- Published on
Remember Everything
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
"Remember Everything" - oil on linen-wrapped canvas, 26 x 32 x 1.5 inches. This is unframed but ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
“I don’t want to lose a single thread
from the intricate brocade of this happiness.
I want to remember everything.”― Mary Oliver, FELICITY
There are many of us who are leaning toward becoming unraveled right now. The temptation to lose the thread of our happiness is palpable.
It's easy to understand. I confess there are days I watch the metaphorical spool of thread rolling down the sidewalk, twisting and tangling in flotsam and jetsam until I feel discouraged - it is so much work to untangle and rewind the threads of our connections and beliefs.
And yet...underneath this roiling maelstrom of dystopian events is a growing undercurrent of connectedness, compassion, feisty rebellion and hutzpah. The intricate brocade of this happiness will not be so easily unraveled! There is Kelly with her blue bracelets of safety, Helaine with her megaphone of DANGER WILL ROBINSON and Thea with her bottomless well of encouragement. There's Liz with her community of rebellious artists, Erica the queen of crow memes, Sara of the tender heart and also my own husband's optimism and intellectual parsing that keeps my inner Calamity Jane at bay. Dotty who asks "what if" and keeps her own blog readers curious and asking questions, Carl whose Herculean work ethic reminds us there are things to be done - no time for wallowing! All of these and so many more who are glimmering, sparkling and glowing in the world, lighting up the exits and pointing the way forward.
I have the feeling my ball of twine is no longer at risk of unraveling completely. Thank you, dear readers!
I have the feeling my ball of twine is no longer at risk of unraveling completely. Thank you, dear readers!
About the art: beginning with a well-gesso'd linen wrapped canvas and a long brush laden with thinned paint, I made a rough sketch of the figure, leaving the wing feathers mostly undefined. To achieve a super dark background, I worked first from the outside-in, laying down a wash of darks and cutting in to the edges of the figure. Then working from the inside outward and allowing the edges to blend in places with the wet darks. A dance of back and forth between the inside to the outside and then the reverse to keep the darks building in intensity and some of the edges wispy. The requisite 80 million layers on the wings and dress. A month of drying time before coming in with a thin, wet brush to create the ball of "twine" and have it stand out from the rest of the piece.
The inspiration for this one came from the psilocybin journey I took over the summer, where I could "see" a feathery presence gently protecting my heart and spirit. Perhaps we all have wings...
The inspiration for this one came from the psilocybin journey I took over the summer, where I could "see" a feathery presence gently protecting my heart and spirit. Perhaps we all have wings...
The November Reader Giveaway continues! Leave a comment on any blog post this month to be automatically entered.
And the Once-a-Year Sale is ON NOW! Get your original art while it lasts - the artist has murderous intentions with gesso!
And the Once-a-Year Sale is ON NOW! Get your original art while it lasts - the artist has murderous intentions with gesso!
- Published on
A Certain Interior Expansion
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
"A Certain Interior Expansion" - oil on paper, 14 x 21 inches. This item is unmounted and unframed. (click on the image to purchase)
The venture into space is meaningless unless it coincides with a certain interior expansion, an ever growing universe within, to correspond with the far flight of the galaxies our telescopes follow from without… That inward world… can be more volatile and mobile, more terrible and impoverished, yet withal more ennobling in its self-consciousness, than the universe that gave it birth. - LOREN EISELEY
Eiseley's words grabbed me by both shoulders, shook me, looked me in the eye and said SEE? YOUR INWARD WORLD IS JUST LIKE A SCI-FI ADVENTURE! Whoa! Where's my spacesuit? Let's gear up and GO!
I don't know about you, dear reader, but as an anxious and introverted creative being I spend a lot of time looking inward. It's not like I choose that particular adventure, it is just where my moon boots go. They have a mind of their own. And that inner world can, indeed, be volatile, mobile, terrible and impoverished. But it can also be beautiful, vast, surprising and adventure-filled.
Maybe that's what we're doing here, sharing paintings and words and things that inspire interior expansion. Because it is quite challenging to share an interior view with those on the outside. Yet art and words (and music and dance and photos and theater and and and!) allow us to get a glimpse of that galaxy of wonder in another that we may never otherwise see. And once in a while, that glimpse informs and expands our own inner landscape and propels us to venture further. Oh!!!
About the art: another inspiration image from the AI bot that launched me into another world of paint exploration. I asked for one thing, received another and then created something further afield than that. Beginning with a very old acrylic painting on arches watercolor paper, I sketched the figure and began laying in the background colors loosely, allowing one color to blend into the next for an ombre effect. Using light washes thinned with walnut oil, it takes a LOT of layers. I embraced some hard shadows on the figure - skeletal? Cyborg? Alien? Who knows? But she likes her fancy clothes and isn't afraid to wear them with a helmet. Using a small rubber wedge, I carved back into the wet paint layers in the dress to expose a bit of the underpainting. I cannot help but wonder what she's thinking...
The October Reader Giveaway begins today! Leave a comment on any of this month's blog posts to be automatically entered. One (or more) lucky commenters will win a piece of original artwork - FREE! Now that's a treat for your Halloween bag. :)
- Published on
"Ask Much, Want More" - oil on paper, 17 x 22.5. This piece is unmounted and unframed. (click on the image to purchase)
Ask Much, Want More
LISTEN to the blog by clicking the DOWNLOAD link above
Ask much, the voice suggested, and I startled.
Feeling my body like the trembling body of a horse
tied to its tree while the strange noise
passes over its ears.
I who in extremity had always wanted less,
even of eating, of sleeping.
Agile, the voice did not speak again, but waited.
“Want more” -
a cure for longing I had not thought of.
But that is how it is with wells.
Whatever is taken refills to the steady level.
The voice agreed, though softly, to quiet the feet of the horse:
A cup taken out, a cup reappears; a bucketful taken, a bucket.
- JANE HIRSHFIELD, Ask Much, The Voice Suggested
Ask much?
Oh HO! How the inner being quivers and shies away from the very thought of it.
WANT MORE!
How could I possibly?
And yet...those of us who have experienced perhaps a less functional upbringing, a bit (or a lot) of trauma, the silencing of our asking, the muffling of our wants and needs - we need to ask much and want more. Makes me shake in my very boots (I startled...like the trembling of a horse)
Hirshfield's "voice" suggests a bucketful - so now I am thinking cargo tankers and blimps filled with my heart's desire. Dare I? Oh yes, I do.
Oh HO! How the inner being quivers and shies away from the very thought of it.
WANT MORE!
How could I possibly?
And yet...those of us who have experienced perhaps a less functional upbringing, a bit (or a lot) of trauma, the silencing of our asking, the muffling of our wants and needs - we need to ask much and want more. Makes me shake in my very boots (I startled...like the trembling of a horse)
Hirshfield's "voice" suggests a bucketful - so now I am thinking cargo tankers and blimps filled with my heart's desire. Dare I? Oh yes, I do.
About the art: Wonderland is never far from my imagination. It was just a matter of time before the Queen of Hearts made another appearance. And in this one, her voice VERY LOUD, she asks for (nay, DEMANDS) exactly what she wants. This is one of those pieces that happened easily, relatively swiftly and without much gnashing of teeth. A neutral underpainting, a quick sketch with brush and dark paint, layers of walnut-oil thinned paint on skin and clothing. A little extra care with the focal point (her open mouth) and a full RESIST RESIST RESIST when I wanted to keep fussing with it. I mean, if you get what you ask for, stop and enjoy it - don't keep fussing at it. Sheesh. Artists are troublesome. :)
The September Reader Giveaway has begun! Leave a comment on a blog post this month and be automatically entered. Leave multiple comments to be entered as many times! The winner will be drawn at random at the end of the month, and will receive a piece of original art - free! Hooray!
- Published on
Dolores on Tuesday
"Dolores on Tuesday" - oil on cradled wood panel, 24 x 12 x 1.25. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.”― C.S. Lewis
Sometimes, when we peel back the onion of anger, we find deep sorrow, grief and mourning.
Anger feels purposeful, feisty, empowered, action-oriented and (often) satisfying. Grief, on the other hand, feels all of the opposite things - weak, low-energy, motionless, heavy. It is so much easier to be mad than to be sad.
And so I am learning to be with my grief. To let the feelings wash over and through me, buffeting me about a bit, seeping into all the nooks and crannies. I am learning to be uncomfortable without pushing it away. The more I practice this, the easier it gets. And somehow, it is expansive. I feel larger inside, instead of tense and tight and retracted.
Dolores relaxes into her grief and oddly manages to make it look cool. Who knew?
“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.”― C.S. Lewis
Sometimes, when we peel back the onion of anger, we find deep sorrow, grief and mourning.
Anger feels purposeful, feisty, empowered, action-oriented and (often) satisfying. Grief, on the other hand, feels all of the opposite things - weak, low-energy, motionless, heavy. It is so much easier to be mad than to be sad.
And so I am learning to be with my grief. To let the feelings wash over and through me, buffeting me about a bit, seeping into all the nooks and crannies. I am learning to be uncomfortable without pushing it away. The more I practice this, the easier it gets. And somehow, it is expansive. I feel larger inside, instead of tense and tight and retracted.
Dolores relaxes into her grief and oddly manages to make it look cool. Who knew?
About the art: for this piece, I wanted to experiment with flat colors, line and contrast. A long, flat brush held at a distance. Hard edges. A paint-laden rubber wedge pulled across under layers. Unexpected color. Deep darks. Oh!
The JUNE READER GIVEAWAY is here!
This month I'm wondering - what YOU do to refill your inspiration tank?
Leave a comment below. One (or more) readers will win a piece of art - FREE!
This month I'm wondering - what YOU do to refill your inspiration tank?
Leave a comment below. One (or more) readers will win a piece of art - FREE!
- Published on
Turning Within and Blossoming Without
"Turning Within and Blossoming Without" - oil on cradled wood panel, 18 x 24 x 1.5 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
Continuing our exploration of Maureen Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Similarly, when you hurt me, I curled like a mouse behind my third eye. I realize what an
odd thing it is to believe as I do in my third eye and the mouse behind it that furls like a fern
and whimpers like a fern being boiled on a monster stove beside its brothers and sisters.
Poor mouse. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Think of DNA,
Continuing our exploration of Maureen Seaton's Fiddleheads:
Similarly, when you hurt me, I curled like a mouse behind my third eye. I realize what an
odd thing it is to believe as I do in my third eye and the mouse behind it that furls like a fern
and whimpers like a fern being boiled on a monster stove beside its brothers and sisters.
Poor mouse. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Think of DNA,
the way it resembles the rope Jack climbed to secure his future and that of his aging Mom.
Or the way a sudden wave can drag a child under, that addiction to adrenalin, her
siblings farther away and more powerless than she ever imagined, the pure and ecstatic
irreversibility of undertow. It’s odd to come back to life, as they say, she came back to life.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Or the way a sudden wave can drag a child under, that addiction to adrenalin, her
siblings farther away and more powerless than she ever imagined, the pure and ecstatic
irreversibility of undertow. It’s odd to come back to life, as they say, she came back to life.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Think of DNA, Seaton writes.
Oh, I do. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Oddly, 50% of my DNA is mysterious, of unknown origin, vague shadows of Turkey and Italy and other unexpected lands. An unknown father. A story that died with my mother, before it was ever told. It remains her secret.
It's odd to come back to life, says Seaton. And yet we do, cycling through seasons of turning within and blossoming without, coming back to life when we rediscover lost parts of ourselves and when we discover new parts we perhaps never knew existed. Seaton's words take us down into that dark valley, hinting at the irreversible and then suddenly resurrecting us with a single sentence - she came back to life. Oh!
Oh, I do. The things that make a person odd are odd themselves. Oddly, 50% of my DNA is mysterious, of unknown origin, vague shadows of Turkey and Italy and other unexpected lands. An unknown father. A story that died with my mother, before it was ever told. It remains her secret.
It's odd to come back to life, says Seaton. And yet we do, cycling through seasons of turning within and blossoming without, coming back to life when we rediscover lost parts of ourselves and when we discover new parts we perhaps never knew existed. Seaton's words take us down into that dark valley, hinting at the irreversible and then suddenly resurrecting us with a single sentence - she came back to life. Oh!
About the art: beginning with black gesso over an old acrylic painting and carving through the gesso while wet to expose some of the original colors. Once dry, a loose figure sketch in white. Working from the outside-in to further define the figure by using a rubber wedge and walnut oil thinned paint. For the figure and the moon, many layers of thinned paint with broad strokes, keeping it loose. Blending with fingers and a soft cloth. Allowing some edges to remain crisp while blurring others. Carving through the wet paint with a small rubber edge to create texture in the "fabric". Standing (or sitting) ten feet back periodically to keep from losing the gesture of the piece. I've got a small sofa at a set distance from the work in process now. Sitting there and contemplating each piece daily has helped me see better where a painting works and doesn't.
- Published on
The Realization of Her Own Oddness
"The Realization of Her Own Oddness" - oil on cradled wood panel, 12 x 24 x 1.75 inches. Ready to hang. (click on the image to purchase)
The first time I saw hundreds of fiddlehead ferns boiling in an enormous pot I realized
what an odd person I must be to hear tiny cries from the mouths of cooking vegetables.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Around this time last year, a poem (Sometimes A Wild God, by Tom Hiron) inspired me to create a body of work. (See The Wild God)
The poem informed the work, which informed my understanding of the poem. I don't know how poetry works for you, dear reader, but for me the best way to really "get" one is to spend a little time each day with it.
When I first read Seaton's Fiddleheads, I had the same visceral response as I experienced with Sometimes A Wild God - Oh! THIS!
So off we go, a little piece at a time.
The first time I saw hundreds of fiddlehead ferns boiling in an enormous pot I realized
what an odd person I must be to hear tiny cries from the mouths of cooking vegetables.
- FROM FIDDLEHEADS BY MAUREEN SEATON
Around this time last year, a poem (Sometimes A Wild God, by Tom Hiron) inspired me to create a body of work. (See The Wild God)
The poem informed the work, which informed my understanding of the poem. I don't know how poetry works for you, dear reader, but for me the best way to really "get" one is to spend a little time each day with it.
When I first read Seaton's Fiddleheads, I had the same visceral response as I experienced with Sometimes A Wild God - Oh! THIS!
So off we go, a little piece at a time.
Seaton's opening sentences in this poem give us the opportunity to play fill in the blank in our own lives:
what an odd person I must be to__________
what an odd person I must be to__________
- feel the sighing melancholy in the tilt of a robot's head
- delight in the madness of big storms and thunder and raging wind, hail and rain
- wonder what goes on in the minds of ants and spiders and what their eyes see
And so on. But in asking (and answering) the question, there is a slight lift of the spirit - I am odd, but so are all people, really. We're connected that way.
Embracing each other's oddness is a lovely thought for a Monday.
Embracing each other's oddness is a lovely thought for a Monday.
About the art: the AI bot is learning my innermost ballgown bot dreams. It has begun layering my reference images with dripping fabric and paint, spring pastels and the soft hint of wings. Oh oh and OH! Beginning with a cradled wood panel gesso'd in white and drawing the form shapes with colored pencil. Working from the outside in for the base layers to keep the form edges crisp, then from the inside out to allow the oil-thinned paint at the bottom of her gown to drip and mix with the background underpainting. Brushes, rubber wedges, fingers and a soft cloth were used in creating this piece. Allowing the thickness of final paint layers to create texture and fabric folds. As always, resisting the urge to perfect, walking away and looking back from a distance to see her essence. I think she's quite content.
- Published on
Stop Badgering Me
"Stop Badgering Me" - oil on wood panel, 24 x 18 x .75 Ready to hang.
"Fear, Illuminated " - oil on Yupo, 18 x 12.5
"Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks" - pen and ink on Yupo, 8.5 x 8.5
(click on the images to purchase)
"Stop Badgering Me" - oil on wood panel, 24 x 18 x .75 Ready to hang.
"Fear, Illuminated " - oil on Yupo, 18 x 12.5
"Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks" - pen and ink on Yupo, 8.5 x 8.5
(click on the images to purchase)
In the midst of a breakdown, we often wonder whether we have gone mad. We have not. We’re behaving oddly, no doubt, but beneath the agitation we are on a hidden yet logical search for health. We haven’t become ill; we were ill already. Our crisis, if we can get through it, is an attempt to dislodge us from a toxic status quo and constitutes an insistent call to rebuild our lives on a more authentic and sincere basis. It belongs, in the most acute and panicked way, to the search for self-knowledge. - Alain de Botton The School of Life: An Emotional Education
If you've never had a panic attack, this post might feel a bit foreign to you. If you have experienced a panic attack (or more than one, or many), then you've got an intimate relationship with what we call the "Honey Badger."
Panic, or fear of fear, originates in the amygdala, the primitive brain over which we have no control. It's great when you're in danger, but maddening when you're not in danger, but it decides you are, and also that you have no say in the matter.
Fear, Illuminated
It can begin with a fear of public speaking, or heights, or social situations or something seemingly silly and benign. It may be based on a frightening or painful past experience, or it may not. The why does not matter to the Honey Badger. You can waste a lot of time asking why.
The real question is: what? What is your body experiencing, what was the situation before hand, what can you do to feel better?
Making Friends With The Enemy Has Unexpected Perks
There is no easy remedy for panic.
Curiosity helps. And patience. And a willingness to look the Honey Badger in the eye. Because the more you despise the old HB, the bigger he grows. You gotta make friends with the badger if you want to survive. Because, believe it or not, HB wants to push you to the other side of something.. And the only way through is through. Not over, not under, not around. Through the gaping maw of the badger and chomp chomp chomp. Down through the stomach and out the other end. Messy, smelly, and so damned uncomfortable.
Thank goodness there is art.
Curiosity helps. And patience. And a willingness to look the Honey Badger in the eye. Because the more you despise the old HB, the bigger he grows. You gotta make friends with the badger if you want to survive. Because, believe it or not, HB wants to push you to the other side of something.. And the only way through is through. Not over, not under, not around. Through the gaping maw of the badger and chomp chomp chomp. Down through the stomach and out the other end. Messy, smelly, and so damned uncomfortable.
Thank goodness there is art.
About the art: sometimes it is easier to approach a challenging topic visually. In this series, panic (as the Honey Badger) is depicted as initially an overwhelming experience (this HB is TOO BIG!), then as something perhaps more manageable but still alarming (especially when it is brought out of the dark corner and illuminated), and finally as an ally - the thing within you that leads to examining, accepting, rebuilding the framework into something adventurous and strengthening.
Have you had experiences with panic? I'd love to know. Leave a comment below!
Have you had experiences with panic? I'd love to know. Leave a comment below!
Congratulations, Candis and Thea! Wonder Mike chose your names at random as winners of the March Reader Giveaway! Email your mailing address to thewanderingsofllola@gmail.com and your free art will be on its way to you. Thank you for sharing your super powers with us. xo
- Published on
We Are All Hard And Soft
"We Are All Hard and Soft" - oil on Yupo, 12 x 17. (click on the image to purchase)
“The hard things break. The soft things bend. The stubborn ones batter themselves against all that is immovable. The flexible adapt to what is before them. Of course, we are all hard and soft, stubborn and flexible, and so we all break until we learn to bend and are battered until we accept what is before us. ― MARK NEPO, The Book of Awakening
it's an oft repeated theme with Nepo, this breaking until we learn to bend. And with good reason. Many of us (me! me!) are hard-headed stubborn types. It takes a lot of repetition for wisdom to get through to the soft insides.
Perhaps that's what intrigues me about this series of ballgown-bots - they are hard and soft. Of course, the hard portion is the head. The thoughts are steadfastly guarded with impenetrable helmets and shatter-proof orbs. Hard even as the soft whisper of fabric flows around the rest of the body. Fabric and fashion as a reminder to bend and accept. Methinks I need a fancy dress. :)
About the art: at this point, I have hundreds of inspiration images for this series of ballgown-bots. It becomes easier to see what poses, fabrics, colors and compositions grab my attention - like this one, which I loved immediately. Beginning with unprimed Yupo, I sketched the rough outline of the figure and painted the first wash of the background first. Building layers on the figure, then carving into wet paint with a rubber wedge to "draw" the pleats and folds of the fabric. Rubbing away paint in highlight areas and to expose the now stained Yupo. More layers to the background to deepen the darks. After several days of drying time, a thinned layer of white applied with a large rubber wedge in a circular pattern to soften the "poufs" and give weightlessness to the fabric trim. If only I could wave a paint-laden wedge over my wardrobe...
- Published on
Soft Impulses
"Soft Impulses" - oil on Yupo, 11.5 x 17 inches. (click on the image to purchase)
"...we can go below our hardened ways to the soft impulses that birth them. Instead of breaking the bone of our stubbornness, we can nourish the marrow of our feeling unheard. Instead of breaking the bone of our fear, we can cleanse the blood of our feeling unsafe. Instead of counting the scars from being hurt in the world, we can find and re-kiss the very spot in our soul where we began to withhold our trust.”― MARK NEPO, The Book of Awakening
Murderbot Month has ended, but still I wander in the land of robots and cyborgs. Nepo's words take us beneath the hardened exoskeleton of the artificial beings, down to the organic bits of our core.
"...we can go below our hardened ways to the soft impulses that birth them. Instead of breaking the bone of our stubbornness, we can nourish the marrow of our feeling unheard. Instead of breaking the bone of our fear, we can cleanse the blood of our feeling unsafe. Instead of counting the scars from being hurt in the world, we can find and re-kiss the very spot in our soul where we began to withhold our trust.”― MARK NEPO, The Book of Awakening
Murderbot Month has ended, but still I wander in the land of robots and cyborgs. Nepo's words take us beneath the hardened exoskeleton of the artificial beings, down to the organic bits of our core.
Do you count the scars life has given? Or go head to head with your fears? Or try to break your own stubbornness? (me, me - I raise my hand - look at all these scars!) I thought it worked - until it didn't. I recently learned that it isn't enough - nope nope nope. We've got to go below all of that; deeper, more vulnerable, more risky. There's something at the core that wants nourishment, cleansing and kisses. Go past that toughness, beyond the tenacity, leap over the strength and resilience until you land in the thick of it.
The irony is, you have to be tough to go there. You need to be resilient to find the soft impulses. Your strength is required to find, face and love what lies below our hardened ways.
So grab your backpack, stuff it full of your badassery, and let's go there.
The irony is, you have to be tough to go there. You need to be resilient to find the soft impulses. Your strength is required to find, face and love what lies below our hardened ways.
So grab your backpack, stuff it full of your badassery, and let's go there.
About the art - sometimes the AI bot surprises you in the inspiration images it creates. It cannot create a mermaid or a centaur no matter what you tell it, and I've learned to lower my expectations accordingly. But ask it to make a series of cyborg madonnas and it will give you endless images of odd mother-figures and some really, really weird babies. Ignoring the weird ones, I focused on the images that were both heart-touching and compositionally pleasing in the inspiration for creating this painting. Beginning with unprimed Yupo, I sketched in the figure shape and added background with oil-thinned paint. Layers of thinned paint on the bodies. Burnishing off the wet layers with a soft cloth where I wanted highlights. The Yupo is lovely this way - it becomes stained but not thickened, allowing a lot of movement and working back into the layers. As always, resisting the urge to overly define or get fussy.
- Published on
Blanche Hated Caring About Stuff
"Blanche Hated Caring About Stuff" - oil on Yupo, 11.5 x 16.5. (click on the image to piurchase)
“I hate caring about stuff. But apparently once you start, you can't just stop.”
― MURDERBOT, Martha Wells, Rogue Protocol
My brain wants to care about the wrong kind of stuff.
This is a big part of being a human with anxiety, a history of trauma, a bit (or a lot) of familial dysfunction and a gene mutation which makes one likely to experience anxiety and panic.
WHAT? you may say, aghast. THERE ARE GENES THAT CAUSE ANXIETY?
“I hate caring about stuff. But apparently once you start, you can't just stop.”
― MURDERBOT, Martha Wells, Rogue Protocol
My brain wants to care about the wrong kind of stuff.
This is a big part of being a human with anxiety, a history of trauma, a bit (or a lot) of familial dysfunction and a gene mutation which makes one likely to experience anxiety and panic.
WHAT? you may say, aghast. THERE ARE GENES THAT CAUSE ANXIETY?
Well, they may not be the cause of anxiousness, but they do make you likely to jump off that diving board if the opportunity presents itself. And I've got that gene. Which I recently discovered (along with a boatload of other important things) through whole genome sequencing. Which explains a lot, and also opens an entire case of cans of worms.
This leads us to free will. How much do we have if our very response to stimuli is, in essence, pre-programmed?
It is a lot to ponder. And Blanche really doesn't want to Caring about all this stuff (and all the other stuff) takes up too much space in her growing wardrobe of gowns.
It is a lot to ponder. And Blanche really doesn't want to Caring about all this stuff (and all the other stuff) takes up too much space in her growing wardrobe of gowns.
About the art: beginning with an existing painting and murdering it with gesso (this created a lovely texture for the underpainting). A quick sketch based on values, then roughing in the main colors with walnut oil-thinned paint. Focus on keeping it loose, accentuating darks and lights. An oil-wet fan brush was used to drag the ends of the gown shadows into the backdrop as the final touch. Resisting the urge to give facial features to what is hidden in the dark. Blanche is a mystery to all.
