Wednesday, January 23, 2008

2:41 a.m.



In my mind swim, not asleep and not awake, where my thoughts are liquid, I start to worry. I wrap my arm across my chest and place my hand on my shoulder, I am still here. I feel the bottoms of my naked feet on the carpet, I'm still here. I check my kittens, they are here too.
What if I just gave too much away. What if it’s something that can‘t be replenished?
I want to bring it all back in and stack it in the corner. I could get some of them back anyway. I’d still paint them because I have to. It’s like eating and sleeping and loving, I will still do it. If I kept it all in a stack, then I could keep more of me together?
With almost every painting, I drip a drop of me in it. So many drops are spread all over. Some of them are overlooked. Some of them are wasted, like dollars. Some of them are even taken then claimed unrightfully as your drops.
I dripped that drop and I can’t get it back so I guess I hope that it adds to someone else’s. I hope it replenishes yours, then it’s worth it. Maybe I shouldn’t worry.

4 comments:

The Petersons said...

I have a drop of you in my baby's room and every day I'm grateful that he can look at you and feel inspired. I am inspired too. You are amazing! I am lucky.

I Am said...

Great painting! Well done!!
Perhaps you should look at painting as an extending of yourself rather than as fragments of you being chipped away.
A purpose we have on earth is to extend our selves in love and by that we are made larger.
Just a thought.

Janet said...

Cassandra, You are a tender heart, but being any other way would render a paint brush useless in you hands.
I wonder if my sister keeps her beautiful portrait work hidden in cardboard boxes in the basement for the same reason. The quarter sized of yet unpainted canvas, says they are not finished...no one can judge them. They are indeed an intricate part of herself.

In finding, and taking photos of her work(and to my horror, getting caught!) I have experienced great joy, over and over again.

I can't help but feel that your heart is reaching out, loving, blessing and lifting otherwise empty hearts. In that very moment you rise as the morning sun in someone's darkened world, and your own heart feeling bereft of its very essence,is actually enlarging, becoming with each beat, more alive, and more substance filled, than it ever could have been. It is in those broken hearted moments, alone, that we allow The Master of the heart to find place within us. Oh , then what we can each in our own way create!

As for me, your art has brought color, and thought into a rather drab and dreary world. Somehow I cannot imagine a place so distant that your life source could not escape! You hear such a small part of what your art really does for those drawn to it. I wish I had all the stories, in a big beautiful book, that you could lie in bed every night and find in those pages just how very much life you've given.

Cassandra Barney said...

Writing blog entries in the middle of the night is like sending drunk emails...not always a good idea.
But thanks for your ideas and comments. Thanks for what you give by sharing. I have a lot to learn.

Janet- remember how I said that you should write a book. Well...you should write a book. You should start it tonight. I know you have a lot to say and share...
In Her Garden was obviously painted for you...I just didn't know it at the time. Thank you so much for all the encouragement.
C (now go write)

LinkWithin

Related Posts with Thumbnails