I've been gone for 6 months now. I haven't written in my blog that entire time. Why? Because I got a job in late December and being in new surroundings with new people gave me a sense of importance—of being wanted and appreciated. I loved being in a social environment once again and as the months have gone by, I have become very close with the people that I work with. I've been happy and I love it.
Even though I don't make much money, it feels good to be out there once again. Although it's a bit of an insult making such a low wage, considering the 10+ years experience I have in my field and of course, my education, it still feels good nevertheless. But, I look at it this way, it's a job and more importantly, it got me out of the house and away from my video game and away from my solitude of a constant depression that was permeating my world everyday.
For once, I am not writing in my blog because of a depression due to my Bipolar Disorder, but because I am keeping an up-to-date look at my life as a way to prove to people that I can be happy. All of us suffering from Bipolar Disorder, can actually be happy.
For now.
I'm worried. I must admit that I am terrified of what might become once again. My husband lost his job a few months ago, so the money has become tight, and then even worse, we lost our health insurance. Now, don't get me wrong, he still has his other job as a personal trainer and he's now trying to establish a regular clientele, but in the meantime, we no longer have our health insurance, therefore as my medication runs out, we are unable to fulfill more prescriptions as a result of being too expensive. I am down to two prescriptions out of five total.
I'm scared. What will happen when the last prescription is gone? Will it come back in full force thus causing me to feel depressed once again, possibly affecting my employment? I'm very lucky, I work in a business where the owner is a wonderful, caring human being. He actually cares about his employees and always makes sure we're taken care of. I have become very close with my direct supervisor and as a result, our work environment has become enjoyable. Since she and I share an office together (she is also a designer), we get along famously. In my experience, this a very rare situation.
But I worry that as my medication goes bye-bye, my old "self" will come back with a vengeance. I've been happy, and I know a great deal of that is due to my job and my work environment and the people that I work with, but mostly, because of a regular dose of medication every month. As I inquired—hoping and praying—about the regular cost of my meds, I was astounded. How could something like this happen in one of the richest countries in the world? How could we as Americans, have horrendous and expensive coverage of health insurance and medications—or lack thereof? Don't get me wrong, I've always been privy to the health insurance problems in our country, but we've always been lucky enough to have a good amount of insurance due to my husband's employment, but now that I am one of those 'victims,' it bothers me even more. Especially since I have been told, since my initial diagnosis that medication must be a constant, regular occurrence in my life. It has always been presented to me in a way, as if someone suffering from diabetes will have to take medications for the rest of their life. The same goes with someone diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.
I've dealt with that, and I've gotten used to it. Until now.
What will happen once I take my last pill? Will I start hitting myself again? Will I start crying for no reason? Will I take it out on my family? Will I have regular thoughts of suicide?
I'm frightened that this will all come back full force. The cost of my medications is beyond our budget and unfortunately, until we get insurance again (hopefully as my husband increases his clientele), I will be OK.
I know it's that old saying, only time will tell, but will it, or will it be immediate?
I don't know.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Showing posts with label artist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label artist. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Friday, November 16, 2012
A Unique Friendship
I am writing this post that is meant for a dear friend of mine, someone whom I have never met, but someone that means a great deal to me, regardless. He just happened to come upon this blog, so for that, I am dedicating this post solely to him. When he found it, it upset me because I was concerned that he would read the intimate details that for many months, I have projected here, and in turn, he would judge me. But I know he won't, and I know even if he did read it—even though he has promised not to—he will accept that it's who I am and continue to be my friend regardless.
So this is for you, M/M. I hope you like it.
Because we have never met, and because we "met" simply by playing a popular video game, we just happen to hit it off from the very beginning. It started out slow, like any friendship would, but then it grew into something very special. A friendship that we both call(ed) 'weird'—for reasons that I will not divulge here, because the two of us will always keep that secret between us, and between us only—a special friendship nevertheless.
As the year grew, and as we embark on our two year 'anniversary' of our friendship, it has grown to become strong for both of us. As we communicate every single day, whether it's via text, phone or mumble (a popular gaming audio program), we still find a way to say hello and move it forward with the details of our lives at that current time. Because I love speaking with him and hearing about his life and how he's doing, I don't ever want it to end. I always want to make sure he's OK with the elements of his life.
I have to know he's there. It's just how I am. And with never having the luxury of seeing him face-to-face, I enjoy that comfort of our deep friendship in my life. Sometimes I question if he feels the same way, but I know our communication also means a great deal to him as he initiates the contact as much as I do with him. It's just what we do.
I've told him my life, and shared deep secrets with what I have endured this past year, details that I have never trusted with anyone else before—aside from my husband, my 'real life' friends will never learn of these recent horrors in my life; the sentence I have endured for the past year and a half. After everything I have confided in him, he has never judged me—even though I always thought he would. Maybe our lack of meeting in-person makes that easier for both of us, a computer or cell phone blocking our contact, I'm not sure, but he has proven to me by listening to my plight and the dark abyss where I have fallen many times, that he will continue to place his friendship onto me that nobody ever would in a real life scenario. Sometimes I forget that we have never met, and someone whom I've never had the luxury to cry on his shoulder or hug him while I mourned the recent death of my father.
I made the mistake of judging him once, a mistake that was devastating to his wife, and surprisingly, to me. Although this mistake never affected me personally, in my heart, it did. I will always regret the selfish behavior that I have created because for 3 weeks, I thought I lost his friendship forever. After reaching out to him, he forgave me, for reasons I'll never understand till this day, because he exonerated me of the vile words I spoke upon him as a selfish friend, because instead of supporting him—regardless of how I disapproved—I judged him instead. I should have been there for him as a friend, like he is always for me, but I wasn't. That is a distant memory now, and after more than a year later, we have grown even closer than that day over a year ago, and we both know that will always remain so. If only on my end.
There have been numerous times where I have taken my bipolar disorder out on him, and like the friend that he is, has never walked away from our friendship, or even judged me for it like most people would. He knows when I'm having—as he calls it—a "bipolar day," and still, after how I've treated him, over and over again, he never once judged me or walked away. He's special to me, and for that, I'll never let his friendship go and I'll never walk away from him again, like I did before.
Although I sometimes state otherwise, I won't. I hope he knows that I never will in spite of everything we've endured with our friendship.
In turn, as he is going through a rough time in his life, I try to be there for him, like he has for me, as a friend. I know that if someday, if he reunites with his family, or even if he falls in love with someone else, I will have to accept that our friendship could possibly diminish, if not completely end of our daily communication. I know that this could be a possibility that will only sadden me a great deal, but I'll understand, even if I may not agree with the likelihood of the inevitable lack of contact. I'll know and I'll understand why. It's real life, and I am not a part of that real life, but only a virtual one instead.
As our friendship continues to flourish, I daydream about the inevitable possibility that we will one day meet in person. Something that I know will come to fruition, but the question is not if we will meet, but when and how. Money is tight for both of us at this current time, therefore it's just not possible for either of us, which is fine. As I continue to accept that we cannot sit down and have a beer together, or cry on each other's shoulder, or even laugh like we do on the phone, I'll have to accept that as a friendship, it's still there. Whether or not I am unable to look into his eyes and see deep down into his soul, but to hear his voice and the laughter that frequently comes with it instead. For now, that'll make me happy, as long as we will remain friends and he will continue to be my confidante, I'll be elated.
You're very special to me, and I want you to know that you are forever in my heart as an unusual, but remarkable friend, and I hope we will continue our unique friendship for the future to come.
I love you, M/M
xoxo...
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
So this is for you, M/M. I hope you like it.
Because we have never met, and because we "met" simply by playing a popular video game, we just happen to hit it off from the very beginning. It started out slow, like any friendship would, but then it grew into something very special. A friendship that we both call(ed) 'weird'—for reasons that I will not divulge here, because the two of us will always keep that secret between us, and between us only—a special friendship nevertheless.
As the year grew, and as we embark on our two year 'anniversary' of our friendship, it has grown to become strong for both of us. As we communicate every single day, whether it's via text, phone or mumble (a popular gaming audio program), we still find a way to say hello and move it forward with the details of our lives at that current time. Because I love speaking with him and hearing about his life and how he's doing, I don't ever want it to end. I always want to make sure he's OK with the elements of his life.
I have to know he's there. It's just how I am. And with never having the luxury of seeing him face-to-face, I enjoy that comfort of our deep friendship in my life. Sometimes I question if he feels the same way, but I know our communication also means a great deal to him as he initiates the contact as much as I do with him. It's just what we do.
I've told him my life, and shared deep secrets with what I have endured this past year, details that I have never trusted with anyone else before—aside from my husband, my 'real life' friends will never learn of these recent horrors in my life; the sentence I have endured for the past year and a half. After everything I have confided in him, he has never judged me—even though I always thought he would. Maybe our lack of meeting in-person makes that easier for both of us, a computer or cell phone blocking our contact, I'm not sure, but he has proven to me by listening to my plight and the dark abyss where I have fallen many times, that he will continue to place his friendship onto me that nobody ever would in a real life scenario. Sometimes I forget that we have never met, and someone whom I've never had the luxury to cry on his shoulder or hug him while I mourned the recent death of my father.
I made the mistake of judging him once, a mistake that was devastating to his wife, and surprisingly, to me. Although this mistake never affected me personally, in my heart, it did. I will always regret the selfish behavior that I have created because for 3 weeks, I thought I lost his friendship forever. After reaching out to him, he forgave me, for reasons I'll never understand till this day, because he exonerated me of the vile words I spoke upon him as a selfish friend, because instead of supporting him—regardless of how I disapproved—I judged him instead. I should have been there for him as a friend, like he is always for me, but I wasn't. That is a distant memory now, and after more than a year later, we have grown even closer than that day over a year ago, and we both know that will always remain so. If only on my end.
There have been numerous times where I have taken my bipolar disorder out on him, and like the friend that he is, has never walked away from our friendship, or even judged me for it like most people would. He knows when I'm having—as he calls it—a "bipolar day," and still, after how I've treated him, over and over again, he never once judged me or walked away. He's special to me, and for that, I'll never let his friendship go and I'll never walk away from him again, like I did before.
Although I sometimes state otherwise, I won't. I hope he knows that I never will in spite of everything we've endured with our friendship.
In turn, as he is going through a rough time in his life, I try to be there for him, like he has for me, as a friend. I know that if someday, if he reunites with his family, or even if he falls in love with someone else, I will have to accept that our friendship could possibly diminish, if not completely end of our daily communication. I know that this could be a possibility that will only sadden me a great deal, but I'll understand, even if I may not agree with the likelihood of the inevitable lack of contact. I'll know and I'll understand why. It's real life, and I am not a part of that real life, but only a virtual one instead.
As our friendship continues to flourish, I daydream about the inevitable possibility that we will one day meet in person. Something that I know will come to fruition, but the question is not if we will meet, but when and how. Money is tight for both of us at this current time, therefore it's just not possible for either of us, which is fine. As I continue to accept that we cannot sit down and have a beer together, or cry on each other's shoulder, or even laugh like we do on the phone, I'll have to accept that as a friendship, it's still there. Whether or not I am unable to look into his eyes and see deep down into his soul, but to hear his voice and the laughter that frequently comes with it instead. For now, that'll make me happy, as long as we will remain friends and he will continue to be my confidante, I'll be elated.
You're very special to me, and I want you to know that you are forever in my heart as an unusual, but remarkable friend, and I hope we will continue our unique friendship for the future to come.
I love you, M/M
xoxo...
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Thursday, October 18, 2012
The Escape Artist
I couldn't think of a more appropriate title because I am an artist, and for the longest time—even as I sit here and write this—I wanted to escape; literally escape from everything and from everyone. There were many days where I just wanted to get in my car and drive, drive for hours and end up who knows where. I needed to go and get away from everything. My thoughts were constantly racing and my brain was on overload. I felt trapped inside of my body and felt trapped in my own home. Every time I felt the need to run and escape, the lack of funds prevented me from doing so. I couldn't go anywhere because I knew I'd end up getting stuck and without any means of coming back or going any farther.
Chrysler Building Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010
As I look back, a part of me looks at it as a blessing in disguise. I always believed that things happen for a reason, and perhaps not having the money on such days was a godsend. I always imagined, sometimes fantasized, where I would have gone if I did have the money to escape. I simply wanted to get in my car and drive, continue to drive for hours and hours. I explained this urge to my therapist and the one thing she recommended was for me to at least have a plan. Don't just drive, but have a plan. A course of action, if you will.
I knew where I wanted to go, and I knew when I wanted to leave. Since it was still winter time, I was concerned about the possible inclement weather I may encounter, but a part of me also didn't care. I just wanted to go away! To escape.
Empire State Building Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010
In my heart, I wanted to head to NYC, or even Chicago. I know that would have been a tough drive, a long tough drive, but I was on a mission and I needed to just go! My state of mind at the time was a concern for both my husband and my therapist—it was at an all time low. They encouraged me to wait, but I didn't want to. I wanted to leave that instant, that moment in time. I couldn't, and I hated it. I felt trapped because I couldn't just leave. I didn't want to be responsible nor did I want to be considerate to my family, I wanted to escape and I wanted to do it immediately. But like everything else in my life, money prevented me from doing so.
Statue of Liberty Pop Art – Artist, me – 2010
I still had no idea where I wanted to go. My mind was telling me to just drive and I'd figure it out along the way. Realistically, I now know that wouldn't have been the smartest course of action for me, but when your mind isn't thinking rationally, you don't really care about that. You just want to go, regardless of where it is.
I had even contemplated the hope of heading to Italy. I learned several years ago that I had distant relatives that still live in northern Italy. Relatives that my father hasn't seen or spoken to since he was a child, so a huge part of me wanted to inquire about visiting them—if they were even still alive or living there—possibly staying with them as I traveled to this distant land and meet this part of my family whom I have never met before; and most likely never will meet.
Again, money got in the way. I couldn't just pick up and buy a ticket to Italy, so my inquiry quickly ended there. It never went farther than my mind. Just a dream; nothing but a fantasy in my head.
Leaning Tower of Pisa Pop Art – Artist, me – 2009
I had never been to Italy, and this could have been a dream that I could have easily—or so I thought—obtained and fulfilled. When you are struggling with Bipolar Disorder, unobtainable dreams or desires seem within an easy grasp, but they're not. In reality, they're so far away from actuality that it's difficult to accept, so to be told "No" is something that someone like me, cannot easily undertake. Or worse, want to accept.
Maybe one day I will have the opportunity to travel as far as Italy, maybe meet my Italian relatives and appreciate what my European kinsfolk has to offer. Or something just as easy as getting in the car and driving for 2 days. But one thing I do know is, even now, after all this time and after all my medication, I still get the desire to run—run as far away as I can. My mind quickly shifts me to reality now, so who knows if I'll ever want to take the leap, I don't know. Only time will tell. I love to travel and hope I could see the world! Maybe one day that dream will come true, to give me the opportunity to travel to not just get away, but to appreciate and embrace the world and surroundings on a different mental level. But most importantly, when I'm feeling well and I've kicked this disease in the ass!
For now, all I have is my imagination and my brain that will allow me to do this since I have no other means at this moment in my life. I will however, continue to dream and dream big! My dreams are all I have at the moment that are keeping me from moving forward in my life, and not backwards.
It's all I can do right now.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Let the Good Times Roll
After a long depressing month and a half, I quickly realized not long after I started my new job that it just wasn't for me. I knew within the first week that I hated it and I was unhappy. I kept asking myself this one simple question—"why can't I be happy? Why don't I appreciate what I have?"
In the past year, this seemed to be a constant reminder of what I was trying to convince myself of, only this time, it was worse. I was at a job that I was unhappy at and hated. The problem is, I loved my boss and loved the atmosphere where I worked. So how can I hate my job? Isn't that what it's mostly about anyway? Apparently not. I have never worked at a job where I really liked my boss that much and loved the atmosphere, so it was a confusing situation for me overall, but soon realized that happiness was more broad and more complex than what I had envisioned.
I hated what I was doing and I hated going into work as a result of that. The weekends were great as I spent a great deal of time with my family and knew that I never wanted it to end. Until Monday came around, my world felt like I was going to burst; I felt as though I would explode with the anticipation of having to go back into work the very next day after the end of my weekend—Sunday night. I always dreaded that time of week knowing full well I'd have to put the alarm on and get ready for another long, drawn out depressing week of work.
I realize that most people, if not all, suffer through this every week. I have such envy for those who love their jobs and love what they do. But for me, I've never felt anywhere near that and I am taking this opportunity to move forward and try to be appreciative and most importantly, to be happy.
My boss came to me this week and reluctantly discussed the possibility of hiring me through my design company as a sub-contractor, salary every week as though I was an employee, and work on ongoing graphic design projects that are continuously needed. In a nutshell, he has decided to eliminate my position all together since let's face it, I wasn't very good at it. I tried my hardest to become a good executive assistant, but knew deep down in my heart that it wasn't a position I was happy with. Therefore, it was reflected in the outcome of my job performance.
For me, this has worked out for my benefit. Not only will I be able to work from home, but I can work on my Mac once again. I hated working on his PC and it was a struggle, I assure you. Telecommuting was something I had always desired, but never offered the opportunity for. This is ideal for me, and I know it's a possibility of my attempt to gain more clients. Yes, he will now be my client, and no longer my boss.
We sat there and worked out the details and in the end, it benefits both of us exponentially. I'm happy and I'm eager. Today is my last day as his executive assistant and going into the office as required.
In the back of my mind, I worry about this opportunity and I continually tell myself "this is too good for me, I'm not supposed to be happy and am I good enough to follow through with this amazing opening of my career?" Part of my bipolar disorder is the constant negativity that runs through my mind, and I hate it. I wish I could knock it out of my brain so I can move forward without feeling as though I will come head-on with disaster.
As I sat there telling my therapist about this exciting news, she was thrilled and supportive. Although the money is a little less than what I was earning per week, it still worked out to my benefit. My husband is also supportive.
But why can't I accept this as a great opportunity? Why am I thinking about it as though I will fail?
I want to be happy about it, and I want to be grateful and I want to be delighted about this amazing position and him hiring me through my company. Something that I've never experienced long term.
I need to accept it for what it is and move forward with anticipation, instead of thoughts of catastrophe.
It's time to move on and let the good times roll.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
In the past year, this seemed to be a constant reminder of what I was trying to convince myself of, only this time, it was worse. I was at a job that I was unhappy at and hated. The problem is, I loved my boss and loved the atmosphere where I worked. So how can I hate my job? Isn't that what it's mostly about anyway? Apparently not. I have never worked at a job where I really liked my boss that much and loved the atmosphere, so it was a confusing situation for me overall, but soon realized that happiness was more broad and more complex than what I had envisioned.
I hated what I was doing and I hated going into work as a result of that. The weekends were great as I spent a great deal of time with my family and knew that I never wanted it to end. Until Monday came around, my world felt like I was going to burst; I felt as though I would explode with the anticipation of having to go back into work the very next day after the end of my weekend—Sunday night. I always dreaded that time of week knowing full well I'd have to put the alarm on and get ready for another long, drawn out depressing week of work.
I realize that most people, if not all, suffer through this every week. I have such envy for those who love their jobs and love what they do. But for me, I've never felt anywhere near that and I am taking this opportunity to move forward and try to be appreciative and most importantly, to be happy.
My boss came to me this week and reluctantly discussed the possibility of hiring me through my design company as a sub-contractor, salary every week as though I was an employee, and work on ongoing graphic design projects that are continuously needed. In a nutshell, he has decided to eliminate my position all together since let's face it, I wasn't very good at it. I tried my hardest to become a good executive assistant, but knew deep down in my heart that it wasn't a position I was happy with. Therefore, it was reflected in the outcome of my job performance.
For me, this has worked out for my benefit. Not only will I be able to work from home, but I can work on my Mac once again. I hated working on his PC and it was a struggle, I assure you. Telecommuting was something I had always desired, but never offered the opportunity for. This is ideal for me, and I know it's a possibility of my attempt to gain more clients. Yes, he will now be my client, and no longer my boss.
We sat there and worked out the details and in the end, it benefits both of us exponentially. I'm happy and I'm eager. Today is my last day as his executive assistant and going into the office as required.
In the back of my mind, I worry about this opportunity and I continually tell myself "this is too good for me, I'm not supposed to be happy and am I good enough to follow through with this amazing opening of my career?" Part of my bipolar disorder is the constant negativity that runs through my mind, and I hate it. I wish I could knock it out of my brain so I can move forward without feeling as though I will come head-on with disaster.
As I sat there telling my therapist about this exciting news, she was thrilled and supportive. Although the money is a little less than what I was earning per week, it still worked out to my benefit. My husband is also supportive.
But why can't I accept this as a great opportunity? Why am I thinking about it as though I will fail?
I want to be happy about it, and I want to be grateful and I want to be delighted about this amazing position and him hiring me through my company. Something that I've never experienced long term.
I need to accept it for what it is and move forward with anticipation, instead of thoughts of catastrophe.
It's time to move on and let the good times roll.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, July 6, 2012
Inspiration is Key!
This weekend, I will attend the annual local arts festival about an hour away from me. Since I live in a smaller college town, the arts festival is held every year in the major city of where I live. I love it, but it seems as though every year when I go, I'm with my husband and daughter, or even one year with my parents as well, only to be dealing with constant complaints of the heat or how bored they were. It's a hot weekend, as you can imagine, so throughout the day, all I hear is how hot everyone is—which of course, ruins the entire experience for me. Since it's located in the downtown area, you primarily walk around and check out the local artists' kiosks and enjoy their artwork. So yes, I can understand why it would be hot and uncomfortable, but for me, I avoid all of that and walk and gaze in each tent not to miss a single kiosk.
I love it and it inspires me, but it does ruin the entire day as I am subjected to the constant 'whining' about how hot everyone is. This year, I will be attending it alone. I think it's best.
I need this time to myself, and I need to walk around and feel inspired with uninterrupted grievances. Not that I can't empathize with how they feel, because let's face it, it is really hot, and for people who are not interested in art, it can be quite boring. I can sympathize with this emotion, but this year, I'm gonna do it alone!
I'm excited for this!
I think I need it, I really need this time to myself to appreciate other artists and their work. I only wish I could afford to showcase/sell my artwork as well, but since this arts festival has gotten so massive over the years, it has become a little out of my price range.
A part of that saddens me. I only wish there was some sort of local marketplace where artists who may not have the means to afford such lavish surroundings and events, can proudly display and sell their individual crafts. When I lived in NYC in the late 80's, I would enjoy walking downtown to enjoy the flea market filled with local artists and their creations. I only wish there was something equivalent of that here where I live.
But there isn't.
I love it and it inspires me, but it does ruin the entire day as I am subjected to the constant 'whining' about how hot everyone is. This year, I will be attending it alone. I think it's best.
I need this time to myself, and I need to walk around and feel inspired with uninterrupted grievances. Not that I can't empathize with how they feel, because let's face it, it is really hot, and for people who are not interested in art, it can be quite boring. I can sympathize with this emotion, but this year, I'm gonna do it alone!
I'm excited for this!
I think I need it, I really need this time to myself to appreciate other artists and their work. I only wish I could afford to showcase/sell my artwork as well, but since this arts festival has gotten so massive over the years, it has become a little out of my price range.
A part of that saddens me. I only wish there was some sort of local marketplace where artists who may not have the means to afford such lavish surroundings and events, can proudly display and sell their individual crafts. When I lived in NYC in the late 80's, I would enjoy walking downtown to enjoy the flea market filled with local artists and their creations. I only wish there was something equivalent of that here where I live.
But there isn't.
This is one of my favorite exhibits from 2011 - it's reminiscent of arcade-type retro designs
Since I've been on the lookout for a retro 70's-era pinball machine, this exhibit was my favorite. I love the designs and the retro-style arcade feel to it because it makes me want to go back to my childhood during that pre-video game craze—I loved it. Nothing can beat those days anymore.
I've always loved and still get inspired by retro designs of any sort. Or even a funky style that may not exactly be practical, but unique nonetheless. An imaginative approach.
Lime green chair - unfortunately I don't remember the artist's name—I just took the picture because
I thought it looked cool! It looks like it's plastic and soft, but it was actually a hard chair.
Nothing inspires me more than seeing artists whose work is unique and out of the ordinary. It means they take chances and they take the time to think and create. Not just take a pencil and a sketchpad and draw something they see. They use their imagination instead, not just their eye.
Now, please don't misunderstand me, I'm not saying that artists who do create their work by sketching something they see aren't talented, but quite the contrary, they're very talented. However, what I am saying is, I don't think that takes much imagination to see and sketch, and it's not really the kind of art I'm into. I like artists who step outside of the box, not stay within them.
But again, art is subjective so there's no use in arguing there.
Local sculptor using unsual materials for this unusual sculpture
An area for children to paint a mural for whatever they want! I love it!!!
As I would continue to walk and peruse the local artists and their work, I'm in awe. I always say to myself how I wish I could do something like that, but I don't seem to have the nerve! But why not? Why can't I go out there and do something that artist can do? Isn't it all within, all of our art and our work? I don't mean to copy their work or "plagiarize" another artists' piece, but inspire me to do something like them—step away from my comfort zone and create something that will not only please me, but maybe please others as well.
This is a big step for me. As my bipolar mind and ramblings continue to fade, I know that the one thing that will make me happy will be to create—continue to create my work and my art in hopes of maybe pleasing others.
Just like when they walk into my loft for the first time.
Ooooh ahhhh....
I will be inspired!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
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.
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.
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!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Painting Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
I love painting, I do. I think I've made that apparent in most—if not all—of my prior posts. Although I haven't been trained professionally as a painter (even though I studied art), it's something I've always done to calm my nerves and makes me happy—even to keep me occupied and "out of trouble." It's just what I've always done. I think I take after my mother in that regard, because she did the same thing.
After many years of painting bright colors on many canvases, I've come to the realization that painting has helped me through my bipolar disorder on many levels, not just as an artist, but for a therapeutic point of view as well—even if I wasn't made aware of it at the time. However, it's something I have always enjoyed and realize that many painting instructors teach their students to mix their colors and never paint straight ouf of the tube. For me, I'm the opposite. I prefer to paint with acrylic when most instructors teach their students to use oils instead.
Any way you look at it, it's still a personal preference.
I do know that as a fine artist, we will all eventually use what works for us the most. It allows us to inhabit our own methods and excel as artists. At this point after many years, I don't care what the art community thinks about my paintings, and I don't care if they're being critiqued to the point of negativity and displeasure, I enjoy painting and I take pleasure from it.
As a graphic designer, we are taught to design for our clients, not the designer. That rule of thumb has always been tough for me, but I've come to learn after many years of working as a graphic designer that it's how we have to work in order to make a living.
We are there to make the client happy.
It can be very frustrating because as professionals, we know that many times the design we choose instead of the client, are always better. But that's not always the case. The client sees and desires what they want, regardless of our professional opinion. I've just learned to not take it personally, because ultimately it's not a reflection of who I am, but of the client during that point in time.
Isn't that what they're paying us for?
When I'm painting, I can take comfort that I'm doing it for me and for myself only. Nobody else. I've never put my paintings up for sale and I don't intend to. Over the years, I've been lucky enough to have painted many commissions of pets, couples, children, etc. but I've never really sold my paintings that are hanging on my walls.
These were painted for me.
I truly believe that these individual paintings mean something special to me and they have a purpose in my home. I don't think I could ever say goodbye. They're important to me and I've grown to accept them as part of my 'family,' part of my decor.
But as my heart grows for each painting I create, I know that deep in my heart I do it for enjoyment and a release. A release of everything I've endured this past year and what I will move to this coming year.
Maybe one of these days I'll actually sell one of my paintings, but in the meantime, I'll just enjoy them as they continue to hang on my own four walls.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
After many years of painting bright colors on many canvases, I've come to the realization that painting has helped me through my bipolar disorder on many levels, not just as an artist, but for a therapeutic point of view as well—even if I wasn't made aware of it at the time. However, it's something I have always enjoyed and realize that many painting instructors teach their students to mix their colors and never paint straight ouf of the tube. For me, I'm the opposite. I prefer to paint with acrylic when most instructors teach their students to use oils instead.
Any way you look at it, it's still a personal preference.
I do know that as a fine artist, we will all eventually use what works for us the most. It allows us to inhabit our own methods and excel as artists. At this point after many years, I don't care what the art community thinks about my paintings, and I don't care if they're being critiqued to the point of negativity and displeasure, I enjoy painting and I take pleasure from it.
As a graphic designer, we are taught to design for our clients, not the designer. That rule of thumb has always been tough for me, but I've come to learn after many years of working as a graphic designer that it's how we have to work in order to make a living.
We are there to make the client happy.
It can be very frustrating because as professionals, we know that many times the design we choose instead of the client, are always better. But that's not always the case. The client sees and desires what they want, regardless of our professional opinion. I've just learned to not take it personally, because ultimately it's not a reflection of who I am, but of the client during that point in time.
Isn't that what they're paying us for?
When I'm painting, I can take comfort that I'm doing it for me and for myself only. Nobody else. I've never put my paintings up for sale and I don't intend to. Over the years, I've been lucky enough to have painted many commissions of pets, couples, children, etc. but I've never really sold my paintings that are hanging on my walls.
These were painted for me.
I truly believe that these individual paintings mean something special to me and they have a purpose in my home. I don't think I could ever say goodbye. They're important to me and I've grown to accept them as part of my 'family,' part of my decor.
But as my heart grows for each painting I create, I know that deep in my heart I do it for enjoyment and a release. A release of everything I've endured this past year and what I will move to this coming year.
Maybe one of these days I'll actually sell one of my paintings, but in the meantime, I'll just enjoy them as they continue to hang on my own four walls.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Rat Race
I mean this legitimately—the rat race in my head and my thoughts. They're always racing, so much so that I cannot sleep. It feels like my mind and my thoughts are going 100 miles a minute. Sometimes I can control it, especially when I go for my morning run, but most of the time, I cannot. Unfortunately, it prevents me from sleeping, and this isn't good for my disease, my bipolar disorder. My therapist and my "drug dealer" (as I like to call my psychiatric nurse who prescribes my medication), always tell me that I need my sleep; it's imperative I get a good night's sleep. But how can I control it? How can I control my racing thoughts?
Most of the time, I'm always thinking of ways to improve my solitude and give me projects to work on, especially for my art. But there are so many ideas that I honestly don't know where to start, or worse, how to execute them. I know I have discussed this through one of my prior posts, Therapy Through Art, but it's something that continues to affect me even today, several weeks later.
I sometimes feel like my mind is in the middle of New York City running through rush hour as though I was part of the "rat race." It gets beyond frustrating because I just can't seem to concentrate on anything—not even my art, which means the world to me right now. Again.
Yesterday I had my daughter's friend come over for a sleepover, and since I had never met her mother, she eagerly came upstairs to introduce herself. Nice enough lady, just couldn't seem to stop talking. Well, for most people that may be OK, but for me, someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, my mind wanders if you've lost me; lost my interest—which unfortunately happens a little too often these days, and with her, it was just too much; too in depth.
As I'm standing there trying my hardest to listen, my mind continued to wander—round and round about everything and anything to zone her out. I couldn't help it, but I lost interest not far into the conversation.
How do I overcome this? The past several days, I have been shaky in the mornings, and now exhausted. I credit the exhaustion to my lack of sleep these days, but the shakiness, I just don't know what to do. Thankfully I have my appointment tomorrow with my "drug dealer" so hopefully he can recommend something. It's tough, kind of like this dichomoty in my brain telling me that although my depression and mood swings have diminished exponentially, I'm shaky and exhausted regardless.
The polarity is frustrating for me. No pun intended.
This tells me one thing—I'm still not 100% like I had hoped. The last few weeks have been such a huge transformation, as we had immediately thought, finally she's back.
Not yet.
After starting this painting a few weeks ago, I finally completed it this morning. Although I haven't done the finishing touches to date—a shiny gloss coat—but I can still display it proudly to share with you for this post.
I hope you like it. If not, that's OK too, I realize my art is not for everyone. That's what makes it art. More abstract in nature which demonstrates my current state of mind; my racing thoughts.
Thank you for reading, and thank you for allowing me to share my recent painting with you.
P.S. Please understand that my paintings are amateur as I have had no professional training in fine art painting with acrylic. But it's something I do for myself. I typically don't sell my paintings, would consider it.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Most of the time, I'm always thinking of ways to improve my solitude and give me projects to work on, especially for my art. But there are so many ideas that I honestly don't know where to start, or worse, how to execute them. I know I have discussed this through one of my prior posts, Therapy Through Art, but it's something that continues to affect me even today, several weeks later.
I sometimes feel like my mind is in the middle of New York City running through rush hour as though I was part of the "rat race." It gets beyond frustrating because I just can't seem to concentrate on anything—not even my art, which means the world to me right now. Again.
Yesterday I had my daughter's friend come over for a sleepover, and since I had never met her mother, she eagerly came upstairs to introduce herself. Nice enough lady, just couldn't seem to stop talking. Well, for most people that may be OK, but for me, someone who suffers from bipolar disorder, my mind wanders if you've lost me; lost my interest—which unfortunately happens a little too often these days, and with her, it was just too much; too in depth.
As I'm standing there trying my hardest to listen, my mind continued to wander—round and round about everything and anything to zone her out. I couldn't help it, but I lost interest not far into the conversation.
How do I overcome this? The past several days, I have been shaky in the mornings, and now exhausted. I credit the exhaustion to my lack of sleep these days, but the shakiness, I just don't know what to do. Thankfully I have my appointment tomorrow with my "drug dealer" so hopefully he can recommend something. It's tough, kind of like this dichomoty in my brain telling me that although my depression and mood swings have diminished exponentially, I'm shaky and exhausted regardless.
The polarity is frustrating for me. No pun intended.
This tells me one thing—I'm still not 100% like I had hoped. The last few weeks have been such a huge transformation, as we had immediately thought, finally she's back.
Not yet.
After starting this painting a few weeks ago, I finally completed it this morning. Although I haven't done the finishing touches to date—a shiny gloss coat—but I can still display it proudly to share with you for this post.
I hope you like it. If not, that's OK too, I realize my art is not for everyone. That's what makes it art. More abstract in nature which demonstrates my current state of mind; my racing thoughts.
Skyscraper of a Scattered Mind – Artist, me – 2012
Thank you for reading, and thank you for allowing me to share my recent painting with you.
P.S. Please understand that my paintings are amateur as I have had no professional training in fine art painting with acrylic. But it's something I do for myself. I typically don't sell my paintings, would consider it.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, June 1, 2012
Back in the Saddle Again
For over two years, two long years, I had no desire whatsoever to work on my graphic design and/or art. I just wanted to sit and play my video game. That's it. That was my goal; that is what consisted of my day.
I don't blame the video game or my addiction to my lack of interest in my art, I blame my frustration and I blame Bipolar Disorder. But life can't be filled with blame, if all we do is blame then we never hold ourselves accountable for the mistakes that we make. I am choosing to get help for my Bipolar and choosing to get well again. I have so much to live in my life and so much to see, that getting well will only enrich it, not ruin it.
It was difficult these past two years without my art, without my work. I truly thought I'd never have the desire to go back. I always looked at it as a creative block, nothing more, nothing less. I was afraid that I'd never have that desire to create and design like I used to. I had such passion for it and to then wake up one day and have it disappear was discouraging, as well as depressing. I had worked so hard to obtain my bachelors degree in graphic design, that it was almost a disincline from everything that had been so meaningful in my life.
Until now.
After two and a half years, I can now look ahead and move forward with my work and my art. Even though I am still currently unemployed, I still have hope that I can create on my own and design for me. Right now, I need that more than anything. It'll not only keep me sane, but keep me occupied. Keep my thoughts from racing every night as I lie in bed attempting to go to sleep. My psychiatric nurse—whom I refer to as my 'drug dealer'—had recommended that I keep a journal or note pad next to my bed so I can write down my racing thoughts. But I don't need a note pad, thankfully I still remember all of my thoughts and ideas the following day.
If only it were this easy. I admit, there are days where my mind and thoughts are constantly coming up with ideas on what project to work on next, only to find myself unable to execute it when I approach the plate. It has been frustrating. I've never had this problem before and I've never been this "blocked." It has become quite the eye opener for me. Reality.
Sometimes I ask myself "why?" Why am I atttempting to do this again? Why not just walk away and find something else to occupy my time? I had even thought about focusing my energy on learning to cook, but for me for the most part, art/design is still where I belong. When you're an artist, the answer isn't as simple as it may seem. It's something deep inside of you that needs to come out; that needs to be expressed. STAT!
But where do I start?
I'm confused by this question, simply because I am still confused to why I was 'blocked' to begin with. Since I was 13 years old, after seeing the movie Xanadu, I knew that becoming a commercial artist—which is what graphic design was called back then—was my calling in life. Although I initially dreamed of becoming an architect, I immediately came to the realization that math was not my forté; my weakest subject.
Next dream—graphic designer.
Art history and architecture is still to this day, something I have such passion for, so I just realized that I can still enjoy it without having it as my career.
Even if I don't get a job in my field right now, I'm actually OK with that. At this point, working at a coffee shop would be sufficient. As long as I'm around people and can socialize with the real world, in lieu of the virtual world which I have become so accustomed to after 2+ years. I need and crave for that more than anything right now.
That will help me heal.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I don't blame the video game or my addiction to my lack of interest in my art, I blame my frustration and I blame Bipolar Disorder. But life can't be filled with blame, if all we do is blame then we never hold ourselves accountable for the mistakes that we make. I am choosing to get help for my Bipolar and choosing to get well again. I have so much to live in my life and so much to see, that getting well will only enrich it, not ruin it.
It was difficult these past two years without my art, without my work. I truly thought I'd never have the desire to go back. I always looked at it as a creative block, nothing more, nothing less. I was afraid that I'd never have that desire to create and design like I used to. I had such passion for it and to then wake up one day and have it disappear was discouraging, as well as depressing. I had worked so hard to obtain my bachelors degree in graphic design, that it was almost a disincline from everything that had been so meaningful in my life.
Until now.
After two and a half years, I can now look ahead and move forward with my work and my art. Even though I am still currently unemployed, I still have hope that I can create on my own and design for me. Right now, I need that more than anything. It'll not only keep me sane, but keep me occupied. Keep my thoughts from racing every night as I lie in bed attempting to go to sleep. My psychiatric nurse—whom I refer to as my 'drug dealer'—had recommended that I keep a journal or note pad next to my bed so I can write down my racing thoughts. But I don't need a note pad, thankfully I still remember all of my thoughts and ideas the following day.
If only it were this easy. I admit, there are days where my mind and thoughts are constantly coming up with ideas on what project to work on next, only to find myself unable to execute it when I approach the plate. It has been frustrating. I've never had this problem before and I've never been this "blocked." It has become quite the eye opener for me. Reality.
Sometimes I ask myself "why?" Why am I atttempting to do this again? Why not just walk away and find something else to occupy my time? I had even thought about focusing my energy on learning to cook, but for me for the most part, art/design is still where I belong. When you're an artist, the answer isn't as simple as it may seem. It's something deep inside of you that needs to come out; that needs to be expressed. STAT!
But where do I start?
I'm confused by this question, simply because I am still confused to why I was 'blocked' to begin with. Since I was 13 years old, after seeing the movie Xanadu, I knew that becoming a commercial artist—which is what graphic design was called back then—was my calling in life. Although I initially dreamed of becoming an architect, I immediately came to the realization that math was not my forté; my weakest subject.
Next dream—graphic designer.
Art history and architecture is still to this day, something I have such passion for, so I just realized that I can still enjoy it without having it as my career.
Even if I don't get a job in my field right now, I'm actually OK with that. At this point, working at a coffee shop would be sufficient. As long as I'm around people and can socialize with the real world, in lieu of the virtual world which I have become so accustomed to after 2+ years. I need and crave for that more than anything right now.
That will help me heal.
Pop Art illustration Raisins – Artist, me – 2006
Pop Art illustration S.O.S. Pads – Artist, me – 2006
Pop Art illustration Spaghetti Sauce & Tomato Soup – Artist, me – 2006
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Eat. Travel. Cry.
When the movie, Eat Pray Love, came out, I couldn't wait to see it. I knew none of my friends would see it with me, so I went by myself. Since I love going to the movies by myself, I quickly embraced it. My movie, my time, my terms. It's time to myself.
This movie was different. Anybody that truly knows me knows that I hate love stories and the like. I hate the kind of movies that involve romance and unrealistic expections about what love is supposed to be about. Hollywood's version. But something about this movie intrigued me. I hadn't read the book, so the previews alone are what drew me in. I had heard a great deal about the book and how inspiring it was, especially since it was based off a true story, so I couldn't wait to see it.
For the most part, I knew the basic background of the book and the movie, but still didn't have an idea overall what it was about.
Once it came out, I immediately went online and purchased my ticket. I was ready to go! Apart of me was scared because I knew once I'd see it, there was the possibility that I may identify with the main character, Elizabeth Gilbert.
I didn't care. Something about this movie piqued my interest.
As I sat alone in the movie theater, after the first 30 minutes or so, I had a revelation—up there on the screen, was me! It seemed everything about that character was me. At that time in my marriage, I was unsure, I was confused. I love my husband dearly, but during that down time in my life, I was completely lost—both in my mind and my heart. After watching the pain that Elizabeth Gilbert had endured must have been beyond agonizing and disconcerting. She knew right then and there, that in order to go forward and be happy with her life, she had to make a rash decision.
To end her marriage and ask for a divorce.
I don't think I necessarily wanted a divorce, but I knew one thing, I needed to be alone. Even though my husband was my rock throughout my ordeal, I still wanted to experience the solitude that she was experiencing.
Per my post, The Escape Artist, I always dreamed about traveling and my envious feeling as I continued to watch the movie only increased my desire to travel, see the magical places that she was able to pursue while she had the advantage of gallivanting throughout these countries.
Except for one problem, I had zero money—unlike the fortunate position she was in, I am nowhere near the magnitude of her writing skills, so that idea was out.
About three years ago, my mother gave me her 3 carat pear shaped diamond ring. It was something she always wanted to pass down to me, and one day I will pass down to my daughter. Once I received it, I knew I needed to have it insured immediately. Since her appraisal was outdated from 1976, I went to my local jeweler whom I have used for years and trusted a great deal for an update. It was appraised at $11,000. Not as much as I thought, but a substancial amount nevertheless.
While I was experiencing these feelings of escape, I thought about selling my mother's ring—the "rock" as I've always called it. But quickly realized this would have impacted me for many years ahead and would have been a colossal mistake.
As I reminisce about that time, I am so glad I didn't give in and sell it. I know now I was at least able to think rationally about that huge step I would have made, and ended up satisfied with my decision not to sell it. I look at my mother's ring everyday and I'm so thankful I didn't succumb to this urge. This ring will someday be passed down to my daughter, and her daughter and so forth. An heirloom that will hopefully remain in my family for decades, if not centuries, ahead.
By the end of the movie, I wanted what she had so badly. Not the love part, but the initial escape, the travel, and of course, the eating. I craved it. It's a reminder of how I was feeling and what I was desiring in my life at that time. It was a tough point, a low in my life and knew something needed to change.
Unfortunately, I was never able to make those changes. Maybe all is well. I don't know. I do know this, as I move forward with my medications, I realize that I am better. I am getting better. Like a diabetic, I know that I will always have to continue with my medication. I never want to experience that horrible time in my life. I can only move forward and learn from it.
Regardless, even today as my crying has diminished completely, I look back and someday dream that we will have the opportunity to travel—even if it's somewhere as simple as Mexico. I'll be happy.
I have to have faith that I will have that lucky chance to do so. The means which will allow to escape, even if I am with my family.
I'm not a religious person, nor have I ever been, but I will pray, pray that I will be in the position to travel and see the world!
Pop Art of Buddha – Artist, me – 2009
Sunday, May 6, 2012
The Start.
Today I start this blog. A blog that will have great meaning to me. Why? Because I am about to reveal the last year of my life, and most likely from this day forward—that has been haunting me the entire time—something that has affected me and my family for a year. A long, tumultuous, emotional year. So emotional that I have decided to share it with you via this blog—put all my thoughts and past experiences as a way to move forward; put everything down on paper (or the internet). By doing this, I feel it's important to release my inner emotions to maybe, just maybe pursue peace within myself.
So please understand and accept my poor writing as a result of sharing my thoughts.
To be honest, I really don't know where to start.
I'm an artist, a designer, and a painter—although inexperienced and self-taught as a painter, I find it therapeutic nonetheless. It's an avenue I have always had interest in, something that I have been told I am good at. However, due to my insecurity since childhood, it's difficult for me to accept these acknowledgements—from friends or even strangers who have viewed my work. It's why I chose to title my blog, Bipolar By Design. The ramblings of a bipolar mind through art, not just writings.
As this blog progresses, I will submit samples of my work, samples of the designs I have implemented throughout my home—a loft. Yes, we have chosen to live in a loft. I find that living in a loft not only conserves the resources within our planet, but it allows me and my family the opportunity to walk to our local downtown area, enjoy the local parks—in lieu of a backyard—and close, easy walking distance to locally owned businesses, as well as stumbling home late at night from the local bars without the risk of driving.
Without getting ahead of myself, and without overwhelming you with all of my bipolar ramblings over the past year (because going back any further would be REALLY overwhelming—and I most likely forgot most of it, if not all of it), I will end it right here. But please, check back as I will post my work, post my design techniques not just within my home, but my paintings as well. If not babbling through this brand new blog.
Thanks for reading!
If you'd prefer to read more succinct ramblings, check out my twitter page as well.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
So please understand and accept my poor writing as a result of sharing my thoughts.
To be honest, I really don't know where to start.
I'm an artist, a designer, and a painter—although inexperienced and self-taught as a painter, I find it therapeutic nonetheless. It's an avenue I have always had interest in, something that I have been told I am good at. However, due to my insecurity since childhood, it's difficult for me to accept these acknowledgements—from friends or even strangers who have viewed my work. It's why I chose to title my blog, Bipolar By Design. The ramblings of a bipolar mind through art, not just writings.
As this blog progresses, I will submit samples of my work, samples of the designs I have implemented throughout my home—a loft. Yes, we have chosen to live in a loft. I find that living in a loft not only conserves the resources within our planet, but it allows me and my family the opportunity to walk to our local downtown area, enjoy the local parks—in lieu of a backyard—and close, easy walking distance to locally owned businesses, as well as stumbling home late at night from the local bars without the risk of driving.
Without getting ahead of myself, and without overwhelming you with all of my bipolar ramblings over the past year (because going back any further would be REALLY overwhelming—and I most likely forgot most of it, if not all of it), I will end it right here. But please, check back as I will post my work, post my design techniques not just within my home, but my paintings as well. If not babbling through this brand new blog.
Thanks for reading!
If you'd prefer to read more succinct ramblings, check out my twitter page as well.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
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