I want to spend hours alone, applying brilliant colors and muted greys and browns to a large, stretched, artist’s canvas. The reason I need solitude while I paint is not absolutely clear; I know only that I feel a need for absolute privacy while attempting to produce art. Perhaps my unsuccessful experiences with paints and brushes and palate knives and canvas have taught me that the output of my unskilled hands always is an assured embarrassment. Maybe I do not wish to share my artistic incompetence during my attempts at express a flawed creative process. In my mind, I know exactly what I want to create, but my hands cannot translate my abstract visions into reality. Despite my desire to paint, I know the results of my efforts will fall far short of what I hope to produce. Still, though, I sometimes want to keep trying—wishing beyond possibility that one day I will magically train my hands and my eyes to cooperate with my brain. But I am impatient in the extreme. I do not want to learn…I do not want to be trained…I want only to be magically transformed into a talented artist imbued with stunning creativity.
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My expected short visit with my oncologist yesterday was extended by an hour so IV fluids could be dripped into my bloodstream. My doctor judged that dehydration contributed to my much lower-than-normal blood pressure (85/53) and, thus, to my exhaustion/fatigue. I felt much better after receiving a bag of saline solution, so her judgment apparently was on the money. I do not understand why I find drinking sufficient fluids (to guard against the condition) so difficult. There are times I am incredibly thirsty, but more often I have to try to force myself to drink water. Sports drinks, with their electrolyte content and slight sweetness, are more tolerable at such times, but even they have little appeal. I think I read that excessive sleep can contribute to dehydration, as well; considering my marathon napping sessions after chemotherapy sessions, my time in bed could contribute, as well. Ach.
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A couple of naps during the day yesterday did not successfully revive my energy, even after rehydration therapy. I was better, but still quite tired. I was able to watch another episode of Shetland (this time, while resting in bed) before surrendering to sleep around 8 pm. By 3 am, I was awake, but hoping to be able to sleep again; very little luck there. After drifting off for a few minutes at a time, I finally got up around 4:30. Fed the cat, made a cup of espresso, and stumbled into my study to think and write and curse myself for failing to give sleep another try. I may give it another shot. It’s almost 6:40 now and the sky is leaking dim sunlight through the trees. I am hungry, but I cannot think of anything I want to eat. Vanilla ice cream sounds a little interesting, but the freezer keeps it so cold that it’s hard to scoop without letting it thaw just a bit. And I am impatient, so waiting won’t do. I’ll just try to abandon my thoughts of food and, instead, convince myself to slip into unconsciousness for another half hour or so.
Meg, I will give it a try. Bev, I remember those conversations…but when I see my “creations,” I am disappointed that they do not resemble the visions I had for them. Maybe I’ll paint more, though, to see how it goes.
I know that we’ve had this conversation before – but painting (or similar creative acts), is more about the process of creation and not about the end product, except perhaps if you’re totally into realism. For many artists, the process of creating is a form of meditation – hours may pass while you peacefully meditate on whatever comes into your mind. Some of my calmest and most peaceful hours have been spent working on a painting or a pen-and-ink drawing — perhaps with music playing in the background, or perhaps not. You might find that working on a painting would bring you some level of serenity.
Try Blue Bunny Soft Serve Ice cream.