the kind of dementia I want

a coworker's alternate identity

One of the Vets in our VA assigns nicknames as simple as "therapist" and as complex as the above: "Goddess of Sandy Hill--Hallelujah--double-crossed."  Each interaction starts with him pausing, looking up, his hand on his chin as he pulls my 5 names out of his brain--sometimes in a slightly variant sequence, but really with remarkable consistency: "Goddess Mommy Fragile Humdrum 2 stars."  The other day he called out to me across the cafeteria: "Is that you, 2 stars?"  The etiology of the titles is uncertain, though I do wonder if I ever will be promoted to a higher rank.

falling on my head

OHMIGOSH.

In doing this painting, I DISCOVERED THAT ACRYLIC PAINT WATERED DOWN LOOKS WAY BETTER AND BRIGHTER AND FULLER THAN WATERCOLOR.  

And is way more plentiful, in way more shades, easier to squeeze out of bottles than those little watercolor tubes, and is especially better than the watercolor paint tube that must have gone bad it smells so bad, but I don't want to throw it away in case I need the color.

A surprising discovery to make after completing ~20 watercolor portraits.  

Hello, beautiful gray rain.

WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS BEFORE.

art as a response to mistakes

I have been enjoying a book called Why We Write about Ourselves: Twenty Memoirists on Why They Expose Themselves (and Others) in the Name of Literature, Ed. Meredith Maran.

Some common themes emerge: the conscious shaping of a story without including every detail of the writer's life,  asking loved ones for permission to include particular parts, the discomfort that accompanies self-revelation, unintentionally offending a loved one and the rift and regret that follows, the conviction of entitlement to tell a story from one's own perspective.  

Potato stamps! Think the last time I used these my mom was doing the cutting.

On the subject of portraying themselves and others, a few authors make the point that at some point they commit themselves to showing the worst sides of themselves, while trying to protect others.  That is, they intentionally do not show mercy for themselves.  As David Sheff says, "If there was something I was afraid of telling about myself--because I was embarrassed, or afraid of judgment--I determined at the beginning that I was going to tell it."

Many of the memoirists are touched by the extent of connection their readers feel with their writing: the outpouring of letters, the personal stories readers feel compelled to share, the "me too"s, the universality that their particular story connects to.  Cheryl Strayed says, "Thousands--literally thousands--of people have told me that in reading Wild they realize their life is exactly like mine.  How can that be? And yet, it is."

Reading this book, I think about the ways we (including me) intentionally shape our stories on social media.  Through art, too, I think I intentionally shape something towards attractiveness, beauty, being well received.  In reading about an art form that culls up the worst parts of the artist, this morning I am more aware of how the process is not only a shaping of beauty but a response to mistakes.

So: The potato stamps were employed to distract from the imperfection of the lettering.

And, the paintings themselves to distract from imperfections in the wall.

I later changed the trail of the "p" because it looked too wonky.  So now it's thicker than I would prefer.

"Our stories are always somewhere within us.  We need only to get still enough to look." 

-Dani Shapiro