Not a Bad Day - Now There's an Understatement!

Yesterday was interesting. I think it went well. Lots of anxiety, but overall it was ok, and so far, so good. Sorry, I'm mystifying you with all these cliches.

What happened was I made a bargain with one of my closest OA buds: she would help me pack up some of my three china cabinets in return for some art instruction. Yes, I said three china cabinets: One rustic one I want to keep, one made by my father-in-law that I will probably end up keeping as thankfully it's small and quite pretty, and then there is the behemoth: a massive dark victorian (I think) which is likely the most valuable, but it is huge and is like a black hole that sucks all the light out of a room and a lot of my energy with it. Filled by my mother's china and crystal, various fiddly cups and saucers and odd brick-a-brac, I want to sell it, but it is just so huge. And unmanageable --- hmmm, nice metaphor for how my life seems most days! It's got a lot of emotional baggage stuffed in it, one of those things I inherited when I cleaned out my parents' house. Perhaps you have one of those emotional albatrosses hanging around your neck? I don't know exactly what I will do with all of it, but getting it all organized and ready to move to storage in preparation for selling the house is a good first step. One foot in front of the other, doing the next right thing... ugh ugh ugh.

Anyway, we only managed to pack up a sixth of the behemoth in a couple of hours, but Mom's china is now washed, catalogued and photographed, carefully wrapped and in numbered boxes.

Then it was on to my studio, a somewhat daunting task for both of us as we both regularly fight with the perfectionism monster. But after another hour or so, we had a couple of ideas about what she would like to do and some homework in preparation for her first painting in acrylics. Sometime in the next week we'll go shopping for her first stretched canvas, and I'm so excited! Maybe this is the artist's equivalent of being a mother--- I'm sighing, just thinking of the delight of that first canvas. Hm... do I remember mine? Yes, I think I do, oh the delight of that springy stretched fabric, existing just for the touch of my brush, and all that luscious paint... Wow. I believe I may be having my own little epiphany here, and have just experienced a flash of the true joy of teaching, of being able to convey what really thrills me about art.

HOLY HANNAH! THIS IS GREAT!!!

Now this is why I quit my job. Oops, gotta run. I'm getting my first pedicure at noon! Whee!