Wishful thinking and an unwillingness to cave into the weight of the situation I guess. “I’ll be a brave worrier” I told myself. “We’ll show the world.” And maybe we will. For now, I feel like the world is showing me. I have not been in the studio for months it seems, and a piece of me is desperate and sad. Maybe for my own dreams that seem to be shelved again, or maybe for hers. We’re trying to buck the system. Not my first run around the rodeo, but it’s Aidan’s, and I’m tired of the dust.
This process involves a lot of research, trial, and error, and eventually a mastering of sorts I hope. Much like painting.
“What do you want?” Tom asked me after hours of discussion about the state of things. “I want…I want…I want…I want Aidan to be OK. Then, I want a stable environment where I know a simple existence (with health insurance) is sustainable and I want to paint. I want to pour myself into this same dream of discovery and exploration that I have wanted my entire life. It seems so simple, yet I am 46 years old and I still struggle with each passing day to make it happen. Sometimes that saddens me, and sometimes it flat out pisses me off.
As a human being brought up in a middle-class environment I feel like this should be attainable with good behavior. Then I compare it to the wildlife that lives outside my window searching for food and shelter every day, or God forbid the mother that hears her child’s affliction is not structural but chemical and incurable, and I think “you spoiled tart, get over yourself.” That lasts a short time. Then I yearn again for this untouchable place where no external elements can dictate, whether I deserve the right to be there or not. It is a place that flows with, within, and without struggle. Any impediment turns to a sensuous bend that was meant to be. One thought flows into the next with ease of spirit that makes me fly, and sometimes cry. It is a place of passion and understanding of the beauty that far too few ever recognize and I wish I could live there most of the time. I paint because it is as close to that current as I have ever come without drowning, and I want to swim there forever. Tomorrow I am hoping to do the backstroke, the sidestroke, and the breast stroke because if I don’t get some water in my ears I might go deaf, and within that silence, I will forever decay.
Comments
6 Responses to Missing The Current
Hi Kelly,
I am so sorry to read about your daughter’s illness. You have the attitude of a “fighter” and that will help get all of you through this and out the other side. I will keep you and your family in our thoughts and prayers.
— John
Posted by John · via sullistudios.com · 137 months ago
This current you describe is so familiar to me as an actor. Feeling sometimes like it is critical to survival of my soul and other times feeling like a self-indulgent, “spoiled tart.” But, it is critical to our souls… it’s how they breathe. Please, swim. Swim because it is how you connect with the larger humanity. Swim, too, for me because right now, I’m not even in the river, near the current. I’m on shifting sand just watching the current from a distance!
Posted by Deneen · via sullistudios.com · 137 months ago
It is good to hear your voice again, whatever the song, because you have a true ear for drawing out hidden themes, the delicate melodies that subtly harmonize and strengthen the larger picture than the one immediately in focus.
While rapt in following each word, each note of your heartfelt expression of longing and life, I am equally mesmerized by the extraordinarily poignant and sensitive painting of the old woman with her goat…”That looks Italian!” I think to myself, “With all that has been going on, when did she find time to do that? And LOOK at the quality–the angle of the woman’s hip, her head, the clutch of her sweater, the love and patience, even the ELEGANCE of age as she awaits her goat’s nibbles on sidewalk grass…” I see a testimony to two worlds, Kelly, in this posting and painting. Maybe this is a work done long ago, but even so, it was a good choice, a confirming counterpoint of great ability, to accompany a midnight keening.
Posted by Diane Pool · via sullistudios.com · 137 months ago
You are on my mine my dear artist friend. I have such empathy for you as a mother, not unlike myself, who feels like a pissed off mother bear and desperate for the strength to accept the unfairness of it all! Do yourself a favor okay? Some time in the next few days go to the studio and throw some paint down on a canvas. See what happens and let me know. Never stop dreaming about the good things and know that you are not alone in helping Aidan through this unexpected journey. I will see you in December.
Posted by Ginny · via sullistudios.com · 136 months ago
Thank you all. It’s nice to know you are here. I appreciate your thoughts and support. I painted yesterday, only for a short time, but it was a nice release. Oddly, an old client walked in unexpectedly to talk about a large commission – nice when the universe backs you up. Lots of love my friends – old and new.
Posted by kelly sullivan · via sullistudios.com · 136 months ago
It was nice talking with you earlier today. I am so sorry to hear about Aiden – and I am sure you will both prevail. It was so nice working with her this summer when she was building your site. She is a gem – an independent spirit with a curious, bright mind..and I’m sure she is a trouper. I wish you all of the best. Hugs, Lisa (fr FASO)
Posted by Lisa DeYoung · via sullistudios.com · 136 months ago
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