It feels like limbo

It feels like limbo.

I’ve been unwell for almost 5 days now. It snuck up on me -that general sense of all not being right followed by stomach cramps.  The sign that really did it was not feeling like a glass of wine. Day one, I just went about my normal business. Day two happened and I spent more time on the couch with my pussy cats. One in particular loves a chance to snuggle in and I rarely fight being cat-trapped.

Lafayette was a stray cat who just turned up one day at my brother’s farm in the Yarra Valley. My nephews and niece begged their parents to keep her and so she was added to the menagerie without much fuss. She was a very self-sufficient cat who more or less lived outside and ate whatever she caught. As they were moving to suburbia and the parents were allergic to cats, she came to live with us at my youngest daughter’s insistence.

We had already rescued a neurotic cat that we re-named Coco, so one more just moved me closer to crazy cat lady status.  My two cats are chalk and cheese. Coco is fine featured with medium grey hair. She does nap during the day so she’s got all her energy to meow at the top of her lungs and prowl the top of my bed-head at night. I’ve tried poking her during the day to keep her awake but she’s adept at hiding in new places where I have trouble locating her. Princess Cocolicious won’t eat just anything. She prefers her raw meat thinly sliced and in top condition. Coco prefers to traverse the room along walls and furniture, so her feet don’t touch the ground. She’s quite athletic, even figuring out how to jump up and open closed doors. She’ll open the offending door only to walk in the room, do a circuit and saunter straight out again.

Lafayette is a large boned tortoiseshell-coloured cat who will eat anything she can get her mouth to. Her preference is for stinky old prawn heads or sardine frames. If I leave any indoor pot plants on the floor, she will use them instead of the kitty litter. You can take the girl out of the country but.. you know the rest. Lafayette will and does snooze anywhere at any time. Lafayette isn’t much of a jumper or a talker. She’s more of a lover not a fighter. She took a liking to the neighbours behind us at our last place. I actually think they were sad to see us move only due to her adoring demeanour.

Day three and things had started to go downhill so I got myself off to the doctor. Many minutes wasted in the waiting room (don’t get me started on that) and I finally got my allotted slot. A few questions, some poking and prodding and it seems I have diverticulitis. Essentially I have inflammation of some bits of my colon which then causes pain and disturbance of the bowel function.  I happen to already know what this is as my partner has experienced this before. So antibiotics dispensed and let me get on the wellness train.

I’m not great at being ill. I doubt many people are but let’s just say that I’m not known for my stoicism. I’m impatient. I’m easily bored. I’m quick to tell people how I feel without them even asking. So today is day five and I’m at that stage where I’m no longer experiencing the cramps and the antibiotics have started to kick in. I’m bored, even with the binge-watching opportunities Netflix provides. As the condition is gastro-intestinal in nature, I have to watch what I eat and there’s no alcohol allowed. As mentioned before, this is how I know I’m ill cause I don’t even feel like any. My abdomen is very tender so every movement elicits a moan at which my partner turns around to check that I’m okay. He is generally a great nurse due to his caring, thoughtful personality but if he is going to wear the skimpy outfit then he really needs to shave his legs.

What is my art practice about?

What is my art practice about? This is a question which I’m occasionally forced to address, usually when filling out those dreaded exhibition proposals.

I’ll start from the points I easily know and perhaps by pegging those down a shape may emerge.

I’m obsessed with the human female form. Yes I am one so that helps but also I strongly feel that there is too much public representation of a very narrow set of female figures. I’m adding my voice to the story. I can’t single-handedly readjust this direction but through using my family and friends, though generally myself primarily, as model for a lot of my work, but I am widening the canon.

All artworks my original

I am a sex positive person. I do not believe sex is a dirty, secretive thing. It is a pleasure that we humans can and should enjoy. I am conscious of being a strong role model for my two daughters. A large part of sex for women is how they feel about their bodies. Extrapolate this idea further -if they don’t see their bodies represented as an idea of beauty, they may easily not innately know that they are beautiful and furthermore acceptable.

I am sure that I also paint myself as a larger body for my own well being. Putting my form on the canvas separates the end product from me as a person so I never truly feel that it is exactly me. It’s not me. It’s a view of me but it’s not me. I don’t know if it’s narcissistic. I feel quite divorced when I’m applying the pigment. Lines and curves, tone and colour are all I see. Posting images on social media doesn’t even feel like exposure.

I say all this and yet to some degree I occasionally get self-conscious when someone in a public gallery asks if I was the model for a particular piece.

No doubt to a degree part of my way of working involves arrogance. I have to show some bravado that I know what I’m doing. My lack of formal art school training rears its ugly head every now and then but I’m not really interested in spending multiple thousands of dollars for something which may or may not benefit me. A friend started studying art formally a few years ago and she learnt a slew of practice how to information which I think could be very useful. The next section of her education was more cerebral and that’s where it lost me. A lot of conceptual art passes me right by.

When I start a piece I don’t always know where it is going. I have an idea that may or may not pan out. It’s generally more interesting when things don’t go to plan. In fact, I like it when things go ‘wrong’ either from a technical point of view, compositionally or due to other factors. It forces me to come at it from a different angle. 

I know that I’m talking around the thing that is my art practice. I find it very difficult to easily answer the question. In fact, I’m not sure I even really know the question. Perhaps that is part of where I get lost. My art practice is mostly exploration – what it is like being a woman in this time, with my unique set of experiences yet drawing on some universal themes that others, not only those who identify as female, can relate to.

Dreaming a reality

Six months or so after I separated from my husband, his father died. He had been ill for about 18 months with mesothelioma so his death was not unexpected. What was unexpected was being banned from his funeral. This man I had known for 16 years and was grandfather to my daughters. This man who I had accidentally walked in on whilst he was showering because he’d forgotten to lock the bathroom door. This man who had never said a harsh word to me. This was the man I was not allowed to say goodbye to.

I was working the day of his funeral. It was fortunate that I was working as the carport where my car would have been parked fell down crushing all underneath. If I wasn’t working then I certainly would have been home as it wasn’t as if I had anything else to attend. I’m glad I was at work instead.

My two daughters had free choice as to attend the funeral or not.  They had been sheltered from their grand-dad’s illness until it was impossible to keep the secret any longer. They were both still young and this was the first death of a close family member that had really any significant impact on them.

Separating from my husband was one of the hardest things I had ever done, so this was a time of heightened stress for all of us. I endeavoured mostly just to get through each day whilst shielding from daughters from how strung out I truly felt. I wasn’t sure what normality meant anymore. I mention this because, with hindsight, I can see that small things had an amplified impact on me emotionally. The day of the funeral came and went and I did what I usually did – went about my life in a numbed state. The next day came and went, then another day and another day as they have a habit of doing.

 I don’t recall the first it happened. I was going about my business with my head down, a habit I had recently developed to avoid making eye contact which would lead to unwanted conversations. Further ahead on the street was where I saw him. I knew logically that it couldn’t be my father -in-law as he had been buried months before. That didn’t stop me pushing past people trying to get a closer look. I lost him in the crowd then stopped in my tracks, breathing heavily.

This happened again a few months later and months again after that. I began to get used to it and no longer found it strangely confusing. I began to just smile to myself knowing that I was seeing something no one else could see.  Life went on and ‘us little three family’ as I began to call us, got on with things. School, work, newly formed habits of how we spent our time filled out lives. We moved out of the temporary rental property and into our own home. Divorce formalised things and life developed its own rhythm.

It was probably five or so years later than I had the dream. I have always loved my wild and crazy dreams though I’ve always felt I’m really the only one who cares or finds them interesting. In my dream, I was in a crowded public place when I saw him there standing alone. Slowly I approached, confident it was him.

It was one of those golden autumn afternoons with the sun low in the sky. “David?” I asked as I reached out for his shoulder, though I already knew it was him. He turned to face me. The sun was behind him, its glare making it difficult to discern any facial features. I moved around so I could clearly see his face. He was smiling at me with that warm smile he always had. He didn’t say anything to me. That’s not what this dream was about. He looked the same as he always had for the 16 years that I knew him. His photo-reactive glasses half tinted in the setting sun, a small breeze lifting his comb-over in an almost comical way.

I started with what I knew I was here to say

“I just want to thank you for all that you’ve done for me and my daughters. I am so glad that I had a chance to know you. You were a fabulous grandfather to the girls and they are better for knowing you. I am better for having known you. Thank you”

I turned and walked away. I had had my chance to say what I needed to.

I awoke with a smile on my face and a calm start to my day.

Never again did I see my father in law in the street. I didn’t need to.

ALL ARTWORK MY OWN AND FOR SALE

Dating at age 44

At age 44, I’ve dated. As mentioned before, I had a period where I was viciously dating. I really like the phrase viciously dating as I find it fairly represents how I approached the whole thing. I threw myself into it whole-heartedly, fiercely, with passion and energy.

My online profile was very honest. I mentioned my kids, showed full length photos, some photos without make-up and was very clear about what I was and was not looking for. No pint getting connected with someone who wanted more children. I had two and was satisfied with that.

I’m short and what is politely termed curvaceous. If someone was looking for tall, thin and blond then they should keep on looking. I was always upfront about my physicality for as much as it’s okay to say that we don’t judge a book by its cover, the last thing I wanted to see was a man’s face drop when my eyes met his. We are not all attracted to every body type. Harsh but true.

Yes, I tried speed dating, blind dates and the more organic ’fancy some random guy on the street’ type of dating. My preferred form was the online dating website - very easy to do whilst sitting in bed in my jammies with a bottle of Sav Blanc and a laptop. I liked the ones where it was more than a swipe left or right on your phone. I’m old school, I know. I wanted to read what they had to write. Good spelling and vocabulary were being judged, trust me. Later on I actually met a gentleman who had a side business helping men write their dating website profiles. It’s something I’ve often thought about myself. Keep that one up my sleeve for later.

Working full time an hour from the city and with two teenage daughters at home meant grabbing a drink after work in the CBD wasn’t a possibility. I was never one to hang out in clubs or go to a live gig so that wasn’t another closed avenue. Turns out the village match-maker doesn’t exist anymore so it looked like online dating was for me.

That said, it was fantastic for making connections and list comparisons but there was no addressing the issue of chemistry. Yes, it exists and yes it matters. Sometimes as I sat down at a table with a date, you could feel a little exciting frisson. Other times, it was more of a fizzle. I was always polite but I hated wasting their and more importantly, my time. Dates were always located halfway between theirs and mine. I didn’t want anyone hanging out in my hood if it didn’t work out. Coffee was the preferable first date that way it could short and sweet. This assumes they passed the flirty email, text banter and intelligent phone conversation stages.

I’m protective of my space. When chatting I’d nominate the suburb over as where I lived. My work was geographically remote so I was safe out there. Once I allow my privacy wall to be successfully traversed, that’s fine but I don’t let people in easily. The trials of the kind you read about it in fairytales weren’t that far-fetched, as far as I was concerned.

My best friend and I had a system. You have to have a system. She always knew where I was and with whom. I’d email her every single detail I knew about the guy, including his online profile. She would know where and when we were meeting. She would text me 30 minutes into the date and I would have to respond. This arrangement gave me a great opportunity to discuss our safety system with date. One occasion, my date and I were getting along so well I hadn’t noticed my phone receive multiple texts and calls. True to her word, she called the restaurant and demand to speak with me. I was in a lot of trouble for that one.

Usually they were impressed I had thought about it enough to have a system. I’d then ask them if anyone knew their whereabouts, just in case I was the axe-wielding homicidal maniac – not them. Damn! They hadn’t thought of that. The keystone of the system was me calling her on my way home to let her know how it all went. This served two purposes. She vicariously lived through my dates and it meant I didn’t sleep with anyone on the first date cause I’m a good girl (whatever that means..)

I met some fabulous people and some not so fabulous people just like in real life. I believe it’s really important to have a safety plan. Someone in the world should know where in the world you are although you may not want it to be your mum. I’ve been multiple people’s safety person and part of me likes the excitement of being in the know. So I do recommend online dating. It was lots of fun. You need plenty of energy and a good spreadsheet to keep track of everyone.

#myindigoobsession

Last year I started having some sessions with a counsellor. It was during my blue period. I was experiencing a very strong attraction to dark, indigo blues. My paintings were being pulled in that direction. I seemed to be drawn to dark blue fabrics and items #myindigoobsession Indigo, cyan, navy, cobalt, azure, cerulean. Even the names of the blue pigments attracted me; their mellifluous sounds haunted my mind.

all artworks my originals

I found myself nesting, actually curling up on the couch pulling the soft blankets in on top of me. The television may have been turned on but I wasn’t. Books couldn’t hold my gaze; their words raindrops beading on my skin. I avoided phone calls and even refused to read text messages or emails. Bailing on prior commitments, I found the clutter of people draining. I attended my job in automatic mode, flicking the switch that would shut off 8 hours later when I crawled back into my nest. The bills still needed to be paid even if I didn’t feel up to it.

I don’t precisely recall who or what finally made me phone the counselling service but I did and a session was set for 5 weeks time. Five weeks could have seemed an aeon away but knowing it was booked in was a comforting thought. Day by day, the five weeks passed.

There’s an odd thing about counselling sessions. Two strangers sit opposite each other in a neutrally aesthetic room on chairs that at first seem comfortable, and one opens the flood gates on the issues at hand. I can see the counsellor sifting through the oncoming waters trying to pick up the pieces of a jigsaw without knowing what the final image looks like.

My counsellor (we’ll call her Kate cause that’s her name) seemed to know when to raise the levy so we could more intimately discuss a point. Knowing the right question to stop me in my tracks, she was adept at asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. One thing I’ve discovered about myself over the years of journaling is that I have a gestation period of roughly 24 hours. I need time to digest an idea and roll it over in my sub-conscious before I can formulate my response. Even when I was dating I found that I didn’t really know how I felt about someone until the next day. Counselling appeared to be similar. The next day, I could articulate what had taken place but straight afterwards, my head was in the clouds.

I managed to get some great clarity on a few issues during our sessions. I may have made the initial appointment after some depressed episodes but we never directly dealt with depression. By discussing a variety of issues, I suspect we dismantled the depression brick by brick bringing the sunshine back in.

Whilst many of my friends may not have ever known that I suffered from depression, which in and of itself can be a trigger word, I have discovered that by talking and writing about it fears of stigma have blown away. It is precisely people like me who are bubbly, talkative and energetic on the outside who others don’t suspect would suffer from anxiety and depressive episodes. We can. We do. I guess that’s the point. I don’t know how I got lost but I talked to a professional, I took it easy on myself and I climbed out of my nest ready to face the world. I still like my indigo blues and find it grounds my visual art but I’m no longer stuck in my indigo obsession.

What if I’d never had children?

What if I’d never had children?

I am by no means saying that I wish I’d never had kids OR that I,in some way, don’t like or love my children. I am just playing with the idea of a future where I hadn’t had children.

I do wonder if I’d have just knuckled down and down the career thing. I doubt it. I remember very clearly being in secondary school and I was around 15 years old. This was probably when you started to have career sessions with the school counsellor. I seem to recall doing those delightfully useless aptitude tests. I can’t even remember what my results of those were. School friends were talking about what university they wanted to attend, which they were going to do and what their working lives would be like. I sat alongside and nodded where appropriate but never felt any future of mine involved a pencil skirt, a phone and a desk.

All artwork my original 

 Being trapped in a city skyscraper for many hours a day only to thrust into the throng of all of those other thousands of city workers before, after and during the lunch hour rush had exactly zero appeal. Even today, I can’t see there’s any job that I would do that could convince me to partake in that daily ritual. That said, I’ve never been a part of Friday after work drinks, water cooler discussions, smoko or other office bonding rituals. One of my brief retail stints was in the city and I did the long train commute. I did enjoy that though for the plethora of books I was able to devour during that time.

So it appears the big business career was ticked off the list early on. Would I have studied more? I don’t think I was suited to Uni life back then straight out of school. I did try two different courses at two different institutions so I did at least try. I felt alienated. Yes, I know many others did too. I felt that they weren’t my kind of people. By that, I mean that I felt I couldn’t relate to them. There seemed to be no common ground to meet upon. I think in essence, that it wasn’t the right kind of course for me at that time. Now, I would look at those subjects not as something to get through but as something that inspires and stimulates. Yeah, I’d be one of those annoyingly enthusiastic mature age students. I wasn’t engaged then but possibly now I could be.

I’m skirting around the issue of whether or not I would have started down my creative path any earlier. I’ve been skimming back over my journals recently (only skimming as I don’t necessarily believe that journals are for being read as much as they are for being written). They go back 12 years or so. I mention writing and where it fits in my life. Further through the pages, I also write about the short painting courses that I was undertaking and the mutual painting group I started. I had small children at this point and there was quite an effort and energy involved getting the children looked after whilst I did these courses. If it was easier, would I have done more of it? I think not. My then husband wasn’t very supportive at all of any of my creative endeavours. I believe he was threatened by pretty much anything that didn’t revolve around him and the home.

Creativity by its very nature involves playing around with ideas and concepts. It’s incredibly messy and often very demanding of my time. He couldn’t have coped with it and I wasn’t pissed off enough to make the massive changes needed to get here. In one of her books, Mirka Mora talks about the selfishness necessary to follow the artistic life. I think she’s right. Art for me involves shutting out all other stimuli, including partner and children, to really concentrate on the thread that I’m exploring.  I struggle even having the radio or music on if I’m sitting down to write. Life experiences have no doubt enriched what I bring to my creative practice so these are not bitter words.

All that said, I’ve met some incredible people via my involvement with my children and I can’t imagine not having my current friends in my life.  Where would I be living? Who would I be living with? Would I travel more? Would I physically look any different? So many questions that can never have coherent answers.

I have two beautiful daughters who I am grateful to have in my life. They are so much fun and have taught me so much about myself and life. Each step in life brings us to where we currently are and I love where I am.

Viciously Dating

It is often said that you meet people for a reason. Well over my 7 years of vicious dating, I met many people. I tried dating in all its many glorious forms.

 First of all I signed up to RSVP which is a well advertised and from my understanding a well patronised online dating site. My best friend at the time ( and luckily for me and her she still is) signed me up over a bottle or more of Sav Blanc. I say it was due to her superior typing and word skills that she did the finger work. Either that or shall was experimenting vicariously through me. ... So what to say of those times? I met some lovely people a few of which are still Facebook friends or more. I chatted with some interesting chaps who I’m sure were perfect for someone else – just not me. I interacted with some downright dodgy characters who didn’t even graduate to getting my phone number.

Tired from the effort I thought I needed something which skipped the list keeping stage and jumped straight to the ‘do we have chemistry?’ stage. Speed Dating! Convinced by same said friend, one Sunday afternoon we went speed dating. She swore that friends of hers had done it, had fun and connected with some lovely gentlemen. Well, not one of those lovely gentlemen, were in our session. It appears that we scored the tradies from Narre Warren whose leisure activities stretched as wide as watching tv lounging on the couch whilst drinking beer to huntin’, shootin’ AND fishin’.  

I devoured a few of those popular paperbacks “He’s Just Not That Into You” dating rules and how to find Mr Right kind of books. I turned up looking good even when I didn’t necessarily felt like it. I kept my eyes open to men in all circumstances even in the local fruit shop. And one day whilst waiting in a popular Melbourne restaurant for a friend (I’m always early. In fact if I’m late it just means that I’m on time)I met a man who I spent 14 months with. This was what I termed an organic meeting - all chemistry and no list ticking. He wasn’t Mr Perfect. In fact he probably wasn’t even Mr Halfway-there. We had fun together. We both liked good food and good wine and good movies. I always knew it wasn’t forever but it sure was a fun 14 months.

I even went clubbing with friends which only reinforced that it wasn’t my scene. I have trouble concentrating with background noise, always have. As a mother of 2 teenage daughters, I sincerely doubt that Mr Right or even Mr Almost Right was going to be hanging out in a noisy doof doof club.

So I figured it was back to online dating for me. This time I surveyed my friends. Which sites might be fruitful for the kind of man that I was looking for? Some of the free ones turned out to be big hook up sites which wasn’t what I was looking for. On a side note, I’ve always found that as a semi confident woman, sex for sex’s sake hasn’t actually been all that difficult to find. Certain other sites seemed to demand you fill out essay length forms before anything would even go live.  I found one that was a happy medium. Never one to pay any money, I signed up for my free profile and filled out the necessary questions. Forget that I incorrectly spelt my profile name – not that anyone ever picked me up on it. I was off and running.

One gentleman in particular seemed to continually check out my profile.  Quick check of the photos – ok..Peruse his question responses – nothing to raise any concerns there. DAMN! He’s in Perth. How come his profile states location as Melbourne? Oh, he’s moving to Melbourne in a week. Nice..fresh meat. We connect. We email. We talk on the phone. A couple of weeks later, several days after he moves to Melbourne, we have our first date. I warn him to wear his serious walking shoes as I’ve planned a 4 hour walking tour of my glorious city. He was such a gentleman and after driving him home all I could think was that I wanted to spend more time in his company.

One time I sat down and listed the reasons I met certain men. Moreover, these are the things I learnt about myself while dating these men. Please note the names have been changed to protect the innocent. They are in no particular order and I promise the names are made up so there’s no point trying to figure it out.

Simon – I need someone who is willing to be part of my greater family

Matthew– I need someone with brains as well as a hot body that he knows how to use

Pete – I need someone who matches my inner age

Chris – I need someone who I find sexually appealing

Adam – I need someone who doesn’t spend longer getting ready than I do.

Craig – I deserve someone who doesn’t keep me waiting whilst he answers a work call while having dinner with me

Greg – I need someone who doesn’t refer to me as simply ‘a friend’

Martin– I need someone who is willing to be with me and my children.

Ben – I deserve someone who is motivated and on track financially

David -I want someone who has a strong interest in good food and wine/beer

Jason - I deserve someone who is generous of spirit

All artworks featured are my originals and for sale.

I very much enjoyed my time viciously dating. It was fun. I met some lovely men and some not so lovely men. All said, I’m grateful not to be dating. I love my man and am happy chilling out at home together.