Oh I’ve been doing this all the time lately; there are all kinds of things I think I can do. Like blogging; or parenting, cooking, gardening, poetry, staying awake, meeting people and dancing. I blame my husband and mother who claim I have talent, my kids for being inconsistent;I am either the worst or the best I hate my kids, & I blame all the people who say disabled people should be able to do what they want. I’m shutting up now, lets see if I can make that work.
Any who; Gav; the sainted husband, remarked that since the neurofeedback I have started to do a lot of things I used to enjoy. Neurofeedback is the greatest therapy ever; read about it here Hurrah It’s Not the Neurofeedback. I used to love to paint, but it was like writing, I had a time limit. If I couldn’t finish a painting in one sitting I couldn’t do it. I’ve been working on two paintings for 3 days. One is finished.
I’ve been planning a painting for a while but the tipping point came at KSP Writer’s Circle. So at Writing Circle we did an exercise to help us visualise our writing work.
Now in my defense there was not a big range of coloured pencils. This is a picture of one of the main characters in my SciFi Novel “Psystorm” looking out a window at an important new building under constuction. It is not finished, and I’m not going to.
Anyway it served it’s purpose helping me visualise some aspects and discovering aspects that need more thinking about; ear shape & hand shape for my characters and vegetation & town planning.
So I had already been planning a painting set in the new palace, there is going to be a mural commemorating the “190th Cacophony Of Lights” an event that occurs rarely just months before great psychics are born. It’s an important plot point; I don’t know. So this is the painting I finished:
The painting doesn’t photograph well, in case you can’t tell, it is 2 photos of one painting.
Then something truly bizarre happened; my youngest asked me to teach her how to paint. My youngest hates me teaching her anything. I am not allowed to know anything about her homework, she complained to my mother about me trying to put make up on her, I purchased her the most beautiful dress and she won’t wear it because she is not a doll for me to dress up (believe me if I had control of her wardrobe I’d throw most of her clothes away). I may have mentioned I tried to teach her blogging, I explained she didn’t own the pictures she downloads from Goggle; she didn’t speak to me for three hours and no longer wishes to blog.
You know the one I mean:
The one who pointed out all of the things I know are old and obselete. The one who knows everyone is equal and if people, like teachers or parents, want respect they have to earn it. No one tells her what to do; except her friends, and most of the pets, and random strangers, and people on TV. You know, the kid who is lucky to still be alive.
Wonder of wonders she painted her first layer without storming off. She didn’t clean up, thank me for either tuition or for using my fancy painting stuff. But I don’t care; she didn’t yell at me, break anything, hit me, storm off and she only disparaged me a couple of times. It was fantastic. She has lots of ideas about how I can improve my work, so does her oldest sister, but I’m still happy.
Gavin thought you might also like to see what arrived today; heads for my wigs.
Costumes and face paint are another weird thing I want to get back into. And meanwhile these can help Alex and I draw our characters.
Please, please feel free to criticize my work or delusions of competency. I need honesty in my life. And I don’t trust my 13 year old’s appraisal “Give up Mum” or the 16 year old’s “Mum, you are just weird!”
Gavin insists I include that the children, who are all his not mine (mine were stolen at birth and replaced by his demon spawn), have all said how lovely my paintings are.
In my defense I said earlier they are inconsistent. One second they love my stuff, the next they are making nasty dismissive comments. Except Alex; she may not be able to speak all the time but she only disparages my behaviour, my treatment of her father & my parenting; never my artistic exploits. I love Alex!