Hello, world

I am at a point in my life where I can think about moving to a remote Swedish cabin on an island in a lake, and although the idea feels unspeakably magical the thought that quickly follows is  “but that won’t necessarily solve my problems“. I’m not sure exactly what that means, but it’s growth of some kind or another. 

I guess what I’m saying is that there used to be a time in my life where I felt like if I could just retreat to a peaceful location in nature without too much clutter or hustle then things would be better. It may not look like I thought it would but in many ways I think I’ve found myself where I was trying to go. There is a lifetime of fine-tuning in order if I’m lucky, and then the main task of enjoying and being grateful for my life.  

The irises are really having their moment and I can understand what Van Gogh saw in them

I painted today for the first time in about 18 months. There wasn’t anything particularly special going on, I just finally felt like I wanted to and like it might finally be worth it. (Well, I had a minor surgery a few days ago, so truthfully there may be a special event the result of a few days of light prescription narcotics mixed with heavy pollen and a few days off work in beautiful weather.) I did not paint anything extraordinary - more of the same, more of the same. Still, there’s something about it, for me. Mixing those colors and blending the washes, hoping it will turn out. Sometimes I wish the process lasted longer. 

More of the same: June 4, 2024

Last year, 2023, the year that I was pregnant, felt like a lost year in so many ways for me. I don’t think you’re really supposed to say that, but for me that’s how it was. I wasn’t myself the entire year, and while it was a monumental year and a weirdly selfish one it was not largely enjoyable. Enough time has now passed that I do feel like myself again. That year was difficult and felt never-ending, but I now have the space necessary to say that it was temporary. It’s like breathing again. 

Anyway, there wasn’t a particular reason that I didn’t paint at all in 2023 other than that I just didn’t feel like it. I couldn’t see the point and I didn’t want to.  I’ve been waiting for that feeling to come back for a long time, but I didn't force it - I don’t think I would have known how. We recently went to the Cape Ann Museum, and I was really blown away with all of the beautiful art there - so much more than I was expecting. I think I forgot a little about the importance of art and beautiful things. There was one piece in particular that made me gasp as soon as I walked into the room. “I love this one!” I told Johannes. He was slightly ahead of me viewing the art and was simultaneously wrangling the baby. He said, over his shoulder, “that’s because you’re a painter, and the sign says he was a painter’s painter!” 

Hopper House on Prospect Street by Zygmund Jankowski

I was very touched by this, but mostly because I do not believe I am a painter. I have neither the drive nor the talent that compels people to paint and makes a person a real painter. I have what could be called an occasional passing fancy, and I guess, a pretty large desk. I see only gulfs between me and real painters. All the same I do occasionally get something from creating, even if it’s just the pursuit of some sort of self-betterment through practice. (Well, and isn't that the ultimate hope, regardless?) 

Allow me to take what might seem like a sharp left turn here and say: I think blogging might be making a comeback. For a few years when I wasn’t necessarily sure that this would be the case, I had an idea driven by the increasingly mind-numbing qualities of social media that I would go back to blogging. It seems so much simpler - you can opt in or out to the things that interest you; it’s a longer form of entertainment, and requires some commitment, and therefore affords more payout as well; and of course it’s somewhat less susceptible to the elements of the current world that make my head spin (example: AI is becoming one of those topics, like football, that I would rather not have to acknowledge but can't seem to get away from.)

The problem is that I don’t really have anything to say.  Or rather, I have lots to say but nothing particularly worthy of being shared and a limited amount of time and energy to do the kind of drafting and editing that might lead to revelations. At this point, I’m wondering if maybe that’s the lesson instead of the shortcoming. In the sense that if you put up with poorly edited ramblings of a one-time acquaintance (hi!) you will also be granted a view of someone else’s life that is so much more authentic than what we’re being offered much of the time. Authenticity really lands for me these days. Moreover, I don’t know of any way to fine tune the process of remarking on life (something I seem to be driven to do) other than to keep putting things out there to see what resonates either with other people or with myself. 

Put another way: people are multifaceted so why shouldn't my website be? I think people are always much more interesting when you’re given the whole picture. One-dimensional representations of people always leave me wondering things like: 

• “How do you do laundry in your house?” 
• “Do you meal prep?”
• “How often do you see your family?”
• “Are you close with your neighbors?”
• “What’s your commute to work like?”

These little pieces are the information mortar that build up a bigger picture. They’re the only kind of information that, to me, can lend any insight into life’s one big question: how are we all making it work? Anyway, that was it - the big point I maybe wasn't working towards. I hope you find ways to breathe.