I paint what I like. I don’t care what the masters did. Some of their stuff was good. Some of it junk. Some of it that we’ve been told was good, isn’t. I didn’t learn to paint from a class in college. In college I had other things I had to do. I was paying for it myself and holding a job. I found how-to instructions on PBS. To me, what I think about the art is more important than what anyone else thinks…in terms of my own creativity. Impressionism looks like underpainting to me, and I keep waiting for the person to finish it, even if they are long dead. Or it looks like the person’s eyes are going bad, and they need glasses. It looks blurry. I don’t like abstract either. Some of that looks like what I did in the first grade. At first I painted what the instructors did in the how-to lessions. Then I found books with layouts which gave me step by step. Over time I developed skills…it’s an ongoing process. Now I paint what I would like to see on the walls in my house. I don’t like someone calling a painting good, just because it has good composition. In some of that, the painting is awful, to me. I’m not painting to become famous or sold. I paint ’cause I like it, and it’s good therapy, as trite as that might sound. It’s totally satisfying, and I become absorbed in it. I recently painted a scene I saw in my mind when I meditated. Then I had a heck of a time finding good reference material. My meditation scene did not come with exact details or shadows. But I tell you what, it was so cool to do it.

Dave,

When I have found myself in your position, which has been semi-frequently, I discovered it’s because all the stuff that happened to me overwhelmed me, and the emotions gradually started shutting down. I didn’t shut down on purpose. The pain at times had been so deep, I dealt with it as best I could at the time and moved on. But, there was a cumulative effect. Two marriages ended, one deep love ended, my brother murdered his neighbors, my parents and sister died…these are the worst of the things that happened. There are others. After my boyfriend died suddenly of cancer, I nearly walked myself into the fast water on my favorite river, where I’d gone to heal. I forced myself away from the river, went to a couple of spiritual counselors and one of them said, “Fake it until you make it.” She said to start acting the way I wanted to be and that eventually I would bring myself out of it. It gradually worked, is working. It’s been a lifelong learning process.

I’ve been super lonely at times because some of what I’ve been through no one else I could find had been through it – the murders. I became a writer and put the stuff in books now. I have a good life. I found someone who loves me the way I am. I was sitting staring at the river. He was there fishing. The last thing I wanted at the time was a relationship. Long story short we’ve been married for 23 years now. He’s ridden through all my inner growth stuff.

I remember a Paul Harvey Rest of the Story quote: “Never, never never give up, for in the next second things could change and transform your whole life.”

Recently I learned of the death of the guy who was the deep love I mention above. It shocked me that it impacted me so deeply all these years later. I realized I had buried the feelings, even though I thought I had worked them through. I wrote a what-if novel about it – how I would have liked to have things turn out with him. It was very therapeutic. My suggestion is for you to find something that will do that for you. Paint, go fishing, write a journal, walk in the woods, get a dog or a cat, one that is loving an loyal…or? Find a way to thaw yourself out. And most important of all find a way to love and like yourself. As said by the teacher in Catwoman: You have been caged your whole life. By accepting who you are, all that you are, you are free. Freedom is power.”

Suzanna