Abstract Madness

I love abstract art. Always have, and most likely always will. I conquered it in college during my art theory class and believe it or not, it's not as easy as it looks. I remember struggling with my project and at first glance, you'd think abstract art, or cubism for that matter, would be easy; almost infantile and child-like. 


Not even close.


My attempts ended unsuccessful, but I received a good grade nonetheless. I was so happy and so relieved, the first thing I remember out of my professor's mouth was "it's clear you're inspired by Pablo Picasso." Hearing that made me proud. I was happy. I even named my pug after this brilliant artist as a homage to him.


Now as I look back this past year or so, abstract art for me is nothing shy of relevant. I've always loved it and now I have executed it in my art. Even more so these days than my early college years. Maybe it's an appropriate representation of how I've been feeling for so long; something that embraces my mood and my frequent doldrums. Will I continue to create these abstract tendancies as my medication will continue to work? Absolutely. It's not something that I've done in the moment only, but in the future as well. I feel that it's an accurate depiction of what has defined me for so long—for me, it felt like it lasted forever. I realize that a year taken from my life is minimal compared to the big picture, but at that time in my life, it felt like eternity.

Pablo Picasso - 1925 The Bottle of Wine 

Pablo Picasso - 1932 Girl Before a Mirror

I've always wanted to conquer abstract painting but never could. Or was it I just didn't have the courage to do so? Regardless, I've done it and I will embark on it some more. Now that I feel confident, why not?

While I was in school studying art, I always tried to analyze abstract art. I always wondered and asked myself, can it be analyzed? Or just something you feel from within? I've always said—and promoted—that art is subjective. Not everyone is going to love or appreciate your art or other artists' work. It's something we have to accept as artists. It took me a long time to realize this and not take it personally, but I admit, it's difficult to follow this rule of thumb, but for the most part, I don't let it get to me. As a graphic designer, we're not there to design for ourselves, but for the client. If they can't appreciate your expertise and professional background, then we have to accept it and move on. I always wonder why they hire us to begin with anyway.

Back to the drawing board.

Pablo Picasso - 1937 Lee Miller as L' Arlesienne

Pablo Picasso - 1934 Head of a Woman Portrait of Marie-Thérés Walter

As you could imagine, abstract paintings are quite a bit different than graphic/advertising design. Not many clients would request something abstract to their logo, business card, et al, as they would prefer something a little more straight forward. Which is why I love painting more abstract than anything else. It epitomizes who I am and exploits my left brain. 

Aside from the paintings, I don't want my mind to be 'abstract' anymore. I want clarity in my life and my brain. Like they say, Rome wasn't built in a day, but for me, I've been struggling with bipolar disorder since 2004, so I think it's time I get better.

What do you think?

As I continue to paint for myself, I will continue to hope that one day soon, I can even paint for a much larger audience than myself and my family. Maybe have one of my paintings hanging in somebody else's home instead of mine? Only time will tell to see if that question will be answered, but for now, I'm doing it for me. It pleases me and I enjoy it. It keeps my mind off everything around me and my constant racing of thoughts. At this point, they haven't subsided, they're just more tolerable now.

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NOTE: At the time that I wrote this post, I received an email requesting that I hang my paintings in a restaurant in town where they showcase local artists' work. They would like me to showcase my work as well. It's a step in the right direction as I try to sell my work and my painting services. An unusual exhibit, yes, but it's a start. Wish me luck!

Bipolar Menopause

You got it—I found out last year that my blood levels were consistent with menopause.


Oh crap.


In the midst of my bipolar madness, I am also experiencing the "joys" of menopause. At first, I thought wow, maybe it's the menopause causing all of my depresson, sadness, crying and hitting? Nope. Although it does contribute to menopause, it's not the sole reason why I am suffering from my bipolar disorder. It definitely accentuates it, but not the cause of it.


Ugh. Damn.


As I continued to enjoy my period-free bliss, I quickly realized that menopause wouldn't be as easy as I had hoped. Aside from the occasional night sweats (at that point) I figured it would be a positive step for me as I embarked on 'womanhood.' 


Yeah, right.


I hated it—hated every minute of it. I knew what going through menopause meant. It meant I was getting old; to the point that I had already reached middle-age. So to add to my lovely mid-life crisis, I was going through menopause as a constant reminder of my "old age." In my mind, I felt deprived and basically screwed.


It's tough, with the flowing of emotions circulating through my veins, it was a harsh reality for me. I wanted to embrace it, but I just couldn't. I wanted to wake up and know that I was 30 years old again, not late 40's. Why do I feel like my life has passed me by at a rapid pace? Why do I feel like it was wasted? I should be wallowing in this peaceful tranquillity of no longer suffering from menstrual cramps every month since the age of 15. I should be finally moving forward with my life instead of dreading it. But I just couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to drown in self pity and the dream and hopes of going back in time. Time machine anyone?


What was wrong with me?


As if my bipolar disorder wasn't bad enough, I had to deal with my flooding of hormones on a daily basis as well? I hate my life and I hate this disease. I hate how women are constantly reminded of growing 'old.' Tell me, what do men have to deal with? Baldness? A rounded gut to remind them of eating a bit healthier and working out until they're sweating profusely? Gray hair? Umm, we have to deal with that as well. No pass there. At least we don't look ridiculous when dyeing our hair to cover the gray—but I only attribute that to wearing makeup to mask our pale skin. Unlike men who think the comb over will only enhance their hair, instead of looking hysterical and foolhardy? Still, that's a personal choice, not something they can't avoid. 


Is life contemptible? It only reminds us how cruel life can be to a woman. Aside from the joys of pregnancy (ha, not me) and creating a new life, it basically sucks. Oh, and let's not forget the sagging and heading 'south' of our breasts. Gotta love gravity!


Lovely.


All I know is this, I can't go back, regardless of how often I pray and wish, but I can move forward with my life. Or at least try to. Can I change my life? For the most part, yes. We are in control of our destiny and our dreams—well, to a certain extent of course. I'm hoping that someday soon I will climb out of this mid-life funk and move forward and embrace my aging instead of crying over it—ugh, that word again—instead of being depressed from it. It's a part of life that I can't wriggle out of, and I can't escape it.


I love my wrinkles. 


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