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Captains log of troubleshooting steps taken, results and analysis of physical, emotional and intellectual response.

Documentation to aid in resolution of known corruption in operation system code language translation and possible multiple shorts in circuit wiring, resulting in CPU malfunction.

(Research notes may include but are not limited to to following; frustration, whining, fear, anger, grief, denial and extremely dark and dry humor...please consult your owner's manual for interraction warnings before opening)
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first painting..on canvas anyway.

Posted 02-23-10 at 05:02 AM by carped1em
I discovered painting out of sheer necessity.
I've always loved art. All kinds. You name it & I guarantee I would find something I love about it. I never thought I had any talent for it. I always imagined myself painting but never could find the time or opportunity.

I was forced to experiment with several different mediums and styles in a few days. No, no one held a gun to my head. It was more of a painting bootcamp.
I found an amazing meditation.

Selling my work was a side note. I bought all of my supplies on clearance and at seconds/lot warehouses. I work with the colors I have. I learned to do my own framing. I bought and refinished frames from thrift stores.
I only charged for the cost of my materials & my cost for framing. I considered the focused time it gave me while creating a blessing.
If someone fell in love with my meditation, cost should not be an issue. Everyone should have something they love to look at after a long day, bad break up, amazing first kiss on a rainy Saturday morning...if I could bring that to their world, I'm honored and treasure the privilege.

I didn't paint all winter. Most of the summer as well. I had discovered the art of engines.
The Wednesday before my "midnight winter hike'", I started to paint for the first time in close to a year. I say started, because I never touched brush to canvas. (this is important for later)
I got off work about 8:30p.m., it was my "Friday". Jobin & a bunch of our friends were eating at the restaraunt his sister manages. We pretty much lived on their food the last few months. They even cooked for Jobin & Me, after closing on New Years Eve, off menu. It was the best New Years Eve I've ever had even though we just chilled at home after that.

Everyone would hook up there and eat, then go cruising (as in looking for races) or bowling, then cruising, or to our house, then cruising. That night they wanted me meet them but I was pretty damn close to the edge as it was, so I declined. My house would be empty and quiet.

I wandered around for a bit after I got home. I started some coffee and decided to put on jammies. If they were out cruising, it would be at least midnight before I heard the thump of bass in the driveway. I decided to paint.
I have a picture that I took of my daughter. She's wearing a blue velvet pimp hat and some totally ragged hair extensions. I thought it would look amazing blown up on canvas. Sort of a rough fresco or maybe pointillist/pixelated. I couldn't quite figure out the scale of the picture to canvas and I was nervous about the hat.

I had a painting that I started about a year before. My sister came over for coffee one Saturday. She was writing on her laptop and I was experimenting with oil textures on an old canvas that I'd sketched on and discarded. I flipped it over and painted whatever came out of the marks. It was a woman's head and shoulders. She appeared to be hiding behind some trees or bushes and there was the silouette of a man standing outside a shop in the distance.

I could never imagine hair on her or finish the street in between the woman and man. I decided that once the painting dried completely, I'd glue one of my grandmother's silk scarves ala Grace Kelly, instead of hair. I wasn't married to the idea of finishing it any particular way, so I decided that the old painting would be perfect to practice the hair and hat before destroying a good idea on an expensive canvas.
I selected my paints and brushes, chose the right music and was just raising brush to canvas, when Jobin poked his head through the studio door. He had my favorite chips and queso. I told him to set them down on the chair and I'd get to them later but he insisted. He'd been concerned that I wasn't eating lately.

I set down the brush and did not walk near the canvas again, until I was released from the hospital weeks later.

The day I was released, my Mom picked me up from the hospital, my ex husband T met us at her office and took me home. Jobin, his sister and nephew joined up a bit later. My house was ransacked and filthy. Not that it was ever neat, but this was shocking. I was exhausted. The gravity of everything weighed on my heart and I wish I had stayed inpatient.
Dre (nephew) was running around my studio, bringing me paints and brushes. Trying to drag me in to paint, as he always does. I walked around my easel and put the paints back on my work table. Dre was pointing one of my brushes at the canvas on the easel and jabbering. I nearly threw up when I looked at it.

The bald lady now had a haircut strikingly similar to mine. Heavy black makeup rolled around her eyes and down her cheeks. She was wearing a goldish turtleneck over the neck and shoulders that I'd been so proud of.
Jobin, his sister and her husband walked over to see. It looked like it was still wet, no one wanted to touch it.

Over the following weeks, I've spent hours, initially, making sure that I hadn't done it in some sort of fugue and then narrowing down the timeframe and players. I think it might have been my son's girlfriend, on the morning of the day I was released.
This is still only a theory. Picking through the possibilities of who could have done it, who would have violated the only space I ever felt was only mine, and who would lie to my face about it, was disturbing in and of itself.
I highly doubt I will ever know with certainty, the identity of the mystery painter.

T. threw the painting away for me a few nights later. I haven't been able to bring myself to paint yet, aside from butcher paper on the floor the morning of my birthday.

I'm going to attempt it. I've got my paints and brushes out. I have a subject.

We'll see what happens.....

-note; below are the photograph of my daughter that I wanted to, and will someday, paint. The other is a negative cellphone pic of the painting as finished by the mystery artist.
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