Starving Artist Ink.

I was awake to witness the sunset…a few hours later-I was awake to witness the sunrise.

Steven and I giggled and talked, cuddled under the duvet and told stories. That's one thing about us-we talk, all the time… He's a quiet soul but our conversations are never ending. It fits, it's our thing-we've been talking for nearly six years…We wouldn't be together if we couldn't communicate. (I realise that this is a key factor is MOST relationships, but hey-long distance, internet…type type type-you just learn to communicate better)

So, he turned over and drifted off to sleep, 5:30 in the morning-the sun, shining as bright as anything. I snuck out of bed because these eyes just wouldn't stay shut…

Twiddling my thumbs, watching the world wake up, making a cup of coffee. Browsing the internet, watching great documentaries, and even painted a bit

e.darcy

And now, going on 10:30 am-I'm twiddling my thumbs, wondering what to do…

e.darcy

Get your vote on!

Oh g'wan. You know you want to…

I could have stood in the bakery all day…

breathing in the warm smell of fresh bread.

Mmmm…

I think I've very much love to work in a bakery.

*edited to add*
oh also, heh. some bright colours for July and new header…just in case you didn't notice the colour screaming at your face…

When I was younger, my nights were plagued by one reoccurring nightmare. I can't go into the details of that dream world-because it simply cannot be put into words. No amount of descriptive imagination could paint those horrible images… The best way that I can explain them is by the emotions I went through during such nightly occurrences.

Closing my eyes, I'd quickly drift off…the first of the series began with falling down the side of a cliff. The helpless, gut wrenching, heart stopping terror-I never knew if I made it to the deadly waters below…

As quickly as that all started, I'd be transported into another realm. Everything calm and peaceful-normal and mundane. Generally at a park, strolling around, not a care in the world-and then it'd start. The world would cave in, everything goes fast, voices warp and peoples faces were moulding into frightening images. Spinning around and around and around-colours were all a blur. Engulfed in the thick heaviness of it, struggling to breathe…  I'd crouch down and try to cover my head, close my eyes, get rid of all of it. Voices echoed from far away, and yelled from so close up.  I'd claw my ways up the wall to get out… There was always laughing, mocking…fingers pointing at me. I.can't.breathe…

I never realised then-that my nightmares were really just the entire package of my anxiety attacks.

At the time I shared a room with one of my brothers-who had a dreamcatcher above his bed… I don't remember the details of the arrangement, but I know that he moved the web between my bed and his.

e.darcy

I went to bed believing in that dream catcher, and I woke the next morning without a nightmare to tell. It's all a distant memory to me now-the dream catcher kept it for good…

As for the anxiety attacks-that's another story, but I'm just glad that they don't wait for me in my sleep…

When I was a little girl, I used to keep potatoes under the couch…

e.darcy

I was intrigued by the gnarly 'eyes' that grew… A weird pleasure of picking them off and letting them grow again.

These days-they just kind of freak me out… A quick search on google for 'potato eyes' and you'll find that I'm not the only one.

e.darcy

Blending colours is such beautiful therapy. I could swirl the colours together all day–and end up painting any exposed part of my body. Don't people with tat's refer to their body as a canvas? Mine just happens to be more literal…

e.darcy

I remember one of my very first art teachers… She was crazy, eccentric, and incredibly wonderful. Her hair was a crazy curly grey mass, her clothes hung off her body and was always styled with splatters of paint. She wore glasses occasionally-that always slipped down her nose. She was chaotic and an utter mess. She lived by one rule, and one rule only- absolutely, never.ever.ever any erasers allowed in her classroom.

It was frustrating. And as I'd make a mistake and beg her for an eraser-just this once, she'd gently explain that there are no mistakes in art, and tell me to turn it into something beautiful. She had real passion…

Then there was another art teacher-she was more like Miss Honey from Matilda. She was new, fresh faced and gentle. She talked in a hushed voice to get us to listen and was warm with sunshine.

The next was a tiny, grey haired, wiry woman who demanded your attention. Her voice was smoky and sincere. Her eyes smiled and she instantly became one of my favourite people. We had a bond with the fairies-she told me all about the ones that lived in her house. She let us roam the classroom and use anything and everything. Her motto was to be free, to see art in everything, and to get new perspective.

I moved into high school and was so excited to start a new chapter-to learn some real skills. Sorely disappointed… The teacher was no artist, might as well have been a sunday school teacher… We didn't hit it off-I didn't paint pictures of Jesus and she didn't appreciate my need to explore.  I dropped art.

For a year I went without art-and I didn't really miss it. I had my own at home and well, there was nothing else offered. I went with mom to her art classes at college and that was that. A new teacher started and I was excited again…

She was young, fresh, and dressed like us. I wanted to win her affection immediately… She passed around her portfolio, a book full of COLOUR! Instant girl crush, I was in love with her… She set us free, let us build canvas (!) and use paint FROM A TUBE!! I mimicked her style and fell in love with paint. She believed in me and we hit it off-and today she is one of my best friends. She brought a new use of colour to my life-she helped me see the blues and purples, and all the sunshiny yellows…

I think I took something from each and every one of them. I am still learning that there are no mistakes in art-that I have to make any 'mistakes' into a masterpiece. I learned to colour outside the lines and explore new ways to see things…

What/who helped inspire you?

Hands…They tell the story of our life. Every crack and crease, rivers and mountains-they tell our journey. Hands that have faced hardship, that have worked hard, hands that have brought life into this world… Hands that caress and soothe, that hold and let go…

I've watched my mom's hands change… Every year they are different, and every year they add to her story. A hardworker, a mother, and now her hands are the gentle hands of a grandmother's.

I hold her small hands in mine, a squeeze to say 'I love you' and a squeeze back…

e.darcy

My papa's hands will always be a smell that I will remember for all the days of my life. They are rough- with all the years of hard work,  smell of machinery oil and tobacco. They have a warm smell that's so earthy… I smell his palms and breathe it all in-not wanting to ever forget it… He'd rub my bare back gently-but it was still so rough, as if he was really scratching your back. And so every night when I was young he'd pat my back… pat pat pat..pat pat pat… Until I'd fall asleep-and the moment he'd stop I'd wake up again and ask him to pat my back. This ritual every night, when he'd finally have to leave a pillow on my back to trick me into sleep. His hands are so big that when I hold his, my hand is still swallowed and small-I can still hold onto his pinky the way I did when I was 5.

What kind of goodness have you discovered lately in somebody's hands?

Sigh. It's just my luck…

The website is effed up for all of you internet explorer users… Not really sure what to do to fix it-and I'm paying for what exactly? All I can say right now is convert to using firefox or something else. Safari users? well, I don't know anything about you-so I'll just continue away…

Baby Joe's pictures arrived today-mama ordered 73 prints. Oh guess what?! yeah, they are all terrible quality. Red stripe going through every single one. It might be okay-if you liked that sort of thing. But me? hmmm… Now it's a waiting game with hearing back from England. Trying to find a new site to order photos off of-that ship to Ireland.

Waaaah!

I got dressed (!!) and was on my way out of the house, camera strapped around my neck-ready to go out and explore… I heard the neighbour's front door open and close, so I paused for a moment…

Nearly identical to him…

(We like to ignore him as much as possible. I don't like running into him often. After our first encounter-uhh… I'd just rather not.)

So, he gets in his car, backs up, and I think it's safe-start climbing down the stairs and nearly out to the gate when he pulls up next to me, signals that he wants to talk to me, and gets out.

Maybe he is going to apologize for the rudeness of his pregnant comment-I think.

Wrong.

I couldn't be any more wrong.

Turns out-he wanted to talk about OUR rudeness of a little problem he is having in the middle of the night. Noise.

Oh boo! God, you fucking wanker… He goes on and on about how he wanted to talk to me about this in person and how he can't sleep at night. He wakes up at three in the morning because our voices carry through the windows-and 'someone was running up and down the stairs'-which woke him up, scared him to where he had to get dressed to go and investigate, thinking someone was in the house.

Gaaah! I know I'm wrong! I know I should be considerate and polite while he goes on about having to wake up early in the morning boo-hoo….

I guess I'm just pissed because I'm embarrassed.  I keep replaying the conversation over and over-it makes my face hot. So, I said okay.okay.okay… He folded his body back into his tiny car and zoomed off….I turned back around and up the steps.

No raging parties tonight. :/

The clouds have been climbing in from the coast, bringing heavy gusts of wind and lashings of rain.

It's bliss.

Seriously! Steven even mentioned how he has his girl back. Although, a late night giggle fit had him questioning my sobriety…  hmph. I personally found my impersonations of laughter utterly hilarious…whatever.

Though, I haven't felt like changing out of pajamas lately…Which means that I haven't much felt the need to go to the grocery store. Which really means that there's barely a bread crumb left in the cubboard.

Waking up in the late afternoon, taking naps in the even later afternoon. heh.  I'm healing with fewer and fewer sneezes-as long as the rain keeps pouring in…