hobbyists... playing around after retirement with no real blood, sweat, or tears translated into gutsy emotional investment for the world to see. They feel proud to have sold a piece or two without risking a damn thing and have stayed comfortable their whole lives.

I'm interested in the hard stuff that makes me grow; I don't stay safe and would consider myself generally weak minded or insecure if I did. What helps this along from both a very personal and universal concept, this subject hits my rebellious streak where I get much of my best and highest selling pieces of inspiration. A message to "them": Bring it. I've been talented as long as I've had breath, so I'll paint my expressions of the situations you create (that everyone relates to at some point) and then make money off situations your criticism created.

The reality of me not staying safe scares the shit out of traditionalists. I love it. This is how I play. Playing is risk, you have to show vulnerability to play and have fun at what you do. Remember? Lets see what this does, lets see what that does. Just watch a toddler with his mashed potatoes, you'll see. These other people had been harshly criticized for playing and lost the wonder and thrill of sating curiosity in the name of fun, so if their pictures aren't planned from beginning to end, they can't handle it.

Here's both support and permission: Play. Be spontaneous a little. Then a little more. Say something inadequate. Have the hard conversations. Be vulnerable, then suck it up and put it on canvas, sculpture, music, or poetry. Take the consequences afterwards, too. You can handle it and you'll relate to someone who didn't know they wanted to say the exact same thing and they'll probably buy it, too. You just gave the voiceless a megaphone. Now, how good does that feel??

I know this, my toughest pieces to show were the ones sold first time off the chain and the ones who bought them usually cried in relief and happiness.

Personal Investment. Unless someone has the cajones to invest their internal landscape into the one they've portrayed from their self-taken photograph, I won't listen because I know I've got the guts to be real and they don't. Some people are strictly business people who have some talent, but they aren't risking anything. Any monkey can learn to paint a picture, but can they put their personal perspective into it?

Pretty. Sure I do pretty, but I can't respect pretty unless its genuine, and when they paint pretty to hang in the city hall or for your money, its not genuine. Sure, the world is full of pretty, but what are you conveying with it? I'm not saying all pretty art is inauthentic because I also paint beauty when I feel beauty-- but how many of us feel beauty all the time? Not any of us. Art is supposed to reflect life!

Lets get real here, including art, by showing the totality of who we are. Nostalgic, romantic, dark, moody, conceptual, sweet composition pushing design... know thyself, bogus art making money chasers, and then paint the reality of that. Better yet, I'll paint you, at least I've got the guts.

Well, its safe to assume that if told to do something, the answer is generally no. I don't bow to anyone, but will bend when I want to. And right now, I don't :)

Rebels:

Jesus, Ghandi, Monet, Renoir. Everyone that mattered in history had the balls to buck the established system. Think about that. 


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The Visit

10/13/2013

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Warning, adult language and really weird subject matter ahead. Stop now if you're not an adult or are either so narrowminded or conventional that information from "sensitives" scare you. You've been informed. 

Something odd happened tonight and, admittedly, I needed it :) I had a rough day. My Mom is awake, but she's not eating, she doesn't feel hungry. She says no to a feeding tube, says no to wanting to die, but says no to food by mouth. I mean to tell ya, it is a full time job making sure she eats something. 

Ok, so after today, I ended up pissed off. Most of the day was spent force-feeding mom, literally, with a syringe and ensure. I didn't want to do that, it felt disrespecting, but I kept asking her if she wanted to be ill from not eating (no), if she wanted to eat (yes), if she wanted to fix her low blood sugar (yes). She was so hypoglycemic that she was cold. I wasn't mean, I was stern and loving.

Good news is that after doing that, she was more alert and felt better. I just took the syringe and wiggled it in her mouth, through clenched lips and all, and gave her a squirt to the inside of her cheek. I'm used to this stuff with dealing with Devyn's GERD and that NAAAASTY meds the docs gave him. He had quit eating at all when he was 7 months old from the pain that esophagitis had caused due to the acid repeatedly burning his throat.

So I get home and I'm mad. Maybe it was justified. Maybe it was a pity party. How long is it going to be for me to have a life of my own? Am I willing to continue this at the expense of my little boy? Haven't I suffered enough by saving her life over and over? Hasn't she suffered enough? What fresh hell is this to work so hard to get someone to survive when they say they want to, but all their actions are going against survivability? And finally, just open your mouth and eat, dammit! I don't deny I want to spend the time helping her survive or saving her, but get with the program. (And, yes, I know that her mind is inhibited by toxins, but it doesn't make the feelings any better.)

Knot in stomach, heart in vice, I go to paint. Dev's having some sleep, I start writing all I feel and what I want to say on the canvas and start getting ideas of what its going to be. The letters' lines are going to cue me in on color change. Plus, I'm letting the poison out onto the canvas so it doesn't mess with me later. 

I take a break and walk outside and hear a bell, one sound, over and over. It feels like someone is trying to get my attention. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. I feel someone there. All of a sudden, I was compelled to say "I know you're here, I just wish I could see you." I then started to feel the other person's protectiveness and that I'm never alone. They don't want this dilemma for me or us. But I get the distinct impression it isn't one of my blood relatives. 

I ask Stephen who it might be on his side: the person is protective, not to the I'll take your head off extreme, but by way of getting in between an experience and the person and shield the person. He said that sounded like his Mom. "the person is also very "polite" and would never invite themselves in... they're waiting on being welcomed in. They're not boat rockers, but they wouldn't hesitate to be fierce if they needed to" so, I said it outloud... "hey here, Mom Hill, go ahead and come in. I hope you know you're always welcome here."

With that, I went to get a cup to make some putty and didn't think any more of it. While I was getting the cup, I was overcome with motherly love, all these feelings at once just flooded in like a tsunami... all for Stephen and what he was doing with his life, how he was handling things, how well he loved, what kind of father and husband he was. I was so full of sentimentality, pride and joy (like he was MY son!) for him that I started crying. For me, thinking of my husband as a child, my child, just doesn't happen.  

I stopped what I was doing and went to tell him I was sure it was his Mom and couldn't get out what (I?) she was feeling for him because I was crying too much. I AM NOT A CRIER. I listen to slipknot, I take blows like a champ- get ticked off about situations, not hard, but not mushy, either. Sensitive, yes, empathic and compassionate, but not this.
 
Finally, all I could do was hug him and tell him how wonderful he was and that she was so so so proud of him. She was proud of his choices . He was just a good man. 

I got ahold of myself and told him that was why she was outside, she didn't want to intrude (thats one of the feelings I got) and that if he wanted to be alone with her, he could go outside. Seemed fitting that was where she was "concentrated" seeing as how he was taking out the garbage a minute or so ago. 

Stephen got some things and went outside. And, apparently, so did she... because the tidal wave was gone. I was done and was by myself to do what I wanted and my mind was quiet. What was left in her wake was contentment, gratitude, serenity. Something I'd needed all day long. What a huge gift to the both of us.... she is still mothering both of us :)

I've always considered, probably because of my upbringing and the shame surrounding that-- that I was not the kind of girl one takes home to mama. But oddly enough, as blunt, wild, bossy, outspoken and fun as I can be, but I got the distinct impression she did approve of me :)  I am honored. 
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Stages of Grief: Anger is one of them

9/24/2013

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Grief is a complicated thing and people vascillate between deep despair, denial, anger, making "deals" <--I never did that one, back to one of the ones just mentioned and over and over. About anger... they never really tell you why you're angry or what its going to be directed at, do they? I guess it could be anything.  

Day before yesterday, I saw Oil of Olay bodywash Mom had gotten me for Christmas and I just bawled. For 2 hours. The thought that I didn't do enough for her, make her feel loved enough, just kills me. Since I had Devyn, I didn't have the patience I used to and the thought I'd hurt her feelings, kills me. Not being able to call her to tell her this weird mix of haircolor I concocted looks good, kills me. Not being able to hear her blather away about dumb things breaks my heart. 

Last night, we go there and she's not waking up at all. They'd done a CT scan and there is nothing wrong with her head that she can't wake up... she's just sick. Its not pain meds, its not a high fever, she's just checked out. Hell, I've been sick as a dog, had 105 fever and saw things, yet I could still say hi. WTF?

Then I got angry. I'm actually relieved, anger feels better than that despair. 

A long time ago, a couple built a house. They didn't have everything that they really needed to make it as sturdy as they should, but they wanted one anyway and they built it where they wanted to. It turned out to be a really good house. In the early years of its "life", a hurricane came along, Camille. The house still stood, most folks were surprised given that the hurricane had 200 mph winds. Sure, it lost its shingles, shutters and porch, but somehow the little house made it.  

Other things happened throughout time, additions had been built onto the house, new rooms, renovations, celebrations, births and birthdays. More hurricanes came and went and the house creaked and moaned and the superfluous parts blew off, but the main structure still stood. The couple was proud of themselves and their construction and maintained life as usual, thinking that all is fine. They tended to the outside, the gardens, the furniture, but never thought to check the bones of the house.

Later on, a small but compact storm, category 1, hit the house and this time, it started to shake more than usual, making crumbling sounds. No one understood: its withstood the biggest and strongest of winds, why would it now begin to crumble? The winds are coming from a different direction, its a small storm comparatively, so why is this happening? 

No one heard the support beams splinter in initial storm's torrential rains because they were so busy mopping up the superficial water on the floor. So now, people are shocked that this small category 1 is about to take out the small, seemingly sturdy house. 

The ones living there even get mad at the house: this is a completely different situation! Why are you crumbling??

How stupid is that?? Well for someone seeing the situation for what it is, there are a few choices... strengthen the support beams, move the house away from the hurricane-habitat or watch it blow over. 

Such is the life of someone who is an ACOA when they live long enough to revisit situations that remind them of initial childhood insults. Even long after sobriety and the choice to live a better life, the structural damage remains. In my situation, I've saved my Mom's life over and over and over-- whether it was through hiding her booze so she wouldn't drink into oblivion and drown in the bathtub, begging her to leave a man who would eventually kill her, all the warnings I gave her to behave differently when Dad (if he knew what she was doing) would beat her for what she was doing, hiding her in my closet when she came back after "running off", to actually sitting on her lap as a human shield when he was going to shoot her. 

Today, I am tired of having to make life and death choices for someone who isn't present. 

No matter how many times Stephen tells me that the situation is different, I can't help but feel tired and resentful. Yes its different, but the effect is still the same. I don't get a life, I get sadness and fear and loss. Whether its by choice (alcohol, a husband) or by nature (Nocardia), I am fucking tired of this and angry. I want her to suck it up, wake up and make a choice between life and death and not leave me to do it for her, like most of my life.     

But as unfair as it is, thats not going to happen. And I'm still left here to look at limbo with the thought that something else could be done to snap her out of this. My heart still breaks and yearns for the person she was before the illness. I still see some fucking olay bodywash somewhere, all day every day. God, I miss her and I'm mad and I don't want to make this decision. But here I am. 

My beams may be wobbly, but my foundation is strong. So fuck you, storm, bring it. Blow the house down. I'll rebuild.  
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Hard times

9/20/2013

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This is so not what I want to blog about, but I've got to get some of this out. I'll let friends know a little bit at a time, but thats about it. And, just to let them know why their stuff isn't done yet or I'm late for something. I just had to take a minute.

Life's been hard recently and just when I thought it can't get any harder, it did. Mom had been chronically ill and on her last days/weeks/months, but I had to put being with her on the backburner to work at what I could to make ends meet. I worked my ass off painting, promoting, etc. The day that Mom got really sick, I broke and told Stephen to do what he had to do to get whatever job he could. I literally told him to stalk the HR people where he's sent resumes and meant it. 

Then, good news: we got relief when Stephen got word that he was hired in Seattle. I can't even remember the name of the place... Its going to be a drive, but I am so relieved. I'm just worried for him travelling that much and being tired. It is so hard to be ripped apart by having to choose between making a life for your child/family or spend your last experiences with your Mom. I chose and now I don't have to. Thank you, God.  

Tuesday, Sept. 10, Mom was admitted to the hospital with with colitis- caused by the serious chemo-type antibiotics that is supposed to help win the war against Nocardia pneumonia she contracted in June/July of this year. Long term steroid use (which is sometimes just one course) creates vulnerability to Nocardia. She had to go to the hospital... they took her off the antibiotics for the colitis. The Nocardia had no speedbumps and then took off like a shot and sepsis ensued (the infection is in the blood then).

Then septic shock. Seeing her there, swollen like a blimp and leaking fluid from her extremities and on a ventilator, was too much. There is a point in illness when you had rather bear the huge loss of a loved-one rather than see them hold on through suffering for you. You can let your loved ones go much easier than watching them suffer. I think that is how parents of terminally ill children survive the aftermath. I could survive Devyn's passing better than seeing him suffer- oh God. Just please don't ever put me, him, us through that, please, no part of that. No parent should.

So, these days are filled with getting up with less sleep under my belt than I'd like, trying to take care of Dev as best I can, grabbing a minute for computer work and chores, trying to keep more patience than I feel like I can handle at the moment, going to the hospital and loving Mom, coming home, doing dinner, staying up late and working. Its hard and sad, but its supposed to be. And I'm not doing it alone, Stephen is here and doing the best he can, too. 

I'm so grateful to love what I do and have a passion for it. Graphics, promo for the Stanwood-Camano Arts Guild, painting, loving people through what I do. As a gift from God, it has been my saving Grace. 

They took the ventilator out today, but her other numbers aren't looking good, but we'll see how that changes with this new antibiotic. She woke up talking about Mary, Mary, Mary Magdalene. Her mind isn't here and she's in between places and the Angels, Spirits, Guides are helping her to let go here by forming relationships there. They know she won't let go because of the love she has here. That is what I think is going on. I really think they tried earlier and it didn't work- she's a clinger and she wouldn't let go. This time, they're taking their time and easing her into it- but that means her body feels more pain than we here want to see her feel. 

I can't wait to share the dream that Stephen and I had. It'll be a painting, probably one of my best. Just when I think things can't get more beautiful, rich, mysterious or unbelievable, it does.  

 
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The Multifaceted Life/Telling Your Story is Healing

4/26/2013

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Don't read this if you don't want your mood to drop like one of those jets with bad batteries. Read on if you want someone to relate to or just out of curiousity.

I've got so much work to do, but I'm taking a mental health evening. I read Damn You AutoCorrect! and got a good laugh. I even had a nap. I needed a mental health evening instead of working at every available minute cuz Mom had to be taken to the hospital again at about 5 a.m. this morning via ambulance. She started vomiting and had other "issues", while her hands were tingling and burning like fire. Sounded like an allergic reaction to me. I didn't take her, but that didn't mean that I wasn't up bothered, tho. Yes, I prayed. 

Today was my day. Stephen and I started switching days (one day is his work day and the next is mine) and we get a bunch more done that way. I was glad today was mine; I got to paint. It didn't help with my attitude, tho, like it usually does.

I'm just tired. Bone tired. What triggers my depression is stressful events that just keep coming, like ocean swells knocking me down over and over, and I think thats whats going on.

Normally, I'm a conqueror- I don't worry, I deal with "it", attack whatever it is head on when "it" happens and I'm not afraid of much of anything. But this shit keeps coming. Just when I think I've got a little while to recuperate, I get hit again. And I'm starting to get pissed off about it. God, fate, bad luck, whatever it is, give me a freaking break for about two months. Just let me catch my breath and get a few steps forward, ok?

Not that I think life shouldn't be this way, that these experiences are unfair, it what it is and I could be anybody. I would feel better if I could get a leg up out of this pit that keeps getting deeper. Every time I get my stuff set up to go out and network with other art sellers/dealers/interior designers, something serious happens and all forward progress has to cease. I get a project going and momentum (you know, the "flow" where its coming together and you're in the zone) I have to stop to write some dry assed complaint form with the Mississippi Board of Realtors or Dispute of Settlements and Fees. Its both draining and distracting, then there's this recuperation time (that may or may not happen) and then shit hits the fan again:

continued below this line.............

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Hey creative people out there, don't let anyone devalue your gifts to the world. 

4/2/2013

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"I took one for my creative team." Thats how I choose to look at it. We've all been there with our creative work, pearls among swine-- but how you deal with it is up to you. Confront right there, hand out a flyer, give 'em a walk off... but just don't stand there and allow it to happen to you.

My creative team is all those wonderful artists of all kinds out there who deal with this daily and can never say a word- and even for those that do say something. You're my sisters and brothers from the same Parent.

The first day I was tired and mildly annoyed. As time went on, my subconscious kept nagging at me, so I had to take the previous post and make a flyer out of it. I feel so much better now.

I wasn't as irritated with the people because they just *didn't know*, but I was really ticked off at myself for buying into that stingy attitude. I guess I was ignorant, too. Next time, I promise that I'm handing this out to people who complain because I'm not doing "free" work. Cuz.... I won't be mean, but I'm not letting it slide even tho I don't have the time to stop and discuss it right then.

If any other creative person wants the template for the flyer below, just let me know and I'll take out personal stuff and hand it over to you to change as you need. Just post a comment down there with your email and its yours.

Thank God my head finally shut up :) Moving on...


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Artist Value Systems "I thought this was free!" in regards to our facepainting at events. But it applies to everything~

3/31/2013

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I’ve heard this statement enough times to have to make an information sheet. Its not offensive because its an opportunity to educate clients on what happens behind the scenes of HillArtistry. Basically, if I’m charging, that means the event hosts have not compensated me  for my services.

The short answer is “no” and if you’re curious, here is why-

First, I value my

    · clients and the supplies that is used on them.
            -I don’t use cheap face paint that you get at the Dollar Plus store (no                 offense Dollar Plus store). Don’t EVER use acrylic paint on your kids,             either! Its bad!
            -I personally make much of what goes onto your child’s face, especially             near their eyes and lips, so I know exactly what is in it because I don’t                 trust cheaply made paints with unpronouncable ingredients.
             -The pre-made colors that I buy are made in America, where I know we             have strict FDA guidelines to follow. China has been known for                     using LEAD, associated with decreased IQ scores and                             neurological damage in children.
    · supplies, the really COOL ones.
           -I use WICKED glitters and color changing pigments that actually                     change color as the light hits it or they move. No one else uses this,                     that I have seen.
          -Our brushes don’t fall apart and leave annoying hairs that get stuck in the             paint, children’s eyes, etc.
    · expertise- and this is why we have long lines.
          -I’m a professional with high standards and won’t do a heart, ladybug, or           some other silly thing that takes 2 minutes to do (unless that is what the               child wants-  because its about them :) You won’t see stencils, either :)
          -Many of the images I use are my own designs.
          -I rock as an artist, like the “Metallica” of artists and face painters.                   Sometimes you can’t tell because energetic kiddos twitch… but the more           still your little one is, the better these things come out. Sometimes I do               have a bad day and I give discounts according to my quality if I really jack           up something or can’t finish. It’s a matter of pride to be truly fair to the           people I appreciate-- YOU.

Secondly, I value my time to

    · upload your children’s pictures for you to print out in cropped, high                 resolution jpegs.
    · learn the safest ingredients and how to mix them to get the effects I (and         your child) want. Ordering, mixing, putting into containers, it all takes time.
    · thoroughly clean the brushes used on your child alone. (If I use one brush on     two kids, they are either siblings or I got confused and accidently grabbed it.)     Afterwards, the brushes are washed with hypoallergenic Dawn and then             de-stained and disinfected with alcohol.

Most importantly because I value

    · my family. All of this is time that could be spent with my son and husband.
    · my job. And it does what jobs do, like pay bills, buy gas, buy shoes and             medicine. I am a working mother and because we have bills and normal                 expenses, work has to get done. Don’t worry, I have a BFA with a minor in         psychology so this isn’t the only job I do. But I also wouldn’t come to your job     and expect you to do something for me for free. Just because it’s a blast and a     joy to paint children doesn’t mean that work isn’t getting done. This just             happens to be all you get to see, the most fun aspects of my job!

So thank you for having the courage to ask and the respect to appreciate what I do.

This is why I do what I do and what was going on outside while I was cleaning brushes:



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So now what? Was the disintegration positive?

3/29/2013

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In a word, YES. It took a long time, much fearful insights (not fearless. Courage comes from being afraid and doing what you know is right. Fearless is just... stupid. Fearless people don't have the sense to be scared, ha ha. BTDT in the teen years).

Now, life is good. We still have money troubles, an argument here and there, but the internal conflict and resolution are much easier because the agitated anxiety taught me to be open no matter how armored and spikey others are, to respect my value system, to stay away from people that don't "get" me and head towards healthy people who do. I also was gifted with the foresight to do what is right according to my conscience and for the greater good (can't even walk past litter w/out picking it up), so hopefully my art reflects this wisdom gleaned.

My art of the time is meant to be scary, funny and freaky. Thats how the situation was. My art now? Somewhat the same, but in a much more beautiful and spiritual context. God uses all sorts of experiences for his art supplies :)
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Disconnection: The Core of Pain

3/29/2013

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So anyway, after watching Brene Brown, the painting's meaning finally became comprehensible. It is about how the outside world lives in a space of ego and armor and I didn't. Never have. I tried and it felt completely un-natural, so I shut up and shut down.

Because of this, the feeling of belonging never came to me (until many years later when I met fellow artists/sensitives). Until then, "Fitting in" was something completely alien, and never so evident as when I was in the throws of my breakdown. The scream came from the feeling of not being able to escape it, this emotional knowledge of the disparity between what is inside people and what they show. There is a real person in there somewhere beyond the armor and spikes. Although people's internal workings are none of my business, open-ness is a gift not many people give. Sad, because they get so much more out of the interaction.
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The rabbit is the Velveteen Rabbit. Like the Velveteen rabbit, you become real once you have been loved to the point of pain (intimacy brings pain). Real relationships bring arguments and misunderstandings... the rabbit has a scar on its heart and also its wrist. Its in the shape of Edvard's original person, with the same acidic colors (agitated depression heightens adhd or any of your senses, everything feels like an assault). Besides that, check out the dudes walking up the pier. You can't get a read on them, they don't want to look you in the eye. The one without the spikes actually smiled.

In the background are the tell-tale trees painted by every MS gulf coast artist that shows. All the trees look the same, so since this is about not fitting in, I put them in there. Most of the artists of the region also painted shrimpboats and magnolias at some point, so I have a shrimpboat in the background (that didn't exist- due to Katrina) and after feeling shunned at several art shows there (and not from this painting, either, lol) I painted USS FU as the boat's name. 
The struggle of my entire life had revolved around this ONE topic. When no one lives in the space you do or is willing to take off their psychic clothes either, the hunger for intimacy of being real with another person like yourself creates a starvation, a famine of the soul. At the time, I didn't know why or where it was coming from, but the depression had stripped me of any psychic skin and exposed the real guts of the matter. God was part of this, but God had stepped into the background... I suppose to allow me to be taken apart to be put back together again. How many other artists cannibalize their creations to make something new and improved?

For more information about psychic upheavals and re-integrations, read here about "THE POSITIVE DISINTEGRATION THEORY"
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Art and People: The Ultimate in Soul Work; The Culmination of All Experiences

3/28/2013

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This is about both #DaringGreatly & #vulnerability. This topic is the basis of courage (lifetime and creative) through vulnerability and it will take a while, so I may jump some abstract steps. This is the thing about anyone that makes other people comfortable, connected to others and themselves- and simultaneously its the thing that scares the hell out of others. It is a given in our culture that vulnerability is considered weakness (and women aren't any different than men here). Just through day to day life, its evident that many people see this as a risky venture.

Yet, this is the thing that makes art- paintings, movies, music- all breathtaking.

Case in point, I was honest at a public talk that I hated to give talks because I have a speaking phobia. One lady told me that I "didn't have to tall that". She was ashamed! It was so evident from the look on her face that she also had a speaking phobia and the thought of admitting she had a vulnerability triggered her own fear. I hugged her and told her it was ok. The more I thought, the more I realized many of my strong mentors are like this. Another anecdote are my friends who may laugh at bawdy jokes- even tell a few, love funny, risque cards, but to have one on their personal pages given by a friend? I thought I'd give someone a heart attack. IMO, I think that is sad. They were so afraid that they would be unfriended by something I (a stranger to the others) did, that they scrambled in fever pitch to get it off at 2 am. So afraid of judgement.... who would judge? Church people? Family? In-laws? How sad to not be yourself no matter where you are or who you're with. Take it from someone who has had the best and worst of friends and family: if they can't handle a curse word, they won't be there for you in hard times. If a word freaks them out, they're not worth the worry.

Not so for me, I'm incapable of living differently at this point. The thought made me want to upload my own art therapy paintings that are not on the mainstream Art Pages and discuss them. But, I have a new painting in mind. I've got a few under my belt already, in Art and People...pt. 2, but this one is going to be different. 

The painting is an internal portrait, the happiest place I've ever been- not bubbly-rose-colored-glasses kind of happy or even one that doesn't come through hard work and slide-backs, but a true contentment and satisfaction that living one's true life path brings. Your own honest-to-God value system. This piece is going to have funny, bawdy, loving, disturbing stuff shaped into a beautiful and spiritual scene. Thats been my life so far. If people don't like it, they can take it up with God :)

This security is the absence of subjective, yet universal, anxiety that comes from being open, real and transparent. No one has anything to find out and I'm not ashamed of anything. It sounds like an oxymoron when I say that I still do have shame. As in all of us, its a constant work in progress and I'll write about it. I'm not alone.

We all have it. Its that fear that there is something about us that will stop other people from loving, accepting or connecting with us. This is the thing that keeps us from writing the depths of our hearts, losing ourselves by belting out the song to the point of spit flying out of our squinched up faces, giving that talk that makes our hair stand on our arms (and everyone else's) and painting our truths (beautiful or ugly) to the ultimate of our potential that cause everyone to gasp.

This is what Robert Frost meant by "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader." Of course! If you're scared to "go there", how can you take anyone else there? How can we, as creative people in no matter what we do, offer any kind of connection with deeper truths of humanity when we are afraid of opening up and seeing ourselves and allowing others to see us for how we truly are?

Back to Dr. Brene Brown (can be seen here), she articulates this part about human nature the best I've heard. Her book, Daring Greatly is just about that. I was taken aback when I saw her on Oprah's Super Soul Sunday because this is the thing that ended me up in therapy with a category 5 nervous breakdown. See Art and People pt 2.

If its not there yet, I'm working on it.... (as of 3/28/13)






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    Linda Hill

    I am a life long artist, divorced from a 20 year marriage and a Mommy to a gorgeous little boy  for  3 years.

    I love God Consciousness, love to give and love the human spirit in all its forms. Nothing separates us, separation is an illusion.

    Its taken me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin, scars and all. A past of neglect and sometimes abuse gave me issues I have to work through, sometimes here.

    What helped me most is to truly love and help others. You can't give what you don't have, but by giving, you will find that you already have all that you could ever wish for.

    My art, blog and life has been about "owning" myself along with all the mixed blessings that come with this thing we call life.

    Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I have become REAL.




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