Monday, June 28, 2010

My Painted Heart

I painted, only for a few minutes but those few minutes were so blissful that when I had to put it away, it was worse than tearing off a band-aid, it was more like saying goodbye to someone I love or like a my pet had died. As I squirted paint out of the tubes, my eyes got a little misty. I wanted time to stop time while I mixed the colors. And then I painted and I was, shall I say....enraptured.
I hurt in the pit of my stomach because I don't know when I'll get to paint next. It seems forever away. I feel tortured like an addict. I am a painting addict, and I have no intention of recovering from this obsession.
Okay, I know that my life is so full of fun, happy things right now, it's one party running into the next and I shouldn't be in mourning over lost studio time, but, sigh... I do love it so. "I miss you painting!"
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Laura Mayer said...

What joy to feel this way about moments that make up your career...I love to hear about the passion you have for your paint. It helps one remember that all the hard work involved in the dream makes it worth it....Lala

Laura A said...

Yeah, I hear ya'.

I'm to the point where when we pull away from the house in the car, I am painfully aware of the distance growing between me and my guitars. Sounds ridiculous, I know. It's not like I have opportunity to play them all the time when I'm home. Far from it. But I can feel the distance and it hurts sometimes.

But I always have a pick in my pocket that I fiddle with, and a legal pad, pencil, and digital recorder in my purse in case the muse strikes. Like you said in another post, if you don't jot it down, or in the case of music, record it (the rhythm, the melody, a riff, something) it's gone. As much as you think you can't possibly forget, it evaporates.

I'm churning and burning as I'm writing songs for my CD. It's work, and it's hard, and it's extremely rewarding.


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