There’s a wall I see from bed, the things hung upon it the last things I see before I fall asleep, the first I see upon waking. There’s notes to myself, old drawings, favorites I’ve printed, bought, or been gifted. My tiny word canvas for this year, circle, sticks out with its neon paint, and that little photo Meg bought for me from Sabrina Ward Harrison is taped up near the center, a row of apples on a windowsill overlooking greenery.
You’ll also find doctor’s notes and medical paperwork, along with a sign made for the young women at church last week about trying to be more Christ-like. Yes, while I was away, I kinda made a bit of a spiritual transition.
There are yellow roses I hung upside down to dry, then tied to glittery silver branches with hand-dyed ribbon, a birthday card from three of the sweetest girls ever, and a note from one night when I decided to become a Creative Warrior and tell my invisible illnesses to take a hike. All while running this year’s Art Journal Summer Camp without interruption (past the internet going out, but I was ready even if the cable was not).
Today, I cleaned off my larger desk, where I’d started putting things down after long days of taking care of aging parents, or visiting one of them in the hospital, or one of the other thousand things I have on my to-do list. There were clothes and receipts and purses and random art supplies from the nights when I had a little bit of extra energy to doodle. And back there, I found a stack of paintings I’d been in the process of photographing for Etsy before everything started to blur together in a perpetual state of panic.
I found this one in the stack. I remember working on it, and doodling, and falling in love with that lower right corner. And even though I didn’t know if it was finished yet, and haven’t varnished it, I decided to take down a different painting and hang this one up. I need a bit of bright and new and lovely on that wall. It helps to balance it all, this random assortment of me.
I don’t think I’m ready to part with it just yet. It’s grown on me. Or maybe I’ve grown into it. Whatever the case, I think we can hang out, this painting and I, as I fall back into the groove of my life, or, rather, create a new one where the old one used to be.
Whatever the case, I’m ready. Bring it on.