I feel like a stranded astronaut on her way home.
I started packing up the studio shortly after the last post. I knew I was going to have to appease the estate's trustee, but I didn't know that it would take nearly a year to get a brush in my hand again.
I went to live with a friend who turned out to be one of the worst friends I've ever had the misfortune of misreading. I had supplies at her house but was so busy cleaning her house and trying not to freeze in my spare time that I couldn't use what I had there. It was only a 5th of my studio and thus a triffle stiffling anyway.
Now I am living in a spacious motel room courtesy of a great boss and our beloved Director of Properties. And, despite the lack of access to the embarrassing abundance of supplies, I have what I need for the foundation of a new piece or two. The one is going to be a painful process born, as it is, of heartache. And it is going to be a long process. I find that after nearly a year without using my art muscles, I am somewhat diminished in capacity. Add to that tbe uncertainty of my future, I am constantly shutting up my internal mother who keeps telling me I should be doing other things.
True, a permanent home is needed. But until I have the money saved for a deposit the point is moot and I might as well use what I have. The creative process will keep me from spending money as an idiotic therapy for the depression that sits on the doorstep of the school like a bully waiting to pounce. And since I can not do anything but horde my meager paychecks, I might as well do more than overdose on sci-fi channel (sorry- SyFy. Stupid name!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) while I am hording.
I haven't been completely inactive artistically. I've made a few necklaces which have gotten raves. But I really need to get back to painting.
