Laundry, Paint and Broken Toilets

Its Valentines Day and needless to say, in the life of a single woman, rounding the curve towards thirty, its not exactly a magical time.     Usually I celebrate the holiday by locking myself indoors and watching slasher movies until I fall asleep on the couch, but this year things are different for several reasons.


Reason one:  I have to prepare for work.
  I work a rotational shift and for the next two weeks Im looking at 12-16 hour days, everyday.  This means the house must be cleaned, lunches must be prepared and laundry must be nipped in the bud in order to maximize the time allotted for sleeping.

Reason two:  I have a broken toilet that has to be repaired.
 Being a single girl, these are the types of things I have to take care of by myself.  I see no better day than Valentines to knock out this task.

Reason three:  This year, I have Art to keep me occupied.
(Rather than thinking about becoming "The Cat Lady")

So, yes...  Its a full day of laundry, paint and broken toilets for this girl - and maybe one good slasher movie if I can squeeze it in.

Speaking of love,  I have a new one.  Layering Inks and Stencils.  I had been watching Samantha Kira Harding  on youtube and thought Id give her techniques a shot.  I had a blast!  I enjoyed using so many different colors and trying out some of my new products (I took myself shopping on Saturday).

Here's what I did:

You can watch the video of how I did this by clicking the blue & purple Fleur Du Lis at the top of the page.

AND

Samantha Kira Harding's Blog is (listed as Journal Girl) in my "Blogs I Love" section to the right of this post. 

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I recommend checking her stuff out.

Wishing you and yours a VERY Happy Valentines Day.

See you in two weeks.

Pretty Little Prompts - Week 1

                                     

Objective:

 Illustrate your vision of a Pablo Neruda poem.  It can be any poem (or just a few lines) by him that touch you or the feeling the poem gives you.

Rules:  

There are none.  

E-mail a picture of your work to weehourartbypaula@yahoo.com, with permission for me to share and the title of the poem that you chose to illustrate, and Ill add it to this blog entry - I will not use it in any other way.  

Here is a link to help you find one that you like:

http://www.poemhunter.com/pablo-neruda/

   

'Lovely One' By Pablo Neruda Lovely one, Just as on the cool stone Of the spring, the water Opens a wide flash of foam, So is the smile of your face, Lovely one. Lovely one, With delicate hands and slender feet Like a silver pony, Walking, flower of the world, Thus I see you, Lovely one. Lovely one, With a nest of copper entangled On your head, a nest The coloUr of dark honey Where my heart burns and rests, Lovely one. Lovely one, Your eyes are too big for your face, Your eyes are too big for the earth. There are countries, there are rivers, In your eyes, My country is your eyes, I walk through them, They light the world Through which I walk, Lovely one. Lovely one, Your breasts are like two loaves made Of grainy earth and golden moon, Lovely one. Lovely one, Your waist, My arm shaped it like a river when It flowed a thousand years through your sweet body, Lovely one. Lovely one, There is nothing like your hips, Perhaps earth has In some hidden place The curve and the fragrance of your body, Perhaps in some place, Lovely one. Lovely one, my lovely one, Your voice, your skin, your nails, Lovely one, my lovely one, Your being, your light, your shadow, Lovely one, All that is mine, lovely one, All that is mine, my dear, When you walk or rest, When you sing or sleep, When you suffer or dream, Always, When you are near or far, Always, You are mine, my lovely one, Always.

 First, I sketched in pencil, then I went over my sketch with a black Faber Castell Pitt Artist Pen.

Next I used Modelling Paste to create texture. Once it was dry, I painted my illustration with Plaid Folk Art craft paint in black, brown and antique gold (Folk Art Metallics).

On the previous page, I did the same thing with a Damask stencil.

 Then I mixed my own colors and began shading and painting the face.  I filled in the white spaces with Black Gesso.

 When the painting was finished, I went back over everything with the Pitt Pen.

Then I wrote out the lines I chose to illustrate in gold and bronze permanent marker.

Here is the "finished" page.  I'm still debating with myself whether or not I should add more details around her, but for now, I like it and I'm considering it done.

I cant wait to see what you come up with!

Ideas Through Insomnia

I give up...

Ive been laying in bed for the last two hours trying my best to fall asleep.   I get hot, then cold.  I lay on my right side and my hand falls asleep.  I roll over to my left and find Jotta (my "dog child") is sleeping upside down again, so to avoid the impending gastrointestinal doom that is her, I roll back to my right side.

My mind runs rampant with thoughts.  What my next blog post will be?  Which technique will I use on my next journal page?  My shopping list for the next time I go to Hobby Lobby.  And of course, why I am thinking about all the stuff that would be better thought about tomorrow?

Its like this for me most nights, hence the name 'Wee Hour Art by Paula'.  I get some of my best ideas through insomnia, though I must admit, most of the time, I lose them once I finally do fall asleep.  Sometimes, like tonight, I just have to get up and do whatever it is I'm thinking about, or else I know Ill just keep tossing.

Tonight my mind kept going back to this blog and how am I ever going to get followers?  Ive been doing my research and it seems that people like prompts.  So starting next week, I will try to do weekly prompts.  I'm planning to do my page, then post photos of  it along with the prompt.

It shall be dubbed:  "Pretty Little Prompts"    (and I'm really hoping that no one else calls their prompts by the same name)

So go now, fly my little birdies!  Tell your little birdie friends about my big plans!  Give a sister a boost so I can finally get some sleep!    :)

My story.

So... Here it is, my very first Blog Post!   I'm quite excited to start this new chapter in social networking.  Its not always easy for me to try something new.  I tend to get too comfortable.  Too safe.  And at times too insecure.

But that's what this is about for me.  Taking myself seriously through my art.  Trying to branch out and stop holding myself back.  I am 28 and am just now starting my life.  I guess for my first Blog entry I should give you a bit of my history so that you will understand the mindset I am currently in - and hope to stay in.

I was born in the Summer of 1983 to a young couple that didn't really know what they were getting themselves into.   My Mother - free-spirited and opinionated, who was very young and had a very rough childhood, and my Father - old fashioned and also very young,  who worked at a job that kept him away more than it kept him home.  Needless to say, with this type of mixture, it didn't turn out to be a long marriage.  They were separated when I was three months old and divorced by the time I was nine months.

My Mother, who through no fault of her own, was not equipped to handle a child, still practically being a child herself and my Father, being the type of man he is, refused to leave his child in the hands of anyone other than himself or his family.  They did not have trouble deciding which of them would be responsible for me.  My Father was awarded custody and it would be twenty one years before I would see my Mother again.

It was not easy growing up.  I had everything a child could want or need.  You could even say I was spoiled.  I had a strong group of women to look up to in my Aunts, Grandmother and Great-Grandmother.  My Father doted on me and he and I had a tight knit partnership.  I was without a doubt, "daddies little girl".  But something damaged me.  I don't know what, because nothing traumatic or vulgar ever happened to me.  I was sensitive, and still am on some degree, and as I got older, took everything to heart.  Harsh words were stored inside of me like a vault.  I cried over everything and got so angry I would scream and throw things.  My father has a head full of grey hair, thanks entirely to my teenage years!

The first time I ever ran away from home I was in my junior year of High School.  My father and I had gotten into an explosive argument (which are the only type of arguments we have had since I hit puberty) about his wife and her son.  I packed one small bag and jumped in a car with a friend and some boys from a different school that Id never met before.  One of the boys said I could stay at his house and that his father wouldn't care.  I learned very quickly why his father was so welcoming - he was a bartender with a severe drug problem.  I called my Father two days later to pick me up.  That was the first time I saw cocaine, but it wouldn't be the last.

The second time I ran away was in the beginning of my senior year.  I was 18 and thought I was invincible.  I moved in with my best friend and her family. Her father was a very busy politician, and rarely noticed which kids were sleeping over and which kids had moved in.  My friend and I would sneak out,  go hang out with boys that were much older than us.  We drank and smoked pot and then suck back in every night.  As long as we were there in time for school, we didn't get into much trouble.

 Eventually she and I moved out of the house and in with some boys who had their own place.  We thought we were so grown up.  I stopped going to school and started going to the bar 6 days a week.  The boys moved out about a month later and she and I were quite content with our little duplex to ourselves.  We lost electricity for two weeks in December.  We took very cold (very quick) baths and invited total strangers to move in with us.  Once an Irish man, twice our age, came to live with us.  I never knew him by anything other than "Lucky", our little nickname for him.  We would make him recite the Lucky Charms jingle with the marshmallows  (pink hearts, purple moons,yellow stars...etc.) over and over again in his accent!  He kept our fridge stocked with beer and bread.  I don't know how we survived for the few months we did live there.

After so long, we knew we could no longer live in such a manner.  She went back to her family and I, reluctantly, went back to mine.  My father pulled some strings and got me back into school.  I kept my grades up and graduated in 2002.

Shortly after graduating, I fell in love.  I had found my "one and only"  and my life would be perfect.

That was the further from the truth than anything has ever been in the history of falsehoods.

My father HATED him.  He saw him for what he truly was, a wolf in sheep's clothing, an ex-con.  A Seventeen years my senior parolee,  given 35 years for dealing crack cocaine.  I thought he was a God.

My father gave me the ole ultimatum, and of course, I chose wrong.  I was written off by my family.  My Father would not allow anyone to speak to me, or else they faced his wrath just as much as I did.  I was truly alone in the world except for a handful of friends and my new "sweet" heart.

Things were nice in the beginning.  He was loving and funny and taught me things about adulthood I didn't know.  He taught me how to watch for unmarked cars and undercover police and rats that would sell you out for a bump.  He taught me how to cut crack to sell it at its top profit.  How to wrap it so that it could be easily carried in my mouth and swallowed if need be.  These surely weren't things I would learn in some college.  I didn't need anyone else as long as he was around.

One night we were hosting a neighborhood BBQ.  It seemed like everyone in a 6 block radius was in our yard.  Things were going wonderful.  I had invited some friends from school that I hadn't seen since graduation, and some of my oldest closest friend were there as well.  We were all drinking and talking when I heard a commotion behind me.  I turned to realize it was my "sweet" heart and his brother arguing over who would take care of their ailing (crack head) mother.  I knew from stories Id heard about my lover, and from my own unfortunate dealings with him, that things would escalate into total chaos.  I ran to try and help calm the situation.

The next thing I knew I was looking at a speechless, shocked crowd and cupping handfuls of blood.  He had stabbed me in the face with a kitchen knife.

Everyone began to scatter like roaches.  I, trying to protect my "sweet"heart from jail time, just as Id been taught, began trying to clean up the blood stains that were now pooling at my feet.  I was drenched in it.

My friend, that I had previously lived with, and a few others scooped me up and dragged me kicking and screaming to the car where I was then taken to the hospital.  I was given 5 stitches across my nose.  I told the doctors and nurses I had fallen and hit my face on some broken glass.

Once I was back at home, my "sweet"heart, still quite inebriated and with no signs of slowing down, backed me into a corner and poked me in the face and chest.  He screamed at me for getting involved and for not minding my own business.  He told me I was lucky because he was going for my throat, but missed.  Then he left to go to a strip club with his friends.

I don't know why I didn't leave him then.  I was still so brainwashed.  I still thought he was a god.  I stayed and 6 months later found out I was pregnant.

Other than the stabbing incident and one where he had gotten jealous of my affection for a puppy (he handled this jealousy by slamming the puppy againts a tree), everything was going well.  In my naive mind I was starting a happy little family and once the baby was here in, things would be complete.  Wrong again.

I was bending over the stove to take out some baked beans when the pains began.  I had read that cramps were normal during pregnancy, so I didn't worry too terrible much. I was only three months along and the sickness had been hell on me already.  I just laid down on the couch.  The pains began to increase and after about an hour, I could do nothing but curl myself up in the fetal position and moan.  My "sweet"heart came in and asked if I was OK.  I told him about the cramps and he said OK and then left me there, alone, for hours.  I felt better later that evening, but had started to spot,  Id read that that was normal as well, so I thought nothing of it and went to bed.

When I woke up, I was once again, covered in blood.  I began to panic.  I knew that I was losing the baby.  I rushed into the emergency room where it was confirmed.  They said that it was a tubal pregnancy and the baby had never developed a heart beat.  I was crushed.

I had to be kept so that I could have a procedure that would vacuum out all of the excess fluids in my body to prevent an infection.  I had never had to stay in the hospital before.  With everything happening, my "sweet"heart was there to make things better.  He said he was going to get me some fresh clothes and would be back before the surgery.  I waited and waited.  I was hooked up to machines that monitored me and given drugs to make my uterus contract.  When I came out of surgery, he still hadn't arrived.  I had been released from the hospital, but had no ride home.  Hospital policy stated that they couldn't allow patients to be taken by cab.  A kind nurse offered to give me a ride once her shift was over.

Fifteen minutes before we were to leave, I asked the nurse to check the waiting room one last time for someone there to pick me up.  She came back and told me I had a large group of people waiting on me.  I manged to get dressed and they wheeled me out.  My "sweet"heart, his brother and their friends, as well as a few of mine, were all there.  the men smiling silly little smiles because they did'nt know what else to do or say and horse playing as men do.  I could smell the whiskey on his breath as he leaned in to kiss me.  I was taken home, fed and went straight to bed.  I did not know it then, but losing the baby was a blessing in disguise.

One week later, my "sweet"hearts parole was revoked for drinking in public.  He was put in jail for 15 months.  I was just getting my freedom.

It took quite some time, still, before I had made up my mind to leave him.  Being away from him for so long had lifted the veil from my eyes.  But I still had no where to go.  My family wasn't an option and all of my friends had moved off to college.

It just so happened that I had made my decision to leave at a very good time.  The carnival was in town.

My room mate and I set of for an adventure.

 I wont go into great detail about my year and a half on the road, except to say that I met some terrific people, some not so terrific people and did a lot of drugs to deal with the stress and strain that my young life had become.  I called my father and made amends after 4 months of traveling and found my mother via the Internet.  Once I finished out my last year with the show, I moved to Dallas to start a relationship with her.

It was tough at first, being in a big city with literally no one that I knew.  A woman who Id just met trying to play friend and mother at the same time.  We had a few fights, but eventually my mother saw that I was as opinionated as her and would make my own mistakes in life.

 I really got my shit together while I was there.

I became a Correction Officer, bought a car and started a bond that I had been missing my whole life.  I felt good about life.  I was dating and had very cool and eclectic "city" friends.  I felt I was on top of the world.

Then one morning my father called to say that my Grandmother (who had always been my rock) had a stroke and that I needed to come home right away.  I did.  I slept on a tiny couch in the ICU waiting room for 4 days.  I realized that I had been away and had missed out on so much time with the people I held closest to my heart.  After 3 years in Dallas, I packed up, had a very tearful goodbye with my mother, and headed home.

Since Ive been back here, it has been one tragedy after another.  My Grandmother was in a coma for 8 months, my Grandfather "lost his mind" and wrote all of us out of the will.  Banned us form his home and tells people that we are "trash".  Ive dated nothing but losers and had my heart broken to the point where I just gave up.  Ive had money stresses and fears of slipping back into old habits.  Ive had friends betray me because I refused to get into a life of drugs and partying.  Ive been stabbed in the back and lied to.  I have shrunk into a scared person, afraid of the world crushing me....

I did make a friend though.  She is absolutely nothing like me.  She is good though and through.  She has never made poor choices or ended up in the type of situations that I have.  And most importantly, she has NEVER judged me.  She is strong and beautiful and proud. And I am so thankful to have her.  I love my "E".  :)

A few years ago, "E's"  husband (who is one of the most honorable, stand-up men Ive ever had the privilege to meet) was stationed (ARMY) in a different part of the country.  My "E" had to move.  As a going away gift, I decided to paint her a Fleur Du Lis, which if you've ever visited Louisiana, you will understand that that is a favorite symbol among we "boot dwellers".   I was so proud of the way it turned out!  I had surprised myself!  "E" was such a good encourager as well.  She told me I was good.  And coming from her, I knew it was the truth.  That's just the kind of person she is.  It was the first time in a long time that I had felt proud of myself.

While "E" was away, I felt myself sinking.  I had nothing and would never be anything.  I was to the point where suicide was looking like a good option.  My life was in shambles.  I had NO luck in love. An unstable job.  No one I could really count on like I could "E".    I was unmotivated and uninspired to change anything about myself.  Things were bad again.

But this time, instead of turning to drugs, I turned inward.  I wanted to know how to get this negative energy out of me.  I had to.  It had gotten to the point of life or death.

 I had been seeing video tutorials about art journaling and the idea intrigued me.  Id frequently doodled or written when I was upset and angry, but this idea of an entire page, and entire book, filled with paint and heart and raw emotion?  Id never imagined anything like this.  And it was something so simple.   This coupled with "E's" voice in the back of my mind telling me I was good and should start painting was exactly what I needed.   It would become my outlet, my new addiction.

That's how art saved my life.

"E" and her husband have recently moved back and I am beginning to feel content with life.  I have my family to support me, great friends who encourage me and I feel like I am pretty stable.

And if your still with me, reading this, I hope that I have a fan.

Its not fair to say that I'm all the way there yet, but its definitely safe to say I'm trying.  Im still a slacker, meaning, who knows when my next blog post will be?!?!?  Haha!  And I still struggle.  But Im finding better ways to deal with these struggles and turn them into positive things.

 I hope to learn new things from people and to share ideas and become inspired with life.

I'm opening a chapter in my life, and I would be honored to have you here with me as I travel down this paint splattered path.  Thank you so very much for hearing my story.  I look forward to sharing beautiful things with you in the future.

 Fleur Di Lis 8X10 Canvas Panel in Oil Paint