I’ve been painting a lot lately, less writing. While painting I don’t have to think about anything else than the next stroke of the brush, colors I’ll use.
It’s relaxing. I’m at ease when I paint. No anxiety, no nothing in my head. That’s a blessing.
Mixed media is something new I’ve tried to do. I have no clue how to work properly, I only put layers of tissue on the canvas, use pearls and buttons, sprays from different bottles, acrylics, glue, nail polish, everything I find.
I’m a beginner with mixed media, so please, look at SuviAnniinas work. She’s amazing and she’s a friend of mine.
I've been away from Blogosphere for some time, for various reasons. Maybe some day I'll tell about those reasons. Not now.
There haven’t been comments from me to you in your blogs. Maybe I surf along and look what you’re up to. If I have strength enough. I don’t know how long I will stay here this time. Must think about that. And while thinking, I’ll listen to Tom Waits.
"Old industry milieu founded in 1641, Billnäs Ironworks in Raasepori is a centre of various events.
Billnäs Ironworks hosts different kind of events such as public events, corporate events and meetings. In addition to restaurants and cafes also accommodation services are being developed in the area in the near future.
Billnäs Ironworks is a part of the national landscape of Finland. The traditional buildings and the beautiful view to river Mustio offer a unique setting for both small and larger events. "
The heat wave is tender on the skin. I enjoy summer. The sun lightens a little the darkness inside me.
I’ve found my hands this year. Before, I used my hands to write and draw with computer, but at the beginning of the year I started to paint and crochet. I painted and painted and I still do. I’ve made so many pictures that I could fill a medium sized gallery with my work.
I’ve crocheted hats and scarfs and gloves and everything, made hair bands and wreaths. When it became too warm to have wool and cotton in my lap, I started to make bracelets. I use wooden pearls, in bright colors, also black and white. Glass pearls in shade of turqoise sea.
Colors are good therapy.
Like my hats, hair bands and wreaths, my bracelets are now for sale at Harakan Taivas is Helsinki.
I changed the template of this blog. Flowers are so not me, so it was an easy pick. I long to be not me. I got my nails painted. Not like me. Usually my fingers are stained with paint, now the finger nails glitter in red, black and plum.
My hair color is turning into something quite interesting. My hairdresser has been having fun coloring my hair with blond stripes. Now my hair looks like a mane of a lion: red, brown, golden and a touch of sun. Very vivid.
So not me.
The inside of my head is yet so me.
On Wednesday I was in a concert. It was fabulous. Marianne Faithfull sang accompanied by the guitarist Doug Pettibone. After the concert I and many other fans had the opportunity to talk with Marianne and Doug. It was quite bizarre. Me talking with Marianne Faithfull! My lines were not that cool: Ms Faithfull, the concert was great, a dream come true, absolutely magnificent.
Days are long. Nights even longer. I try to fill the painful hours with snooker on the TV. I paint a lot, slow movements of the brush, every drop of paint is a sign of pain.
Sciatica. Three weeks, each day getting worse. Last week I could walk a hundred meters, yesteraday ten. Weekly visits to the doctor with taxi, it’s impossible to use the bus.
Still strength in the muscles. Not yet time for operation. Maybe time heals.
I hope so.
The nerve ache stretches my leg funnily. I look at my leg, tell it to carry me to the toilet. It isn’t so co-operative.
Hasty minutes at the computer. A few words. A glimpse at other people’s blogs. Then the pain gets me going again. Limping around the rooms. Sitting after five steps. Trying to find a position to sleep for some moments.
Wondering should I call the ambulance now. Is the pain horrible enough? It is, but I don’t dial emergency. I want to stay home. I want to paint, to crochet, to forget the pain. In a hospital bed I’d have too much time to think.
Besides painting, crocheting gives the opportunity to experience colors. Maybe it was my crave for colors that led me to look for my crochet-hook and buy color in cotton, wool and other materials. It was ages I last had done handiwork and my craft has always been quite a poor one.
I didn’t let those things bother me. I started to crochet a scarf, easy enough for me. I finished the scarf rapidly, started another one. And another one. Then I decided to make a shawl. Another one.
At this point I sent my friends soft parcels. Luckily I have a lot of friends.
I bought new colors, enhaled the power of light in wool. Mittens. And the hands of my friends stayed warm.
Crocheting is a way to escape. My head gets empty when I grab the crochet-hook. All the bad thoughts I have, disappear. All my anxiety, my angst, the blackness in me, vanishes. There are only my hands that move. I feel better. Not good, but better.
I crochet like a maniac. Maybe it helps me to lure away the depression.
Well, to save my friends from soft parcels every week, I offered my hats for sale. I’ve been inspired by the 20’s and flapper hats. A lot of feminity in my hats, a lot of nostalgia. A second hand-vintage shop wanted to have my hats. The shop is called Harakan Taivas, and it’s situated in the centre of Helsinki. Along with my hats, they put wreaths done by me also for sale.
I love making wreaths, too. No ordinary, but weird, and I wonder who’ll buy them. Maybe you? And a hat, too?
I’ve been writing very little lately, especially fiction and poems. I’ve craved for something else than words.
I’ve been to various art exhibitions and filled myself with colors, textures, tecnics and sensations. It’s good to just look, not to have to talk. Only let pieces of art flow over you.
My art gallery is nowadays the most active of my blogs. I draw a lot, paint a little and sometimes I make a digital picture. I’ve splashed colors on aquarelle paper, loved every moment of it, knowing that result is nothing. Only the process means something to me.
While painting, I’ve met some artists. First there was Picasso. He was surely flirting with me or maybe the target of his glare was the naked woman running around the studio. Don’t know, but he certainly was in a funny mood.
Next I met Andy Warhol. He wanted to make a study of me. I said yes, but didn’t think much of the result. Seen that before. We had some tomato soup, talked about the weather. It was quite nice.
Jackson Pollock’s studio was a colorful mess, and after being there for some time, I was covered with red, blue, black and violet dots. First I thought I’ve got measles, but Jackson assured me that all that is seen is only art. That set my mind at rest, and we continued to sprinkle rainbows on the walls.
Today I had the honour to look at Modigliani in the heat of work. He had a sore throat, so he could only whisper some words. My hearing is not as good as it used to be, so I can’t repeat his words. Didn’t hear a thing. But he smiled nicely and I felt at ease with him.
It’s a miracle to be able to imagine, don’t you think so, too?
(All these drawings have been displayed also at SusuPetal art gallery.)
This winter seems to never end. I remember this season started in November and since, there’s been only snow and snow and snow and the ever freezing coldness. Right now the temperature is -19 degrees Celsius ( -2 F ) and the east wind is awful. No possibilities to go out.
Which is good.
I like to stay inside, feel warm and when getting sleepy, go to bed and dream of sun and warmth, hoping that spring some day arrives. I also dream of waking to life.
There are bad days. And then there are worse days. Some days, maybe luckily, are nonchalant. This is such an indifferent day, so I decided to write a little.
On bad days there’s no desire for writing. I’m tired of writing about anxiety and depression that hold their grip. It’s boring to read about those feelings over and over again. I’ve written about that pair too often.
Life goes on, still. Not much words. Instead paintings. Done by hand. It feels good to take a crayon and draw a line. It feels almost satisfying to drop a paint-brush into water or oil color and look at the canvas turn into color.
It’s almost bedtime. The best time of the day. Despite the nightmares.
to wish you all a happy new year. No, that’s not true. I did notice that new year arrived, I’ve just been too tired to write greetings into my blogs. I’ve also been too drained to commentate in your blogs.
I won’t promise I’ll get perkier. I don’t believe in such promises, but I do wish you a happy new year.