At one point between my last entry and this writing, I made a picture of my blog page the screen saver on my phone. It makes me happy. It reminds me - in the midst of a manic streak of work, at times when my energy and self-esteem are low, and various other otherwise overlooked opportunities – that I am more. Creative. Gifted. And a little funny.
It should also be known that I was COMPLIMENTED for my handwriting! In fact, the gal (whose picture I should have taken) said I should address wedding invitations – that she had seen script like mine on Pinterest. I can’t yet agree that it’s worthy of, or could even be effective as, font (imagine mailmen trying to decipher words once the automated systems reject them). Nonetheless, I accept her acknowledgement that I am – and she described – creative.
It has most certainly been a time of creativity. Chad and I have been redefining the space which is our home, and I’ve been focusing on expanding my existence in the ways I mentioned last post.
I bought a pair of active shoes. Technically, they’re running shoes – and I’ll use them for a bit of that here and there, but I also have to be kind enough to myself to say that getting them out for a walk around the block is a win as well. Exploring my physicality in terms of fitness is very much like an excavation!
I painted. A friend came over for what I termed a “heART” date, and it didn’t take long for me to find my way back to acrylics on canvas.
I’ve taken to surrounding myself with more art as a whole, in fact. I finally ordered a print from Herbivore in Portland, to hang. Beloved personal pieces have been resurrected from storage and now adorn the inside of my closet doors – and in a curve of our bedroom mantle, in a place only seen as I lie in bed, hangs The Seeker.
I drew him at a chain Italian restaurant in Opry Mills, if memory serves. On the butcher paper tabletop, our server skillfully wrote his name backwards and upside down (always impressive), then left us with a few colors to occupy the time between water and wine. I don’t know where this tribal scout came from – goodness knows I wasn’t expecting a profound moment amidst such hustle and bustle - but he invited me to hover over him long enough to capture the arial view in waxy blue and red. I don’t know if he is me or simply mine – but like the blog page photo, he reminds me. To always keep looking. That there is more. And that sometimes more isn’t MORE – but less.
Now, he is a first image for my days – and I’m having a good run of them.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
I’ve been wanting to blog for a while. Scratch that. I’ve been wanting to write for a while.
The thing is, my handwriting is… unique. A subject of ridicule among family and friends. My grandmother started the “acknowledgement”, complete with sideways glances and cackling. I would have been fine with continued ignorance of the topic. I actually kind of like my penmanship. But yes, I also find it difficult to read at times.
And so I type. Which means either keeping an electronic journal or blogging. Although I’m wary of my tendency to seek validation from a forum as expansive as the internet, it is WAY more fun to compose with a value of entertainment in mind. And so I blog.
Part of the reason I hadn’t been able to initiate the process, however, is the fact that I had a blog a few years ago. It served me well, reflects that portion of my life perfectly… and yet completely fails to resonate with where I am, now. But I LOVED the blog. And God knows it will take me forever to establish any kind of design to a new space, as I’ve since lost all knowledge of even the most minute coding. (Another point of ridicule is my ineptitude with technological… everything. I am your personal prehistoric!)
So I needed a new blog. And it needed an identity.
In my days of formal education, I was never able to embark upon a paper or story without the perfect opening bit (what is that first paragraph called, again?). Even if the end product was multiple pages/single-spaced and required citings and all other sorts of technicalities that I am now thankful to have no relationship with, I could knock the whole thing out in hours flat if those first few sentences fell into place.
As I considered what I would be writing and how I would go about doing that, AUTHENTICITY came up as a key term. Yes, yes… but not just that (she thinks, digging deeper) There’s something else… WHY?
Because I’m off track. Because I’ve been off track for a while, now. The joy has been waining – but I’m only interested in that anymore as much as it helps me get somewhere else. (Finally!) So how do I get to that place? Back to that place?
Return. That was it.
The rubble of recent days isn’t my scene – and however I got here is a path mistaken. It’s time to turn on my heels and dig myself out. Dust off the light that is mine and see how it shines in the skin I’m now in. Rediscover who I am in relation to all the things I proclaim to hold dear, and make a life out of what gives me the same in return.
That made sense to me. And sounded like an excavation.
ar•chae•ol•o•gy
noun \ˌär-kē-ˈä-lə-jē\
Definition of ARCHAEOLOGY
1: the scientific study of material remains (as fossil relics, artifacts, and monuments) of past human life and activities
2: remains of the culture of a people
This is An Archaeology of One.
The thing is, my handwriting is… unique. A subject of ridicule among family and friends. My grandmother started the “acknowledgement”, complete with sideways glances and cackling. I would have been fine with continued ignorance of the topic. I actually kind of like my penmanship. But yes, I also find it difficult to read at times.
And so I type. Which means either keeping an electronic journal or blogging. Although I’m wary of my tendency to seek validation from a forum as expansive as the internet, it is WAY more fun to compose with a value of entertainment in mind. And so I blog.
Part of the reason I hadn’t been able to initiate the process, however, is the fact that I had a blog a few years ago. It served me well, reflects that portion of my life perfectly… and yet completely fails to resonate with where I am, now. But I LOVED the blog. And God knows it will take me forever to establish any kind of design to a new space, as I’ve since lost all knowledge of even the most minute coding. (Another point of ridicule is my ineptitude with technological… everything. I am your personal prehistoric!)
So I needed a new blog. And it needed an identity.
In my days of formal education, I was never able to embark upon a paper or story without the perfect opening bit (what is that first paragraph called, again?). Even if the end product was multiple pages/single-spaced and required citings and all other sorts of technicalities that I am now thankful to have no relationship with, I could knock the whole thing out in hours flat if those first few sentences fell into place.
As I considered what I would be writing and how I would go about doing that, AUTHENTICITY came up as a key term. Yes, yes… but not just that (she thinks, digging deeper) There’s something else… WHY?
Because I’m off track. Because I’ve been off track for a while, now. The joy has been waining – but I’m only interested in that anymore as much as it helps me get somewhere else. (Finally!) So how do I get to that place? Back to that place?
Return. That was it.
The rubble of recent days isn’t my scene – and however I got here is a path mistaken. It’s time to turn on my heels and dig myself out. Dust off the light that is mine and see how it shines in the skin I’m now in. Rediscover who I am in relation to all the things I proclaim to hold dear, and make a life out of what gives me the same in return.
That made sense to me. And sounded like an excavation.
ar•chae•ol•o•gy
noun \ˌär-kē-ˈä-lə-jē\
Definition of ARCHAEOLOGY
1: the scientific study of material remains (as fossil relics, artifacts, and monuments) of past human life and activities
2: remains of the culture of a people
This is An Archaeology of One.
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