My art supplies have been in the largest cabinet of my six-foot-tall dresser since I moved into this house, and even in the old house, they were put away because I was too sick to do anything except extremely sporadic artwork. And I don’t believe in putting a bunch of “supposed to finish” projects out and about; I think it leads to stress. I didn’t need to stare at things that were impossible at the time, reminding me of what I couldn’t do because of the effects of being in treatment, and the limitations imposed by disease. I think the things you need to put in your immediate vision, around your workspace, are the things you’re actually going to work on.
And now it’s time to bring them out.
I am going to paint. I am going to convert my desk–which up until now has been used for normal desk activities–into a place for my art supplies. My white writing desk is going in the living room, and I’m bringing in my larger, flatter one to better serve my purposes. And a lamp. And a printer. But I digress…
Most won’t understand the significance of me, someone with OCD, converting their perfectly markless desk into an art station, where it will most certainly become covered in…everything.
Luna got me more watercolours.
Melissa got me more charcoal.
I just re-found my ink.
Things are not going to stay clean.
I can’t do art like I used to do. (Or perhaps I could, just once, but having my arms take two months to recover from such an unwise activity is just..dumb.) And you know what? That’s okay. Now I can do different things, perhaps better things. I’ve only recently begun to see the thrill of painting, and I can learn more. I just can no longer expect myself to sit down and complete a project all in one go, like I used to…
And it wasn’t bad that I did things like that. It was what I was capable of at the time. If I had a random hour of being able to sit up then I had to use it wisely and do whatever I could in that hour, because it could be months before I got that chance again. My usual daily limit of being upright was less than 30 minutes per day, which I usually needed to eat and bathe.
Long before that, I would draw for hours at a time, relax with music and my pencils and everything else faded away…
But some days I still may be able to paint for hours, like the day I made this poster for my niece, combining some ideas I saw online:
Other days–probably most days–I can go back and forth between desk and bed, whether it’s a physical desk or my overbed desk, sitting up and painting for short stretches of time and lying back down while I wait for the paper to dry between layers. That works out, doesn’t it? And I’m okay with having to do that.
I’m not going to stop doing things just because I can’t do them the way I used to, or the way I want. The end result is still possible, I just have to achieve it in a different way.
What do you think you could still do if you just changed your expectations of how it “needed” to be done?
♥ a rainbow at night