Wednesday, December 24, 2014

May You Live in Interesting Times



Or so goes the ancient Chinese curse. And if true I have been cursed the last couple of weeks because they have definitely been interesting. Frankly, while I will deny it, I think it is good to be knocked off balance a bit from time to time. The key is to not be standing on the edge of a precipice when that happens.

But perhaps I was flying too high or, even worse, too low. Definitely enjoying the moment with a nice commission for a new painting, finally getting something done on better medicare coverage, good set of pet clients lined up for December and January, and most annoyances out of town. Before the plane flames out there are usually a few coughs and sputters. And there were. The priority envelope for insurance went lost; quick recovery with faxes. Note: it is now week three and the envelope is still lost.  Took the Corolla in for front struts figuring half of the quote for both. Wrong. Of course. But oddly I had the money. Just do not get to spend it on a new stereo for the truck.

Commission was going good at that time. Few non-artists understand all the things that can go wrong with a commission wanted by Christmas. Then one of my canine charges killed my cat Scrappy. In the studio. Under the commissioned painting on the easel. The Lt. Col. taught me well. I went into clean up mode, assured myself the painting was okay. Took the canine charges back to their home. Put Scrappy in a bag and into a freezer. (ground will not thaw until May. Scrubbed the floor. Landed the plane, as it were, and broke down into hysterical tears.

Watching Ken Burns' documentary on the Roosevelt's and how they battled depression by doing. I think I fit into that model. And so I just kept doing. The painting still needed to be done. So do those various other pet sitting jobs. But solutions needed to be found out about the offending dog and its pack mate. Could not get hold of the owner. Only thing which makes a depression worse is being on wait. But there I was. Where Scrappy wasn't any more. Except every time I walked into the studio I could see his body there on the floor under the glorious mustang painting. Artists have vivid memories.

I have in fact been force marching myself out of this wilderness. One step at a time. One foot in front of another. Do what you can do and hide the rest. The painting is done, delivered and hung. The owner of the dogs has called and made it all about her. The killer has been put down, the innocent one is here, being watched most carefully by Willow and me. I am still breaking down in tears about Scrappy, and a couple other fur kids I know who crossed the rainbow bridge in a span of a few days. The Lt.Col. would have admonished me about the tears, but patted me on the back about how I handled it all.

Working on soaring again. In the back of my mind (maybe to keep it off of images that kept replaying) I have been working on an idea for a new painting. One of Ravens at a Wake. Solstice has passed and the days are getting longer. Not opposed to interesting times. They allow you opportunities for growth and proving your mettle, but routine has points in its favor.


1 comment:

  1. I felt every word, every line. You have actually dealt with the loss of Scrappy very well considering the circumstances and your ongoing persistence with the not guilty one tells me about your compassion for an animal whose owner has gone AWOL.

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