They come and go
Sometimes they’re new and inspired
Sometimes they’ve changed
Sometimes I only get a glimpse
Sometimes I try not to think and sometimes I force myself to

These days I can’t focus
I let things go
I forget
I get impatient
…..
These unfocused thoughts,
These Ideas 💡 ,
These Dreams and visions, …
Are Fleeting
Pushed back, all of it
The good thoughts, the bad thoughts, the can’t happen’s

So I go back to yellow, to happiness, to what brings me joy
I focus briefly on memories that make me smile
On Places I would like to go
On the people I love,
I think of the person I am, somewhere, sometime, some place
I look at myself, because I can
Because I am young, because I’m looking back,
Because I’m looking for answers, for guidance.

I write because I can
I write because it grounds me
It rips me open,

I paint because I need to
It calms me,
It helps me focus when the fear of not being able to do so scares me.
It’s a release, it’s thoughts and memories in color.

I’m forgetful because I’ve decided to let go
I’m unfocused in order to be optimistic
I’m an artist because it’s what I love to do
I’m sick, and I don’t know why

but I don’t talk about it because it too rips me open

Having my toes in the sand and scrunching it between my toes,
Standing by the edge of the water, tripod legs posted into the wet sand,
Taking the camera from around my neck and setting it onto the tripod. Adjusting the height,
Looking through the view finder,
adjusting the shutter speed to make sure I have just enough light,
adjusting the timer,
clicking the shutter button and waiting for the click in 3 … 2 …. 1
Repeat a bunch of times using different frames, and angles,
Repeat until the sun is real low,
Then stare at the sun for the last couple minutes of sunset (that’s all you need really)
Smile, 🙂
Close your eyes and take a deep breath,
pack up your gear.
Remove nothing from your surroundings but the sand on your feet,
Or the dirt in your boots
The rocks in your sandals
The dust on your knees,
Brush off the tips of your tripod, take one look back,
and then head home

I am well aware of the reality of MS and the unknown risks, dangers, symptoms, and limitations it comes with. I research, I hope, I struggle, I try to do everything in my power to stay informed and as ‘ahead’ of this disease as I can. The reality and the weight of this disease keeps my feet firmly planted to the ground. Almost literally as well.

But I am also a dreamer. My head is high in the clouds. I envision myself climbing mountains, crossing prairies, hiking through fields and forests. Dancing till the wee hours, and singing at the top of my lungs.
And when my legs pull me down, when I fall to the ground, when I run out of breath, I simply look to the skies. I search for rainbows, feel the rain on my skin, I imagine myself as a bird flying through the clouds, reaching the highest summits. I watch the sunsets, I see hope and possibilities in my children’s eyes. I lie in the grass to feel levelled, I look up to feel far, I drive with the windows down to feel the wind in my hair. I write to feel grounded but I paint to be free.

I may be standing still, feet planted. But it is not where my head is at.
I am not where I am

A couple people have asked how I’m doing these days, what with the new diagnosis and all, and the truth is I’m fine. I’m shockingly super chill these days. I don’t know if I’m in super deep denial or if I’m just over it.
I am pretty sick of hearing myself wine and complain about MS. I’m like the dark brooding characters from the walking dead show. (From what I remember because I stopped watching it years ago). I couldn’t take any more of their tortured lives, and I’m pretty much at the same state of mind with ms. ENOUGH!

These days my mind is just a blank and I can’t seem to focus on much. Which is good, right? No tortured miserable thoughts. No tears, no pity, no fears, just a desire to spend more time in my studio. I have appointments I’m not thinking about, I mindlessly prepare meals, I (try to) meditate while Julien complains about his homework, I don’t pay attention to the news, I shrug off the fact the fridge is empty, I stare at the trees changing colors, I’m doing puzzles like a little old lady in a nursing home, I’m laughing, I’m less self involved, I’m day dreaming of a rejuvenating vacation spot (suggestions?), I’m at peace, and I’m calm.
I’m wishing I had mastered this aloofness a long time ago. Ignorance eluded me for so long. Now it’s welcomed, it’s instinct, it’s survival.

I’ve never been very comfortable posting pictures of myself
It feels self involved and conceited. But I’m realizing now that it represents self esteem. I’m trying to be more comfortable with myself, with letting people get to know me. And one of the ways I’m doing that is by posting self portraits. I love photography and want to find a way to do more of it. Then it dawned on me that I HAVE been doing it. I’ve been taking self portraits for years and using them for sketching because I make a pretty good subject. I’m available, I’m accessible, and I know what I’m looking for.
So to “self therapize”, I’m posting them from now on.

I shouldn’t automatically think death, cancer, sadness, hurt, and pain when I think of my dad. He deserves better, and so do I. Why did I assume that if I paint about my dad, about his memory, that it should be sad. I loved him, he brought me comfort, and strength, and power, and intelligence, and love, a sense that “the world is mine, I could do anything”, I felt like I could fly, and that sometimes I was. I forgot that feeling. I must get it again in order to properly teach it to my kids.

I WILL paint about my dad, and it will be happy. I’ve found a middle ground again.

On the other hand, turning MS into a happy painting will be much harder. MS hasn’t been easy, it sucks, and it sucks more everyday as it progresses. I must focus on the good that has come since being diagnosed. Dean, Audrey, Julien, a home and the neighbourhood it came with. And although having to go on disability has been hard on my self worth, it has also given me the time to follow my dreams and to spend time with my children. It’s taught me to not put things off, to appreciate the simple things, to stop and smell the flowers, to empathize with others. It made me run to the other end of the continent and experience one the best memories I have, I went to Africa “before I couldn’t”, I took an extremely colourful trip to the south west of the US in order to find inspiration, and I get to share those memories with a guy that has shown me time and time again just how loving and thoughtful he truly is.
And it has led me to find my path again by painting, and writing. I feel like I’m way behind but let’s hope I’ve got lots of time to catch up. MS has challenged me like I never thought I would, and made me find strength I never knew I had.

I SHOULD be able to create some sort of happy painting from that.
But I can’t….I can’t help but think I could of had all that without the MS. It simply slowed me down and taken away more then it has given me.
I need to keep working on finding the middle ground with that one.

I’ll be ok. Ive got lots of happy memories to paint regardless of MS.

I was contemplating basing my next collection on moments again, but hard moments.
Difficult painful moments in order to create some truly inspired paintings. But I changed my mind. If ever I’m in a terrible mood maybe then I’ll go into my studio and release some pent up anger and sadness onto a canvas, but I’m not going to go out of my way to seek out those feelings. Although good and bad moments have shaped who I am, I prefer to focus on and remember the good, to close my eyes, remember happy moments and smile. I prefer to look at a painting and feel warmth. Cause I don’t want to give MS any more of my time. I’ve already given it too much

What inspired this decision? Doing homework with my son.
I joke about how painful it is to do homework with this guy. This truly amazing, funny, charismatic, charming, handsome, full of potential, thoughtful guy who absolutely HATES homework. But it’s not funny. The last two weeks since my show has passed and we’ve fallen back into the boring school routine have been difficult to say the least. We’ve already had to meet with his teacher (that is not typical for Mid September). I now find myself in the midst of another depression (or revisiting the last one). I am not qualified to teach children. Especially this stubborn, young, impatient, energetic kid. I don’t want to traumatize him. On a couple occasions I had to lock myself in the bathroom and have a good cry. Meeting with his teacher helped. I felt guilt for his homework looking the way it does, or being incomplete. Like I’m not doing my part. Me and the teacher, we’re suppose to be partners. She was so calm about it, she welcomed the unfinished homework if it meant peace between me and Julien, as well as my sanity. That’s what she’s paid for she reminded me. If he’s just not doing his part at home, simply close the books, put them away and she’ll deal with it at school. Typically missing a couple recesses fixes the issue in kids. Merci Mme Josée!

Anyways….

My point is I don’t want to be depressed, it sucks. These last two weeks have sucked so bad. I was on such a high after the show, after spending so much time in my studio redefining and getting to know myself again, getting a life! And then to have great weather to boot. But the darkness of homework … HOMEWORK can so easily demolish me. I can only imagine what painting about my fathers death and being diagnosed with MS would do to my psyche. I’m going to paint rainbows instead.

Have I ever mentioned that MS messes with your ability to handle stress? I didn’t know the meaning of stress before. Stuck in Tunisia with nothing but my camera, what ev. 14 hour days in computer programming classes, no biggie. Top of my class! High work load, bring it on! Incredibly dangerous ride on top of a train, awesome! Almost being bit by a scorpion in the middle of the amazon, whoop-dedoo, can I go back to sleeping on the dirt ground now? Diagnosed with ms…mmm’k.

And now, art show induces vomiting. Homework with Julien, panic attacks in the bathroom. It’s not who I use to be. It’s not a personality trait. MS sucks on so many levels.

So watch out for paintings of happy emojis and bright happy colors.
And if ever you see a dark painting, check on me to make sure I’m doing ok 😉

And to Julien
I want you to care about something, and then try to be really good at it.
You are …. so amazing.

It would be nice to see into other dimensions in order to see which choices had the biggest impact on my life. Perhaps choices I agonized over only played much smaller parts then I imagined in shaping who I am. And a seemingly insignificant choice of looking left rather then right is a what made the biggest impact.

Perhaps my health is worse is other dimensions. Perhaps I am making good choices, maybe it’s not my fault I’m sick. Perhaps there was nothing I could do to change the outcome, and I’m sick in every dimension. For some reason that thought brings me comfort.

I want to be well, but I could settle with being sure it’s not my fault I’m not.

A friend of mine once blogged about how she can be misperceived as a bitch or uncaring. She too is an introvert and she described how at work she was so consumed by her work that she totally didn’t noticed someone trying to talk to her. This turned into a complaint to her supervisor and a complete shock to her. As an introvert I can completely relate to how that must have made her feel. Introverts are often misunderstood. Sometimes a long pause means we are trying to come up with the perfect non insulting caring thoughtful empathetic response possible. Then the moment passes and nothing was said. Introverts are typically quite empathetic so to think you might have hurt someone’s feelings can cause lots of anguish. Sometimes I let my guard down, I’m with friends, we’re laughing, I start to open up more and not thinking threw every response with a fine tooth comb. But then the next day I replay everything I said over and over again wondering if I insulted or hurt anyone or possibly said the wrong thing. It can be agonizing. And to think that she might be feeling like somehow she’s not a good person really made me feel bad. We have been friends our entire lives. We always got along (probably because we understand each other) and I have always thought of her as an incredible, thoughtful, creative friend. I would call her a sister but sisters fight and we don’t. So I’m thinking about her agonizing, possibly feeling guilty, about this small act that happened at work. And all I could think is that she has done small acts that had a huge positive impact and how I just want her to know that, because she probably doesn’t.

I will never forget it.
My father had passed (I was 11). I’m not going to go into too many details at this time about that but most of that week was spent with me sitting alone in a chair watching my mother being comforted by loved ones, and me being told to go play with my cousins and to be strong for my mother. At the end of the week, at the end of the church procession, standing alone near the church steps watching my fathers casket being taking away, watching my mother being comforted and trying to be strong. My best friend walked up to me and gave me the strongest, longest hug I ever got. I broke down, she didn’t say anything just held me. It is the most compassionate moment I remember from that time. One small act had a huge impact. And that is how I think of her. Compassionate, thoughtful, strong, caring friend. And an amazing artist to boot.
Always have, always will. I couldn’t tell her that because it would be lame, but I can write it, hope she reads it, and probably never speak of it again.