Fire colors. Thursday night.
I came home from work angry. Crazy angry. It was erupting out of me without my control.
I ripped off my white linen, dumped it in a heap, and wrapped myself in fire colors. Orange and red around my hips. I pulled off my shoes and all of my jewelry, I pulled my hair out of its knot, I growled, even.
There's an legend from Eastern Europe that tells of the wolf in women. And the story says that when anger comes on us without reason or provocation, it's the wolf in us rearing her head.
I felt fierce.
I slammed doors. I ran into the huge room upstairs and threw my paints down onto the floor. I spread out a yellow sheet. I grabbed the first canvas I could find, and it was one I had painted a royal blue almost a year ago for a painting I promised Lanae (for the hot pink wall), but never finished. I threw it on the floor. I grabbed my bottle of gesso and poured it on the blue. I smeared it around, I yelled at it to dry faster.
I snatched at my yellows and reds and mixed a deep orange on a Chinet plate with a black plastic knife. I overturned the plate, poured some water on the canvas, and turned blue into orange. I painted flames. I tacked purple tissue paper on with more gesso, I calmed down. I painted until my head stopped hurting. I painted until I stopped sweating.
I didn't play any music. I didn't cry. I had stopped clenching my teeth. I painted out the fire in my belly.
But not before I let it burn me clean.
An hour ago I tossed the ugliest fucking canvas I've ever painted in my life over into the corner.
And now I'm waiting quietly for a calm sage canvas to dry.
I think this one might be for you.
I ripped off my white linen, dumped it in a heap, and wrapped myself in fire colors. Orange and red around my hips. I pulled off my shoes and all of my jewelry, I pulled my hair out of its knot, I growled, even.
There's an legend from Eastern Europe that tells of the wolf in women. And the story says that when anger comes on us without reason or provocation, it's the wolf in us rearing her head.
I felt fierce.
I slammed doors. I ran into the huge room upstairs and threw my paints down onto the floor. I spread out a yellow sheet. I grabbed the first canvas I could find, and it was one I had painted a royal blue almost a year ago for a painting I promised Lanae (for the hot pink wall), but never finished. I threw it on the floor. I grabbed my bottle of gesso and poured it on the blue. I smeared it around, I yelled at it to dry faster.
I snatched at my yellows and reds and mixed a deep orange on a Chinet plate with a black plastic knife. I overturned the plate, poured some water on the canvas, and turned blue into orange. I painted flames. I tacked purple tissue paper on with more gesso, I calmed down. I painted until my head stopped hurting. I painted until I stopped sweating.
I didn't play any music. I didn't cry. I had stopped clenching my teeth. I painted out the fire in my belly.
But not before I let it burn me clean.
An hour ago I tossed the ugliest fucking canvas I've ever painted in my life over into the corner.
And now I'm waiting quietly for a calm sage canvas to dry.
I think this one might be for you.