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
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Goodbye, Daddy.
February 16, 1936 - June 17, 2012
You Were There
Poem by Me
You were always there for me
Through thick and through thin
We always fought
We always cried
We always smiled
We always tried
Sometimes I hated you
But I always loved you
Sometimes you were disappointed in me
But you were always proud
You had a short temper
But I knew it was your way
What I would give to hear your temper today
I miss your voice
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your charm
I miss your kindness
I miss your love
I will always look upon you from the wing of a dove
I'll never forget
I'll always remember
How close we became
When we were together
You easily got upset
But told me you loved me
You may have yelled
But said you were sorry
The time we spent together
Was precious and meaningful
Even when you were serious
You continued to smile
You continued to smile
You were protective of me
But happy when you walked me down the aisle
I'll never forget when I saw you cry
You met your granddaughter for the first time
As she grew, so did your smile
Spending time with her was worth the while
These last days have been sad
But spending time with you made me glad
You were always there for me
And that I will never forget
Goodbye my daddy
You will always be in my heart
Forever
Saturday, June 16, 2012
It's time to say goodbye...forever!
Yesterday morning after I walked in the door from my morning run, took a shower and made my morning cappuccino, I received a phone call from my mother. The phone call I've been dreading after all these months; many months since my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Since I just came home from taking my dog out, I saw her message blinking on my cell phone. Scared, I immediately listened to it with anticipation; as I always do when she calls. But they typically had only been just to say hi and give me an update about my father.
Until now.
Listening to her message and listening to the tone of her voice, I knew that something was wrong, or worse, something had happened. She succinctly said, "please call me, it's important."
My heart dropped. It dropped to the floor. I heard it in her voice. Calling her back was the scariest thing I had ever encountered in my life. I didn't know what to expect, but clearly it was the worst scenario I had thought about after all these months since his diagnosis.
Once she picked up the phone, it confirmed my worst fear. My father was deterioating, his organs were failing, and at this point, he had only days to live. She simply said "I think it's time you come out and prepare to say goodbye."
Hearing those words I can't describe because I never ever thought I'd be confronted with those words, those harsh saddening words. How can I prepare for something like that? How can I prepare to say goodbye? Saying goodbye to the one man I had always looked up to and always respected. He was a good father; an excellent father. He had his moments, like we all do in life, but overall, he always made sure we had food on the table and a roof over our heads. We were always provided for.
Please forgive me if you find this post insensitive, but it's something I need to express, my feeling and my soul here. Although for the most part, my blog has become therapeutic for me, I honestly don't know how to react to this, something like this. Something I had never expected to happen in a million years in my life. Since I had discussed my father's illness in prior posts, I wanted to share this with you as well. So please accept my apologies in advance if it insults you.
As I immediately started researching flights, I was able to get on the next flight 2 hours later. Once I arrived, I was scared to see my mother's reaction, but she gave me a tight loving hug instead. No tears, just strength. She was so strong throughout this whole ordeal that I can only learn from this trait of hers, as opposed to being insulted by it. As I look back, I honestly cannot remember seeing her cry. Throughout my entire life, she had always been stoic towards many situations, even the death of her mother and father. Regardless, she was a loving and giving mother. Always there for me and always made sure I had anything and everything I needed in life. Even while I was away at school.
As we were driving to the hospital she warned me that I must brace myself as he is not the same man that I had always known and had always grown accustomed to. He was very weak and very thin. I could feel my heart pounding inside of my chest wanting to pump its way out, but I wanted to remain strong. She then told me that she didn't tell him I was coming so it could be a surprise for him. Even though I loved this idea, I was concerned that seeing me unannounced would only scare him, instead of pleasing him.
But we lied. We told him that we had been planning this trip for over a week now. Planning it making sure that my meds were now working.
Thankfully he never showed any indication that he caught onto our scheme, only surprise and happiness as I turned the corner of his hospital room in the ICU. At first, I didn't know how to react. Seeing him lying there in the hospital bed was not the man I knew; not the man I grew up with and not the man who provided for us. I had even hoped we accidentally walked into the wrong room. He was someone else entirely. It was difficult, I admit, but after talking with him for a while, I felt confident. Not necessarily confident of his recovery, just confident of his alertness and lack of pain. He looked comfortable and at peace. Just relaxed and completely alert. At least I could take comfort in knowing that he wasn't in pain or appeared to not be frightened; a pillar of strength like I had always known him. Especially considering the current situation, this made me feel good. Albeit only temporary.
As we were sitting there gazing at the television screen, in comes his Gastroenterologist with grave news. "I think it's time you need to plan for end of life."
Hearing those words were beyond devastating, but shocking nevertheless. Even though my whole trip consisted of this possibility, how can one still be prepared for such shocking words?
Nobody can.
I couldn't control myself, I couldn't handle it. I ran out of the room and into the hallway of the ICU and just started crying. Holding my face with my palms and started crying. I couldn't stop. And I didn't want to. I wanted to cry and feel this ache that was starting to overcome me. He was my daddy, of course.
It's gonna be so difficult for me to let go and say goodbye. I don't know how to. I don't know how to make peace with something like this. I've never been in this situation before with the excepton of my grandparents' death when I was 11 years old, and then the death of my in-laws. But this is different. Don't get me wrong, I loved my in-laws and grandparents very much, but it's not the same when it's your father. Your blood relative. Nothing can compare.
On the eve of Father's Day, it'll be the most difficult reality I'll have to face. I love my father very much and looking at him lying there in the hospital bed all wired up and tubes coming out of everywhere, is a harsh reality for me. I know I will breakdown and cry. Hopefully not in front of him but I'll breakdown either way. I am already mourning the loss of him.
Even today, as my mother and I spent visiting him, it's as though he's finally giving up; finally accepting his fate. Maybe it was seeing me is what he needed to say goodbye himself, I don't know. But he seemed calm, but not his usual jovial self. Thank God he's not in any pain, but either way it still doesn't make this any easier. It only makes you realize that it's real. All of this is real. Not a nightmare like I had hoped.
We're expecting to say goodbye to him within the next few days. Am I ready? No, I'm not. I don't want to say goodbye, but aside from a short miracle, it'll have to happen, most likely on his own; a natural exit. Something like this is never easy, and looking into his eyes (the same eyes I inherited) only makes it worse. He's alert and he knows. Knows it's time to say goodbye forever.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Since I just came home from taking my dog out, I saw her message blinking on my cell phone. Scared, I immediately listened to it with anticipation; as I always do when she calls. But they typically had only been just to say hi and give me an update about my father.
Until now.
Listening to her message and listening to the tone of her voice, I knew that something was wrong, or worse, something had happened. She succinctly said, "please call me, it's important."
My heart dropped. It dropped to the floor. I heard it in her voice. Calling her back was the scariest thing I had ever encountered in my life. I didn't know what to expect, but clearly it was the worst scenario I had thought about after all these months since his diagnosis.
Once she picked up the phone, it confirmed my worst fear. My father was deterioating, his organs were failing, and at this point, he had only days to live. She simply said "I think it's time you come out and prepare to say goodbye."
Hearing those words I can't describe because I never ever thought I'd be confronted with those words, those harsh saddening words. How can I prepare for something like that? How can I prepare to say goodbye? Saying goodbye to the one man I had always looked up to and always respected. He was a good father; an excellent father. He had his moments, like we all do in life, but overall, he always made sure we had food on the table and a roof over our heads. We were always provided for.
Please forgive me if you find this post insensitive, but it's something I need to express, my feeling and my soul here. Although for the most part, my blog has become therapeutic for me, I honestly don't know how to react to this, something like this. Something I had never expected to happen in a million years in my life. Since I had discussed my father's illness in prior posts, I wanted to share this with you as well. So please accept my apologies in advance if it insults you.
As I immediately started researching flights, I was able to get on the next flight 2 hours later. Once I arrived, I was scared to see my mother's reaction, but she gave me a tight loving hug instead. No tears, just strength. She was so strong throughout this whole ordeal that I can only learn from this trait of hers, as opposed to being insulted by it. As I look back, I honestly cannot remember seeing her cry. Throughout my entire life, she had always been stoic towards many situations, even the death of her mother and father. Regardless, she was a loving and giving mother. Always there for me and always made sure I had anything and everything I needed in life. Even while I was away at school.
As we were driving to the hospital she warned me that I must brace myself as he is not the same man that I had always known and had always grown accustomed to. He was very weak and very thin. I could feel my heart pounding inside of my chest wanting to pump its way out, but I wanted to remain strong. She then told me that she didn't tell him I was coming so it could be a surprise for him. Even though I loved this idea, I was concerned that seeing me unannounced would only scare him, instead of pleasing him.
But we lied. We told him that we had been planning this trip for over a week now. Planning it making sure that my meds were now working.
Thankfully he never showed any indication that he caught onto our scheme, only surprise and happiness as I turned the corner of his hospital room in the ICU. At first, I didn't know how to react. Seeing him lying there in the hospital bed was not the man I knew; not the man I grew up with and not the man who provided for us. I had even hoped we accidentally walked into the wrong room. He was someone else entirely. It was difficult, I admit, but after talking with him for a while, I felt confident. Not necessarily confident of his recovery, just confident of his alertness and lack of pain. He looked comfortable and at peace. Just relaxed and completely alert. At least I could take comfort in knowing that he wasn't in pain or appeared to not be frightened; a pillar of strength like I had always known him. Especially considering the current situation, this made me feel good. Albeit only temporary.
As we were sitting there gazing at the television screen, in comes his Gastroenterologist with grave news. "I think it's time you need to plan for end of life."
Hearing those words were beyond devastating, but shocking nevertheless. Even though my whole trip consisted of this possibility, how can one still be prepared for such shocking words?
Nobody can.
I couldn't control myself, I couldn't handle it. I ran out of the room and into the hallway of the ICU and just started crying. Holding my face with my palms and started crying. I couldn't stop. And I didn't want to. I wanted to cry and feel this ache that was starting to overcome me. He was my daddy, of course.
It's gonna be so difficult for me to let go and say goodbye. I don't know how to. I don't know how to make peace with something like this. I've never been in this situation before with the excepton of my grandparents' death when I was 11 years old, and then the death of my in-laws. But this is different. Don't get me wrong, I loved my in-laws and grandparents very much, but it's not the same when it's your father. Your blood relative. Nothing can compare.
On the eve of Father's Day, it'll be the most difficult reality I'll have to face. I love my father very much and looking at him lying there in the hospital bed all wired up and tubes coming out of everywhere, is a harsh reality for me. I know I will breakdown and cry. Hopefully not in front of him but I'll breakdown either way. I am already mourning the loss of him.
Even today, as my mother and I spent visiting him, it's as though he's finally giving up; finally accepting his fate. Maybe it was seeing me is what he needed to say goodbye himself, I don't know. But he seemed calm, but not his usual jovial self. Thank God he's not in any pain, but either way it still doesn't make this any easier. It only makes you realize that it's real. All of this is real. Not a nightmare like I had hoped.
We're expecting to say goodbye to him within the next few days. Am I ready? No, I'm not. I don't want to say goodbye, but aside from a short miracle, it'll have to happen, most likely on his own; a natural exit. Something like this is never easy, and looking into his eyes (the same eyes I inherited) only makes it worse. He's alert and he knows. Knows it's time to say goodbye forever.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, June 15, 2012
Eternal Sunshine of the Vintage Display
I love color, I do. If you saw my loft, you would know that I love color.
I've never been one to decorate my home with the usual taupe and beige that seem to be the norm in most homes. Oh no, I have to have colorful surroundings. It'll make me happy, you see.
Hmm maybe not always.
I'm mature enough to know that a colorful home will not solve all problems—especially those suffering from bipolar disorder. But it feels and looks good, nevertheless. You can tell, the minute you walk into my home that an artist lives here.
That pleases me.
I typically don't watch the quintessential home decorating shows all over the networks these days, or anything close. I just like to come up with my own ideas—with the occasional inspirations wherever I go. I'm always looking around and observing for a "lightbulb" effect. However, I was watching a show and absolutely loved it! The decorators/artists/designers (whose vocation was more along the lines of professional flippers), were a married couple who were like me—they loved mixing vintage elements with new. I loved it. OMG where did they come from?
New York City of course.
They demonstrated a modern taste—such as myself—with a lot of bright colors. They weren't afraid to go beyond the usual common boundaries.
I was addicted, so I continued to watch every episode with anticipation. Heck, I even downloaded the series from iTunes so I can watch over and over. It was invigorating and more than inspiring.
Many ideas were presented as an eclectic juxtaposition of vintage essentials displayed throughout their clients' homes. I loved it. Unfortunately, they have the advantage of living in New York City where there is a plethora of vintage/pre-owned shops. I didn't have that luxury here where I live.
Regardless, I'll make due. I've always loved and taken advantage of eBay and it's right there at your fingertips.
With empty vases and chachkes cluttering up my coffee table, I knew I had to make a change. Something more simple; maybe even adding more color. But what?
Once again taking advantage of the convenience of eBay, I scrolled page after page looking for ideas for the perfect find. Perusing Craigslist didn't seem like an appropriate option, so I continued to search for the perfect bargain. Or even idea. Regardless, I still tried Craigslist just in case. You never know.
I have been on the hunt for an old vintage pinball machine for months now—don't ask me where I'd put it however—and know that clearly eBay wouldn't be a practical option. I even found the perfect set of old gym lockers on Craigslist for a small space that was being misused in the foyer of our front door—for a mere $60.
Even though I still had no idea what I wanted to fill those empty vases with, I figured I'd come up with an idea eventually. An epiphany. Because that's just how I roll.
One day it literally came to me, and I realized it'd be the perfect solution. Nobody would have these items displayed in their homes. Only on their pool tables for practical use—playing pool.
I knew coming up with the idea of displaying old vintage billiard balls mixed with new ones would be a perfect solution, albeit an odd one. But I could always appreciate its colorful and retro-style and loved how the color bordering each ball's circumference added life, which is what gave them a unique perspective.
Let the hunt begin.
For me, using something as simple as old styled mixed with new styled billiard balls was an inexpensive infusion and I knew it would be something I could afford and proudly display without "breaking the bank."
At first my husband thought I was weird, but I didn't care. As with everything in our home, he eventually comes around and loves how I've decorated our loft and proudly displayed my art.
I didn't want to stop there, I wanted to continue to add more "life" to my loft.
As I was attempting to work on my Lego art project—from my prior post, Blocked?....No Pun Intended—looking at the tub of colorful legos inspired me even more. Too bad it wasn't for that particular project, however, but the colors and different sizes always made me want to do something else; maybe something extraordinary outside of my 'blocked' Lego art project.
Buying an old bowl for $1.99 and filling it with Legos was also an unconventional inspiration, but a colorful one, nonetheless.
Even something as simple as an old unused gumball machine which I purchased on eBay for $20, even adding the candy gave it a colorful eclectic—and delicious—alternative.
My gaming headset has always been quite bothersome on my desk, so finding something as simple as a styrofoam head bust was an even better solution. For only $10, I took it home and spray painted it yellow and gave it more life than the sold as-is white styrofoam. I received an unexpected veneer as a result of the spray paint mixed with the styrofoam. Overall, it looked really cool.
I like to frequently shop the local vintage stores, Goodwill, pawn shops, our local Eco-Thrift store and the like for old, pre-owned items. It's like the saying, "one man's junk is another man's treasure." I have always found this to be true. I've always been an advocate of reusing items not just to "save the earth" but just as a way of expressing a form of unrivaled taste and individuality. This way, you're not seeing the same thing in everybody's home, or their clothing (i.e. Gap, Old Navy, Pottery Barn, etc.).
It's also why I love old estate jewelry. There's a history there, and although I may not know it, I can appreciate that there was a story regardless. Something about its untold diary gives an impression of excitement and wonderment as we try to imagine what that story is/was, maybe it was out of sadness or grief, or even desperation for money—God knows we've been there a number of times. Either way, it's a story I can create in my head; something that gives me inner peace.
Finding exceptional one-of-a-kind objects is something I've always treasured and enjoyed. Even altering its appearance with something as simple as spray paint can give it exclusivity.
These are one of the many things that have always helped me through my disease, bipolar disorder. I realize it can't cure it, but at least try and keep my mind occupied from my racing thoughts or decrease them a great deal. That is something I am satisfied with—even if it's only temporary at that time.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
I've never been one to decorate my home with the usual taupe and beige that seem to be the norm in most homes. Oh no, I have to have colorful surroundings. It'll make me happy, you see.
Hmm maybe not always.
I'm mature enough to know that a colorful home will not solve all problems—especially those suffering from bipolar disorder. But it feels and looks good, nevertheless. You can tell, the minute you walk into my home that an artist lives here.
That pleases me.
I typically don't watch the quintessential home decorating shows all over the networks these days, or anything close. I just like to come up with my own ideas—with the occasional inspirations wherever I go. I'm always looking around and observing for a "lightbulb" effect. However, I was watching a show and absolutely loved it! The decorators/artists/designers (whose vocation was more along the lines of professional flippers), were a married couple who were like me—they loved mixing vintage elements with new. I loved it. OMG where did they come from?
New York City of course.
They demonstrated a modern taste—such as myself—with a lot of bright colors. They weren't afraid to go beyond the usual common boundaries.
I was addicted, so I continued to watch every episode with anticipation. Heck, I even downloaded the series from iTunes so I can watch over and over. It was invigorating and more than inspiring.
Many ideas were presented as an eclectic juxtaposition of vintage essentials displayed throughout their clients' homes. I loved it. Unfortunately, they have the advantage of living in New York City where there is a plethora of vintage/pre-owned shops. I didn't have that luxury here where I live.
Regardless, I'll make due. I've always loved and taken advantage of eBay and it's right there at your fingertips.
With empty vases and chachkes cluttering up my coffee table, I knew I had to make a change. Something more simple; maybe even adding more color. But what?
Once again taking advantage of the convenience of eBay, I scrolled page after page looking for ideas for the perfect find. Perusing Craigslist didn't seem like an appropriate option, so I continued to search for the perfect bargain. Or even idea. Regardless, I still tried Craigslist just in case. You never know.
I have been on the hunt for an old vintage pinball machine for months now—don't ask me where I'd put it however—and know that clearly eBay wouldn't be a practical option. I even found the perfect set of old gym lockers on Craigslist for a small space that was being misused in the foyer of our front door—for a mere $60.
Even though I still had no idea what I wanted to fill those empty vases with, I figured I'd come up with an idea eventually. An epiphany. Because that's just how I roll.
One day it literally came to me, and I realized it'd be the perfect solution. Nobody would have these items displayed in their homes. Only on their pool tables for practical use—playing pool.
A view from the side showcasing how the pool balls & bowl
of legos look underneath my coffee table
Closeup view of the bowl of legos & vase of pool balls
View from above as you can see the large bowl filled
with vintage & new pool balls
I knew coming up with the idea of displaying old vintage billiard balls mixed with new ones would be a perfect solution, albeit an odd one. But I could always appreciate its colorful and retro-style and loved how the color bordering each ball's circumference added life, which is what gave them a unique perspective.
Let the hunt begin.
For me, using something as simple as old styled mixed with new styled billiard balls was an inexpensive infusion and I knew it would be something I could afford and proudly display without "breaking the bank."
At first my husband thought I was weird, but I didn't care. As with everything in our home, he eventually comes around and loves how I've decorated our loft and proudly displayed my art.
I didn't want to stop there, I wanted to continue to add more "life" to my loft.
As I was attempting to work on my Lego art project—from my prior post, Blocked?....No Pun Intended—looking at the tub of colorful legos inspired me even more. Too bad it wasn't for that particular project, however, but the colors and different sizes always made me want to do something else; maybe something extraordinary outside of my 'blocked' Lego art project.
Buying an old bowl for $1.99 and filling it with Legos was also an unconventional inspiration, but a colorful one, nonetheless.
Even something as simple as an old unused gumball machine which I purchased on eBay for $20, even adding the candy gave it a colorful eclectic—and delicious—alternative.
Sometimes I'll add peanut or plain M&M's for even
more bright colors—and when we're bored of chewing gum
My gaming headset has always been quite bothersome on my desk, so finding something as simple as a styrofoam head bust was an even better solution. For only $10, I took it home and spray painted it yellow and gave it more life than the sold as-is white styrofoam. I received an unexpected veneer as a result of the spray paint mixed with the styrofoam. Overall, it looked really cool.
I needed somewhere to display my gaming headset & saw
this styrofoam head & thought it was the perfect solution!
I like to frequently shop the local vintage stores, Goodwill, pawn shops, our local Eco-Thrift store and the like for old, pre-owned items. It's like the saying, "one man's junk is another man's treasure." I have always found this to be true. I've always been an advocate of reusing items not just to "save the earth" but just as a way of expressing a form of unrivaled taste and individuality. This way, you're not seeing the same thing in everybody's home, or their clothing (i.e. Gap, Old Navy, Pottery Barn, etc.).
It's also why I love old estate jewelry. There's a history there, and although I may not know it, I can appreciate that there was a story regardless. Something about its untold diary gives an impression of excitement and wonderment as we try to imagine what that story is/was, maybe it was out of sadness or grief, or even desperation for money—God knows we've been there a number of times. Either way, it's a story I can create in my head; something that gives me inner peace.
Finding exceptional one-of-a-kind objects is something I've always treasured and enjoyed. Even altering its appearance with something as simple as spray paint can give it exclusivity.
These are one of the many things that have always helped me through my disease, bipolar disorder. I realize it can't cure it, but at least try and keep my mind occupied from my racing thoughts or decrease them a great deal. That is something I am satisfied with—even if it's only temporary at that time.
Bipolar Gal on Twitter
Friday, June 8, 2012
A Dream.
We all have a dream. Something we all yearn to be, to do, in our lives. Sometimes we don't all get the opportunity to live out our aspirations, but it's fun to get away, if only in our minds, as we gaze into our fantasy.
For me, a dream that I've fantasized about for the past 3 years is opening up an art school—an art school for kids. I never thought in a milion years that I would ever want to teach art, especially to children, but after having my daughter, and exposing her to art, colors, painting, et al, since she was 18 months old, I realized that it's something I loved; something I truly enjoyed. And you know what, I was damn good at it, too.
It was at this age that I taught my daughter colors. At this time, she knew her colors and by the time she entered daycare at the age of 2, the instructors were highly impressed by this. I have paintings that she created at 19 months old that are framed and hanging in her room. I love these paintings because nothing gives the impression of brightness through art more than a child's painting. The vibrance and stimulating assemblage of colors pleases me. Seeing all the bright colors gives the viewer such joy, that we don't even realize we're experiencing it.
But I do. I always appreciate and love all the different colors. Bright beautiful rich colors.
I always knew that this would be my goal, but how do I attempt it? How do I start? I have no money and no bank in their right mind would ever grant me a business loan. So how? As my unemployment is nearing its end, I am scared. So scared that as I look at the jobs listed, I get even more depressed. There is nothing in my field, and nothing that even looks like I could qualify for. It's scary out there, and I won't know what to do. The time is soon approaching.
Do I even attempt to research how to obtain this and follow through with my dream, or do I just leave it at that—nothing but a fantasy in my mind and my heart? This is what I need to ask myself, because as I sit here and ponder how I would come up with the money to fulfill this objective, it will just have to remain nothing but a daydream for now. Who knows what will happen, life is funny that way. I may have the means to follow through with this goal, but for now, I don't.
What do I do in the meantime? My heart is yearning to fulfill something meaningful in my life. I want to be able to walk away from all of this, create a therapeutic retreat, if only in my head, and grow; move forward and excel in my life. Haven't I been through enough?
We all work very hard, and in this horrible economy, sometimes people struggle to the point of losing everything. Although that is not happening to us, I look at my husband everyday as he comes home from one of his two jobs exhausted, literally exhausted. My husband works 80 hours/week, and for what? Little to no money only so we can have our bills paid, our rent paid, and food on the table—which doesn't always happen, unfortunately. Barely enough to survive as we live paycheck to paycheck every week. We are not poor, but we are not rich either. Is there such a thing as middle class these days? I don't know.
But I do know this, I will try my hardest to live out my dream, even if it takes me years to attain.
I have to.
For me, a dream that I've fantasized about for the past 3 years is opening up an art school—an art school for kids. I never thought in a milion years that I would ever want to teach art, especially to children, but after having my daughter, and exposing her to art, colors, painting, et al, since she was 18 months old, I realized that it's something I loved; something I truly enjoyed. And you know what, I was damn good at it, too.
It was at this age that I taught my daughter colors. At this time, she knew her colors and by the time she entered daycare at the age of 2, the instructors were highly impressed by this. I have paintings that she created at 19 months old that are framed and hanging in her room. I love these paintings because nothing gives the impression of brightness through art more than a child's painting. The vibrance and stimulating assemblage of colors pleases me. Seeing all the bright colors gives the viewer such joy, that we don't even realize we're experiencing it.
But I do. I always appreciate and love all the different colors. Bright beautiful rich colors.
I always knew that this would be my goal, but how do I attempt it? How do I start? I have no money and no bank in their right mind would ever grant me a business loan. So how? As my unemployment is nearing its end, I am scared. So scared that as I look at the jobs listed, I get even more depressed. There is nothing in my field, and nothing that even looks like I could qualify for. It's scary out there, and I won't know what to do. The time is soon approaching.
Do I even attempt to research how to obtain this and follow through with my dream, or do I just leave it at that—nothing but a fantasy in my mind and my heart? This is what I need to ask myself, because as I sit here and ponder how I would come up with the money to fulfill this objective, it will just have to remain nothing but a daydream for now. Who knows what will happen, life is funny that way. I may have the means to follow through with this goal, but for now, I don't.
What do I do in the meantime? My heart is yearning to fulfill something meaningful in my life. I want to be able to walk away from all of this, create a therapeutic retreat, if only in my head, and grow; move forward and excel in my life. Haven't I been through enough?
We all work very hard, and in this horrible economy, sometimes people struggle to the point of losing everything. Although that is not happening to us, I look at my husband everyday as he comes home from one of his two jobs exhausted, literally exhausted. My husband works 80 hours/week, and for what? Little to no money only so we can have our bills paid, our rent paid, and food on the table—which doesn't always happen, unfortunately. Barely enough to survive as we live paycheck to paycheck every week. We are not poor, but we are not rich either. Is there such a thing as middle class these days? I don't know.
But I do know this, I will try my hardest to live out my dream, even if it takes me years to attain.
I have to.
Abstract Finger Painting – Artist, my daughter – 2001
Copy of Keith Haring – Artist, my daughter – 2006
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
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