watercolor painting of santa barbara wharf by emily weil

daily painting | stearn’s wharf + rant

I’m not sure how to do this; hoping that faking it works for now. 

I’m calling on the angels and gods and goddesses and Jesus and Great Spirit and medicine animals and any other spiritual entity I’ve ever heard of, asking for help.

I’m worried that in the face of my beloved brother’s last days due to cancer consuming his brain (gliosarcoma) I’m full of self-pity and I whine too much.

I’m worried that as I continue to grieve my two dead sisters I’m feeling sorry for myself.

I’m worried that I’m folding under the life challenges of my old, 2006 Prius that won’t run and my failing graphic design freelance business and my adult children suffering through mental illness and powerful addictions.

I’m worried I’ll always be alone.

I’m worried I’m an asshole, taking my frustrations out on other humans while becoming bitter.

So the only remedies I can come up with are to 1) Get out of bed in the morning and make my tea. 2) Do my day with as much presence as I can muster. 3) Respond to each curve ball as best I can and hope my bat holds up. 4) Nap. 5) Resist nothing. 6) Practice Radical Trust.

That’s it. Wish me luck. I’m sure my headlights are strong enough to get through at least the next few yards of this mother-effing dark and terrifying and isolated back road. 

I guess I sound pissed off. 

Boy howdy, yes I am.

[painting is from Santa Barbara watercolor workshop I attended last April]

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper =$90

 

 

 

daily painting | lilies at lucy’s

I just wanted to get out my tray of watercolors today and I didn’t care what I produced. I started working from a photo of lilies in my therapist Lucy’s front yard, and it wasn’t quite working so I made it an abstract. I disappeared into art. It was out of ragged desperation — I’m home today after a nutty few weeks that included a string of bonkers events — my bro is slowly showing more symptoms of the brain cancer advancing and mental illness and addictions are ravaging my family and my car is failing (with elusive causes) and I had an argument with the hospice social worker and … well, blah-blah-blah. I was frantic for relief today (while also grateful to have a chance to rest), jogging one step ahead of a melt-down-panic-attack tsunami, so today was weird. I pulled ice cream out of the freezer and melted chocolate to put on top. This alone was alarming — I never do that. I sat and did breathing exercises, fighting off going completely numb while staring into space. I briefly worried I’d lose my lunch. I paced the floor, wondering how close I am to a padded room in the psych ward (but I’d hate the drugs).

My most loving friends would remind me of all that is happening in my family and in my life and tell me my crazy feelings are only natural. But how can I make them go away? Not going to happen. So now as I type this while sitting on my couch with my laptop waiting for the senate hearings to begin I invite the grief, rage, pain, sadness and disbelief to sit beside me. It’s crowded, but this is today’s party at Emily’s house.

7″ x 10″ ink, watercolor, acrylic on paper