Muse-ing in My Studio

I had fun using limited supplies to mix a crazy range of greens.

I wonder how many more I could have created.

I wonder if black acrylic paint has some blue in it.

I wonder what fortune might lie in the numbers collaged here, which I chose only for their green ink and graphic qualities. 

I wonder what someone outside myself might read in the tea leaves of my brushstrokes, scribbles, mark-making, and finger painting here.

The Air is Green and I Breathe in the Beauty of It
7 x 9"; acrylic, oil pastel, and collage on a book page
abstract
2020

-----

slightly earlier iteration of The Air (left), in a two-page spread
with a companion piece that later goes floral

Transition

I first thought of the two-page spread below as transition pieces, each piece with one foot planted in my time in Virginia this winter and the other foot planted in my first two weeks back at home in Massachusetts.

Then I wondered, Isn't every painting a transition piece? Isn't every brushstroke one of flux, capturing movement from one moment to the next? Doesn't every painting reflect transition, a journey?

an illusion of permanence

Cosmic Order

Had the intention to find a way to paint today, to advance the study in green that I posted yesterday and present it for updated viewing.

However, in the cosmic order of things, a different post presented itself in response to a facet of the following milestone event: the chance this morning to get together with a long-time friend for the first time in about ten weeks to go to Starbucks "church" as we call our longstanding tradition of coffee dates during which we consider everyday experiences in a spiritual light.

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! 

Is this perfect or what??!

Progress

stud·y

/ˈstədē/

Learn to pronounce

noun

A room used or designed for reading, writing, or academic work.

a study, makeshift & temporary

stud·y

/ˈstədē/

Learn to pronounce

noun

A piece of work, especially art, done for practice or as an experiment.

a study, work in progress

Letting Go of Same Old Same Old

Taking advantage of neuroplasticity involves change. That's what neuroplasticity is—change: the brain's ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections, allowing for neurons to compensate for injury and disease and to adjust their activities in response to new situations or circumstances in their environment. 

Those in the process of deliberate neural rewiring are often encouraged to alter daily routines as a way to assist the brain in changing habitual neural patterns, for example by taking a different route from usual or doing tasks with their non-dominant hand. They are also encouraged to modify their surroundings in some way, perhaps by rearranging furniture, to give an added symbolic and visual indicator of the activated process of internal change.

Speaking of change, Dave and I decided in late December to take advantage of my being away in Virginia to go ahead with existing plans to renovate my study, so not only did I arrive home Friday to discover Christmas decorations still in place but also to this:

my study, ordinarily the absolute hub of all executive systems
and the place in which I meet with tutees

my art studio, now the repository
for some of my displaced systems

art studio, different view

guest room; more displaced items

and more

and more

The day I arrived home we also discovered water puddled in the cabinet space underneath the kitchen sink, so we pulled everything out of that space and put it elsewhere, and we haven't been able to use the sink for two days.

I am rockin' change, I tell ya—no more same old same old for me.

Dave is rewiring my study; I'm rewiring my brain.

Think of the new neurons! the new synapses! the new dendrites!

Dotty van Winkle

I write this post to you from my home in Massachusetts! 

Suddenly, Wednesday was the day: with excitement and courage, and celebrating her current very real forward movement on the Optimal Health Highway, Meg opened the door to my returning home. We let Dave know at 1000a; he was in the car by 100p, drove to PA to sleep there overnight, arrived at Meg’s at about 1100a Thursday. Hugs all around, loaded up the car, more hugs all around. We pointed ourselves north at 1130a, finished the trip Friday.

Here’s what I discovered when I walked in the door, safe and sound—albeit mighty tired—after all the hours in the car and all my weeks away:

Opportunities in every direction! So many chances to bring buoyancy, energy, presence, resilience, and strength into tasks announcing their need for my attention!

Marblehead

I live on the North Shore of Boston not far from the picturesque coastal New England town of Marblehead, Massachusetts.

A regional expression we use as a way to acknowledge the sudden realization of something obvious:

Dawn breaks over Marblehead!

I pause this morning to evaluate the day-after-day frustration of trying to get decent photos of book pages I've painted, pages that I leave bound in the book, pages that curl up, won't lie flat, have shadows near the binding, and so forth.

Dawn breaks over my hard stony head: I can step back and let go of perfect!

To Wake When All Is Possible
Before the Agitations of the Day Grip You
7 x 9"; acrylic and hand-painted collage
abstract
2020

Unseen Forces

So many forces at work that we are not able to see with the naked eye.

Harnessing My Belief That Something Wonderful Is About to Happen
7 x 9"; acrylic, pencil, oil pastel, and collage on a book page
abstract
2020

Mucking About

Spent a completely contented half hour or so mucking about with color-mixing, palette-knife-wielding, mark-making, oil-pastel scribbling, and paper-crumpling. An efficacious prescription for well-being.

tissue paper for collage, hand painted 

Continuing Education

Years ago I attended a captivating presentation given by board-certified child-and-adult psychiatrist, thought leader, best-selling author, and world-renowned keynote speaker Ned Hallowell. I was able to attend the conference through my employer, Landmark School, as part of its program to offer high-quality opportunities for teachers to meet requirements for Continuing Education Units. My deeper interest was personal, however, and lay in my concern for my high-school-aged son who, at the time, was in the messy middle of a number of challenges.

I approached Hallowell at one of the breaks in the presentation to ask a question. I explained that I didn't know if my son was depressed because of struggles in school or if he was struggling in school because he was depressed. How could I sort out what was causing what? Where should I start in my quest to gain traction in helping him resolve the challenges at hand?

Start anywhere, Hallowell asserted. Nothing to sort out. Just start. 

Oh.

Huh.

I'd thought I had to figure out what was chicken, what was egg. That I had to ascertain what came first before I could move forward. In the new light of Hallowell's perspective, it occurred to me that maybe my focus on the what-came-first quandary was just an unconscious way to buffer myself from the pain I was feeling in my circumstances, a fabricated distraction provided by my mind that somehow justified my paralysis and overwhelm.

Indeed, nothing to sort out. Start anywhere. Just start.

As I have today.

very satisfying start;
pencil and posca pen on tissue paper

Elemental Wonder

I have early childhood memories of being at the seashore, of taking evening walks with Grandpa Chase beside a sea wall along Long Island Sound in Connecticut, hearing the splash and whisper of waves, breathing in smells of tidal gurry, noticing shingled cottages with reflecting balls in their flower gardens across the street from the water, feeling rough stone against the backs of my legs while sitting on the sea wall savoring the sweet conversational attention of my grandpa.

The mystery and elemental wonder of the sea found its way into my heart back then when I was still losing baby teeth. And there it has stayed.

I have made my home just minutes from the Atlantic coast for decades now.

For the past two months, however, I've lived in Shenandoah Valley surrounded by vast stretches of open land bordered in every direction by mountains.

And yet, it is the saltwater of my soul that has been speaking through my hand and brushes in recent days as I've painted.

 A Poem Come from Silence
7 x 9"; acrylic, latex, collage, color sticks, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract seascape
2020

Baby Steps, Baby Steps

I think my perception in college was that the kids taking art classes were already artists, the ones taking poetry classes were already poets. How was it that I didn't really get that students take classes to study? That they choose to reach into new and unknown places to learn new things? That anyone can take an art class?

I could feel regret now, looking back.

But, no worries! If I don't learn something one way I usually learn it another way. And mostly not in classes designed to instruct me in something I specifically set out to learn. Rather, if I stay open-hearted and curious, learning is there for the learning just about anywhere and anytime.

Actually, when it comes down to it, open-hearted and curious are not even prerequisites.

Lessons have a way of finding me.

A recent 'art lesson' appeared embedded in the neural retraining seminar in which the concept of incremental training was addressed. While extreme avoidance may decrease symptoms in the short term, in the long run, it may actually be reinforcing the fear association to the stimulus. Incremental training can be broken down into very simple terms: determine the ways you currently feel limited; then be creative in the ways you work with that challenge.

So, yeah, art class. Anywhere, anytime.

an increment; work in progress

another increment; work in progress

another increment; work in progress

Watch Your Language, Young Lady!

I have a vivid memory from childhood: my friend Betty sasses her mother who says Watch your language, young lady! and washes Betty's mouth out with soap; Betty exits the bathroom blowing bubbles.

I'm thinking today about the power of language.

On the Optimal Health Highway, there aren't any speed limits. Whatever speed you travel is the speed you travel.

But there are language limits. No talk about symptoms, no talk of illness. Instead: challenges, opportunities.

OK. We're game—we commit to playing by the rules, we watch our language.

Skies immediately brighten. It is indeed very different to hear Meg say, with a bit of lightness in her voice, Wow, lots of opportunities today! instead of … oops, I'm not going to articulate the instead-of, am I?! The brightness, the lightness—they're contagious and they effect a favorable difference in how I feel, too, and in how I participate in interactions.

It takes two days for me to recognize and integrate the deeper force at work. A wave of limbic dysregulation really is an opportunity—not just euphemistically, but literally. Each flare provides an opportunity to practice the training steps, and the practice will be more effective if Meg consciously interrupts the limbic system when it's in the process of an overactive misfire.

Each flare is an opportunity to redirect and build new neural pathways in the brain.

Bring it on!

So it is with painting, too.

Think back to Jacqui Beck's modus operandi:
I painted so much black over this.
Yes. Yes, I did.
What next?

An opportunity! Multiple opportunities! Opportunities everywhere!

work in progress; opportunities everywhere!

Change of Address

Road trip! Road trip!

Closing ceremonies have been held at Lyme Camp, and now we're cruisin' the Optimal Health Highway!

At Takodah, everyone receives a white candle on a small round of birch at a candlelight service the last night of camp. The following morning everyone leaves for home with candles, memories, and dreams of returning the following year.

Lyme Camp's a little different. We're not leaving a physical place; we're leaving a mindset. We leave with protocol medications and supplements still firmly in hand (new ones still to come), many memories, gratitude beyond measure for all that we've learned and all the ways we've grown, and no plans to return.

We've pointed ourselves with commitment and laser focus towards the home base of wellness, navigating the Optimal Health Highway with neural retraining as our GPS. We're actually building the highway ourselves as we go!

Very good.

Very good.

Yay!

work in progress

Unexpected

Yesterday's churning seas tossed up unexpected bounty.

I set out to layer, layer, layer.

Got the beginnings of one layer in place, stepped back.

Spied a lobster.

Wasn't expecting that.

Let some rapid-fire short-lived intuitive oil pastel-play express itself.

Stopped.

No Carry-on Luggage Allowed
7x9"; acrylic, pencil, and oil pastel on a book page
abstract
2020

Going Your Way

It Is Going Your Way: Towards Darkness, Towards Light
7 x 4.5"; acrylic, latex, oil pastel, color sticks, and collage
on a book page
abstract seascape
2020

If Something Is In Your Way, It Is Going Your Way
7 x 4.5"; acrylic, latex, oil pastel, color sticks, and collage
on a book page
abstract seascape
2020

-----

diptych

  

  

What Next?

I left off painting and musing yesterday with a whole bunch of white and the question, What next?

what came next, WIP

"Curiouser and Curiouser!"

Lyme Camp now includes intensive education about neural retraining exercises that calm an overactive limbic system stuck in the on position. A component of the program includes becoming the Curious Observer of what is. 

To notice without being reactive.

To notice without buying into all the false messages the limbic loop presents as truth and repeats at full volume ad nauseam.

To stay curious, open.

I am no stranger to being a curious observer but my engagement with neural retraining here is a gift that increases my mindfulness and moves me to become a more steadfast and curious observer than I might otherwise be.

Seattle artist Jacqui Beck has a video that delights me every time I watch it, addressing as it does the curious observer attitude she brings to her work. 

Oh man, this thing, 

     Jacqui says, observing with curiosity and playfulness as she paints. 

This black,

I painted so much black over this.

Yes. Yes, I did.

Now what?

---

Oh man, this thing,

     I say as curious observer today while I paint.

This white,

I painted so much white over this.

Yes. Yes, I did.

Now what?

another layer; WIP